#thinking inspiration will strike when needed

[hxney-lemcn]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Confused — Twilight Princess! Link x gn! reader

summery: you find your life turning monotonous without your childhood friend around, but when he comes back you find yourself conflicted. thankfully, he has his ways of making you feel better.

tw: mentions of getting hurt (not described tho), hurt/comfort, linked universe.

a/n: ALWEHFDLKGJ I LOVE LINK!!!! Finally wrote for him!!! Words kept getting put down I couldn't stop myself. Also, heavily inspired by @maple-the-awesome's The Chain Meets You, His Partner but also vastly different lol (so go read that too if you haven't).

wc: 3.6k

Master List

Trying to ignore the sweat that dripped down your brow, you continued to watch Talon hack and swing at the dummy that was set just outside of Link’s treehouse. He had left, again, on a dangerous mission that you had little to no information about. Once again left in the dark. So you didn’t think he’d mind if you used his equipment for training. You're being filled with sorrow for multiple reasons, but the main one at the moment was for Talon, who felt the need to learn how to fight to protect the village. A task that  you had failed at. Something that ate at not only you, but Rusl, Colin’s own father. It ate at you for a different reason than Rusl, as not only had you failed at protecting the other children, but you had failed Link, who had set out and brought them back. A task that shouldn’t have fallen onto his shoulders solely, but became his burden to bear as both you and Rusl were too hurt to travel, let alone fight. 

You had cried when he came back (much to your embarrassment). Cried happily that he returned. Then cried solemnly when he had told you about how he not only saved the children of Ordon, but had saved all of Hyrule. Cried for just how quickly he had to grow in the few months of his travels, how he found solace with someone that wasn’t you (you knew that was selfish, but you just couldn’t help it). If the villagers had thought you and Link were close before, they were surprised that you had managed to become closer. You never left his side, always trying to do chores before he had the chance. Link needed time to rest, but you knew he would refuse to…so you had to force him somehow.

That felt like forever ago as he once again found himself placed with an even heavier burden than before. Traveling through different dimensions to kill some sort of shadow beast. You weren’t one hundred percent on the details as Link as rushidly explained that he was leaving and he wasn’t sure for how long. That had been months ago, and you found yourself taking over his role in the village. You were the ranch hand now, as well as the defender since Rusl was needed at home to help take care of his newborn. Which led you to this moment, teaching Talon how to defend himself. He was still young, so he had time to learn of the best stances, strikes, defenses, and more. And even if you weren’t as great as Link when it came to a fight, but you were still pretty darn good, which is why Talon asked you. 

You were brought out of your reverie when Talon let out an excited cheer, jumping up and down as he pointed out the broken pumpkin that once acted as the dummy’s head. With a small smile, you congratulated the young boy, telling him to go take a break and play with the other kids. To your satisfaction he did just that, running off into the village as you let out a sigh. You didn’t mind the kids, in fact, half the village were kids. No, you just weren’t as close to them as Link or Ilia were, but they didn’t seem to mind your awkwardness. Just as you were about to make your own way into the village for your much needed break, you were caught off guard as you were brought into an embrace. Panicking, you went to elbow whoever decided it would be a smart idea to catch you off guard, only to be swung around in a circle. You grasped onto the strong arms that held you by your waist, turning your head only to see your greatest cause of stress for the past few months. 

A mix of emotions washed over you as Link set you down, letting you turn to face him fully. Happy once more to see the man you loved, relieved to see that he was not only alive, but no visible injuries, and a bit annoyed. Annoyed that he just pops back in and acts like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just left you alone again, like he hadn’t just left for a mission that could’ve left him dead in a world he was unfamiliar with. Where you would’ve never known of his status, if he was alive or dead, left to forever ponder the fate of your childhood friend. In the end, your relief won, staring into his azure eyes that shone with pure adoration and happiness. 

“You’re back already?” You whispered, like if you spoke any louder he’d shatter before you and you’d wake from a dream. He nodded, always one who expressed himself with his actions instead of words. “To stay?” You clarified, and that was when your heart dropped. His smile fell, and his gaze drifted away from you. 

Yet he still refused to let you go, if anything he pulled you in closer as he spoke in a similar hushed whisper, “Came here to restock our supplies.” Before you could ask what he meant by ‘our’, you heard multiple footsteps approach, causing you to pull away from Link much to his dismay. Each time he was pulled away from you he felt like he was missing a part of himself. He almost downright refused to leave you when he came back from saving the forest temple and saw you laying battered and bruised in your bed. Your despondent attitude had caused him great heartache, unable to stay and lift your spirits as he had to clear the twilight from the rest of Hyrule. Instead, he kissed your battered and bruised skin that day hoping that his love and adoration for you would seep through your skin and reach your bruised soul. Instead, it seemed his affection had done the opposite, and as you littered his own face with kisses of your own, he could feel the regret, self hatred, and sadness drenched in each and every peck. You had given him the most soul crushing look as he exited your room to continue his journey. He knew at that moment you blame yourself for the children being taken, for not being able to come and help him on his journey.

And just when everything seemed to go back to as normal as life could get, it got uprooted once more. That sorrow filled your eyes once more when he brought up leaving soon. Once more, he longed to stay by your side as your hand cupped his cheek, stating that he shouldn’t have the world rest upon his shoulders again, how it wasn’t fair he couldn’t just live his life like any other hylian. Deep down Link knew you were right, and as he met the Links from the other dimensions, he knew it was unfair that they also had to bear similar burdens. Yet at the same time it was a solace that he met others who were dealt similar hands as him. So when it was time to go back to his dimension, where you would be there to greet him, Link had been overcome with eagerness, wanting to see you once more, talk of his adventures, and give you a few items he deemed you’d enjoy. He completely forgot it wasn’t to stay, and when your loving expression turned sour he felt his heart drop. 

Before he could try to cheer you, the rest of his group had finally caught up, causing you to stare at the multiple blond men who wore green tunics. You blinked rapidly, wondering if you had hit your head to cause such a sight, because it almost seemed like many Links of different variations stood before you. 

“So this was why you were running so fast,” One of them huffed, the only major difference was the scarf he wore around his neck. An awkward air settled around you all, and you found yourself itching for a reason to excuse yourself. You’re sure anyone Link would travel with was nice, but you always had a harder time getting to know new people. 

“Everyone, meet my friend,” Link gestured to you, a warm smile lining his lips once more. Then he introduced you to each individual. Apparently they were all Link, just from their own times/dimensions. It was honestly hard to wrap your head around the whole situation, but they all went by unusual names to clarify who was who. Your Link being called Twilight (or Twi) due to the darkness your land had fallen to years ago. 

“It’s nice to meet you all,” You smiled politely, hoping to not come off as awkward as you felt. “Unfortunately I have to go help Fado with the ranch now.”

“I can–” Before your Link could offer to help, you sent him a sharp glare that quickly shut him up. 

“You need to rest,” You scolded, and as your gaze fell onto the others you clarified. “You all need some rest. You should stay for the night at least, Link—Twi has room in his house to fit you all.”

“But–”

“No buts,” You shook your head, already starting to walk towards the village, the argument ending before it could even begin. You could hear some chuckles from the group, but you paid no regard. 

To clear your mind from everything that just happened moments prior, you found yourself cleaning the goats stalls at Fado’s ranch. Clearing and refilling their food and water troughs, shoveling out their poop, stacking hay bales that will be used the next day, then preparing to herd all the goats back into the barn. A routine you had grown accustomed to in Link's absence. This was his job…had been his job, but it was yours in the meantime. It unsettled you how well the village could do in the absence of Link, how no one dared to utter his name. Or perhaps they thought the topic would upset you…they wouldn’t be wrong in that regard. 

Just as the sun started to set, you closed the doors to the barn, ready to head back to your home and prepare a warm bath to rid yourself of the grim accumulated from a day of hard work. Of course things could never be so easy. Link stood by the gate, watching you close up. As you approached the blond hero, those tumultuous feelings from earlier rose once more, unsure if you could handle any more emotional encounters. 

“Come,” Link waved at you, nodding towards the village. “Wild made dinner.” You planted your feet, ceasing your movements as you felt your eyebrows furrow. On one hand, you felt like you were being unfair to Link's companions, but on the other, you felt completely exhausted both mentally and physically. Waking up before the sun rises and falling asleep long after it sets does one to someone's body. Not to mention the constant work that was piled onto you, from working on the ranch to training Talon, you hadn’t had much time to yourself, and you weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. And when Link sensed that you stopped, turning around to face you, you're sure the bags under your eyes, slouched posture, and how you could barely keep your eyes open screamed everything you felt. The bone deep ache that just wouldn’t go away. 

Still, he grabbed your hand. His calloused palm slotted in perfectly with your own. As he pulled you past everyone’s house, stopping in front of his own you almost gave in, too tired to fight back. Instead he quickly went in and came out with two bowls of what you assume is stew. You quickly grabbed the bowls before he could spill them on his climb down. Once more, he grabbed his bowl, then your hand, and pulled you towards the spring.

The crystal water lapped at your feet after you pulled your boots and socks off, curling your toes in the pristine sand. Both you and Link sat in silence as you ate, the starry sky peaking through the trees that swayed with the small breeze. Slowly, you found your body unwinding, each tense muscle coming loose with each small wave of the spring. The stew was good as well, filling your stomach with something other than the basics you had been forcing yourself to eat. You scowled into your bowl when you realized you were feeling better than you had in a long time, and that always seemed to be when Link was by your side. 

Like he could sense your thoughts, he scooted closer to you, arm to arm, nearly thigh to thigh. Lifting your gaze, you were met with his worried one. His eyes searched your face like he was deciphering a language only he could…and in a sense maybe that was true. With a full belly and an exhausted body and mind, your eyes started to droop and you leaned against the blonde next to you. No matter what, he was still Link, still your childhood friend that you grew up with, and you’d always cherish him. 

“I missed you,” He muttered, gently brushing away any hair that managed to fall onto your face.

“I missed you too,” You mumbled back, the warmth of his body inviting you into a peaceful sleep. A comforting silence had fallen over you both, making it harder for your struggle to stay awake.

“I love you,” Was all your mind could barely comprehend before you fell unconscious. 

When you awoke the next morning, you half expected to be by the spring with a sleeping Link by your side. But to your disappointment you were in your room. Of course, being the gentleman he is, he carried you home and even tucked you in. You’d have half the mind to be embarrassed, but this was Link we’re talking about. You both had done and said more embarrassing things around each other than you’d like to admit. And when you opened the curtains you nearly had a heart attack realizing you were late as the sun had already risen a good amount. You shuffled around the room and put on your clothes, trying to ignore the thought that Link had undressed you for your comfort the previous night. Stumbling into your last boot, you ran as fast as you could, ignoring your rumbling stomach in favor of not getting scolded. (Not that Fado would actually scold you, if anything he’d be thanking Ordona for letting you rest a bit). 

Arriving at the ranch, apologies lining your tongue, you felt your mouth drop at the sight of all the Links already at work. The smallest Link, Wind, if you remember correctly, dropped his crate at the sight of you and ran over. You winced, hoping that the crate didn’t contain eggs or glass, but got sidetrack as the young boy smiled brightly at you, asking a ton of questions right out of the gate. 

“Good morning! Did Twi go out with you last night? What did y’all do? He seemed pretty happy when he came back. How did you both meet? Are you both–” Wind was quickly cut off as an older Link approached with a stern look. 

“Wind, you know better than to toss crates around,” Time scolded. “And don’t overwhelm the young one with too many questions. Now go and finish stacking those crates.” With a pout, the kid gave you one last look before dashing back to his previous task, leaving you and the older male alone. Helplessly, you watched all the chores you typically get done ten times faster than you’ve ever seen, feeling unsure what to do without work. Seeming to sense your cluelessness, Time spoke up once more, mentioning that Twilight had stayed behind at his house. And so, you found yourself wandering over, only to pout this time. Link was watching Talon’s new skills with the sword, all the village kids watching them both. 

Beth had spotted you first, shouting your name and waving at you with a giant smile, “Look! Link’s back and he’s gonna spar with Talon!” “Spar?” You repeated as you blinked. Talon was in no way shape or form ready to spar yet, but Link had a sparkle in his eye that only spelled mischief when your gazes met. Talon was jumping up and down, excited to not only see Link again, but to do something you had been holding off on. With a resigned sigh, you only shook your head, letting out a short ‘okay.’ The two got into a fighting stance, and you had to fight the itch to correct Talon’s incorrect posture. Instead, you continued to watch from the sidelines as Link let Talon start with the first strike. The skill difference was obvious, and it was clear that Link was going easy, but in the end, Talon ended up knocked to the ground. And as you expected, Talon complained, waving off his own mistakes and pinning it onto someone or something else. To your surprise, instead of asking for a rematch, Talon ran off with his friends following shortly after. 

Bumping your shoulder slightly, Link drew your attention back to him, a boyish smile resting on his lips. After all this time, all the hardships he went through, he still managed to have a young air around him. You weren’t sure how he did it. You reciprocated the gesture, bumping into his shoulder slightly harder. 

“I don’t know what to do,” You couldn’t help but confess. “All the work is getting done and I feel like I should be doing something.” Link looked up with a hum, tapping his chin in thought for a few seconds. That cunning grin once again settled on his face before he grabbed your hand and sprinted towards the springs. 

“The springs, again?” You asked with a short laugh. “Didn’t we do this last night?” You felt your skin prickle as he sent you a devious look, picking you up like you were nothing and tossing you into the water. Thankfully, he threw you into the deeper part, or else that fall would’ve surely hurt. Wiping the water from your eyes, you sent the man your best glare you could muster, grabbing the front of his tunic and pulling him in further. In retaliation, he sent a wave of water at your face with a chuckle. With a huff, you tried to do the same, but the wave wasn’t as big as you’d like it to have been and you both laughed. You felt the darkness that had enveloped your heart slowly melt away as both you and Link played like you used to when merely children. Something you had missed dearly in the past few years. 

As your playful fight slowed, you couldn’t stop yourself from watching Link, or how the water fell from his hair and dripped back into the spring. The last three words he muttered last night rung back through your head. All the love and adoration you held for him gathered into a pool, ready to spill past your lips, and who were you to fight that? Not you, you thought as you eyed his lovely smile, one you would die for. 

“I love you,” You stated, heart beating wildly as Link turned to face you. At first he looked at you with shock, but that melted into pure warmth and affection as he waded closer. So close that you felt your body warm at the mere thought of his touch, felt your heart quiver in anticipation for his next move, and stomach flutter with all the love you held. 

It was silly. When you were younger, you recalled that you’d pretend to be his spouse and play house. How you stated you’d both get married someday, and how he would always go along with your nonsense. You said all those things with your full chest before, but now saying your true feelings felt like a battle. It made everything more real, and as you grew older you assumed he had never taken your childish ramblings seriously. Yet you seemed to be proven wrong as he gently cupped your face with one hand, the touch sending heat blazing throughout your entire being. As he leaned in closer, you closed your eyes, expecting a kiss…only for him to nuzzle your nose with his own. Yet the disappointment was drowned with the fuzzy butterflies that flew in your stomach at such an intimate act. One so loving and pure. 

Link’s actions screamed volumes louder than any words could as he littered both your cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, or anywhere he could reach with kisses. A bittersweet reminder of the day he came back after twilight had taken over. And just like that day, you reciprocated, this time with a heart full of light and happiness. Instead of ending it there, you pulled him in for a proper kiss, one you had wanted for as long as you could remember. He wasn’t as surprised by your actions as you wished he’d be as he reciprocated without hesitation. You didn’t mind his chapped lips, or the way you both kissed clumsily, because this was Link. Your Link. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

And once you both pulled away breathless, ignoring how you both still stood in the spring with sopping wet clothes sticking to your skin, you took in the other's presence. The warmth you both offered each other, the happiness, the love, the need and the want. You were like two pieces to a puzzle, a part of you missing with the other gone. And in that moment, everything felt like it clicked into place. He may still need to continue his journey, but you knew that he’d always find his way back to you, just like he’d always know where to find you.

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Five

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

*I say it's an OC, it's just a name and third person POV. I use minor character descriptions because I don’t get on with writing vague reader inserts/YN for long-form, story heavy fics, but I will generally try to avoid including race and body type or really any physical descriptors. I’m always open to feedback on my writing, or how to be more inclusive.

WC: 17k (holy moly)

Chapter Warnings: I tried to sprinkle some fluffy flashbacks and smutty references later in here just to lighten the mood but this is angsty!! probably cursing I honestly can't remember, and serious warnings rn mentions of hacking/gossip blogs/blackmail/cyber bullying/nudes being leaked, talia is her own warning tbh. I tried not to make a cliched ex comes in between them plot and idk how it comes across but yeah I was trying to toe the line between it being interesting/different and then going too far and not being able to write around it which is why the plot kind of fixes itself quick and is a leeeetle bit bad but there's some unresolved bitterness in that relationship for sure lmao she has a LOT 2 say!! did I mention there's angst in here? insecurity/self-doubt and miscommunication!!! in abundance!!! but!! luke is a cutey patootie in this I wrote his part with a lil smile on my face 💖 also a ridiculous conversation about huffing glue lmao

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Four)

A/N: ok so in the grand scheme of things this is both a filler chapter and also like a pivotal point in the story to set something later up, but when I was planning this entire fic out, the only directive I gave myself for this specific chapter was insert angst. you wouldn't believe the amount of times I've written and rewritten and gone back and forth on what's in here. it's the kind of instruction only a complete melon would give themselves and I clearly just hate myself in ways that are spooky and strange to submit myself to this kind of torture.

and I hear your cries of hasn’t this fic just been angst so far??? yes!! you may be correct!! but you don’t get a rainbow without a bit of rain hun!!! grab an umbrella!!! I promise good will come of this lmao

I'm sorry this one took so long, it's the only chapter I didn't have any kind of plan or direction for obviously and I tried to come up with so many different options for the talia plot before I landed on whatever this is, but the next one I do have some scenes written out in my plan so shouldn't be as long in between. my goal has always been a chapter a week but like I said the other day work has been a lot for me the past couple of weeks so I am genuinely sorry for making you wait!!

you guys were very fun and very kind to me after the last chapter so please please please lets keep the good vibes going come chat to me about your thoughts about the fic about the weather about anything!! 💓

Nico

When Nico and Talia had first started dating, there had been an element of excitement to the dynamic. Nico hadn’t properly dated anyone in a while - had casual flings here and there, and for the most part spent his time swallowing down his burgeoning feelings for his best friend - and there was a novelty to starting something with someone new.

He had all the intentions of building something serious with her. She was fun, got on with his friends, had ties close to home that meant he wouldn’t be putting a wedge between the two of them should he want to travel back in his breaks, and sinking his teeth into the challenges of a relationship was something that actually intrigued him.

He liked planning dates, liked buying gifts to see that buzz of joy and gratitude it would elicit, and he liked the companionship - liked having someone there when he came back from a long roadie or a tough string of games. 

He liked it so much he never really opened his eyes to the fact that Talia didn’t. 

She didn’t like the dates he planned - didn’t like the restaurants he chose, the movies he wanted to share with her, the bars him and the guys frequented. She didn’t like America, didn’t like their coffee shops, thought their pastries were packed with too much sugar, their portion sizes were too large for her ever to enjoy going for lunch, always complaining about feeling bloated and sluggish after every meal. She hated Jersey - wanted to spend all her time across the Hudson, looking down on everyone she met and everywhere they went together. She didn’t make much use of the gifts he bought her - let every bouquet of flowers die a quick, careless death, said the watch he bought her didn’t go with enough of her other jewellery and turned her nose up at every effort he made to make his apartment feel more like her home. 

She wasn’t all that comforting when it came to companionship, either. Rolled her eyes when he came home aching and exhausted, went out without him on the days he was coming back from a roadie and returned home when he had long retired to his bed. She would always want to meet up with her girlfriends instead of hanging around the team, and only ever wanted to come to games if she could bring her own entourage - mostly to show off her connections and hardly ever to actually support him.

And so, despite the initial attraction, despite the excitement that first came with their blossoming relationship, Nico can only look at Talia with disinterest and frigidity now.

He barely greets her as he opens the door to his apartment, moving aside to let her in and waiting for her to trudge her small case in behind her before he closes it, leaning against the surface and watching her discard her bag and keys on the counter with familiarity.

When she turns to face him, running a hand through her hair and huffing out a big sigh, he takes in her dishevelled appearance.

Even when travelling, Talia usually takes great pride in her pristine exterior - hair blow-dried, outfit co-ordinated and steam-pressed to perfection, not a crease or stain in sight, and usually a light layer of makeup to cover the slight imperfections like the darkened under eyes and redness around her nose. This isn’t like her.

She looks like she’s been messing with her hair the whole 8 hour flight out and beyond, her eyes are rimmed-red with smudges of brown at the corners, her lips are chapped and swollen like she’s been crying, and her sweatpants don’t match her hoodie. It’s almost like she’d thrown on whatever she could find and caught the first flight out, fresh out of bed.

“What’s going on?” He cuts straight to the chase, losing all formality and courtesy. He should feel bad for his callous greeting, but she had broken up with him over text not even a month ago - she doesn’t exactly deserve outstretched arms and a warm embrace, he thinks.

“Hi Talia, how have you been, Talia? It’s nice to see you Talia.” She mocks, a frown overtaking her features immediately. “I’m absolutely amazing, thanks for caring, Nico!” Sarcasm spews from her tongue like pure venom, and his eyes practically roll into the back of his head.

Nico pushes himself off of the door, heavy footsteps leading him into his kitchen where he can make himself a coffee to get through this. His watch reads 6:05 - far too early for her antics - and rising to her nagging is only going to make things worse.

“Do you want a drink?” He asks, as he busies himself with his coffee press, unable to look at her too long without the pricks of guilt irritating him.  He doesn’t even know what he has to feel guilty about.

“I’ll get it myself,” she scoffs, venturing over to the fridge and pouring out some orange juice - her movements around his space eerily natural. She slams back most of the drink as he works out how to brew his coffee - but she sees right through him. He’s hardly ever used the press before, and he’s just doing so now to avoid her in whatever capacity he can. “I need money.”

Nico’s almost positive he hasn’t heard her right - that there’s some kind of mix up between her standard German and his Swiss - and he slowly turns to properly face her, brows slanting into a deep frown as he assesses her expression.

She has a hand on her hip, her jaw set and her eyes darkened and serious. 

“You have money.”

Talia comes from money - her father is some kind of film producer and her mother an artist, if Nico remembers correctly - and she makes good money, herself. She’s been a print model since she was scouted in some market in Munich since she was 15, has had her face plastered in ads in magazines and catalogues around the world. She’s hardly strapped for cash. She gets things gifted to her by whatever company she can get a hold of. What could she possibly need him to give her money for?

“Not enough.” Her tone is cold, her demeanour the same, and if Nico can still gauge her emotions correctly, there’s an element of blame that she is starting to shift towards him, and his whole body starts to feel tense.

“Not enough for what?”

He can’t quite tell what feeling washes over him - worry, at the thought she’s gotten herself into some kind of trouble, stress, at the thought this could be a recurring thing, and potentially pity, at the way she’s so clearly carrying the weight of something heavy - something she’s lugged all the way across the Atlantic on a long haul flight with her.

“Not enough to pay the guy who’s blackmailing me not to leak the videos that I sent to you.”

“What vide-“ he bites back, and the immediate arch of her brow tells him all he needs to know. “Oh.”

Shit.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?” She sneers, fury in her gaze and dismay in her tone. “You’ve ruined my life, and all I get is an oh?”

“Whoa, slow down, I’ve ruined your life?”

Nico has never been one to shame any girl for sending explicit pictures - he’d been more than willing to receive them at the time - but he hadn’t ever forced her hand. He hadn’t even asked her for them, in the first place. 

She’d taken it upon herself to spice things up, as she had put it at the time, when the team had gone on the road in early December. It was just after he’d returned from his injury - a time in which he’d spent mentally distanced from her as he’d focused so much on getting back to the game, their relationship consisting mainly of not-so-passionate sex to avoid aggravating his injury and hardly of any kind of meaningful conversation - and she had thought that keeping him on his toes on a roadie would mean he’d come back more interested than ever.

If he’d been looking out for red flags at the time, he might have caught that blaring one; needing to try new things only a few months into a relationship to keep it fun and light.

He’d been in his hotel room in Seattle, freshly showered and ready to throw himself straight into bed when his phone had started to ping. It was suggestive texts at first, are you alone? And I’m thinking about you. Then it had been pictures, hands over lingerie and fingers between glossy, pouted lips.

And then videos, one after the other before he had any chance to respond - her phone set up far enough away that her whole body was in frame, touching herself while laying on his bed and calling out for him.

He had called her instead of sending anything back, and as he realises the severity of the situation, a selfish part of him is glad he did so.

“Talia, I didn’t even save those videos, and I definitely didn’t show them to anyone else.”

Nico could never. Not only for the fact that he was raised to be a decent human being, but he has a sister - if anyone ever did that to Nina, he’d tear them apart, limb from limb. 

“You’re the only person I’ve ever sent anything to.” She seems to have made her mind up, and Nico feels as if his heart plummets through his torso at the realisation. She’s travelled all this way because she genuinely believes he’s the cause of this - that he’s shared intimate videos of her without her consent, to someone who would extort her for them. “And he sent me some pictures as proof, had information about me like the address of this apartment.”

“Talia, I swear on my mother’s life, I wouldn’t do that to you - to anyone, not ever.”

Tears well in her crystalline eyes, and Nico waits with bated breath as she assesses the situation in her head. 

He isn’t a liar - he has never given her a reason to think he is one. In their time together, he had always been honest, always been loyal, and he hopes at the very least - despite her obvious distain for him now, and how little she ended up caring about their relationship in the end to cut it off in the way she did - she thought of him as kind. 

He can do nothing but be patient, let her come to whatever conclusion on her own, and it’s only when he spots the quiver in her bottom lip that he takes an apprehensive step forward, ready to console her if needed.

She practically throws herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist and bawling into his chest, and all he can do is hold her and wait. He tries to rub a soothing hand up and down her back, holding the other against her head as her body wracks with sobs. All he can feel is the pounding of his own heartbeat, pulsing throughout his entire body until it’s all he can hear, too.

Nico does his best to comfort her, shushing and cooing and whispering how it’s going to be alright, but it does little to help. She’s beyond relief.

“There’s a guy who said he can track whoever is doing this to me,” she sniffles as she pulls herself away. “He’s in Jersey City Heights, he’s some sort of ethical hacker, whatever that means, I’m going to meet him and he’s gonna go through my phone.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Nico doesn’t even hesitate to ask - if not to protect her, and make sure she isn’t unknowingly getting herself into an even more dangerous situation, then to protect himself too. If someone has Talia’s pictures, and she only sent them to him, there’s a possibility his phone had been hacked, and if this guy is as ethical as he says, maybe he can check Nico’s stuff, too, just to be safe.

She gives him an appreciative smile, eyes still glassy and cheeks flushed. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“I’m gonna shower, then we can go. You can grab whatever to eat while you’re waiting.” He backs away from her completely, only just able to acknowledge the ache in his muscles once the intensity of the situation has settled a little, and he just needs to stand under the steaming spray and clear his mind before he properly immerses himself in her company. 

He has a lot more than this whole mess that he needs to think about, and maybe a shower can bring him a little clarity on how exactly he’s going to explain himself to the beautiful girl whose bed he had abruptly left not even an hour ago. 

“Why are you dressed?”

Nico stops in his tracks.

When he had got back to his apartment, he’d made a little effort for it to seem like he’d been there all night. He’d gone through to his bedroom, mussed up his sheets to make it seem like he had been sleeping in them - and not with the anticipation that Talia was going to be entering his bedroom, but with her, he never knows - trying to retrace the steps of his usual routine before he goes to bed, he had closed all the blinds, had moved his gym bag by the door.

But he hadn’t changed.

Still adorned in his sweatshirt and jeans from the night before, the clothing feels all that much heavier on his body as she brings attention to it, and he quickly racks his brain to come up with a valid excuse that doesn’t rouse further suspicion.

“I fell asleep in these clothes.” As easy as the lie comes out, he doesn’t feel great saying it. Doesn’t feel like erasing the night he had shared with Poppy is for the greater good, even if it is just to Talia, but avoiding another difficult conversation is a must right now - especially when he’d already lied to her on the phone. “Was out late with the guys last night, Timo threw a party for my birthday.”

“Right,” she drags out, and when he turns back around, she casts a scrutinising glance over him, top to bottom. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“No worries,” he shrugs, genuinely not offended. She has no reason to remember his birthday. Not anymore. “Like I said, help yourself to whatever, I’ll try not to be long.” 

When he undresses for his shower, he’s thankful he hadn’t had the foresight to change in anticipation of Talia’s arrival. He probably would have donned a t-shirt and some shorts, oblivious to the visible indents on his thighs where Poppy had dug her nails in as she took him in her mouth.

His chest and torso are littered with scratches, some faint, some a little deeper, and he can’t get the right angle to see his back but he imagines they’re the same - the memory of her clutching at him as both of their climaxes approached is vivid enough for him to picture the marks she left behind.

He groans as the thought of her brings back that swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he notices the blooming arousal pool there, and feels himself harden as he steps under the spray of his shower.

If his phone had been on do not disturb through the night, he could be in the shower with Poppy, instead.

He could have woken up to her in his arms, could have pecked at her sleep-swollen lips until it brought her out of her slumber, and spent his morning making up for lost time just like he had promised her last night. He could have made light work of the pleasure he had given her the night before - could have had her underneath him in her bed, tangled up in the mess of sheets and falling apart before they shared a morning shower, where he’d have held her up against the tiles and would’ve moved into her until they couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He’d have made her breakfast, something sweet, so that as she sat and watched him atop the kitchen counter he had tasted her on for the first time not even 12 hours before, he’d press his tongue into her mouth after she had eaten and savour the flavour of strawberries that had settled between her lips.

Instead, he’s here, turning the temperature of his water down until any and all excitement in his body is dampened, and all he can focus on is the effect the cold has on all his other aching muscles.

Once he has showered and gotten dressed - and has come to the conclusion that any further thoughts about Poppy need to wait until the Talia problem is resolved and out of his hands, he finds his ex girlfriend sprawled across his couch, music playing from the speaker in the corner, and taking helping herself to a whole new level. 

Her case is opened where she had left it by the door, and she’s set herself a little vanity up on his coffee table, fixing her appearance before they leave.

She’s changed out of her mismatched sweats, has dressed herself in jeans and a sweater, and has found an extension cable long enough for her to plug in whatever hot tool she’s currently running through her hair.

“You take the longest showers in the history of man,” she rolls her eyes, not even casting a glance his way as she focuses on her own reflection in the little mirror she must have brought with her. “I do not want to know what it is you get up to in there.”

“I was barely 30 minutes, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, almost,” she runs the tool through her bangs until they flick out at the edges on either side of her face, and it reminds him of all the times he had watched her while waiting for her to finish getting ready. It makes him feel uneasy how familiar it all is, how she’s so quickly made herself at home again in his space.

He wants to tell her she needs to pack her stuff back up, that she won’t be staying here and needs to give his keys back, but the weight of the situation at hand dawns on him before he can open his mouth.

He’ll wait until they get back later, his decision depending on the outcome of their visit to her hacker friend.

As much as he doesn’t want her around, he isn’t going to kick her out with no place to go if her life is still shrouded in unsafe circumstances. 

Talia unplugs her stuff, wraps the cord around the handle of the brush she was using, and places it on a mat she must have brought with her so it doesn’t burn through the surface of the table. “Kay, let’s go.”

She marches ahead of him, picking up her bag and keys on the way out and leaving him to lock up while she calls for the elevator. They wait together in silence, his heart thudding an anxious rhythm in his chest as he anticipates the arrival of the elevator - and thankfully, it arrives empty.

He tries to distance himself from her as they enter, him standing in one corner, and hoping she takes the other, but she doesn’t quite get the memo, standing obliviously in the centre as she types away to someone on her phone and he presses the button to go to the basement.

Nico watches the numbers go down with bated breath. His floor, the next, the next one after that, and he uses any good will he has left with the universe to hope and pray it skips the floor coming up - but, as is just his luck, the elevator comes to a stop with a soft thud, and the doors open to reveal the very situation he’s been hoping to avoid. 

Jack walks straight in, eyes cast down to the phone in his hands, distractedly typing away and not even noticing the button for the parking level has been pressed before he pushes it, himself.

Luke notices straight away, halting in his movements to enter the space as his gaze flickers between the two people already occupying it. 

He diverts his eyes when they meet Nico’s head dropping as he steps in and stands beside his brother, uttering a quick greeting of, “Hey, Cap.”

Jack’s attention is captured immediately, spinning at an almost dizzying speed to face his captain, phone disregarded into his back pocket. “Schao! I thought you’d be at-,”

He’s thankfully able to tune into his perception before he carries on with his train of thought, a subtle movement in his peripheral diverting his gaze to the figure stood to the side of Nico. 

“Talia. Hi.”

“Hi, Jack.” Nico cringes inwardly at how disinterested she sounds. “Luke.” Talia had never really cared for Nico’s teammates - especially not the younger guys like Jack and Luke. She was quick to pass judgement, making comments on their maturity, or apparent lack-thereof, and wasn’t the biggest fan of how close Nico was with the pair. Didn’t like the time or attention he gave them considering the close quarters they lived in, and had always been resentful. She always claimed her English wasn’t good enough to hold a proper conversation with them, but he’d seen her enough around her American friends to know it wasn’t true.

“We’re just meeting up with some of the guys for breakfast.” Jack says, cautiously, in an attempt to fill the silence. The invitation remains unspoken, but Nico can tell in the way the younger boy cocks his head and meets his eye that he’s gauging his current situation for the morning.

“We have plans.” Talia must be able to tell what he was getting at, too and Nico can see Luke’s eyes narrow as soon as the word resonates in his head. Plans. Pre-meditated. Made before she had sprung all of this on him within the last hour or two. Panic stirs within him, and his throat itches to speak the truth, but it’s just not the right time to do so with Talia stood beside him. If he starts getting defensive, she’ll start asking questions, and the boys will have to bear witness to him skirting around the matter of Poppy. 

It’s not a good look no matter which way he swings it. He’s stuck in a thick, dark, tarry mess of not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings but making all the wrong decisions. A minefield of not knowing how to explain himself without raising a million questions on either side, and hoping one of the brothers might toe the line of the boundaries of their relationship and just straight up ask why Talia is here.

He knows he has fucked up without the way neither of them are looking him in the eye.

He knew it the second Poppy’s door had locked behind him this morning - he doesn’t need Luke refusing to meet his gaze, doesn’t need Jack’s shifting side eye to tell him he’s made a mistake. 

“I’ll text you later.” Nico says, mainly to Jack but still trying to meet his brother’s eyes with no luck. It’s an attempt to say something, without saying anything. A silent beg not to jump to conclusions about what they’ve seen - and, although he knows they wouldn’t, not to tell anyone else. Not whichever of the guys they are meeting up with, not anyone else on the team, and definitely not Poppy.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack mutters in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort, and an even worse attempt at masking his relief when the doors ping open on the parking level.

“Have fun with your plans,” Luke huffs out, his tone like a tight fist clutching at Nico’s chest despite his courteous choice of words.

“We will,” Talia forces a smile. Nico gets the feeling she isn’t as oblivious to the tension as he hopes she is.

The four of them separate into their pairs with mumbled goodbyes, Jack and Luke heading off to Luke’s car on one side of the garage, and Nico and Talia heading to his on the other, and Nico can’t even let out a sigh of pseudo-relief before Talia jumps on him.

“That was weird.”

“We broke up, they weren’t expecting to see us together.” He quickly excuses as he starts the car up, turning on the heat and hoping the soft buzz of the air will fill the silence enough that she doesn’t feel the need to talk. 

“It’s been like 3 weeks, most couples get back together after their first breakup.”

Has it only been 3 weeks? He thinks, shuddering at how little time had actually passed between her sending that text and him restoring balance to his life.

“We’re not most couples,” he shrugs, shutting that train of thought immediately as he starts to make his way out of the parking garage, ascending the ramp where the doors open up to reveal the dull beam of the winter morning sun. “You dumped me over text a week before Christmas, we’re not getting back together.”

“Oh yeah, I bet you were real cut up about it,” she jibes, sarcastically. “Probably landed straight in the bed of some desperate puck bunny more than happy to take your mind off of how awful I was to you.”

His mind immediately goes to Poppy, to last night, to her bed - and despite the complete bullshit Talia has fabricated in her head, despite how much he wants to tell her she has it all wrong, he can’t bear to twist himself even further into knots to skirt around mentioning the girl who did make him better.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” He decides, tapping at the screen in the console of his car until he brings up the navigation. “Put in the address you need, we’re not too far from The Heights.”

The location she enters into the system is for an unassuming condo in a quiet, suburban area. The neighbourhood itself is picturesque, the buildings colourful, the paths lined with trees that seemed to flourish even in the midst of winter, and when Nico pulls up across the street, he notices the amount of families around - parents walking their kids to school and couples with dogs getting their morning steps in. It’s the last place he imagines some hacker to be shacked up, but maybe that’s the point.

He still doesn’t entirely understand the ethical part.

“It’s the one with the red brick and the balcony,” Talia points to the other side of the road as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and Nico looks over at the building as if he’s going to be able to see all the secrets stored within it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, number 414.” She shows him the messages she has exchanged with the guy, and sure enough, the address matches up. “C’mon, the sooner we get in there, the sooner we can figure this out.”

He follows her across the street, adjusting the cap he wears atop his head and making sure it conceals his identity from anyone with eyesight good enough to catch it, trying to shrug off the discomfort of the whole situation as he waits for someone to pick up the buzzer Talia relentlessly presses.

He hears a different kind of buzz, lighter, like the manual zoom of a camera, and cranes his neck to assess their surroundings as they wait, before he catches sight of the device in the top corner of the porch, facing directly onto them.

He hears the click of a lock as soon as his eyes make contact with the thing, and cautiously tries the handle on the door until it pushes all the way down, letting them into the building. 

The door to the ground floor condo is open, and stood in the entrance is a guy no older than 20, dressed in all black with dark, beady eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. If Nico could find it in him to see the humour in the situation, he’d laugh at how he looks like Luke - a mop of curly brown hair, tall with a slim build and ever so slightly poor posture.

He straightens up as the two of them approach, Nico keeping Talia behind him as he assesses the safety of the situation. If they’re being lured into some kind of trap, he could definitely take this guy - he can’t even maintain direct eye contact, never mind manage to subdue a man of Nico’s stature.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone, Talia.”

He’s soft-spoken, his voice ever so nasally, and despite the fact that he’s talking to the girl behind him, his gaze has settled on Nico’s chest.

“My name’s Nico.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand to shake. He thinks he can write him off as a threat, for now, and if making him feel comfortable encourages him to help them, he wants to put him at ease. “

“I know who you are.” He doesn’t shake Nico’s hand. “I’m Myles. Come in.”

Myles doesn’t wait for the two of them, marching back into his place and leaving the door open for Talia and Nico to enter and close behind them. 

Nico isn’t surprised by the space - from his brief encounter with the resident so far, it fits him to a tee; neat, impersonal, furniture that looks fresh out of a catalogue. He follows him over to the corner of his living room, a PC set up with several monitors that he can’t tell are on until they’re standing straight in front of them.

Myles throws himself down into the large swivel chair, spinning until he’s facing the two of them and crossing his arms over his torso with disinterest. “So, nudes?”

Straight to the point. Nico can’t exactly be mad at it.

Talia steps out from behind him, handing her unlocked phone to Myles. “The messages started last week, just after New Years. Straight to my number, not in DMs or anything, but the number doesn’t even come up for me to call it from another phone or anything, just says unknown.”

Myles takes her phone and plugs it into his setup without even looking at whatever she has opened on it, and Nico watches as the screens come alive with mirrors of the device and some other apps that launch as soon as it connects. 

“That’s more helpful than you think, they have to use an app to be able to anonymously text you, makes it easier to identify them.”

The way Myles talks is monotonous and detached, but the way he works is anything but. His fingers move quicker than Nico’s eyes can track on his keyboard, typing away at whatever as different things flash up and leave his screen. It like something straight out of a spy movie.

“So we can find out who it is just from that?” He asks, arms folding over his chest as he watches in almost-awe.

“Not exactly. If it is a hacker, I could identify their signature. Doesn’t mean I could identify them, but we can work around it potentially.”

Talia throws herself down on the couch behind them exasperatedly, sighing loudly and making her displeasure known. “You told me you could track them down, that’s what I’m paying you to do.”

“I told you I could help you, I didn’t say I could specifically track anyone, that’s not how this works.”

“How does it work then?” Nico asks.

Myles wheels his chair to the side to make room for Nico to get closer, and starts walking him through the process, pointing through the different apps he uses and explaining how he uses them. One deciphers which app the person used to message Talia. Once that’s been deduced, he uses another to enter a backdoor into that app’s servers, perusing through them until he finds the account that sent the text, making sure the date, time and then content line up. Once he’s found the account, he can see the other texts sent from it, and a gallery spreads across two screens, with maybe hundreds of pictures, videos, messages and transactions all to or from that same account.

“You’re telling me you have the power to do all this and you don’t use it to like rob banks or something?”

“Ethical hacker, clue’s in the name.” Myles shrugs. Nico looks back to Talia, her jaw set as she picks at her nails out of boredom. It’s probably taken about fifteen minutes for this guy to work an absolute miracle, and she looks like she couldn’t care less. “We use all this information, and the access I have on the server, to shut this dude down and cut his con before he can do it to anyone else.”

“Whoa whoa,” Talia shoots up, “Won’t that make him mad? Make him just post all the photos?”

“I doubt it,” the hacker comments, bringing up a couple of the photos on the screens, some of Talia, some of another girl, making Nico divert his eyes. “They’re not even real.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Excuse me?”

Talia and Nico both question at the same time, leaning in to get a proper look to confirm what is being told to them. The other pictures Myles had brought up, the ones of other girls, are actually kind of the same. The same poses, the same backgrounds, the same outfits, or lack thereof, just different faces and different hair.

“They’re called deep fakes. Photoshop, essentially.” He has that aloof tone to his words again, and Nico can’t quite believe how simple it seems for him to say. “They put a bunch of your pictures into an AI generator and give it instruction, like put this face on a body posed like this or wearing that. I’d assume the video they have is the same.”

“How is that even possible?” Talia gasps, pushing herself forward and snatching the mouse from Myles’ grasp. She clicks into what she assumes is the video, and it starts playing before she can think better of it, thankfully without any sound. 

It’s Talia - that much is obvious from the initial close up of her face - but Nico doesn’t recognise anything else about it. He doesn’t recognise the room she’s in, the bed she’s on, the things she’s doing. He’s never seen this before. It’s definitely not one of the videos she had sent him, and when he looks closer, he realises the little moles on her ribs aren’t even there.

None of it is real.

“You said he sent you the photos? You didn’t realise they weren’t the ones you took?” He can’t conceal the bite in his tone, his brows furrowing as he looks at her in disbelief. She’s flown out here, disrupted his peace, blamed him for blackmailing her, and she can’t even recognise what is or isn’t her own body. 

“They looked real, I-,” Her shock disappears as quickly as it had come about, her mood shifting and a glare all of a sudden being directed at her ex boyfriend. “I wouldn’t have accused you if they didn’t look real, Nico.” She snaps, frowning at him like this is his fault. “You have no idea what it’s like to be threatened like that, I won’t have you blame me for panicking.”

Slivers of guilt seep into his subconscious, and he takes a deep breath, diverting his gaze uneasily and letting out a big sigh.

He knows he should be a little more compassionate, but there’s panicking, and then there’s this.

She had accused him of ruining her life.

“What about the rest of it?” Nico asks, “Like how did he get her number or have my address? You said he had other information?”

“He did,” Talia nods, looking over to Myles.

“The address he probably got when he got your number, and he could have got that from anywhere. Could be something as small as you ordering something online and the store having a data breach, or clicking a link that shared your IP address, and getting your phone information from that.” Myles starts his typing again, keeping a tight grip on his mouse so that it can’t be snatched again. “I could probably find out actually, they’re pretty easy to spot, do you clear your history often?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do that,”

“Perfect,” Again, his fingertips work at lightening speed, and Nico watches as instagram opens on one of the screens. “Yeah, a DM sent to you from… Devils_tea. You opened a link to a shared drive to upload some pictures, the drive probably had malware and the pictures have location metadata.”

Nico rolls his eyes, that small ebb of pity washing almost completely away, and before Talia can stop him, Myles carries on. “Some of the pictures you sent them are the ones they used for the AI photos, look your face in this one is the exact same as this photo they threatened to leak.”

Nico recognises these photos. The ones that had been plastered all over social media when their relationship had leaked. Pictures of them back in Switzerland, on a weekend trip to Ibiza, selfies of them in his apartment, and even a picture of the two of them with his parents back at his family home in Valais.

He has been far too oblivious to Talia’s games for far too long, he realises. 

Of course she had been the one to leak everything - who else would have had those photos - but he hadn’t even considered it would be her; she had faced the harshest aftermath for it, why would she subject herself to all the subsequent grief that came with people knowing about their relationship?

Thank God for this guy’s lack of social cues, Nico thinks, or he would never have known that for as long as they had been together, she had been violating his revered privacy and trust.

“Nico, that wasn’t-,” Talia’s panic is evident, wide eyes, trembling hands raised in defence, “I must have been hacked,”

“Actually, there’s no-,” Myles begins to interject, fingers working again to fact check, but Nico doesn’t need him to validate what he already knows.

“Shut up,” Talia snarls, with a finger pointed at him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re done here.” She reaches forward to snatch her phone back, yanking out the wire that connects it to his monitors and throwing it onto the desk. “We’re leaving, and if you think I’m paying you anything, you’re deluded.” 

Talia marches past them and straight out of the condo, slamming every door she possibly can behind her. Nico can only cringe as the sounds of her stomping footsteps echo until they fade out - until she’s probably outside and waiting for him back at his car.

“Doesn’t she want me to shut this thing down?”

“I’ll pay you.” Nico sighs, reaching into his pocket for his phone and trying to push down the feeling that arises when he’s met with a blank lock screen.

Poppy hasn’t messaged him. 

Not that he deserves for her to make it easy, to let him off the hook and pretend he hasn’t royally fucked things up with her.

“If you stop him, does he still have all the photos? He could still release them?”

“Yeah, but they’re pretty easy to validate as fakes, especially when you have the source material. I don’t think this guy is sophisticated enough for a full blown hack into her phone for the real thing. I couldn’t find evidence of any breach of her cloud or her device.”

Nico nods, but the information does little to quell the anxiety that squeezes his chest in a vice-like grip. 

This whole morning has been nothing but a giant waste of his time. From the second his eyes opened, to this moment right now, he’s made nothing but mistakes.

Not putting his phone on sleep mode before he and Poppy went to bed had been a mistake. Taking Talia’s call had been a mistake. Not waking Poppy up had been a mistake. Leaving without a note, without a text, leaving at all - it had all been one error after another, and all he has left to do is face up to the fact.

He can’t do anything to dwindle the panic rousing in every fibre of his being, the scarring marks left by torturous lashings of regret that whip at his skin.

He’s never felt so ashamed of himself, in such disbelief at his own decisions.

Why didn’t he just wake her?

She’s the most level-headed, acceptable person he knows. She would have understood. He hadn’t had a reasonable explanation at the time, and he doesn’t really have one now - but she would have accepted it, whatever he could have told her, she would have listened, waited until he could give her more.

He needs to see her, to explain, before it’s too late.

If he thinks about the feeling settling in his stomach, if he can compare it to anything, it’s like running from a blazing inferno of doubt and insecurity, licks of fire racing to catch up to him, the soles of his feet pressing into the sizzling ground - and Poppy is the cool embrace of safety.

She is light cracking through a window he just needs to break through to make it out.

If he can get to her quick enough, if he runs, and runs, maybe he’ll make it before he’s jiggling at a red hot handle that won’t move, won’t give, won’t budge.

If he can just talk to her, maybe the morning from hell will be outweighed by the days of resilience, weeks of efforts, years of loving her in whatever capacity, and the promise of something better.

He just needs to get rid of Talia.

The car journey back to his apartment is carried out in a deafening silence. She had tried to talk to him when he’d made his way out of Myles’ condo, when he had found her waiting by his Mercedes with crossed arms and a sour look on her face, but he’d told her he didn’t want to hear it, that they’d deal with it in private.

He hardly wanted a showdown with her in the middle of the street.

And so, she sat in his passenger seat, jaw set, glaring out the window and letting out the occasional huff or puff for attention that he wasn’t entertaining.

The elevator ride up to his place had been the same. Silent, filled with the type of tension you could cut with a knife, and all he could do was ignore her continued petulance and take deep breaths to calm himself down. In through his nose, out through his mouth, overlooking the way she tapped her foot in his peripheral vision, and almost audibly rolled her eyes every few seconds. 

“Would it have killed you to defend me in there?” She scoffs as soon as the door closes behind them in his apartment, “You just let him accuse me of all that stuff and completely invade my privacy!”

Nico screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He can’t blow up, can’t stoop to her level. He won’t feel good after the fact. He knows how Talia operates, should have known she’d immediately play the victim card, and he isn’t falling into the trap of arguing to the point of being in the wrong.

He’ll say something he regrets and she’ll use it to her advantage, somehow.

“You asked him to go through your phone, Talia.” He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen and getting himself some water. Chugging at it does little to soothe the burning feeling prickling at the back of his mouth, or the itch of his tongue to spit out a scathing retort. “He’s shut down the guy behind it, he can’t message you or anyone else with any more threats, you should be happy.”

“I should be happy?” She follows him wherever he tries to get away, crowding his space and jabbing a pointed finger into his arm. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through this past week. I thought my career was over! How was I supposed to know it was fake?”

“You didn’t even look at the pictures-,”

“Because I was panicking! I was upset, you can’t expect me to be able to recognise what’s been photoshopped when I’m scared like that!”

“But you can fly straight over here and pin the blame on me for ruining your life? You weren’t too upset to point the finger, Talia,”

“Don’t be an asshole, Nico, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“I’m being the asshole? You don’t even care about the trail of destruction you leave behind you, do you? You send private pictures of us, of me, of my family to random people online who you don’t even know, for what, Talia? For money?”

“I don’t need their money-,”

“So it was just for the attention? You get to parade our relationship around like it means nothing more to you than a title, and once you get your fifteen minutes and a few more instagram followers, you just jet back home and dump me over a text?”

“Oh my God,” she cries, flailing her arms dramatically, following him yet again as he makes his way into his living room, picking her stuff up after her that she had discarded here before they left and throwing it into her travel bag. “Stop playing the victim, for Christ’s sake, you’re hardly heartbroken over it. I know for a fact you’ve been hooking up with someone, one of the girls messaged me that they saw you leave a party with her on New Years!”

“So that’s what this is?” Nico snaps, pointing to her, to her stuff, “You think I’m moving on so you fly back out here and spring this bullshit on me, try to make me feel bad?”

“You have some nerve, Nico,” Talia scoffs, folding her arms across her chest and levelling him with a darkened glare.

“I have nerve? You’re the one who broke up with me out of nowhere and think that you can just march back here and make demands, Talia, blaming me for something that was entirely your own doing.” He’s getting sick of walking on egg shells around the topic. If she hadn’t have been messaging people she wasn’t supposed to, this would never have happened - it’s no one’s fault but her own, and as harsh as it may be, he wants to wash his hands of the whole thing. “Calling me in the middle of the night, telling me I ruined your life, saying I need to give you money?”

“Out of nowhere?” Of course she would only pick up on that, he thinks. “My God, you are so self-absorbed.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think that dating you is easy?” She questions with a measured step toward him. “Do you think I want to spend my life waiting around for my boyfriend, only for him to only ever come home grumpy,” another step, “Or whiny,” and another, “Or too tired and achey to do anything? And that’s when you do come home at all and aren’t half way across the country with the communication skills of a candle. It’s a constant uphill battle trying to get even a second of your attention, Nico, so God forbid I tried to gain some kind of advantage from being with you.”

Her words are starting to cut, but he tries not to react, tries not to bite back. He can count several ways in which she gained an advantage being with him, just off the top of the head - a girl like Talia is never shy of attention. Her courting gossip blogs and sending them private information is probably just scraping the barrel of the ploys she made for exposure while she was with him.

“I didn’t break up with you out of nowhere, I put up with you and the whole circus that comes with you for months, but God, is it exhausting being with you.”

“You knew what you were getting into, Talia. You knew my job, knew my life.” They had met initially through mutual friends - hockey friends of his back home, even - and she has other friends who happen to be wives or girlfriends of athletes. She can’t say she came into the relationship completely oblivious to the downsides of dating a professional player.

“Not really,” she shrugs, “All the other guys can find some sort of balance, but not you. All the other girls get a proper boyfriend, someone who spends time doing what they want to do, who sticks up for them when their psycho fans start to turn on them, who doesn’t keep them hidden away like some dirty secret.”

“That isn’t fair, I can’t control that stuff, Talia, it’s not my fault.” He wants to point out that she was the one engaging in their gossip and riling them up, but he can’t keep harping on about something she refuses to acknowledge. He doesn’t have the time, patience or energy for it anymore.

The initial ‘leaking’ of their relationship had caused their first major fight. Fans online had somehow - although Nico can now hazard a guess as to how - found out about the two of them, had dug into Talia, her background, her family, her job, and had found some pretty toxic posts on her social media. They had been old posts, and she had told Nico that wasn’t the kind of person she was anymore - and he had no reason not to believe her, had never seen or heard her act in the ways she had online in what she called her misguided youth - but someone in the PR department at the Devils had cottoned onto the topic, and had warned Nico of speaking out in her defence when the pitchforks started to raise.

He’d told her he supported her, but he couldn’t do so publicly - not without upsetting people within the organisation he had worked so hard to gain the respect of - and she had told him she understood. They hadn’t been together that long, it would have been a little unreasonable for him to put her above his work in the ways she was expecting, but she clearly doesn’t see it that way, now.

“Maybe not, but if I’d have known that being with you meant having my life invaded, my career ruined, I never would have followed you back here, Nico.” She sounds more solemn now - regretful, even - and as deep as her words cut, she says it like a piece of advice, “I just hope whatever poor girl you’ve got tangled up in your mess this time knows what she’s getting herself into.”

“And what’s that?” His throat feels tight as he speaks all of a sudden, his resolve in defending himself fading, and he tries to gulp down whatever lump is forming there but the feeling doesn’t budge.

This is what she’s good at.

Turning the tables. Reducing him to uncertainty of himself, of his actions, of his memory of their time together.

“A one-sided relationship with a guy who will never be able to put her first.”

There’s a point in every game he has ever had the misfortune of losing, as the seconds count down in the final third, where he has to come to terms with the fact that there’s no possible way for him to win. It’s sort of comparable to the way his insides churn when he’s on a plane and it drops into descent, like his body is falling at a different speed to his surroundings, or the feeling he gets in his gut when he’s hiking, and he dares to take a peek over the edge of whatever mountainside he’s trekking up, where his body can predict the fall, and his mind has set on there being nothing he can do about it.

This feels like all those feelings.

“Whoever she is, and I know she exists, she doesn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.”

Nico’s heart pounds in his chest, echoing and thrumming in his ears until all he can hear is the beat reverberating, ricocheting around his skull.

He can put Poppy first.

So many parts of their lives are intertwined, it would be so easy to make it work. They work together, they live close, he speaks to her more than he speaks to anyone else in his circle. They’ve spent more time together as friends than he has with any other girlfriend he’s had.

He’s wanted her for years, of course he can do it.

Except, deep down, he knows he can’t. Being in a committed relationship with someone is an entirely different ball game to a friendship, no matter how close he and Poppy have been over the years.

He knows there’ll come a point soon into the season where he has to knuckle down and focus, can’t let anything or anyone distract him, and he’ll close himself off. It’s what he has always done. He gets in his head, starts to carry too much weight that he can’t shift until that final buzzer blows - and he can only hope that it happens with his team in the playoffs. Winning, thriving, succeeding. And for that to happen, he can’t prioritise anything other than the game he’s already dedicated his life to, his training, and most importantly, his team.

It isn’t about what he wants.

What have you done? He thinks, his chest aching.

Talia is right.

Poppy doesn’t deserve that.

She doesn’t deserve him only being there in the physical sense, if she even gets that at all. Doesn’t deserve him getting snappy and stressed, doesn’t deserve him not being able to give her time, or give her attention or affection like he wants to, or like she’s worthy of.

“I need to go.” He manages to choke out with a shake of his head, shouldering past her to pick up his jacket - needing to be out of this conversation and away from Talia. “Leave the keys, I don’t want you here when I get back.”

He needs to see Poppy.

He never should have left her - he wishes with everything in him that he had soaked up the time he had with her before everything came tumbling down around him. And somewhere deep within him, there is a fragile, wilting piece of hope that clings to the belief he can make things right. He just needs her to hone in on it. If anyone can reach into the deepest cracks of his insecurities, can show him he’s overthinking things and everything is not as hopeless as he has made it out to be, it will be Poppy.

Poppy

The first time Poppy had ever fallen asleep beside Nico was at a movie night in Jack’s old apartment he shared with Ty Smith. Jack had invited more people round than could reasonably fit in their living room, and so everyone was smushed in - each chair and every inch of floor space used to its full capacity. 

Nico had attempted to save Poppy a space, to give him credit. He had scowled at each of his teammates who tried to throw themselves down in the tiny slot beside him - prime space, corner of the comfiest couch, facing the tv directly, a small table to the side where one could keep their drinks and snacks - only, by the time Poppy got there, he had barely gotten away with man-spreading to make room, so the small section of the couch between Nico and the arm rest had become her designated spot.

It was cosy, to put it nicely. He had to swing his arm over the back so that she wasn’t being assaulted by the hard dig of his shoulder with every laugh, and her closest leg was pretty much on top of his for most of the film.

She’d known the guys for almost a year - had been working in media, attending every game, home and away, and had integrated herself into the group pretty closely - and she felt pretty comfortable around everyone.

It wasn’t the kind of dynamic she had anticipated falling into when she first got the job with the Devils. She was supposed to start getting serious about her life - cracking down on mingling with co-workers and throwing herself into new social circles, and focusing on building a career for herself, climbing through the ranks and attaining the kind of success and happiness she could shove in her family’s disapproving faces - but the guys had charmed her.

Jack had been somewhat relentless in his pursuit of Poppy’s friendship. He rarely took no for an answer when it came to inviting her out. He was new to New Jersey - a much younger player in a slightly older team - and his rookie season had been rough, so it came naturally to Poppy to want to provide comfort. She introduced him to some of her friends, showed him her favourite spots close to his apartment, found him a decent barber, picked up extra fruit whenever she went to the farmers market near her parent’s house and took it over to his and Ty’s place when she came back home so she could mother him into having his 5-a-day as if he didn’t have access to the best nutrition coaches in the country. Despite her best efforts, Jack had weaselled his way under her skin in the way only a brother could.

Nico’s charm was entirely different.

Nico’s charm came in the form of convenience at first - in the oh I live that way, I can drive you and I have some time, I can do some media stuff for you type of way. Convenience blended into companionship - I haven’t eaten either, we should go for lunch together and I’ve been wanting to watch that movie, do you want to watch it with me?

It turned into grabbing food together, even on days neither of them were working - breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, even coffee or sometimes drinks if they could meet up with the rest of the team. It turned into him spending time at her place, whether it was helping her paint her apartment, putting up her new wardrobes, or just binging whatever crazy long series Poppy had decided to start over from the beginning - she provided him with a sense of familiarity and calm he couldn’t really find in anyone else he had met in his time in the states. She became his person, his home away from home, away from home.

And he became hers. 

There wasn’t as much she had to escape; her job not as strenuous, the expectations of her not as high, but when things built up for her - when her mother became overbearing, or her latest endeavour into a relationship crashed and burned - Nico was there. He’d make sure she had a distraction, made sure she was looking after herself, and, in turn, would look after her as well. He made sure she got home safe on nights out, or when they returned from a roadie and landed late - he would always make sure to see her off into the comfort of her own home before he went back to his own. 

And that first time she’d fallen asleep beside him, he’d done the same.

He’d wrapped an arm around her to make her as comfortable as possible for as long as he could, and when the movie had finished - when her face was burrowed into the side of his chest, soft snores falling from between her lips - he gently drew her back to consciousness with his hand stroking at her cheek.

She’d been a little startled, hand shooting up to wipe at her chin and thankful she hadn’t been drooling on him - although with the easy smile he was giving her, she had thought he of all people wouldn’t have minded. 

“Movie’s done, do you need a ride home?” His voice had been low and soft as not to worsen her apparent disorientation, and his hand was still lingering by the side of her face.

She had nodded, blinking away her sleepiness, and working her way up from the couch and onto her feet, stretching out her muscles as Nico did the same.

The two of them bid their goodbyes to the rest of the guys, made their way together to Nico’s car, and he had driven her back to her apartment, chatting on the drive about work and training. 

Poppy had been cramming to prepare for her interview for the Foundation at the time - had been getting herself seriously worked up, staying up late, getting up early, barely allowing herself any time for anything fun - and Nico had seen right through her. 

He’d stopped her before she got out of the car, had held her hand, rubbing at her knuckles with his thumb, and had told her that she should get some proper rest, and that she was going to absolutely rock their world in her interview in a few days time. And, knowing she was going to ignore any instruction he gave to make herself some decent dinner and go to bed early, had ordered her favourite Japanese takeout to be delivered a good half an hour after she got inside, with a text that followed telling her to sleep straight after she had finished.

She’d never expected to drift asleep with him on Jack’s couch - had never expected to open her eyes to the sight of his looking so warmly back at her.

And she hadn’t expected the same thing this morning, because, as her eyes drifted open to the intrusive light peaking through the cracks in her curtains, it wasn’t the first time she had woken up.

The first time had been to subdued movements, a slight groan of her bed frame, and the soft pattering of footsteps leading away. It had been to a hushed voice, the creak of her bathroom door, the flush of a toilet and the uttering of a name she had hoped she would never have to worry about again.

Talia.

The rest of his words had been uttered in his own language, but that she could understand.

She had acted purely on fight or flight instinct, laying back and pretending she was asleep - although as soon as she did, she regretted it, her mind racing at the million and one other possibilities she could have gone with. Sitting up, waiting for him to come out and asking him what was going on being the most rational.

But when had she ever gone with the most rational thought?

She tried not to react as she felt his presence, felt the soft press of his lips to her skin, or the placement of her bunny in her arms. Tried not to follow him as soon as he departed her bedroom, beg him to come back and whatever was going on could wait until the proper turn of the morning. Tried not to get up and go after him when the click of the lock to her main door echoed throughout the empty apartment.

And she tried not to cry as she laid in bed, overthinking herself back to sleep, thoughts racing to the point of exhaustion, and hoping when she woke up again it had just been a god-awful dream.

But it hadn’t.

The spot beside her in bed is empty, not even a crease in the pillow to prove he was ever there - only the t-shirt of his she still adorned, the one that when she takes a deep inhale, still smells like him, and the distinct aching between her thighs.

She finds more evidence of their night together in the bathroom, where she undresses herself with sore muscles and glances in the mirror to see the spattering of purple marks forming on her chest and neck. Her fingers trace over them lightly, her fleeting touch bringing vivid images forth of his lips pressing to her skin, practically able to feel the pressure of her flesh being nipped and bitten again.

He had been so attentive to her - so in tune with what she needed and wanted, and so ready to give her whatever that may be. He’d been gentle at some points, and purposeful at others, and every little thing he did, he did it with sweet disposition.

The kind of man who treats a girl like that doesn’t just leave her in the dead of night with no good reason, right?

Her mind races despite her body going into auto-pilot throughout her morning routine. Her shower is over in the flash of an eye, she strips her bed, starts her laundry, makes herself some tea and gets herself dressed - all the while weighing out all the possibilities of what could have taken him away from her, and what she would be able to understand. 

That quickly turns to her imagining the worst, and a tight, constricting feeling starts to consume her chest. 

There isn’t a single part of her apartment she can get away from the thoughts buzzing around her brain - her kitchen marred with the memory of what had happened on the counter, her couch, her bedroom, her bathroom - all carrying distinct memories of Nico that she needs to bench until she knows the truth.

She mistakenly thinks her escape might lie in her phone. There might be a text there waiting, explaining everything and relieving all the anxiety that has welled up in her very core.

Nia’s warnings from the night before don’t ring quick enough in her mind as the screen comes to life, the immediate barrage of notifications flooding in.

2 missed calls from Mom

Mom: Just calling to remind you of proper table etiquette in case it has slipped your mind, I won’t have you embarrass me in front of a Lyon.

Mom: Cutlery going from the outside in, hold your wine glass by the stem and dab with your napkin, don’t swipe!

Mom: Also let the man tuck your chair in and pay the bill, this 21st century woman nonsense is very unbecoming!

Mom: And I don’t want to have to bring this up but for the love of God, Poppy, have some class. I don’t want to hear mutterings of your promiscuity at the next luncheon.

Whoever taught her mom to text deserves a prison sentence, she thinks.

Tucker Lyon standing a girl up and ghosting her attempts to contact him is what’s unbecoming, not her trying to pay her half of the meal.

She can picture her mother as she reads the texts, sipping on her Manhattan on the couch in the great room, her dad already having retreated to bed at that time, and her having nothing better to do than sit and stew on her daughter’s sex life.

If she knew what was really going down last night, her mom would probably have a conniption.

Knowing she’ll no doubt be getting a call later that evening, Poppy swipes away at her text thread with her mom, immediately checking the notifications she hasn’t long received from her best friend.

Nia: hey if you happen to release yourself from Nico’s wandering hands at all today me and Kelsey are grabbing breakfast by my work!!

Nia: if you need refuelling we’ll be at Marco’s at 9 😘 

Perfect. Therein lies her escape. Breakfast with her best friends, where they can hopefully talk her down from the ledge she’s precariously placed herself on.

A catch up with her girls, and then she can distract herself with work.

Poppy: I’ll be there!!

“Hasn’t he text you or anything?” Nia asks, covering her mouth as she chews on her breakfast bagel, the three girls sat around a table inside their favourite cafe close to Nia’s office.

When Poppy and Nia had first moved in together, they rented an apartment in Hoboken, not too far, and their tradition of grabbing breakfast at Marco’s carried on despite Poppy living further down the river and working even further away in Newark. 

Kelsey had lived in Manhattan at that time, but she stayed over so often with the other girls that she practically spent majority of her week there, and so Poppy and Nia’s routine became hers.

Poppy had given the two of them a brief rundown of her night with Nico, a safe-for-work version of events, all leading up to the mysterious early morning phone call and swift departure.

“Nope,” she sighs, swiping to refresh her messages as if she hasn’t put her phone on loud just to be alerted when he does reach out.

“Have you text him?”

“Nope,” she repeats, putting the phone down and leaning back in her chair, running a hand through her already messed up hair. She’s going to have to throw it up if she wants to look any sort of presentable when she gets to work later.

“Is he usually this pathetic at communicating?” Kelsey asks, manicured nails swiping at a bunch of Sweet’n Lows like she’s trying to play Tetris with the packets. 

Kelsey hasn’t met Nico before, not that Poppy can remember.

Despite considering her one of her closest friends, their personal lives have never quite intertwined like that - not like hers and Nia’s.

In college, things were different. They were coming into their own together, figuring out just what they wanted their personal lives to be, and so Kelsey, Poppy and Nia would all share pretty much everything, just to have someone there to validate their feelings.

But that changed once they graduated.

Kelsey moved in with her boyfriend, Liam - who just so happens to be Poppy’s idea of hell-spawn.

The kind of guy her mother would probably love.

Liam worked on Wall Street, couldn’t go five minutes of conversation without talking about stocks or investment funds. His native language was risky money moves and belittling remarks, and he treated Kelsey like an accessory to parade around in public and discard in private.

Poppy had tried a few times to open Kelsey’s eyes to the way that it was, but it soon became apparent that she had to let her friend make her own mistakes, and some parts of their lives didn’t have to cross over.

They broke up around Thanksgiving, and Poppy had tried with all her might not to show her relief, but it has made her somewhat resentful when it comes to other relationships - like no one can be happy if she isn’t.

She knows it isn’t malicious, but she restrains from letting Kelsey all the way in, all the same.

“Not really,” Poppy lies, not wanting to clue her in on the Big Freezewhere he didn’t speak to her for months on end. It doesn’t entirely help her case. “I just don’t get why he’d sneak out to see her of all people, he told me they weren’t ever that solid, that he wasn’t happy with her.”

“Ooh, what if she’s pregnant?” Kelsey is entirely oblivious to the horrific realm of possibility she has just opened Poppy up to, evidenced by the casual chuckle and subsequent sip of her coffee. “Maybe she’s back to baby-trap him.”

Poppy thinks she would have to flee the state.

Nico is a family guy - if Talia is pregnant, he’d force himself to love her again, if he ever even stopped, for the sake of their gorgeous brown eyed, floppy haired baby, and push Poppy to the side just like he had before. And she’ll have to watch him from the sidelines, yearning for what she had just managed to touch the tips of her fingers to before it was violently yanked from her grasp. 

Maybe she’d have to flee the country even - move somewhere remote where she doesn’t even have the chance of being reminded of hockey, let alone of him.

Somewhere with no coffee shops that she’d enter, and the smell of fresh pastries would remind her of all the breakfasts they had together. No railways, where she’d be reminded of his love for model trains every time she came across the tracks. No weird club music that he loves so much, or dorky wizard franchises he chastises her for never having seen.

Maybe Antarctica. They only have penguins there. No real civilisation that she knows of. No brown haired, dark eyed Swiss Gods with deep, honeyed voices that make her knees weak and dimpled smiles that do even worse.

She wouldn’t be able to cope with losing him like that, living her life in an endless mental cycle of what ifs and maybes.

“Kelsey, I beg of you to read the room,” Nia chastises, swatting the girl on her arm before taking Poppy’s hand in her own. “Don’t listen to her, she just wants us all to be single at the same time.”

“Sue me for wanting to have fun! It would be just like college, you and me full-body plunging into the dating pool. Imagine the chaos, Pop, you don’t wanna be tied down to a guy hung up on his ex right now.”

“Dating pool?” Nia scoffs, turning to glare at her, “You’re hardly dry from your last relationship.”

“I’d rather be a grape than a raisin, Ni.” Kelsey chides back, and Poppy can’t help the twitch of her lips at the horrific comparison. 

“You’re really gonna listen to a girl who says that?” Nia asks, unable to mask the glint of humour in her eyes, and Kelsey bites back a smile, too.

Despite the ache in her chest at the thought of any of it - of Nico leaving her this morning, filling her up with empty words and false promises, potentially knocking up an ex girlfriend he is still secretly hung up on even though he told her otherwise - she manages to crack a full smile.

“You are terrible at analogies, Kels,” Poppy tries to hide the grin behind her cup, sipping at her tea and letting the warmth of it soothe the pain in her throat. 

“I’m trying to encourage you to be a strong, independent woman here!”

“She is a strong, independent woman,” Nia defends, “She also happens to be a chronic over-thinker with a deep seated fear of confrontation.”

“I don’t fear confrontation.”

“Then why are we here chit-chatting about hypothetical scenarios when you could just text him and ask what’s up?”

“Maybe ‘cause that’s scary?” Poppy scoffs, only half joking. “What am I supposed to say, hey I just so happened to eavesdrop on your private conversation before you fled my apartment this morning, and despite me not understanding most of it, I definitely heard you mention someone, so could you just let me know if your gorgeous model ex girlfriend is pregnant with your perfect specimen baby?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, you don’t even need us.”

Poppy rolls her eyes.  

She could text him. Could be casual about it, a good morning or even an are you okay? Those don’t warrant the alarm bells she’s afraid of raising - the ones that blare out with the siren sound of run, this girl is unhealthily attached to you already!

But she doesn’t want to be the pathetic girl chasing after the guy sending her clear messages that he doesn’t want her.

It’s easier said than done not to overthink the whole thing - not to second guess everything he had said, or everything she had done last night.

She feels like she had rushed things. It was so impulsive, so charged, and after spending the majority of her week away from him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. And that makes her feel like a hypocrite. She had told him that night he had first kissed her that things between them had gotten intense. It had been the whole reason for spending a few days outside of each other’s company, and in the first possible instance, she had thrown herself at him.

It was desperate.

And maybe that scared him.

It sure as hell scares her.

“I don’t know what to do,” She groans, throwing her head into her hands and scrunching her eyes shut to try and drown out the endless doubt. 

She feels two hands rub at either sides of her back, “Listen, Pop,” Nia is the first to attempt to console her, as always, and Poppy holds her breath for the harsh reality check she’s about to throw her way. “You know I am the one person who would usually be trying to convince you to cut your losses and run when it comes to guys who are no good, but this is Nico. I’ve watched the two of you ignore your feelings for far too long to let you get in your own way, now.

“And you’re forgetting I saw him last night, before you got there, there isn’t a chance in Hell he would have left you like that without a good reason. I don’t for a second think he’s still hung up on her.” Nia casts a side eye to Kelsey.

The only problem is that Poppy isn’t sure there’s a reason good enough. Not when it comes to Talia. Not when the memory of those months of radio silence is still so fresh for her.

“I have to go to work in a building where his face is plastered everywhere, Ni, I can hardly forget his entire existence until he deems me worthy of an explanation. Who leaves after a night like that without even a note or a text?”

“An idiot,” Kelsey mutters around her drink, rolling her eyes when Nia sends her another death-glare.

“I’m not asking you to forget, I’m telling you to wait.” Nia frowns, but her tone remains consoling and warm. “You need to stop letting what this thinks,” she flicks at Poppy’s forehead, “Get in the way of what this knows.” She points to her chest on the left side. “You know him. You know how much he likes you.”

She does.

She knows Nico, she trusts him.

She can only judge him based on his actions so far - the ones that tell her that he cares. He leads with his heart, it’s his most attractive attribute. He’s gentle and loving and she needs to focus on those things over anything else.

“Ugh, corny,” Kelsey drags, and despite her repeated efforts to discourage her, Poppy knows she isn’t being entirely serious. “If he has any non-stupid hot athlete friends though, I’m first in line when the two of you kiss and make up for double dates.”

Guilt pricks slightly at Poppy’s chest - for making her recently single friend sit here and listen to her complain about something so monumentally small compared to the breakdown of the long-term relationship Kelsey had just endured. Even if it was perceivably toxic.

“You’d make such a good WAG, Kels.”

It’s a poor attempt to make up for it, but it seems to console her friend all the same, a giant grin breaking out and flashing her perfect pearly whites.

“I know.”

Poppy tries to distract herself with work. Tries to make her way through her inbox of seemingly never ending emails and her list of ever-growing tasks. She types up lengthy responses, puts together a presentation, makes a bunch of phone calls she’s been putting off for God knows how long, sorts all her invoices out - she even sends a fax. In the year 2024. It’s her most productive work day she thinks she’s ever had.

She zeroes in on the ground every time she moves through the building. Ignores the pictures that line the walls of the Rock, pushes down the memories of all the times she’s walked these very halls by Nico’s side, and she thinks she’s done just about enough to clear her mind for the time being.

She hasn’t thought up some heart wrenching scenario in at least an hour by the time she’s wrapping up for the day.

She’s making her way back to her office after dropping some files off for Elaine when she catches sight of a mop of curls over the top of the chair by her desk.

Luke is sat in her chair when she enters, swivelling around and staring at the ceiling.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick doing that, you know.”

“You’re such a mom,” he scoffs, standing up and clearly trying not to sway, “You ever tried having fun? I think I saw a glue stick on a table out there,” he points through the door into the wider office space, where there are a few, less private cubicles and a common area. “We should go sniff them, let loose a little.”

“Is that why you’re here on your day off? To huff glue?”

“Yeah, I don’t get to let loose enough. Being a rookie in the NHL is hard, Poppy,”

“Bummer for you.” She pouts, mockingly, swerving past him as he rounds her desk and sits on the other side, flicking at the bobblehead version of his older brother that stands by her computer. “If you’re chasing a high can you do it with one of the other departments, it’s not a good look for the Youth Foundation.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

When Luke had first joined the Devils, she hadn’t expected that she would warm to him the way she has - but, surprisingly enough, considering the fact they’re brothers, their relationship recently has started to mirror her and Jack’s.

Luke is funny. He’s sarcastic and a little silly, and it can be nice to have him around when work gets a little stressful. He doesn’t let the pressures of his own career outweigh those of hers, and, despite the gap in age, she actually enjoys his company.

But he never seeks her out like this.

Their interactions have always started through other people. Group conversations that dwindle to just the two of them, or he usually accompanies Jack to bug her and carries on when Jack’s ever-so-busy schedule takes him elsewhere.

She can’t think of another time he’s just shown up in her office alone.

Especially on his incredibly rare day off.

“Why are you actually here?” She asks, casting a suspicious but half-playful glare his way as she starts to pack up her things. 

“Came to see if you wanted to join us for dinner.”

“Aw Lukey,” she reaches over her desk to pinch his cheek, “I’m flattered and all but I’m a little too old for you.”

“Ha ha,” he swats her hand away, “Us. Me and Jack. Maybe a couple of the others if they’re free but you can pick where we go if you make a decision quickly, we were thinking a steakhouse.”

She narrows her eyes at him, expecting him to crack a joke about her being old, but he just looks back at her awaiting a response. “Why?” She drags out the question, her movements stopping completely.

“Maybe ‘cause humans need sustenance to live? What do you mean, why?”

“Why would you want me to tag along on your bro date?”

“Don’t call it a bro date,” Luke cringes, “Just remembered you were working today and we were in the area, don’t know why you’re being weird about it.”

“You’re being weird. You guys never let me choose where we eat. Don’t you remember that time we grabbed dinner when you guys drove me home and Jack told me to stop being a pussy about my seafood allergy ‘cause he wanted sushi.”

“Don’t blame me for the crimes of my brother, Poppy, he was obviously joking.”

“I had to eat tofu, Luke, I don’t find that very funny.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“That depends, how do you have your steak?”

“Well done.”

“Oh! Then absolutely not.”

“Remind me never to try to be nice to you again.” He scowls as they make their way out of her office, and she locks up behind the two of them.

“Gladly, it’s creeping me out.” She grabs at his elbow before he can carry on, stopping him in the otherwise empty common area where she knows no one is around to listen in. “Is something going on, seriously?”

Luke rolls his eyes, but she knows him well enough that it’s only done in an attempt to avert from her gaze. 

Bingo. He’s hiding something.

“I just thought you might want some company.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets and twisting his lips to keep from saying much more.

“Why?”

If Poppy wanted to spend her life getting a straight answer out of people for a living, she’d have become an interrogator. What is it with these guys and their inability to answer a simple question?

“Jack said you left the party last night with Nico.”

Poppy’s eyebrows scrunch so close together that she can feel a deep crease form between them. What on earth does that have to do with asking her to dinner? Or being overly nice to her?

Unless-

“You’ve seen him?”

“This morning.”

“Oh.”

All of her efforts from throughout the day seem to have been for nothing - an immediate rush of insecurities flooding her mind.

Where did he see him? What did he say? Was he okay? Was Talia there?

She feels like she can gauge an answer from the way Luke looks. Sheepish, almost, like he doesn’t want to say something he knows will hurt her feelings.

She had to have been with him. He wouldn’t just show up to her office like this if it wasn’t something that would seriously hurt.

She wishes she wasn’t the kind of person who did this - who filled in the gaps of conversations and always came out with the worst possible outcomes - but she can’t help it. She’s been doing it all her life, and there’s rarely ever an instance where her instincts have led her astray.

She knows it’s some weird part of her mind protecting her, but she needs to do something here. Nia’s words from earlier ring like a warning. Don’t let what her brain thinks get in the way of what her heart knows.

Her heart knows Nico wanted her. Knows Nico liked her. Knows Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

She needs to figure things out for herself and stop running, stop letting her mind fill in the gaps of a situation it can’t even comprehend to begin with.

She reaches her arms around Luke’s shoulders, stretching up on her tip toes to pull him into a hug before rubbing her knuckles into his curls, affectionately.

Luke Hughes is sarcastic and silly, and he cares enough about her to not want her to be alone if she’s going through something.

“Thank you for the offer, Luke, but I’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, a tender smile tugging at the corners of her stubborn lips. It takes over her face, eyes glinting fondly and cheeks warming. 

“Yeah, you can walk me to my car if you’re that worried about me though.” She loops her arm through his elbow as they make their way to the parking lot, and when they get there, he makes sure she’s in her car and has set off before him and Jack leave.

As if her day can’t get any worse, the elevator in her building is cordoned off with tape and a sign when she gets home, and she has never regretted moving up a floor as much as she does when she’s trudging up 6 flights of stairs.

She’s exhausted. Emotionally and physically, and she just wants to throw herself into bed and pretend the last 24 hours were a terrible dream.

Only, as she rounds the final corner to get to her door, any hopes of that go straight down the pan when her eyes land on Nico, standing in front of her door with his hands buried in his jacket pocket.

He looks tired too - hair messed where he’s no doubt been taking his cap on and off for however long he’s been stood here, running a hand through the tresses until they’re all askew. 

His shoulders are slumped, and he doesn’t even greet her with that pretty smile he usually gives her.

His lips do curve up a touch - limp and half-hearted, not even enough for a dimple to form - but it doesn’t provide the comfort she had thought it would.

She feels anxious. A culmination of the day’s emotions washing over in one go. Sad, regretful, nervous, disappointed - all things she shouldn’t be used to feeling when it comes to Nico, but are all too familiar when she takes the last few months into account.

“Hi.” She gives a weak smile of her own.

“Can we talk?”

She wishes he’d have just said hi, back. That might have relieved the tightness in her chest just a little.

Nothing good ever comes of can we talk?

He steps aside as she approaches, maintaining a safe distance as she opens the door and enters her apartment.

The Nico from yesterday might have brushed past her, the graze of an arm or a lingering hand, but this Nico doesn’t. He barely even meets her eye.

He closes the door behind himself, watching as she discards her bag and keys to the console table on the side, and while she’s turned away from him, she tries to let whatever emotions need to come out cross her features where he can’t see them.

She needs to be cool about this, she thinks.

If she doesn’t get her back up, doesn’t get agitated, she won’t scare him off.

“Are you okay?” She asks once she’s turned to face him, not liking how he stands unmoving by the door. He hasn’t made any effort to settle in - his jacket still on and his hands still hidden in the pockets.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

She realises now that she can get a good look at him that the expression he wears is one of shame. Guilt. Apprehension. She needs to be careful and toe the line before he gets consumed by it, she realises.

She steps toward him a little, and he doesn’t back up - not immediately, not obviously - but he hardly welcomes her approach, either.

She doesn’t like feeling this way when it comes to talking to him - feeling uneasy and unsure, but there’s a part of her that’s tired of having to prompt him for answers.

He had been the one to leave this morning. Why can’t he just come out and tell her why?

“I’m alright,” she shrugs, not wanting to scare him off with the truth. “Super tired, though, can we sit?”

She wonders if he thinks about the same things she does as they make their way to the couch. Wonders if he can feel the scratch of her nails on his torso, or the brush of her lips against his, as they sit in the spot where not even 24 hours ago, their bodies had been intertwined.

He doesn’t sit right beside her as he normally would, and she finds herself missing the way his thigh usually brushes against her own.

She doesn’t know where to start or what to ask, and so she basks in the silence for a little - finding comfort in the fact that, despite the mess they’re currently in, they aren’t quite at the end yet.

But a part of her feels it coming.

She’d known it this morning if she lets herself listen to the rational voice in her head. As soon as she’d heard him say her name, as soon as he’d left, a part of her knew that was it, and maybe if she’d let herself believe it at the time - hadn’t talked herself down and convinced herself she was being irrational - she could have protected herself from all the ways this is going to hurt.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and when she looks up, he’s looking down where his large hands are now clasped together in his lap.

“For what?” She manages to choke out.

“Last night, I,” she digs her nails into the palms of her own hands to stop herself filling in the gaps as he figures out what he wants to say, but it’s no use.

He’s sorry for last night.

Last night, he made a mistake.

Last night, he was drunk, he was confused, he was just looking for something or someone to keep him occupied.

“I care about you so much, Poppy.”

That sentence shouldn’t be the one that fills her with dread, but it is.

“You’re my best friend, and I love you,” he does look up as he says this, eye meeting hers in an attempt to convey his honesty, but she sees more of the truth in his glassy gaze than she hears in his words. “This morning, I panicked, and I just needed some time to figure out what I want.”

No, no, no.

She’d rather he tell her what actually happened than do this. Than pretend he left because he doesn’t want her.

“I love you-,”

“You said that, already.” She can’t help the bite in her tone as she prepares herself for the hit. The I love you, but.

“You’re so important to me. Being your friend, it’s like it’s what keeps me sane lately.”

She chews at the inside of her cheek as she feels the tears start to well at her lash line.

“Poppy, I don’t want to mess up what we have,” he shakes his head as his gaze drops, dark eyes darting to focus anywhere but on her own, pleading and watery as she watches him slip away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t think this is hurting me?” She feels weak as her voice breaks, “You don’t think this is already messy?”

She reaches out to take his hands in hers, digging in to unclasp them, to try thread her fingers through, but he doesn’t make it easy.

“Nico, I love you, too, you know I do, we can figure it out, you don’t have to run away from me.”

It’s a desperate attempt and she knows it is, but she needs to know she tried. When she’s sobbing into her pillow and crying herself to sleep tonight, she needs to know she didn’t just let him go without a fight.

“I can’t give you what you want, I can’t be in a relationship, I’m no good at it.” 

Regardless of what she had told herself earlier, about taking what he says at face value, and trying not to fill in the gaps like she does so often with everyone else, she can’t help herself. When he says, I can’t be in a relationship, he means with her. He can’t be with Poppy. He would be no good with Poppy.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I told you-,”

“No, you said before that you’ve wanted this for as long as you’ve known me, you don’t just wake up and change your mind, not after-,” Poppy starts to feel panic building within her like a flipped over sand timer. Rising and rising until she starts to feel nauseous, getting harder with each second not to jump to conclusions. 

The voice inside her that tells her he got what he wanted and decided it wasn’t for him sounds caustic and bitter, and if she hadn’t wound herself up so much about this whole situation over the course of the day - the past week, even, or the months before - she might have been able to fight off the way it so easily convinces her.

“I have to put the team first, it doesn’t matter what I want, I have to focus on them, on hockey.”

She’s too caught up in her own emotions to notice how weak he sounds - glassy eyes unable to catch the glint in his. All she can hear, all she can see, is the minute hints of a cover-up - that she isn’t getting the whole story, that he’s lying to her, and that the excuse he’s giving is cowardly.

He still hasn’t mentioned the call, hasn’t mentioned Talia, hasn’t explained why he left her, why he didn’t say anything, why he didn’t come back.

“And you didn’t know that before?” She scoffs, pushing herself up off the couch and stepping away from him, “I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks as soon as they fall, but she can’t rid her skin of the feeling that they were there, her flesh damp and sore.

“I know we took things a little too far last night, but that doesn’t mean-,” She almost thinks he notices how bad that hurts her, referencing the night they shared as a mistake - an instance where they got carried away, and not where they followed through on years worth of built up tension and adoration for one another. She doesn’t even have to fill in the gaps, this time. Took things a little too far is clear enough. “We can still be friends. I want to be friends.”

“Friends?” Poppy jeers in disbelief, turning completely away from him now and missing the tears that drop from his own cheeks - missing the way his chest cracks and stretches open in a last ditch demonstration of his vulnerability, his desperation not to lose her completely. “You should go.”

“Poppy,”

“I can’t,” she tries so hard not to cry, knowing she won’t be able to stop, but the words come out in a choked sob, and her voice carries on in the whiney way she always hates. “You told me you wanted more, you said I was yours, and I’m supposed to just act like it never happened? Just accept you didn’t actually mean the things you said?”

“I meant them,” he says, defiantly, so sure of himself that it makes her head spin. “I wouldn’t-,”

“No, you didn’t. You’re a liar. You were either lying then, or you’re lying now. I don’t know which is worse. I can’t be your friend. I can’t pretend like you can that I don’t feel the way I feel.”

“Please, Mohn,” His fingertips just manage to reach out to land on her forearm before she shucks him off, wincing as if his touch has pained her.

“Don’t.” She takes an immediate step back, arms crossing over herself as a defence mechanism, body language screaming at him to go away, and she watches his pleading eyes drop to her arms just as she feels the cold of the metal there - so in tune with her every thought despite his denial of their true connection. Her arms move before her mind can make the decision, before it can remember what even sits on her skin, and her shaking fingers fumble to unclasp the jewellery adorned on her wrist. “You should take this back.”

Nico shakes his head, stepping back and away from the outstretched hand that holds her gemstone bracelet like it’s an actual danger to him. “No, that’s yours, Poppy.”

“I don’t want it.” She knows she’s the one that’s lying now. She wants the bracelet. She wants him. She doesn’t want him to leave. She wants to be his friend over being nothing. 

But she doesn’t want to hurt.

Looking at him hurts.

Remembering last night, remembering their kiss, the things he has said, the things he has done, it all hurts, and she can’t keep hold of a constant reminder of the pain, can’t wear it on her person at all hours of the day just to know deep down that the man who gave it to her will never want her the same way.

“I want you to leave.”

“Please,” he begs again, head tilting as devastation floods his features, brows pushing together, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, “We need to talk about this-,”

“No, you were right, we went too far, it was a mistake.” Her voice breaks as she says things she knows she doesn’t mean, but he’s already put it out there, so she doesn’t see the harm in echoing his own opinions. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”

She can’t look at him anymore, and so she drops her gaze to his hands, stepping and reaching forward and forcing him to take the bracelet from her before she rounds the couch and heads to the door.

If he isn’t going to give her the whole truth, she isn’t going to entertain part of the story, and she needs him gone so she can give in to the way her body wants to fold in on itself.

It takes him a minute to gather himself, but she refuses to look his way, waiting by the open door to her apartment and staring at the floor in front of her until his shoes appear.

“I do love you, Poppy. I’m leaving because I don’t want to upset you any more than I already have, and I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but I’ll be here when you want to talk about this. I mean it when I say I can’t lose you.”

 She doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything.

There’s a stabbing pain that’s building and building in the centre of her chest, and she doesn’t even think she can breathe in his presence.

He clasps a hand around her upper arm, and leans into her, his lips pressing a firm kiss into the crown of her head, and he lingers there for a moment before he retreats. 

She manages to push the door closed behind him, the click of the lock louder than ever, and waits a good few minutes in silence before her body is wracked with a silent sob.

The one time she had tried to be brave and fight her own intuition, and this is where it gets her.

So much for Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

> Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[eliotquillon]

after watching 4 whole seasons in less than 2 weeks i think house md is maybe the perfect example of why we need to bring back 20+ episode seasons. like yeah sure there's a very clear formula but: there's time to add sub-arcs! motifs! weird experimental episodes! the season finales actually feel like season finales because there's enough episodes in the rest of the season for the characters to have chances to breathe without sacrificing the momentum or wasting time. it actually feels like there's a passage of time happening without the need for explicit mid-season time skips or exposition dumps because, guess what, the season is long enough that time actually IS passing. when characters change their hair or visibly start to age it feels normal because again: time is actually passing in-universe. i yearn for the days when television actually felt like its own distinct thing!!!!!!! i also yearn for lisa cuddy but that's not the point here.

[skibasyndrome]

something has happened and now I DESPERATELY want to write some he/they/she Wille fic???

[ccycloneblogging]

No internet, so sadly no drawings today.

Doesn't mean I won't be drawing tonight, but I'll post them whenever the internet kicks back on

[pebblezone]

I think she would collect the minions McDonald’s toys

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

Flings this at you, the first fic is finally published after 5.5 months

(AO3 link here)

[narastories]

Little tip: if you write by hand into a journal, not only does that allow you to use any funky little pens you own, but it also lets you pretend that you are not actually writing fanfic for another obscure little rarepair and that it will under no circumstances end up turning into a full fic on ao3. It’s great, you should all try it.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

do you think you could write a little scenario about how leona, azul, jamil, idia, and cater would deal with a sudden bout of cuteness aggression. like they feel that there’s just something about reader right then and there that is so unexplainably adorable that they experience the overwhelming urge to physically express it. thank you!!

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul is the slightest bit irritated by this sudden bought of cuteness aggression, this overwhelming affection completely foreign to him. He doesn’t like that a person has this much control over him, enough to send him spiraling just from a playful smile or silly joke. He considered telling you to leave his office because you were thoroughly distracting him from his work, giving into the conversation you had started that was based on some odd hypothetical. He can’t deny how cute it is when you get excited at him indulging you, knowing he was only digging a deeper hole.

Cater Diamond:

Cater doesn’t have an issue with expressing how cute he thinks you are, even when it overwhelmed him like a slap to the face. He has an entire private album, never posted, of candid pics of you living your daily life (taken when inspiration struck, aka the cuteness aggression bug). You would dare to say most of them are boring, alluding to this being the reason he didn’t post them like he did everything else. It made him pout as you couldn’t be father from the truth! Those were his, for his eyes only to enjoy, and he couldn’t let anyone else see how cute you were when you didn’t even realize.

Idia Shroud:

Idia has to cover his face, almost curling up into a tiny ball as you look on in confusion. He couldn’t look at you a single second longer or he might explode, losing all coolness points he’s earned (if any, but he couldn’t take the chance). The tips of his hair give him away as usual but even as you question what might be wrong, he thinks how cute it is that you’re concerned with him. Perhaps he wasn’t the protagonist but one of many love interests, and you had so thoroughly maxed out his love levels that everything you did raised his affection to this unbearable point.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil does have the tendency to get swept up in emotion, and while he’s generally more reserved with showing affection, the cuteness overload always gets to him. You’re always surprised when he randomly squeezes you in a tight hug from behind, thinking his last name should’ve been considered a warning to any who knew him. You’ll never receive an answer as to why he did this, with Jamil hiding his face in your shoulder to put off meeting your curious gaze until he could think of a way to change topics.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona moved so quickly it reminded you that he was a carnivore, a predator, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His hands grip your face and force you to stare into his eyes, your heart jumping in your chest at the intense look on his face. His own expression remained neutral but it seemed he was looking for something, observing the small details of your face, eyes settling longest on your lips before they drifted up again to meet your gaze. When it seemed you were about to ask a question Leona crushed his lips against yours to silence you, not wanting to answer a single question about his sudden need to be close.

[harmoonix]

ℝ𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕓𝕠𝕨

"Love yourself, whatever makes you different, and use it to

make you stand out."

Astrology Observations

~ I can see a rainbow

In your tears as the sun comes out ~

🌈 - Sun aspecting the ascendant natives will always have an inner "shine" inside them, their energy is so warm and kind

🌈 - Midheaven at 5°, 17°, 29° (In Leo too) gets easily liked since childhood, you know that child everyone likes, they can also be talented from young

🌈 - Venus in Earth Signs is possible the most secure Venus ever as they always have everything planned and in order but also a luxurious style

🌈 - Sun or Moon in the 11th house make friendships for life the same if you have 1st house lord in the 11th house!

🌈 - Mars in the 11th house or Mars in Aquarius can sacrifice for their friends, people dear to them, Mars here is always thinking at the others

🌈 - Moon in the 3rd house natives can tied themselves to others emotionally, Moon here can be very social but also shy in the same time (depends on the aspects)

🌈 - The RISING SIGN in your Aura Asteroid (1488) PERSONA CHART can show your overall aura you send to others/first impression

Fire Rising -> Fierce, wild, brave, bold, confident, stubborn, loud

Earth Rising -> Cold, stylish, patient, chill, respectable, natural,

Water Rising -> Nurturing, with the head in the clouds, sensitive, fresh, sensual

Air Rising -> Invincible, mentally strong, communicative, friendly, catchy

🌈 - Sun combined with fire Degrees 1°, 13°, 25°, 5°, 17°, 29°, 9°, 21° will always the the coolest people, this fire energy gives them popularity and they're well liked by others

──────────────────────────────

I know you, you're a special one

Some see crazy where I see love

──────────────────────────────

🌈 - Natives with Uranus aspecting Sun/Ascendant or Midheaven had crazy/innovative ideas about the world since they were young

🌈 - South Node aspecting Sun or Moon will give you an attachment energy, like getting attached by literally anything, places, people, stories, events etc

🌈 - Aquarius Rising or at Rising at 11°, 23° is known for being humanitarian! Standing for people's rights

🌈 - Eros (433) in Sagittarius/9H or Eros at 9°, 21° degrees. Literally the archer archetype, their arrow will strike your heart and you can fall in love with their exotic nature

🌈 - Lilith in Capricorn/aspecting Saturn will not let anybody to bring them down, because karma always returns. Sooner or later

🌈 - Air Moons/Air Mercuries will have the best music style, wanna have a party? Ask them for music ideas 💡

🌈 - Mercury in the 7H natives are heavenly blessed, this placement will give you lots of closure and communication with your spouse

🌈 - Mars aspecting Uranus natives need lots of movement, they're explosive type of people, they have a unique sense of rebellion

🌈 - Sun aspecting Neptune natives can be the kindest people in the room, sadly sometimes they tend to get ignored by others that's why you need to find good people around you

──────────────────────────────

You fall so low but shoot so high

Big dreamers shoot for open sky

──────────────────────────────

🌈 - Pluto/Mars in your 1st house will change you so much during life, they're both very changing and unexpected when it comes to your life path

🌈 - Lilith in Leo / 5H / in Leo Degrees 5°, 17° 29° have their special charm, Lilith finds herself very creative and inspirational here

🌈 - Some "mini - observations" about Lilith (h12 or h13) aspecting the ascendant ( all aspects/including minor ones)

People will get attracted by your persona

People can judge you for who you are (don't mind them)

People can be curious about your past

You can attract manipulators/toxic people/

You can be confused about your sexual desires

🌈 - Lilith in Aquarius/ 11H / at 11°, 23° is when Lilith finds about all the things that were hidden from her and wants to start something new, wants something unique, wants something different

🌈 - Lilith in Gemini / 3H / at 3°. 15°. 27° degrees have a really sexual/sensual voice let's not lie here, they're openly communicative and can sense what people are feeling without them telling that/ Some people say Lilith is exalted in Gemini but I'm not really sure!!

🌈 - When Moon is aspecting Mercury you find these natives you get easily along with, like you share the same things together with them and that's what makes you special

🌈 - Jupiter aspecting Moon is a very deep placement spiritually, like they can understand things not that not everybody can and their open minded persons can open new doors for them in life

🌈 - I would love to have Moon in the 5H because is a very artistical, creative, lovely place for the Moon to be in. Moon is actually full of life here, and people with those placements are blessed!🩵

🌈 - Moon in the 10H is not far away from being creative as well! But here they put in practice their creativity with their work and their environment!

🌈 - Asteroid Aphrodite (1388) being retrograde in your chart indicates healing beauty/self beauty, is actually not as bad as you may think, Lady Aphrodite is not that harsh here!

I can see a rainbow

In your tears as the sun comes out

────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

🌈 - I heard that when Vertex aspects your Sun you're favored by the men in your life and when aspects the Moon you're favored by the women in your life

🌈 - My asteroid amor in Pisces at 0° is crying right now because every time there is an love asteroid mine has to be around 0° - 5° degrees axis and not aspecting anything 😍/😭/🤡 (Are you joking to me... is in the 2H as well I hate asteroids in this house)

🌈 - Anyways you guys, having amor (1221) in Gemini or 3rd house will mske you to crush for multiple people at once and attracting more love interests

🌈 - Amor in Capricorn or 10H will make you to attract responsible/respectul/determinated partners, some of them can have a reputation (10H energy)

🌈 - Being born with 11th house placements/Stellium can be truly a gift because is the house of the community and desires, you are meant to find your community of people

🌈 - Natives with major 4H placements can have a strong connection with their family/ancestors/relatives and even at raising their own family

🌈 - Sun in Taurus/2H and Sun at 2° 14° 26° degrees are easily liked by people, they have a very caring and kind energy, they are the symbol of peace

🌈 - Sun in Gemini/3rd or Sun at 3°, 15° 27° degrees are like a social butterfly, they're funny, they have a very charismatic energy, they are the cherry on the cake literally

🌈 - Can we talk about Saturn/Neptune in the 6H/12H can drain natives like subconsciously and spiritually?? Like people can steal your energy and mood/even happiness at times. Take care

🌈 - Aries Mars/Venus/Saturn, have a bit of spiciness in them. One thing about them is that they'll love to catch people's attention and most times it works

🌈 - Some "Juno Observations" and things about your spouse

Juno in Leo/5H natives probably will have a spouse who will cherish them, also a spouse who can be proud of them

Juno in the 9H/Sagittarius natives will have that romantic travel thingy with their spouses

Juno in Earth Signs can get married to a very hardworking spouse, that spouse that's always busy with work

Juno in Pisces/12H is so magical, they can have that intense spiritual energy with their spouses

Juno in Scorpio/8H can have very private and secretive relationships, they don't want people to know about these

Juno in Aquarius/11H can date/marry someone from their friends cycle like kind of friends to lovers thing

Juno in the 6H can have a very blessed marriage/relationship because their spouses can be their source of happiness

🌈 - Something underrated about Sagittarius Placements is their INTUITION. They can possess a very strong intuition and clever mind to help them during bad situations

I have a friend who's telling me " I may be stubborn as a TAURUS but I have the intuition of a SAG" love that every time.

🌈 - Having Jupiter aspecting your Moons makes you attractively kind. So basically your kindness can be attractive to others

🌈 - Saturn in the 7H/Saturn in Libra or Saturn at 7° 19° degrees have a karmic love attached to them. They're destined to marry someone karmic as well

🌈 - Chiron in Earth Sings like Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, the wounds can be healed using nature's help. just go out and embrace the nature you can heal that way, mother nature is calling for you

──────────────────────────────

I am here and I see your pain

Through the storms, through the clouds, the rain

──────────────────────────────

🌈 - Chiron in Water Signs like Pisces, Scorpio and Cancer, the wounds can be healed with understanding your emotions and inner child. But also the sea or ocean. Can be very dear to you and may heal you or relax you

🌈 - Chiron in Air Signs like Gemini, Aquarius and and Libra talks about understanding who you really are because from all Chiron signs these they deal with personality or identity wounds is important to find who you really are inside

🌈 - Chiron in Fire Signs like Aries, Sagittarius or Leo is to never let people steal your spark, or things that make you happy, be as you want or wish. Be wild like the jungle and never ever stop believing in what makes you happy

🌈 - When Moon finds herself in Earth Signs she may act more "motherly" or more "caring" this is giving a lot of Demeter vibes from Greek mythology

🌈 - Moon in the 9h or at 9° 21° degrees is when the moon finds herself being very creative/happy/lucky and even justice. You are giving Athena from Greek mythology

🌈 - Having Asteroid Vesta (4) aspecting Lilith in harsh aspects. These aspects tell about rights and justice and power of freedom

In square, at some point, you'll be called to full an important spiritual mission that can give meaning to your life

In opposition, you may feel torn between your desires and your need to fulfill a sacred calling that requires sacrifice

In conjunction, you can find sexual exploration to be an uplifting and spiritual inspiring experience

🌈 - If you have a Libra Moon/Moon in the 7H or Moon under Libra Degree 7° 19°. You're an epitome of balance and harmony, at least, that's what people say about these, but the real side of these placements... can be that they can struggle with indecision even though they represent balance, life works in mysterious ways. Remember that Libra is saturnian as well, and if you have those placements yet a chaotic life, it is karmic to find your peace.

🌈 - Your sidereal Moon can tell about your inner personality, remember how some say sidereal chart is the chart of your soul. So if you have a tropical Pisces Moon can you have a Aquarius sidereal Moon

I have a Sidereal Virgo Moon, yet I don't find myself critical as some say about Virgo Moons. I would rather find myself more hardworking and nurturing 🌎

🌈 - Capricorn/10H Moon, it's a place in your chart where your feelings/emotions get exposed to others, so because of these, some people may think youre a cold person when they first meet you

🌈 - Gemini Moon/3H Moon they really love to talk, and for their best these natives need to surround themselves with people who appreciate their talking skills, don't stay with someone who doesn't want to hear about how was your day, instead stay with someone who would love to hear about your day!!

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𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮

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🌈 - It is known for Aquarius Placements to have the power to influence people! It works especially when our world is literally controlled by technology! People can actually follow your lead (I also adoreeee their humanitarian side because they won't settle for less when it comes to the rights/equality)

🌈 - Because I really love the past life themes and I know that if you have South Node aspecting Saturn you can have and you stoll had karmic past lives

🌈 - Jupiter or Mars in fire signs are very intense so full of emotions, sometimes even out of anger, very stubborn energyyy, gets angry fast. Can't handle when people tell them they're wrong

🌈 - Those born with Uranus in the 3H/6H or 12H can predict things that can happen in close future

🌈 - Saturn/Capricorn in your 12H can tell about having more struggles when you're younger and more peace when you're a bit more mature/older

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𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐰

𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭

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🌈 - I know natives with Leo Moon who have siblings who overshadow them, so in a way, if you have Leo Moon and siblings, you can also struggle with family issues! I also know plenty of Leo Moons that have parents who prefer their siblings instead. Which is very sad because neither of the parents should do differences between their kids

🌈 - Chiron in your 11H or in Aquarius can talk about finding the good people to be your friends. You really need to find your community of people

🌈 - Uranus in your 8H can talk about a very electrifying and sexual energy! I see this placement so rare in the 8H lol. Definitely unique

🌈 People who follow my account know that it stays for equality for all! 🌈

Enioy the post!!🌈😍 And happy pride month even if this one is a lil' late.

H @ r m o o n I x

[gutsby]

If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

[vienssunshine]

It's Too Much

pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader nsfw: dom!reader, inexperienced!Choso, premature ejaculation word count: 1.5k author's note: this idea took third place in the poll, but i was extra inspired from a tiktok my friend sent me description: Choso has been touch-starved for so long that, when you touch him, it can be a lot, maybe even too much

Choso has never felt another's body against his own that wasn’t attempting to hurt him. For all 150 years he’s been alive up until he met you, physical contact meant pain. But now, he’s beginning to learn that that isn't completely true.

There are similarities between a touch of pain versus…pleasantness might be the word—he hasn’t sorted it out completely yet—as a feeling lingers after contact. A strike leaves an aching bruise, the afflicted area reminding him of the injury whenever the slightest pressure is applied, but when you place a gentle hand on Choso’s shoulder while speaking to him, it leaves behind something entirely different. 

The best way he can describe the initial feeling is as a warmth, and not just due to the intrinsic heat from where your flesh meets his, but one that swells in his chest and spreads out to the rest of his body. After you leave, your touch doesn’t require a mark on his skin or a painful sting like a bruise needs to be remembered, rather, the outline of where your fingers laid on his shoulder simmers on his skin for the rest of the day. 

You fluster him with your casual touches–placing your hand on his forearm or leaning your head on his shoulder–but it helps him work up the courage to start acting on his own desires to feel you. He appreciates how you let him take his time as he explores the little things, like the feeling of holding your hand, intertwining his roughened fingers with yours. He looks up to your face, making sure what he's doing is okay, and you give him a gentle smile, telling him he's doing great. There is that warmth in his chest again. He realizes he likes the feeling of you praising him—a lot. 

Soon, he starts asking for more: to cup your cheeks, pet your hair. One day, he asks to hold your body against his on the bed, feeling your softness and warmth while working hard to regulate the influx of emotions your proximity inspires. Yet, it gets the better of him and he asks something that’s been on his mind for a while: if he can kiss you.

You accept, of course, and with your lips so soft and sweet, things quickly develop, escalating to the point where you are on top of him, straddling his big legs, and kissing down his bare chest to his waistband. He tries to keep still, but your lips feel so good and his hips betray that, gently thrusting up and into you.

“S-sorry,” Choso says, “I…I can’t control it.”

You look up from his chest. “It’s okay, Choso,” you say as you drag your hands down his abs to his waistband, deepening the pink dusted upon his cheeks, “It seems like you want more.” 

“Mhmm,” Choso whimpers, watching as you tuck your fingertips into his waistband and pull it down, freeing his sensitive erection.

Your hands wrap around his length and his eyes flutter closed in bliss. Being touched there is a new sensation for Choso and it’s stirring up a feeling he hasn’t had much experience with.

He thinks it’s arousal, which is, according to Mahito, what causes humans to “fuck.” But Mahito always spoke about fucking in a negative light, describing it as disgusting, primal thing humans do. That perspective doesn't make sense to Choso anymore because whatever you are igniting in him, if it is that aroused feeling Mahito described, feels so good he thinks he would die if you stopped. 

“Do you like this, Choso?” you ask as you stroke him. Hearing his name fall so sweetly from your lips sends a shiver through Choso’s body. 

“I-I do,” he says, moaning when you pay special attention to his pink tip, stimulating the sensitive area with your fingers in a tight circle. He’s been unconsciously bucking his hips up into your fist, chasing more of this unfamiliar sensation that has pressure to build up in his stomach.

“Then, would you like it if I put it inside of me?” 

He hadn’t considered that as a possibility, already so pleasure-drunk from feeling your palm against him, but there’s no way he can refuse your offer. 

“Yes. Yes—fuck—please do that.”

“Alright, Choso,” you say, getting off of him, “You just sit still, okay?” 

His breathy whine tells you that the last thing he wants to do is sit still. You smile, he looks so cute when he’s desperate.

“Just a little bit longer,” you say, intentionally moving slower than necessary just to see how long the poor curse can hold out.

He watches as you pull down your underwear, and the second you remove it, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you back on top of him. Then he’s pressing hot, sloppy kisses to your neck, devouring it like a man starved. His passion and intensity make up for his lack of experience, though you note he’s getting the hang of it.

Choso’s barrage of affection is halted by a surprised gasp when you grip his erection and align yourself with it. The hunger in your eyes reminds him of how out of his element he is, but he doesn’t let it scare him, rather, he lets it feed his desire of making you feel as good as he does. 

You hold the tip to your entrance and Choso’s breath hitches when he feels the wetness and warmth of your hole. Slowly, as to not overwhelm, you sink down on him, and he moans—sweet and unbridled—from the way your walls hug him. 

“I’ve—hah—never…felt something like this,” he says, eyes pressed closed, wrinkling the thin black mark running just underneath them. 

Your hands fall onto his built chest as you make it all the way down on him, driving the entirety of his long, slender dick deep within you. His hands fly to your hips when it happens, but then one grabs for your wrist on his chest, circling his fingers around it, needing you to help him through this new sensation. 

“Feels good?” you ask, your voice breathy.

“Feels s’good,” he says, “Too good.” He shifts around underneath you; the pressure he was feeling earlier when you were touching him is becoming inescapable, sweeping through his stomach like a vicious undercurrent. 

“I’m going to start moving now, 'kay?” you say. 

Choso nods but is woefully unprepared for when you begin to lift your hips up and down, pushing his length through your gummy walls. Your movements on top of the information already flooding his senses–your warm skin, rapid heartbeat, fluttering eyes—it's so overwhelming. His head falls back, and even though you’re going at such a slow pace, it feels like your walls are milking him, intent on making the tightness in his core snap.

Choso knows it’s too much for him, but watching your eyes close in pleasure and your fingers dig into the skin on his chest, it makes him want to keep going, to not cum just yet. But with the sight of you naked on top of him and the way your insides are squeezing him, not cumming is a near impossible task. He wants to do a good job for you, to hear you tell him that, but he's sure he won’t last. 

“Fuck, I’m s-ah-sorry,” Choso whines, “I can’t…if you keep moving, I can’t-“ 

“You’re gonna cum already, Choso?” you ask, a wickedness in your voice, “You feel that good?”

You’re teasing him, despite how you find your view beyond erotic: he’s a squirming mess underneath you, with his eyebrows pressed together, face flushed with warmth, and fingers tight around your wrist as he just fights the urge to cum.

“Yes—ngh—you feel s’good, s’good-I’m sorry,”—you feel his cock twitch inside you—“I can’t, I’m sorry, m’gonna-“

He groans, thrusting his hips up into you with a force that requires you to grab onto him to stay put, and empties his load deep inside you, sweet moans interspersed with apologies.

You’d be more disappointed in him for not lasting long, but with this being his first time in a while, you’re willing to forgive—especially after being treated to his endless, pretty noises.

When he comes down, you press a kiss on his cheek, “Too much, Choso?” you ask.

“I’m sorry, you just felt so good,” he says in between pants. His poor body is shaking, his chest is heaving, and a pink flush burns all over his pale skin. 

“It’s okay,” you say, “I enjoyed that.” Only, you wish you had been able to cum, too. Seeing him writhe underneath you has your cunt aching for attention.

He sits up, and you feel his cock move inside you. “Still, I wanted to last for you.”

“Sweet boy,” you say, pushing a few strands of dark hair out of his face, “You did great. I know it’s been a while since you’ve done anything like this.” 

He’s still pouting, but his frown turns into a smile when an idea hits him. He flips you over with ease—sometimes you forget how strong he is—and pulls out of you, keeping your legs open so he can bring his face down to your cunt, wetness mixed with his own cum seeping out of it. 

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let me make it up to you, I haven’t gotten to feel you on my tongue yet.” 

[supercutszns]

bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth. 

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying. 

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known. 

Meet me tomorrow. 

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be. 

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest. 

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces. 

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. 

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows. 

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is. 

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off. 

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.” 

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed. 

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly. 

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck. 

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare. 

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then? 

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.” 

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you. 

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it. 

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip. 

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz. 

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back. 

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used. 

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it? 

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it. 

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth. 

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom. 

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open. 

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin. 

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince. 

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A  gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games. 

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry. 

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees. 

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter. 

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on. 

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling. 

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills. 

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.” 

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday. 

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else. 

Until he pulls away. Like a dick. 

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing. 

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out. 

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him. 

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake. 

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him. 

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie. 

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy! 

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you. 

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges. 

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers. 

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night. 

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees. 

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain. 

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. “Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms. 

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe. 

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.” 

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel. 

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone���s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air. 

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin. 

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.” 

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids. 

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises. 

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake. 

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you. 

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree. 

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real. 

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which. 

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.” 

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever. 

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.” 

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?” 

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side. 

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood. 

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together. 

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway. 

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you. 

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol. 

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you. 

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side. 

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad. 

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away. 

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!” 

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth. 

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?” 

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar. 

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.” 

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing. 

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart. 

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong. 

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply. 

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame. 

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear. 

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one. 

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely. 

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf

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[shewrites444]

arranged [thomas shelby x reader smut]

[ i’ve never written about one of cillian murphy’s characters but oppenheimer has me feeling a bit inspired lately. i haven’t watched peaky blinders in ages, so apologizes if it’s not completely accurate to the storyline. ]

[update: arranged part 2 ]

word count - 2.1k

[ summary - the reader and tommy agree to an arranged marriage that suits both of their needs. despite their disliking of each other, the two seem quite fond of each other in the bedroom, especially on their wedding night. ]

[ warnings - enemies to lovers trope that includes unprotected sex, oral, roughness, etc ]

-

thomas shelby was the last man i ever imagined myself being wedded to, but when my father unexpectedly passed and i no longer had the protection of his people, i had to find another way to make sure i wouldn’t be a victim to any gangs of birmingham - including the peaky blinders.

of course, tommy would never have married me if there wasn’t something i could offer him in return - that happened to be a ton of inherited money from my father, and several breweries i now technically owned, and numerous meeting spots that only i knew about, that the coppers would never find him or his family at, during anytime of the day.

despite the convenience of our arrangement, there was nothing favorable for either of us past the business side of things. our families had been at each other’s throats for years and now that my father was gone, a lot of that tension was, but nevertheless, you can’t expect a peaky blinder to not hold a grudge, even on their wedding night.

“see, that wasn’t so bad.” i mutter to my newly wed husband, walking into the dimly lit bedroom as i took off my white heels, setting them aside the now shut door. i watch as tommy began to unbutton his white dress shirt, and i sigh to myself, but loud enough to quirk his brow.

i tuck my hair behind my ears, walking to the bed and pulling the sheets down to prepare for what would hopefully be a fairly long sleep, given that i’d prefer not think much about who i was now standing across from.

“you don’t have to stay in here tonight if you don’t want to or even at all, tommy. you already have children and i’m aware you don’t want more, and frankly, i don’t want any, so just lie and tell polly the marriage was consummated tomorrow morning. go on.” i gesture my hand up and towards the door, watching his blank expression as i spoke in a more demanding, harsh manner.

he walked towards the bed, untucking his side, his shirt now unbuttoned and his toned, pale body at my exposure, which only made my cheeks redden as the muscles flexed with his movements. i may have despised the man for his profession, but it’s not like he wasn’t physically attractive.

“i may not be so found of you, mrs. shelby, but i do keep my marriage duties, at least to sleep beside you.” he says plainly, sitting down on the white sheets before looking up to me with a teasing expression. it almost felt wrong to see him show any emotion besides, well, none. “now, do i have to make you turn around while i fuck you, or can you bare the sight of me while doing so?”

i roll my eyes with a smirk, laying down and hovering my face above his before biting my bottom lip, glancing at his own with a bit of temptation, but nothing i couldn’t ignore for the sake of my ego. “i’m shocked you even asked to touch me, mr. shelby. peaky blinders have always seemed so forward with what they want.”

he tilted his head, his well-groomed hair bouncing lightly at the movement, now reaching over to hold the back of my neck, running his fingertips through the ends of my hair. “would you prefer i not ask? you didn’t strike me as the type of woman who’d prefer to be fucked like an animal.”

“you didn’t strike me as the type of man to wait until we were wed to even discuss sex, so we’re both a bit surprised. have you been distracted with other women through our engagement, dear husband?”

he scoffed at my comment, sitting up and leaning himself down to peck at my neck lightly, his heated breath against my tingling skin, a pit forming in my stomach at the touch he never dared grant me until now.

“you never gave me any suggestion to fuck before tonight, [y/n]. i assumed you wouldn’t allow me to lay a finger on you. this all seemed like a business opportunity, a plan for protection and financies, nothing more.” he muttered through his kisses, trailing his lips down to my covered chest before looking up to me again. “so, how about i ask you like a gentlemen, mrs. shelby. is this for business, or not?”

i shrug softly, glancing down to meet his seductive, icy blue eyes. “i think i’ll be able to tell if it is or not when you fuck me, mr. shelby."

he reached over to pull me on top of him, grabbing the white gown that dressed me and helping me to slip it off my core and past my arms, tossing it to the floor, which exposed me in nothing but my underwear, my breasts falling out of the fabric and resting before him. he took one hand to hold my back, the other cupping one breast and his thumb flicking at the hardening nipple. i feel him push me down, his lips attaching to the bud as i let out a soft moan, shocked by how sensual thomas shelby could be if directed to do so.

i could feel the bulge in his pants growing, beginning to grind myself against the black pants while he fondled my breasts with his mouth and free hand, the other that was once on my back now guiding itself down to my ass. he pulled himself away from my breast, panting softly to himself as the tension began to increase between our moving bodies.

“take off your panties and lay down on your back, won't you.” he said to me in a more demanding tone. i stood up and did so, spreading my legs before him as he undressed himself at the side of the bed, soon leaning down in front of me.

i chew my bottom lip at the sight of the man before me, but gasp as his tongue links to my clit, swirling and flicking around the sensitive bud of skin, while i only grow wetter through his touch and the saliva that collected against my entrance. i reach down to hold his head of black hair, my other hand resting against my chest while he continued to give me nothing but pleasure.

“this… this doesn’t seem… like b-business to me…” i stutter my words, my back arching at every sensitive touch he brought to my body. my words made him pull away, a smirk on his wet lips as he stuck one finger inside of me, pumping and curling it slowly enough to draw a loud moan from my lips before pulling it out right after.

he leaned down and gestured for me to open my mouth, sticking his finger inside for me to taste my own juices before pulling it out and licking it himself.

“neither does this, how wet you are for me. are you sure you want to take back the consummation of our arrangement, hm? it seems you like my tongue, mrs. shelby. do you think i’ll like yours?” he grinned, standing up and pointing his full erection towards me, holding it in one hand as i sat up on the bed.

i blush, getting off of the bed and onto my knees before him. i take his length into one hand, pumping it slowly as i look up to him, our eyes locked when i lean forward and take his tip into mouth, a heavy sigh coming from his lips as i begin to suck him off. he was thick and much longer than any man i’d ever been with, and frankly, if we were to sleep together tonight, i was a bit nervous of how my body would take him and the aftermath of it all tomorrow morning.

“fuck, fill your throat with me, [y/n]..” he moaned, both hands holding the back of my head as he thrusted himself towards my face. i took his cock down my throat, my eyes closing almost immediately as a tear runs down my cheek from the unexpected penetration, moving my head back and forth as his balls slap against my wet chin.

he tilted his head, mouth hung open as he watched me take him down my throat. i could hear his breath cutting short each time he thrusted, his cock twitching inside my mouth as he edged himself through each stroke. when he could tell through my reddening expression and glossy eyes that i was a bit overstimulated, he slowly pulled himself out of my mouth, leaning down to help me back on my feet and onto the bed.

he kneeled down before me, grabbing my face with both hands and pressing a passionate kiss against my lips, his tongue pushing itself into my mouth, which distracted me from the way he was moving my body off the bed again. he wraps his arms around me and guides me across the room and to the dresser, where he then breaks the kiss and turns me around, bending my body against the wood to where i made eye contact with the mirror that connected the furniture.

"i think this is worth the watch, don't you?" he teases, a devilish smirk across his face as he takes my neck in one hand, the other trailing before my pussy, his index and middle fingers attaching to my clit as he pushes himself inside of me without warning.

i gasp, watching my mouth open as he begins to fuck me, hard, against the dresser. the stimulation above my insides didn't make this any easier to take, given the fact i could already feeling my climax building in a matter of seconds.

i rest both palms against the wood, watching tommy's lips trail to my shoulder as he kissed against my sweating skin, leaving fresh hickeys from time to time, marking me like i was more than just an arrangement to him. if anything, this showed me that thomas shelby may not favor me, but he sure wanted the world to know i was his wife, and no one else's.

"i could fuck you all day, [y/n]. nothing fucking... compares to... how good you feel, fuck.." he muttered between kisses, looking up to meet my eyes in the mirror, his hand moving from my neck to hold my left breast tightly, halting it from bouncing throughout his thrusts. "do you feel me as much as i feel you?"

i nod, mouth still hung open, unable to even speak a word as tommy pulled my body closer, his fingers digging into my clit and forcing me to arch my back down, my ass pressing against him and causing even harsher friction between our bodies while he quickened his pace at the touch, the sound of our skin slapping together overpowering the bedroom.

i suddenly feel his arm wrap around my waist, and then the other, holding me so close and his body leaned so far down my back was touching his core. he thrusted deeper, further than what i even thought was possible for him to go, and so much so to the point i was in immense pain, but god, it felt so fucking good. his cock overpowered my entire body, and i felt my orgasm rushing to the surface, fluids leaking out from inside of me past himself and dripping between my legs, his own orgasm filling my insides within a matter of seconds after.

i feel him slide out of me, catching his own breath and helping turn me around to face him. he takes my hand and places the other on my back, guiding me to the bed once more and laying me down, pulling the sheet on top of me to cover my stomach down, my breasts exposed to the cold air. i feel his lips against my chest, lightly kissing from my nipples, to my shoulders, to my neck, and to my lips, once more. he smiles softly, and genuinely, to me, before snapping out of his sappy mood to grab a cigarette from the nightstand, lighting it.

"do you think we'll be doing this again?" he asks quietly, handing me the cigarette. "doesn't seem like it would be a negative thing to add to our arrangement, eh?"

i smirk, blowing the smoke out from my lips and towards the ceiling. "i wouldn't be opposed, but if you fuck me that hard every time, i'm not sure i would be able to get out of bed the next morning."

he chuckled to himself, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed, sliding himself into the sheets and putting out the cigar. he took me into his arms, lighting running his hand across my hair. "we can see about that. goodnight, mrs. shelby."

i rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes and smiling to myself, partially hoping tommy wouldn't see my vunerability.

"goodnight, mr. shelby."

[leiswxrld]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 (𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 ❥)

pairings: ellie!williams x fem!reader

sypnosis: it’s Valentine’s Day, a special day to spend with your loved ones right but what if a slasher is going around killing only once a year on this special day.

warnings: mdni 18+, smut, college slasher, anal fingering (r receiving), strap usage (r receiving), top ellie and bottom reader, face riding (r receiving), reader giving ellie a lap dance, weed and drugs, praises + degradation (mama, slut, baby, whore), ellie calls her strap her dick, strawberry vape supremacy, graphic content, college au

a/n: happy valentines my lovelies, I know this is a day late but I had to touch up a few things before I could post this and I’ve also been so busy yesterday so it had to wait till I got home, not proof read so there might be a few mistakes, low-key inspired by scream.

credits: @magicalboything @cafekitsune for line dividers ❥

'Good evening folks, this is Heather Gale reporting live from channel 5 with tonight’s news, it's that time of year where couples, friends and family around the world express their love and affection towards their loved ones but one striking question has our community in constant fear and paranoia, will the valentines day killer strike again ?'

'Today marks the death of late cheerleader captain Melissa brown who was found brutally stabbed over 20 times in the chest and stomach in her college dorm room a red rose left on her chest, police say she was returning from a party when she was viciously attacked by the killer, friends and family say she was a bright student, kind friend and positive role model for those who admired her, the community are desperately fighting to get Melissas killer found and behind bars.'

'Police ask that if you have any leads or tips that could potentially catch the Valentines Killer, they urge you to either report it to the police station or to anonymously send in your information, this is Heather Gale on channel 5 and I hope you all stay safe and well this Valentines.'

- -

"Really a valentines party" you reply in disbelief at the instagram post one of the boys from the football team had posted, you couldn't believe they were throwing a party when you were all advised not to throw any especially when the valentines killer could strike again.

"Yeah sick right I was thinking of going" your friend amarie says, scrolling onto the post and liking the picture. you throw her a dirty look, "amarie you know the college advised us not to attend any parties especially after what happened to heather she was killed straight after the party we went to last year" it felt so surreal when you found out she had been stabbed to death just after returning from the college party you attended that year, you remember being in your room when it came up on the news that starville's captain cheerleader was found dead.

"cmon y/n don't be such a whore, we'll all be together and we live in the same dorm room besides I'm pretty sure the killer only kills cheerleaders" she replies and you roll your eyes, "it's not just cheerleaders amarie it's anyone who goes to this fucking college, we're all at risk and were at a higher risk if we attend that stupid party"

amarie turns off her phone paying all her attention towards you, "think about it when was the last time you actually went to a party and got laid no offence but bitch I feel depressed just looking at you"

you cross your arms, "and what the fuck is that supposed to mean"

"it means I feel like I'm living with a christian.. your sex life is drier than a fucking desert" she remarks and you scoff, really.

"difference christians wait till marriage... reminder I have already lost my virginity" you remind her, the last time you really had sex was with a boy you hooked u with a few weeks back but you really didn't get the time to find someone and the only thing keeping you satisfied was your vibrator which was in dire need of some batteries.

"more of a reason for you to come to this party and get laid come on think about it, so many of the girls in our dorm are going we can't miss out on this opportunity besides I hear charlies going to be there" she replies, smiling to herself. Charlie was the star quarterback on the football team and one of the many boys she was frequently hooking up when she got the chance too.

"and that has something to do with me how" you reply and she shrugs her shoulders, "it means that there might be a chance you might meet someone you actually like" she replies, you ponder for a second..it could be a chance to finally hook up with someone.

"fine but I’m only going because I’m getting sick of using my vibrator plus there will be free drinks" you finally decide and she throws you a hella side eye, "girl tmi…” she says and you laugh, “now I need to go freshen up" she says, doing a little victory dance while looking at herself through her phone camera.

it was a good thing that the boys house was a 15 minute drive from your college building which meant you only spent around 5 dollars each for an Uber to get there. the house was the hotspot for most of the college parties that were thrown, a big estate with a pool and 3 floors meaning you could fit over a hundred people inside, "this thong is digging into my ass it feels like I've got carpet burn" amarie says, picking at the bright pink thong underneath her pink skirt.

You both choose to go all out, you in a red boob top and black skirt whilst amarie was wearing a pink corset top with a pink skirt. "I told you to choose the black one at the shop" you remark and she smacks her lips, "it wasn't going to match the cute pink corset top and skirt I've got so I guess I'm just going to have to suck it up" she replies, applying a thin layer of lip gloss on.

You both walk into the house, people stood near the entrance either drinking or getting smoking. you could see the inside of the house bathed in colourful lights, music blaring out into the cold midnight air.

Your strawberry flavoured vape clutched in your right hand as the stress began to creep in, your couldn't imagine that the valentine's killer could possibly strike again this year but the idea of it scared you shitless. You bring the vape to your lips inhaling the vapour as you taste the strawberry fumes enter your lungs, "I didn't expect for the party to be this fucking packed" you admit as amarie nods her head, "yeah seems like the whole campus" she pauses, "and a few other people from nearby attended"

you make it inside, pushing past your way through the sea of people making your way towards the kitchen, "You guys actually made it" Stacy another one of your friends says, going to hug you, "I mean I was expecting amarie but y/n that's a first" you give her a face that screams 'girl really' and she laughs, "no hard feelings babe but I never see your ass outside of your room except if you have class"

"none taken" you reply, manoeuvring around her so you could pour yourself a drink. you decide to do a classic vodka cranberry, basic but could easily get you drunk. "y/n pour some vodka in my cup" amarie says, holding the red solo cup towards you. you grab the bottle, pouring it until it hit the middle line, "girl quit playing pour me some more"

"You want to drink straight vodka"

"I'm trying to get shitfaced not drunk" she replies as if she was pointing out the obvious, you pour some more until it was nearly full. You down the vodka cranberry, putting down the bottle of vodka as you make your way onto the dance floor. the music blared through the speakers as you and your friends danced in the living room, grinding against amarie as she used her free hand to smack your ass.

You felt the unwanted and lustful eyes from every boy in room, ignoring them as you continued to grind against her taking a swig of your drink. Your eyes wandered for a second until they landed on a girl just poarched up against the banister of the stairs, talking to boy you recognised to be Charlie.

You'd fancied girls in the past but never took it further than just straight crushing but she was different, you don't think you'd ever seen her before on campus otherwise you wouldn't forget such a beautiful face. The mysterious brunette was dressed in a white wife beater, blue baggy jeans with a pair of retro red jordan's, the girl takes her eyes off of Charlie to look at you for a second, licking her lips before looking you up and down, not missing the long stare on your half exposed ass.

She had a blunt in her hand, taking a few drags from it before taking her attention off of you. You stop grinding and turn around to face amarie who's looking at your confused, "bitch why did you stop"

"who's that girl over there" you say discreetly pointing in direction of the staircase, "what girl" she replies, squinting her eyes to get a better look.

"that one with the tattoos going all up her arms" she looks once again before grinning, "ohhh that girl"

"that's ellie I only know her cause she normally sells weed to Charlie when we’re together I forgot how fucking fine she was" she adds taking a swig of her vodka, "shit I need another drink I'll be back"

amarie makes her way to the kitchen leaving you with a few of your other friends who were busy dancing on each other, thinking about it now you needed another drink.

You noticed that Ellie had moved to the couch some girl chatting her up as she seemed to not be listening, blunt in hand. she notices you right away, eyes lowered a fraction and manspreading with one leg propped up on the couch. a surge of confidence ran through you as you decide to go sit yourself next to her, she licks her lips turning to face you.

"why'd you stop dancing" she starts, offering the blunt to you as you happily accept it. you laugh, "what did you like my dancing" you reply, taking a drag before handing it back to her.

"I mean I liked what I was seeing" she admits boldly, making you shuffle nervously under her intimidating gaze, "if you'd like I could give you a lap dance" you offer and she raises a brow.

"you want to give someone you just met a lap dance huh" yes and no but this was the alcohol talking.

"yeah if you want I know a few things" you state and she thinks about it for a sec before standing up, "ok follow me doll" you blush at the nickname, taking ellies hand as she leads you upstairs, you look at amarie who's still in the kitchen pressed against the counter as she made out with Charlie, her hands wrapped around his neck as his were around her waist, typical amarie.

you passed so many people, a group of people doing drugs on the floor and the others doing dares on eachother on the other side of the room. her grip on your hand tightened, trying to avoid stepping on the people sat on the stairs to prevent yourself falling. there were many occupied rooms passing through all of them till you found a vacant one, ellie allowing you to go in first closing the door behind you.

the rooms quite big, a double bed with a lamp on each side with little side tables and a vanity behind you with picture frames on top, "you nervous" she asks almost taunting, sitting on the edge of the bed. the new found confidence from earlier was replaced with anxiety as it began to seep in, you've only jokingly given your friend a lap dance but that was only because you were dared to do it but that was out of the question now since you were sobering up and doing it for real.

"yeah" you admit and she chuckles, "don't worry I won't judge beside who's going to complain when they've got a pretty girl grinding on their lap" she grins and you roll your eyes with a smile as you remove your shoes.

the tension in the room was thick, Ellie's hands pressed against the sheets, the overbearing loud music coming from downstairs giving you a headache and the sounds of moans emitting from the other side of the walls, "remember no touching me this is just a dance" you emphasise, going to straddle her lap.

"I got you" she says, keeping her hands to her sides. you start by whining your hips against her lap, hands slowly brushing over her thighs feeling her tense up beneath you. you twisted around, moving to rhythm of the music each movement against her lap making you feel the unsuspected bulge tucked underneath her jeans.

she knows you felt it, fighting the urge to just scrap the lap dance and touch you, the friction against her strap rubbing up against her aching clit, pussy wet just watching you. she instinctively swallowed as your grinding increased, practically fucking her with clothes on, your red laced panties soaked in your own arousal, biting back the urge to moan.

Ellie mumbles in cohesively, her voice low and hoarse as you lift up off of her, seductively moving your hips towards the floor whilst your skirt rode up your ass, exposing the red lace that sat perfectly around your waist. you turn back around, the dim light in the room showing Ellie's eyes that had now darken in colour, her fists locked up tight that they turned red.

You kiss your way up her clothed body, seating yourself back onto her lap as you continued till you reached her neck, leaving love bites all over until you reached her cherry red lips, hovering over them before teasingly backing away, "I know you feel it.... pull it out" her voice low, looking up at you.

"feel what" you innocently tease, gasping when she grips onto your hips, "h-hey I said no touching"

"don't act smart with me...pull.it.out" she tells you and you give her a hesitant look, "what you never seen a dick before"

"no dumbass I have but I've just never done it with a girl" you shamefully admit and she just laughs, "I guess I'll be your first" her hands wrap around your back so that your laying on top of her and gently wraps her hand around the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

her lips were addicting, not like the many boys you've hooked up with who just kissed for the sake of it but she took her time with you, it's almost like having sex but with her mouth allowing her to slip her tongue into your mouth as you moan, your hand going under her top rubbing up and down her stomach.

she pulls away, helping you remove her belt, quickly pulling her jeans down showing the very prominent bulge through her black calvin klein boxers "before you sit on it, I want you to fuck my face with your pussy" your face heats up at her words, embarrassment flooding through your body leaving your clit throbbing.

"you want me sit on your face" you ask almost astonished, "yes is that a problem?" she questions, "well no-

"then sit this pussy on my fucking face" she interrupts and you quickly follow, removing your black skirt and red lace before throwing them into a random corner of the room. you slowly, hover your cunt over her face scared that you might accidentally suffocate her.

she slaps your ass, "lower yourself down more" she growls, gripping your legs and pulling you onto her mouth. you slowly rock your hips against her mouth, ellie pressing her tongue against your clit, flicking her tongue up and down your vulva making your legs tremble, a whimper leaving your glossed lips.

Ellie’s sucking and biting, her nails digging into the fat of your thighs, your juices mixing in with her saliva that dripped down her chin. Your legs shake and ellie gets more faster, your head fuzzy with the overwhelming pleasure you were receiving, you felt like screaming covering your mouth with your hand, muffling your moans.

You never imagined you'd be getting head by girl at a college party whilst there were hundreds of people downstairs, the thought of it made you even wetter and you were fucking thankful you decided to come.

you finally come with a silent scream, gripping onto the headboard as she continued to go down on you until she was done, adding onto the best fucking head that you had gotten in ages. she taps your thigh, allowing you to raise up off of her face, your face heating up at ellie's wet face.

"you taste so good mama" she says, licking her lips and sitting up on the bed. she cracks her neck, giving you a kiss allowing you to taste yourself. "but I'm not done with you" she says, slapping your inner thigh.

"I want you to get on your knees and suck this dick baby" she moves her self to the edge of the bed, giving you room to get on your knees. you follow, getting in between her legs, she opens your mouth with her fingers and slips them inside until they were coated in your saliva before using them as lubricant to stroke herself, tapping the tip against your wet lips.

"say ahh..." you slightly open your mouth allowing her to slip her dick into your mouth, it's been a while since you've last given head, slowly bobbing your head up and down her length, she's just watching you using her fingers to tilt your head up so that you could make eye contact with her, her hands grip onto the back of your messy hair, helping you to go down on her faster your eyes filling up with tears, trying to open up your throat more so that you wouldn't gag.

"fuck..." she whispers, fumbling with something on the bed before pulling out her phone. your pace doesn't falter, watching as she presses the record button, the flash brightening up the dim room. you moan, trying so hard not to choke as you sloppily bob your head up and down faster, eye contact not ceasing.

you felt ashamed yet turned on at the same time at being recorded, ellie stroking your hair back to prevent it from falling into your face. your surprised you had been going on for this long, feeling the evident tiredness in your jaw, drool seeping from your mouth and lubricating her dick. she stops you, slowly pushing you off her, allowing you to catch your breath.

"I love watching you suck my dick baby but I wanna see how well you can take it" she admits, camera still recording. "get on all fours mama" she says standing up as you get up from your knees. she waits for you to get on all fours, arching your back as she climbs onto the bed behind you phone in hand, positioning herself.

she spreads your ass, spitting onto your gaping hole allowing it to drip down over as she uses her thumb to rub it in before prodding her tip against your glistening cunt, slowing pushing herself into you. you gasp, your mouth widening into an 'o', the feeling of her dick stretching you out, but before she could even move there's a sudden knock on the door.

"Room is occupied" Ellie yells, awaiting for the person behind the door to move along but the person on the other side doesn't go, knocking once again, "I said the room is occupied asshole go and fuck some place else" the person on the other side get's the message, walking away from the door.

"some fucking people" ellie whispers to you which makes you giggle. she starts to rock her hips into you, putting the palm of her hand against your back helping you to fuck back onto her. she fucked into you so lovingly but so fucking rough, hitting your g-spot that had you gasping and cursing, biting on your lip and your hand going to grip onto the sheets, "shit"

Ellie doesn't stop recording, one hand gripping onto your hips whilst thrusting into you, cursing at the way your ass moved against her hips. you turn around to look at her, her hair falling into her face as ellie looked back at you. she looked so fucking sexy in just her wife beater, showcasing all the different tattoos she had to offer... you don't think you've ever been this fucking whipped for someone with the way she had you acting.

"you should see how fucking perfect you look on camera...should turn your slutty ass into a fucking pornstar shit" you moan in response to her words, fucking yourself back onto her. your pants get louder, the squelching noises from your gushing cunt getting louder every time ellie pulled back, she slaps your ass watching how it jiggled under the camera light. "fuck.....elsss"

your cheeks were flushed and your forehead was lined with sweat, feeling ellie get deeper every time she pulled you back onto her, receiving cute and desperate moans from your lips as your tits bounce with every rough drag of her hips.

You practically trying to pull away, begging ellie to let you come as she pounded you into the bed, her thumb pressing against your labia, rubbing against it.

You gasp again, feeling her finger slowly slip into your exposed hole the uncomfortable feeling making you clench around her fingers, she curls her fingers almost doing a ‘come here’ motion, whispering for you to relax so that it wouldn’t feel as painful, she gradually builds her speed making you feel lightheaded, this new fucking feeling making you dizzy.

"so fucking tight" she fists her fingers into you, the rings around your walls clenching around her skinny fingers whilst pounding into you as your eyes rolled shut.

You start to spasm around her strap before you know it your creaming around her dick, your climax riding out as she continued to milk you, her pace never faltering, “f-fuck stop els it’s too much”

“be a good little whore and cum for me again” that alone sends you over the edge and your cumming again, not believing you could even come more than twice as she lazily gives you a few more thrusts before pulling out her dick coated in your sweet juices, leaving you sprawled out on the bed, allowing you to catch your breath.

you could hear your heart beating out of your ears, laying there slumped on the bed before ellie stopped the recording. you remain motionless, trying to catch your breath as ellie helped you up from the bed. You both messily get dressed in silence, your back turned as you applied your strawberry lipgloss that had smeared off before a notification on ellie's phone catches her attention, "I-uh gotta go- something I've got to take care off, I guess I’ll see you around y/n" she says, quickly buckling up her belt and stepping into her shoes.

she gives you one last kiss on the lips, savouring the sweet taste from your scented lipgloss before disappearing into the hallway. you look for the red lace underwear that you had thrown into the corner of the room earlier but it was nowhere to be found, you curse yourself deciding to wrap a jumper you found in the closet around your waist to prevent flashing anyone, before swiftly leaving the room.

you make your way downstairs, people screaming and left in a state of disarray , how did you not hear this before……did you miss something ?

a frantic amarie rushes to you, "where were you we were looking for you" she yells, bringing you into a death-crushing hug leaving you confused. "I-i was in the bathroom why what happened" you inquire, pulling away.

"the killer striked again, charlies dead"

[kenobers]

magic hands

Jason Todd x fem!Sionis!Reader

Your regularly scheduled hook-up session with Jason Todd is rudely interrupted by the arrival of your period. As tragedy strikes, you have to ask Jason to buy you pads, perhaps throwing a curveball in your still emerging relationship. this installment comes before this one; you don't know jason is red hood in this one (not that it really matters to this particular story) Warnings: Periods, mentions of drugging, reader having issues with acts of service, afab reader Disclaimer: i'm writing additions to this story completely out of order because i can. don't worry - you're gonna be the one comforting jason soon, just stay tuned. and if you're following me for the obi-wan content, i promise you'll also be fed soon. the sionis!reader concept was inspired by this ask on gilverrwrites' blog! In hindsight, it might've been kinda weird of me, but i couldn't get the concept out of my head. thank you to gilverr and anon! please check out their blog!

Yo

You cringe a little at your choice of words, wishing you'd thought harder before sending the text. Well actually, you cringe at the entire situation. You despise having to ask for help, but you're a little desperate.

Would you-

Too entitled.

Would you mind-

Passive aggressive.

Will-

Your phone buzzes before you can finish typing.

yo.

That was fast.

You take a deep breath. Jason was coming over anyway and it wasn't like you were in any position to have sex like you were planning to. And this constitutes as a bit of an emergency, considering you're currently sitting on a wad of toilet paper.

Can you pick me up some pads?

You hit send and drop your phone on your bed. This is so embarrassing for no reason. Jason's a good guy, he isn't going to judge you for being on your period of all things. He's not going to hold it against you if you can't have sex either.

It was just that you weren't sure your relationship was...like that. Acts of service and all that. A month ago, you wouldn't have even considered asking him to do this. But you'd been a lot more personal with one another lately. Making dinner, staying the night, being physically affectionate while your clothes were still on.

Your phone vibrates and you frantically feel for the purple case in the grey and white sheets. You'll deal with that giddy feeling later.

i don't know, can i?

Fucker, you think, glaring at your screen. You start furiously forming a response about how you aren't in the fucking mood for this when your phone buzzes again.

yeah, of course i can. need anything else? painkillers? chocolate?

You eye the empty bottle on your nightstand. Your stomach cramps painfully.

I'm out of ibuprofen

Then you consider for a moment. With a sigh, you bite back your pride. Well, if he's offering.

...and maybe some ice cream.

you got it babe.

Babe. Heat rushes to your cheeks as the corners of your mouth twitch upwards.

Ten minutes later his name flashes on your screen again, along with a photo of a wall of pads.

which kind

Damn, he was kind of good at this. A flare of jealousy burns through you at the thought of Jason doing this for some other girl. Another feeling you'll deal with later. You circled your preferred brand and send it back.

check. headed your way shawty.

After another ten minutes, the rumbling of a motorcycle echoes through your street. Nine minutes and 45 seconds later, the sound of your living room window sliding open lures you from your bed.

You fight back a goofy grin at the sight of Jason's large-than-life frame slipping through the window, two plastic bags balanced in one gloved hand. Leaning against your kitchen island, you allow yourself a second to admire the curve of his ass in those joggers.

"Hey," you greet, shivering as a gust of wind followed the man. He gives you a toothy grin, sliding the window shut. With a dramatic flourish of his arm, he presents the drugstore bag to you.

"Your essentials, m'lady."

"Oh, my hero," you giggle, taking the bag gratefully. You eye the second bag suspiciously, although the telltale red thank you print and the smell of fried rice give the contents away. "Chinese?"

"Chinese," he confirms. "And before you say anything, I was already picking it up when you texted."

You purse your lips. He was starting to know you too well. You would've said something, would've lied about how you weren't hungry. The idea that he'd already thought to do something nice for you before he even knew about your situation makes your stomach twist.

Jason takes a step closer, trapping you between him and the island. He reaches behind you to set the food on the counter, green eyes trained on your face. It's hard not to shrink below his quizzical gaze. Goosebumps cover your bicep as the leather of his jacket rubs against your bare arm.

Bastard.

"That okay, pretty girl?"

Fuck, he's handsome. He knows it too, know to flick his dark hair just so. Knows how to look at you so that any "oh, you shouldn't have" argument you can conjure up falters before it can reach your tongue. It certainly doesn't help that he's flexing the arm reaching behind you just so.

"Perfect, even," you purr, uncrossing your arms to play with his jacket zipper. "How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it." You try not to roll your eyes at him, reminding yourself that you were opting to be nicer to him tonight. He is your hero after all. His hands fall to your hips, his thumbs running along the bone. "How you feeling?"

You shrug, suppressing another shiver as his pinkie pokes below the length of your shorts.

"Shitty. Like everything hurts," you answer honestly. Your lip twitches and you abandon his jacket zipper in favor of the strings of his sweatshirt.

"'m sorry we can't, y'know, do what we planned." The apology floods abruptly from your lips. "I would offer to do it anyways, but I just, I-I can't with these cramps." Your hips twinge with pain to emphasize your point. "But, I mean, I can blow you if you really want-"

"Hey."

Two fingers tilt your chin up, tough leather juxtaposing soft skin. You hadn't even realized you'd stopped looking at his face. He's smiling at you.

"Don't worry about it," he says for the second time. "Lemme make you feel better. It'll piss Roman off just as much."

You both look pointedly at the bookshelf you're fairly certain your father had hidden some sort of recording device.

"Besides," he continues with a wolfish smirk. "I've become accustomed to a certain level of performance from you and I'm not sure if I'd receive that if you're not at your peak."

"Fine, only because you insisted," you sigh. "And I'm gonna do you a favor and ignore that last part." You turn away from him, fishing the package of pads and the ibuprofen out of the drugstore bag. "I'm gonna go...yeah."

You wave the package in the air as you head for the bathroom. With your back turned, you don't catch Jason saluting you.

When you return, you notice one of the books on the shelf has been inconspicuously placed over a Wonder Woman knick knack. Part of you is relieved to know your father can't spy on you tonight. Another part of you feels a pang of anxiety knowing that means tonight is just for the two of you to enjoy each other's company. As people. Not fuckbuddies.

This is still casual. Professional, you tell yourself. It's not like he's my boyfriend.

You turn to the kitchen, where Jason is pulling plates out of a cupboard, and ignoring the smaller voice that wouldn't mind him being your boyfriend.

He hands the plates to you, letting you dish the both of you up.

Jason sidles up behind you, pressing his chest to your back. You lean into him, letting him support your weight.

"Chinese was a good call," you say. He hums in response, dipping his hands under your shirt to rub your sides. You yelp in alarm as something wet hits your skin.

"Dude! What the fuck!"

Jason backs up, holding two cream covered hands in the air. He looks apologetic enough, but still smirks at the way you glowered at him over your shoulder. It's an awful cute look when it isn't coming from behind an ugly ass skull mask.

"It's just CBD."

You spin around, pointing your spoon straight at his heart.

"CBD- what, are you trying to get me high?"

It's all Jason can do not to double over laughing. He'd take a picture if he wasn't certain you would find a way to lodge that spoon in a major artery.

His laughter has you fidgeting nervously, trying to maintain your hard stare.

"Don't laugh at me."

To his credit, he stops almost immediately. He straightens his posture and gestures to a small round container on the counter.

"It's just a lotion. Helps with joint pain, I use it all the time. I thought it might help with cramps."

You blink. That was...incredibly thoughtful of him.

"Oh."

You turn back to the food, continuing your task sheepishly. All you ever do in front of this man is embarrass yourself. And orgasm.

He creeps back to his spot cautiously. You glance over your shoulder, briefly meeting his eyes.

"You can...continue," you tell him, your tone much softer now. He presses a kiss to the exposed junction of your neck and slides his hands back under your shirt.

It does feel nice to have him massage the cool lotion into your aching body. His fingers seem to know exactly where to go, undoing the built up tension and leaving a light buzz in its place.

"I'm sorry I snapped like that," you whisper. "I overheard some of my dad's idiots talking about some kind of lube that's infused with LSD or something. Apparently it's becoming a popular method for people to get what they want so...little on edge."

After a moment, Jason speaks again, "I wouldn't drug you like that, you know."

"What, topically?" You scoff, dividing the orange chicken equally.

"Without your consent."

You pause. You suppose you hadn't given much thought to how much Jason respected you in that regard. To be fair, you'd never really been around men that respected you at all.

"Well, that's good to know." It's not the most sensitive response, but you're sudden determined to move on from the conversation before you start oversharing. "Let's eat, big guy."

After dinner, Jason applies the lotion again. This time, you're sat on the couch between his legs as he drives the stuff into a knot on your hip. The TV drones with some black comedy series the two of you have been watching at the recommendation of one of his brothers.

"Do you get a lot of joint pain?" You ask suddenly, looking back at him. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Huh?"

"You said you use it a lot on your joints. Do you get a lot of joint pain?" Now he looks at you, one slit eyebrow raised. For a moment you watch him try to remember when he told you that. Then he smirks, a silly view from upside down.

"I do whenever you get through with me," he says, his chest vibrating under you. You give him a look. "Sometimes after the gym, yeah."

You're not quite sure you believe him, but you let it slide, turning back to the TV in time to see your least favorite character earn a smack to the face.

"It was nice of you to bring it."

"'s helping?"

"Mmh," You sigh as he works a particularly tough spot. Your relief is short lived however as the small of your back cramps up. A small gasp escapes you and you squirm and swear in Jason's arms.

He pauses his work on your hips.

"Where's it hurt?"

"Back," you whimper, turning over so he can get to it. He obliges immediately, rubbing the butt of his palm into the sore spot. You groan into his chest, melting beneath his magic hands. "The fuck did I ever manage this shit before you."

He snorts, "very bravely, I'm sure."

You smile at his answer. Clever boy. You reward him with a kiss, pleased when he returns it in kind. His hand doesn't stop its work on your back as his soft lips move gently with your own.

"You sure you don't want a blowjob?" you murmur against his mouth.

Jason nods, giving you another chaste kiss before pulling away. "You're in pain, sweetheart. Let yourself rest."

He moves his lips to your ear, lowering his voice.

"Now, how about that ice cream, hm?"

Absolute professional.