#LMAO WHAT SHE WAS 12 ALL ALONG

[cffeine]

even in these trying times, asagiri has still managed to kill a child.

[fastandcarlos]

On The Mend : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: with your lack of presence in the paddock, fans are starting to worry, little do they know that you happen to be a little broken back at home

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liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 849,183 others

oscarpiastri: another successful week of racing, super proud of the whole team to get the car all the way to P2 this weekend 🏆🏎️

35,058 comments

username1: congratulations oscar, such an awesome drive!!

username2: just a shame that yn wasn’t there to see it once again 🙄

landonorris: so proud of you osc 😭😭😭

username3: surely they can’t still be together, she hasn’t shown her face in weeks…

charles_leclerc: mum is very proud that the two of us were on the podium btw

oscarpiastri: @/charles_leclerc it was all thanks to her pep talk ofc

username4: we’ll still support you osc even if yn won’t

mclaren: the whole team is so proud of you, congratulations oscar!

username5: enjoy the celebrations, I’m sure the team will be there for you at least 🥲

danielricciardo: congrats brother, always nice to see you repping for down under

username6: either something must be seriously wrong or yn really just doesn’t care anymore 😭

maxverstappen1: hell of a drive from you, great to see you back where you belong!

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ynusername posted two private stories

replies

georgerussell63: thanks for reminding everyone I got a penalty yn 😂😂

oscarpiastri: make sure you’re resting, you don’t need to worry about the race sweetheart!!

ynusername: I’ve never missed a race of yours 😩

danielricciardo: why tf are you in hospital and why didn’t you tell me immediately so that I could help!!

nicolepiastri: sending you lots of love sweetheart, sorry we can’t be there to help you 💕

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oscarpiastri: I promise to sneak you in loads of snacks as soon as I’m there 💞

lilymhe: I miss you so much, hope you’re recovering well girlie

landonorris: he’s on the first flight outta here straight back to you 🧡

carmenmmundt: sending you all the healing vibes in the world ❤️

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liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant and 812,948 others

oscarpiastri: wish me luck on the flight, some weird passenger keeps looking over their shoulder at me 👀

36,950 comments

username7: that poor pilot having to drive these two home lmao

danielricciardo: now you get to experience my struggle before you came along 😭

oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo idk how you ever did it 🤦🏻

username8: at least oscar has lando to celebrate with even though others have abandoned him

alex_albon: why else do you think we offered to take you home on our plane instead?! 😂

username9: i wonder if he's going home to yn being there or not

charles_leclerc: you're incredibly brave volunteering to travel home with him 👏🏻

username10: yn should be there with him, i really hope that they're okay

username11: what would we do without these two in our lives!?

maxverstappen1: we tried to talk you out of it but you didn't listen 🤷🏻

username 12: i love how all the boys are exposing lando as a terrible travel partner hahah

landonorris: stop trying to make it sound like we're not bffs osc 💔

oscarpiastri: @/landonorris that's because we're definitely not best friends

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liked by landonorris, alex_albon and 793,722 others

oscarpiastri: seeing as some people want to make it their business, we thought we’d share why yn hasn’t been around recently. a couple of weeks ago she had a nasty fall at home which resulted in a broken leg. yesterday I finally got to bring her home and begin helping her with recovery…just call me doctor piastri from now on 🧑🏻‍⚕️💞

57,492 comments

username13: i hope all you losers who thought they broke up are proud of yourselves 🙄

landonorris: you guys know where i am if you need anything!!

georgerussel63: we love you yn, make sure you get plenty of rest ❤️❤️❤️

username14: sending you so much love yn, get plenty of rest

ynusername: apologies in advance for the lack of sleep you're about to get because of me 😂

oscarpiastri: @/ynusername as long as you're healing idc 🥹

username15: can't believe some of you were so stupid to ever think they'd actually break up

alex_albon: glad to see you're back at home where you belong yn

danielricciardo: do i even want to ask how she managed to break her leg??

oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo if I told you I don't think you'd believe me 😂

username16: poor oscar looks exhausted having to drive and take care of yn too

charles_leclerc: pls tell me I get to sign the cast ✍️

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc i'll save a spot just for you

username17: please make sure you take care of yourself yn and ignore what everyone has to say

carmenmmundt: sending you so many healing vibes yn, we miss you at the paddock

username18: during a time when they need privacy and instead they've been hounded by nosey idiots 🤦🏻

maxverstappen1: can't wait to see all the doctor piastri content from you! 😂

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liked by georgerussell63, carlossainz55 and 682,058 others

oscarpiastri: the only way to get her out of the house atm is to bribe her with coffee ☕️

63,957 comments

username19: it's adorable how much oscar cares about her 🥰

lilymhe: tell her im omw with coffee as we speak to get her out again!

username20: it's so good to see yn back up on her feet and moving around again 🤩

alex_albon: i actually forgot what yn looked like stood upright for a moment

username21: why does it feel like oscar is one of those partners who is constantly checking on her making sure she's doing her exercises and following every single bit of advice

maxverstappen1: yn's injury is really making you look like the doting boyfriend rn ❤️

danielricciardo: if yn ever gets bored of being entertained on a walk by you, you know where i am!

username22: i bet yn can't wait for race weekend again to get rid of the nagging doctor 😂

landonorris: wish you looked after me as well as you look after yn

oscarpiastri: @/landonorris just a shame that we're not dating then really huh?!

username23: anyone else noticed how many drivers have been round this week to take yn out and make sure she's staying active too

username24: @/username23 i think she might just be the most popular wag on the grid

ynusername: i hate you but i love you at the same time these days 💞

oscarpiastri: @/ynusername if the doctor says you keep moving, it's my job to make you move 😂

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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 59,491 others

ynusername: I always knew oscar was secretly boyfriend coded but damn having him look after me is making me fancy him all over again 🔥

12,056 comments

username25: i think i might've just fallen in love with him all over again too 😍

alexandrasaintmleux: make the most of all of the attention you're getting girl

ynusername: @/alexandrasaintmleux oh I am, he doesn't let me lift a finger 😘

username26: soft, doctor boyfriend oscar might just be my new favourite thing

charles_leclerc: if i see many more of these posts from you i might just need a sick bucket 🤮

username27: yn you really are the luckiest having this guy in your life

carlossainz55: i always knew he was a softie deep down 🥺

oscarpiastri: you know i'd do anything as long as it meant getting you better again

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri you're an angel in disguise i swear

username28: i'd break my leg too if it meant oscar piastri was there to look after me 😂

username29: it melts my heart to see how caring oscar has been over the past few weeks

danielricciardo: even i found myself getting a bit excited when i saw these photos yn

username30: everyone needs an oscar piastri in their life

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ynusername posted two stories

replies

landonorris: you're ruining oscar's image with every post you share these days 😂

oscarpiastri: there's nowhere else that I'd rather be

ynusername: we'll pretend you didn't complain that it wasn't race weekend first thing this morning shall we???

carmenmmundt: hope it's good news, lemme know how you get on!!

alex_albon: praying for you and hoping that it's the beginning of the end now 💕

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danielricciardo: thinking of you guys, tell the doctor if he doesn't give you good news i'll break his leg 💞

ynusername: something tells me you might find a few challenges in doing that hahah

georgerussell63: you're so strong yn, just remember we love you

charles_leclerc: the whole family is hoping for good news for you and oscar ❤️

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liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 70,238 others

ynusername: the moment i've waited for for so long, back in my second home of the garage and back supporting my love during race weekend

14,592 comments

username31: make sure you keep taking care of yourself yn!! 💕

oscarpiastri: cannot begin to tell you how happy i am to have you back with me again ☺️

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri the best feeling in the world being able to cheer you on again

danielricciardo: ik just how much this means to you, welcome back to us yn

username32: it's so good to see you right back where you belong again

username33: it feels like you've never been away, I'm so happy for you guys 🥹

charles_leclerc: on the mend at last, i hope you know just how many people can't wait to welcome you back this weekend

username34: we love our favourite #81 fan 🧡

iamrebeccad: i am hurrying over to that mclaren garage as fast as i possibly can rn ‼️

username35: so happy to see you back on your feet and back with our favourite duo again

username36: this is the content we've been waiting for, it's so good to see you back

landonorris: as much as i hate having to share oscar again, it's a joy to have you back 🙃

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˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[ghostfacd]

THIN LINE

based on this thought

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

genre: fluff, a bit of angst, descriptions of killing, they’re like in love ig, ooc!snow (he’s still crazy LMAO), SPOILERS for the ballad of the songbirds & snakes, Snow and reader being disgustingly touchy 💀

summary: in which there is a thin line in between yours and coriolanus’ friendship and something more, leading to a sudden shift in your dynamic

“Coryo! I passed! Coryo!” You shriek in excitement as Casca Highbottom passes one of your papers back. It had taken quite your strength when you were given the task to make new proposals and implements for the new Hunger Games, crying to your best friend Coriolanus about how you’ll never get it done on time.

“Oh yeah?” He asks, looking over at your paper. There was a bright red A+ along with the sloppy cursive writing of Good Job Miss. L/N!

“Good job,” Coriolanus says, snaking his arms over to pull you back into his chest, placing a sloppy but soft kiss on your cheek. “Knew you had it in you.”

The scene makes Arachne Crane let out a moan of disgust, rolling her eyes as she turned to another corner.

“What’s wrong Arachne?” One of her friends asked, and she only points to the two of you, who were too engrossed in each other to notice.

“Snow and L/N, are we even surprised?” Livia let out a huff of irritation.

When Casca Highbottom announced that you all will be meeting in the largest room of the Academy, you thought it was to finally announce the winner of the Plinth prize. The only rightful ones were you and Coriolanus, anyway. And maybe Sejanus, the boy whom you’ve gotten soft for these past few days.

You and Coriolanus entered arm in arm, avoxes had wove through the crowd of students with trays of posca, a concoction of watery wine laced with herbs and honey.

Coriolanus quickly grabbed two goblets, handing one to you and then chugging it quickly down his throat. For a minute, it burned.

“Oh there you two are,” Arachne waves you over, her face gloomy. “Obviously, no amount of bribing would make Sejanus tell me who won the prize. Not like it matters, we all know I deserve it most.”

There was an eye roll from Felix Ravinstill. “Sure Arachne, and I’m the richest man on the planet.”

That earned him a scowl from the girl, who then turned her attention to Sejanus. “He can have as much money as he wants, but he’ll always be district, you know.”

A few of your classmates laugh, nodding in bitter agreement as they watched Sejanus conversing with one of the professors.

“Right.” Coriolanus mumbles, surprising you. He hadn’t ever agreed with Arachne before—calling her a psychopath even—so why was he now?

“Oh please,” the girl snaps back. “You and Y/N are friends with him.”

“We tolerate him,” Coriolanus says, his hand that was holding yours became tighter. “He’s district.”

When Sejanus comes, the murmur of your classmates grows silent, and from the looks of it, he could already tell they weren’t saying much good about him.

“It’s time to assign the tributes.” Is all he says, motioning to Dean Highbottom.

“As you all know, the Plinth prize and money would usually go to the student with the highest mark,” Highbottom begins, clearing his throat. “But this year, we’d like to do something different.”

You can tell Coriolanus has stiffened in his seat. Even though you want to hold his hand and caress it, you know you can’t, so you keep your desire inside.

“Whoever is the best mentor among all of you will be able to win the Plinth prize.”

“Oh that is not fair!” Livia complains. “What if I get some poor weak district girl and she dies 2 minutes in the games?”

“It’s not just about your tribute winning,” Highbottom says, “you will be assessed.”

You and Coriolanus sit through the announcement of which mentor gets which tribute. You had gotten Coral, a girl from District 4 while Coriolanus had gotten the girl from 12. Lucy Gray Baird, apparently.

“Hey, you okay?” You say as you two stepped out from the Academy. “Look at me Coryo.”

He looks up from the ground, his eyebrows furrowed and his face upset.

“He hates me.” He says, referring to Dean Highbottom. “Always has, always will. Gave me the worst district of them all.”

“Hey,” you say, cradling his face as your eyes quickly scanned his. “Don’t say that. We saw Lucy Gray on stage, she can sing and she sure as hell can put on a charismatic personality for the crowd. You’ll be okay, Coryo.”

“I don’t know,”

This was the first time you saw Coriolanus so upset, so lost in his thought. Without a second thought, you pulled his head towards you, giving him a long kiss on his jawline.

“Sleepover tonight?” You ask as you pull away.

“Sure, I just have to tell Tigris first.”

That night, you and Coriolanus talk about your futures under your warm white covers, limbs tangling one another.

“Do you ever want kids, Coryo?” You ask, saying anything that came to your mind.

“Maybe.” He replies. “Only if I find a girl as worthy as you.”

His words make you smile, pulling him closer to your body. “As worthy as me?”

“Mhm. Or else I’d marry out of convenience. For profit. To ensure no one takes advantage of me.”

You shake your head, placing a small kiss on his forehead. “I hope that never happens, Coryo.”

“I hope it never does either.”

You turn over to turn off your nightlight, snuggling yourself under the covers as Coriolanus throws an arm around your frame.

“Goodnight Coryo.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

- - -

After Coriolanus’ little involvement in the tribute cage, Highbottom, to say the least, was unimpressed. He claimed Coriolanus was breaking many of the Academy rules, including endangering an Academy student. However, he agreed to let the mentors visit their tributes and offer them water or food.

You were talking to Coral, handling her a glass bottle filled with water. If you couldn’t get her out of here, the least you could do is hydrate and feed her.

You turn to look at Arachne, who was busy swinging water in front of her tribute. Her tribute almost looked pitiful as the bottle always seemed to swing out of her reach.

Coriolanus was talking to Lucy Gray, a little too close for your liking, but you knew it was just to discuss strategies.

“You think you’re gonna make it in the arena?” You ask Coral, who only glared at you, taking small sips of water at a time.

“Hey.” Coriolanus suddenly comes up from behind you, once again wrapping his arms around your shoulders before bringing your face in for a long kiss on the cheek.

“Hi,” you giggle, continuing to hold on him as you turned your entire body to face him.

Coral let out a scowl of disgust, eyeing you and Coriolanus up and down.

“Coral, meet my friend, Coriolanus Snow. He’s Lucy Gray’s mentor.” You say, pointing at the girl who was currently talking to another tribute; Jessup, you think his name is.

Coral doesn’t respond, only continuing to snarl at the two of you.

“They’re like wild animals,” Coriolanus whispers in your ear.

“Hey pretty boy,” she finally speaks, smirking from ear to ear. “You were on the truck earlier.”

“I was,” he replied curtly.

“Maybe I can’t kill you—but I’ll definitely kill your tribute.”

Before you could hold Coriolanus back from jumping at Coral, you all hear a scream.

Arachne’s tribute had somehow managed to grab the bottle of water, smashing it against the metal cage and stabbing Arachne directly in the throat with it.

“Oh my god!” You scream, running over to the girl. Although you and Coriolanus disliked her, she was still your classmate, and someone who you spoke to on a regular basis.

“You two, off.” The peacekeepers say, grabbing ahold of you and Coriolanus; dragging you away from the scene.

- - -

The walk to Coriolanus’s home was quiet, aside from occasional twig snapping and leaves falling.

“I’m scared,” you finally say, staring up at Coriolanus. His icy blue eyes bore into yours before they softened.

“I know,” he says, cupping your head in his hands. “I know you’re scared, that should’ve never happened.”

“But it did,” you say, placing your hands into Coriolanus’s coat to keep them warm. “What if it happens to us next, Coryo?”

“Hey.” Coriolanus’s face is only a meter away from yours, lips almost touching. “I’ll never let that happen to you, do you understand? As long as I’m alive, no one will hurt you.”

You nod, a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Coriolanus wipes away your tears with his thumb, one of his fingers caressed your cheek lightly. “They’ll have to shoot me dead before anything can happen to you.”

And before you could let out another one of your worries, Coriolanus leans in, placing a much awaited kiss on your lips. He pulls away for air after a minute, forehead against yours.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ll never let anyone hurt you, ever.”

[liberalk1tsch]

This has been an unpopular opinion but i actually think after the books Peeta wouldn’t like Gale not because of jealousy but because he treated Katniss really rough. What do you think?

can’t wait to get cancelled for this one LMAO. warning: if you’re someone who can’t accept criticism of gale, just dni.

i think peeta despises gale, and not because of anything remotely resembling jealousy. HOWEVER. i don’t think he would ever push his feelings toward gale on katniss.

peeta isn’t disrespectful toward her relationship with gale. even when it pains him. he’s made a couple snide comments about their weird dynamic, but he’s never badmouthed gale. ever. even when gale doesn’t pay him the same respect.

peeta’s smart enough to know it’s a sensitive topic. friend breakups suck, even if the reason they end is cos they were turning sour. he’d listen and probably agree with katniss if she brought it up herself and needed to vent, but i highly doubt he’d go out of his way to voice every grievance he’s had with gale unprompted.

internally though? if gale has no haters, peeta mellark is dead.

the last interaction we know of between him and gale is the conversation in tigris’ basement when gale tries to tell peeta that katniss will choose whoever she can’t survive without, which is a) incorrect and b) incredibly reductive of her feelings toward both of them, which is especially cruel coming from the person who’s supposed to be her best friend.

and i never see anyone talk ab that it’s lowkey a jab at peeta too considering gale has previously established a distinct lack of faith in peeta’s survival skills in cf (doesn’t want him to come along into the wilderness when katniss suggests they make a run for it, both bc of jealousy and bc he continually underestimates him (and then proceeds to call him a traitor in mj for doing whatever it takes to survive? bffr guy)).

alas, peeta doesn’t care how gale feels ab him. he never has. but katniss? i don’t need to read peeta’s pov to know this man was utterly baffled at what gale was yapping ab. like. by the end of mj, katniss herself narrates that there’s no sign of the kids they were when they became friends in the woods.

he just doesn’t know her anymore, at least not the person she’s become, and this is when it becomes clear to peeta that he’s been severely overestimating gale’s role in katniss’ life. he only knows what he has seen and what our lovely, unreliable katniss has told him, and she was actively trying not to pit them against each other.

but in the basement, this is the first time peeta hears things unfiltered from gale’s side, the first time he hears how off base he was to assume that there was so much more to their relationship than there is. bc wdym he thinks he has a chance w katniss when he’s not even bothering to factor her feelings into it?

and peeta thought he was the crazy one.

not to mention the fact that of everyone gale saved, he didn’t manage to save a single member of peeta’s family.

and yk what? credit where credit is due — it is thanks to gale that so many people made it out of 12 alive.

but personally, i have my doubts about how hard he tried to get the townies out. the seam and victors village are on opposite sides of town; he would’ve had to go through the town square to get prim and asterid to the meadow. past the bakery. past the justice building. past peeta’s and madge’s families.

knowing full well how important they are to katniss.

delly and her brother are the only townies i can recall from mj, the rest are seam, and he could have easily just plucked them up if they were outside when they ran through the square.

is it a fucked up idea that he might leave them behind in favour of saving seam kids? yes. but that doesn’t make it any less plausible. i wouldn’t be surprised if that same thought has crossed peeta’s mind, especially considering gale isn’t exactly subtle about his disdain for townies.

so yeah. i don’t reckon peeta likes gale at all. but he respects katniss and their history enough to keep that to himself.

i really need to figure out how to shorten these rants of mine lol

[nebuliias]

— hope is a thing with feathers!

ft. sunday and robin as your older siblings (headcannons)

cw: youngest sibling in the fam, gn! reader, family fluff, reader is between ages 12-14, PLATONIC, i went silly on some of them, reader is a halovian but no specified appearance other than halo and wings

a/n’s note: sunday and robin’s relationship mean sm to me its not even funny like HOYO PLZ MAKE THEM REUNITE I WILL SCREAM IF THEY DONT :((( honestly wish i had them as family yk

SUNDAY:

— even though he’s the leader of penacony and doesn’t have time to always spend time with you, sunday always makes up for it when he can.

— if you ever need help with an essay or math homework, he’ll assist you with it. even if it’s fucking 2+2, bro would still help you. heck at this point, he’ll do the whole worksheet for you. sunday loves you that much dawg.

— sunday would be rlly supportive for you, no matter what!! he’d encourage you to pursue your dreams, whether that’s becoming a nameless, a performer for the iris family, or something else entirely, he’ll be there alongside you every step of the way :3

— he’d be a bit strict with you, since you’re still young. would probably give you a curfew for when its night, like making you go to bed at 9pm at least. maybe a little later on the weekends. (does time even exist in the dreamscape i dont remember.)

— if you ask sunday VERY politely, (he’ll still oblige), he’ll sing you a lullaby for when you have trouble sleeping. tuck your blanket under your chin too while he’s at it, hehehe.

— LMAO IDK WHY THIS IS SO FUNNY TO ME but imagine you’re dating someone and introduce sunday to your significant other, I FEEL LIKE HE’D BE POLITE AND ALL THAT BUT AS SOON AS YALL DILLY DALLY OR WTV HE’D BE GIVING THEM SIDE GLANCES EVERY ONCE IN AWHILE.

— like i said, he IS protective of you and will go on a rampage if they’re toxic or hurtful to you. :)

— btw, if you watched robin’s trailer, you can catch a glimpse of sunday polishing her halo. and yes, he would polish your halo too, since you’re also halovian, sometimes even preen your wings too if he’s not too busy.

— if you take band or theatre arts in school or figure skating, acrobatics or just SOMETHING that includes performances, sunday doesn’t give a shit if he has something to do, he will find a way to go to every single one bc he doesn’t wanna disappoint you as an older brother :(

— pats your head. a lot. literally a mom-sibling, you can’t tell me otherwise. will occasionally pick your outfits and asks for your opinion before you go out or make sure your school uniform is crisp and unwrinkled. (if your school has uniforms.)

— overall, sunday is a doting and compassionate older brother. he loves you with his whole being. <3

ROBIN:

— the best, nicest, loving, caring older sister you will ever have in your entire lifespan.

— like sunday, she would help you in any way possible. but she’s not the best when it comes to math homework :(( if you want, she’ll give you a pep talk though!! and trust me, robin gives out the best ad most encouraging pep talks ever like..

— if you do something hella devious, even if its 101% your fault, she’d side with you no matter what. this girl hardly gets to be silly due to her superstar reputation but when she has the chance, plz just let her be. (yall can be devious together.)

— would brush your hair for you!! it doesn’t matter whether you have short or long ass rapunzel-looking hair, she will somehow find a way to style it.

— definitely sang you songs during your childhood, and she still does! robin would hum a tune when you can’t sleep, or you simply just wanna destress and don’t feel like doing anything else. <3

— also like sunday, since she travels a lot, she’ll always make up for the lost time by brinking trinkets and gifts, maybe even bring you along with her during her one of her tours!

— also incredibly supportive in your passions! want to become a performer like her? she’ll be there rooting for you on the sidelines! wanna learn to sing and follow in her footsteps? sure, she’ll gladly teach you for free! (not like you had to pay anyway teehee.)

— robin would be somewhat protective of you as well, just not too strictly. after all, you should experience as much of the outside world as you can. 🎀

— i feel like she’s a horrible money spender.. (same..) if robin sees you glance at a piece of jewelry or smth hella expensive for 0.00001 nanoseconds, suddenly it’s in a gift bag at your desk when you get home from school with a little note from her along with some pastries she thought you’d like.

— if you gift her something, whether its handmade or you bought it with your own money, chances are she’ll keep it for the rest of eternity and repay you with a gift of her choice as well!!

— overall, robin is a sweet and soft older sister and is always there for you, no matter the distance that separates you!

all rights reserved © nebuliias. do not copy, re-upload, or plagiarize my fics. if you see anyone doing this to my work, LET ME KNOW.

[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM: Why is Ichigo in the Gotei-13 group chat? For that matter, what kind of unholy madness goes on in said group chat?

Ichigo is in the gotei-13 groupchat because he *is* actually a shinigami. A probationary, substitute shinigami, but still a shinigami and part of the gotei-13!

So along with his pager and badge/power limiter, Ichigo also got an invite to the Gotei-13 Groupchat, which being a reasonably technically savvy elder millennial, he immediately joined.

Shenanigans ensued:

- Everyone else in the Groupchat became aware that Ichigo was in the Groupchat when he @everyone'd in there at 2AM to ask something that weighs heavily on his mind:

Ichigo: AY YO WHICH ONE OF YOU IS MY MANAGER?

Rukia, replying in such a way that she also @'s everyone: ICHIGO IT IS TWO AM YOU ARE SETTING OFF EVERYONE'S PAGERS!!

Ichigo: YEAH I KNOW IT'S 2AM, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHO MY MANAGER IS, AND I NEED TO ASK THEM SOMETHING.

Ichigo: Is it Zaraki? He seems like he'd lose his pager and not text me.

Kenpachi: nah, if i was your boss you'd be at 11th div boot camp

Kenpachi: also, your boss should send you to 11th div boot camp

Ichigo: I can't go, it's a school night.

Shuuhei: @IKurosaki what's the serial number on your pager? You really should not have the admin privileges to be able to @ everyone like this.

Renji: @HShuuhei why are you awake?

Shuuhei: @ARenji In order for the seireitei bulletin to be distributed on everyone's doorstep by 5 am, the printing happens right now. Why are YOU awake?

Shuuhei: also @Zkenpachi: ANSWER YOUR GODDAMN INBOX

Renji: Rukia snores.

Rukia: OH MY GOD

Zaraki: how are you guys all yelling

Ichigo: It's #41266-36-423

Ichigo: FR tho, I still don't know who I'm supposed to be talking to.

Shuuhei: Huh. No idea who your boss is, but I think you may have gotten a Black-Black pager somehow. Weird.

Ichigo: What's a Black-Black pager?

Rukia: it's a class of pager that only fifth seat and higher-ranked officers are supposed to have AND THE THING IM GONNA SHOVE UP THE ASS OF YOUR MANAGER AS SOON AS I FIGURE OUT WHO THAT SONOFABITCH IS!!!

Iba: @KRukia ":Rule 12: No Slurs or other demographic insults in any official communication, including chat.:"

Rukia: WHAT SLUR?

Rukia: oh.

Rukia: My Apologies, @SKomamura Taicho. I will be more careful with my language in the future.

Ichigo: Dude don't @ someone if you insulted them on accident, just edit the comment.

Byakuya: @KRukia, since you were the one who discovered and vouched for Kurosaki, administratively, he is *your* responsibility.

Shuuhei: lol

Iba: LMAO

Renji: @KByakua congratulations, your sister is now crying on the bathroom floor.

Kenpachi: I FOUND THE YELLING BUTTON

Kenpachi: ALSO ICHIGO, WHAT WAS IT YOU WANTED TO ASK ANYWAY

Ichigo: oh yeah!

Ichigo: there's like 20 Menos Grande in downtown Karakura for some reason.

Renji: LEAD WITH THAT NEXT TIME

[carmenell]

Okay apparently German!Slider is a big hit so

German Sli headcanons 🇩🇪🦅

grew up in West Germany (BRD) until he was about 16

His mom is German and his dad is American, so he has both passports/nationalities and is bilingual!

His parents divorced when he was 12 and his dad moved back to the states

Slider decided to follow him because his dream was to become a pilot (and the Bundeswehr just isn't as cool as the Navy in his opinion)

He's still in touch with his Mama and his grandparents (Oma and Opa <3) and the divorce didn't end in bad blood so they're all chill with each other

When he left for the states, his mom told him to never lose his German heritage and sends him food packages every once in a while

She also only speaks German with him so he's forced to not forget any of it lmao

Slider still tries to visit Germany for Christmas or Easter (most important Christian German holidays) if his schedule allows it

He's the master of Sprichwörter (proverbs) and will just randomly say them whenever they fit .. the others have no idea what the fuck he's talking about, they're just nodding along

Mav: *does something incredibly stupid*

Slider: Der denkt auch nur von der Wand

bis zur Tapete

-

Wolf: *tries patching up his jacket with

duct tape*

Slider: hält von 12 bis Mittag

-

Ice: I should've been there earlier

Slider: hätte, hätte Fahrradkette

Wolf begs him to teach him some swear words which results in him yelling "Krankenwagen" (ambulance) and "Schmetterling" (butterfly) around base (Slider is laughing his ass off)

Is the BEST at planning stuff but is also the most annoying about it. It's driving everyone up the wall that he may have every road map ever memorized but god forbid they try to take a short cut that isn't on there ...

The type of guy to print out his online tickets and put them in a Klarsichthülle (modern age!Sli of course)

Wears Birkenstocks with long, white socks and a Schnelle Brille

WILL find something to complain about in any situation ever - you can take the guy out of Germany, not Germany out of the guy

pt. 2 soon because i have so much to say about german slider, please feel free to leave input, especially my fellow german top gun enjoyers 🫵🏻

I'm gonna be honest, I see as more of a northern guy (Hamburg or Hannover probably) but because OP (me) is southern, he will be too for the sake of this video

@allforreading-fandomthings @jakekazansky @aryacoulson this is for you guys

[woniehugs]

The Touch of Extinction

—✧ summary: in a future plagued by a deadly virus, scientist Y/N is unexpectedly paired with the enigmatic government official, Lee Heeseung, as they work to save a fractured continent. What begins as a mission for survival transforms into an intense, forbidden connection, only to be shattered when Heeseung’s own secrets come to light. With danger lurking and time running out, the truth behind their mission and their connection unravels in ways neither could foresee. Will their shared sacrifice be enough to leave a lasting mark on the world they tried to save? This isn’t a love story, it’s a story about love.

—✧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem! reader

—✧ genre: dystopia, futuristic fiction, not really romance

—✧ warnings: mentions of blood and abuse (only brief), non-consensual sex, let me know if i missed anything!

—✧ word count: 4.3k

—✧ author’s note: putting this out here in the meantime because i’m not finished writing the next chapter for “operation: fuck sim jaeyun” yet. i wrote this for a school project, and no, i didn’t actually use y/n and heeseung’s names lmao. and also, this is actually inspired by the handmaid’s tail and manacled, so if you’re familiar of those, you’ll know.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

Who would’ve thought the future would end up like this? We could never have predicted that life would slowly cease to exist.

50 years ago, in the country of Netherlands, a group of young and intelligent scientists from BioCorp worked on experiments that focused on enhancing human genetics. After much hard work, they had made vast progress, thanks to the advancement of technology over the years and took a week-long break to celebrate Christmas. However, during a hazy night on the 24th of December, the night of Christmas Eve, one of the scientists had gone inside the laboratory that contained their equipment and supplies, completely out of their mind— drunk. The scientist had accidentally knocked one of the containers used in their experiments, breaking each flask containing what seemed to him as “mystery fluid” and spilling it all over the laboratory floor.

Knocked backed into consciousness realizing what he had spilt, he panicked, and tried to clean it up before it could contaminate the entire room, but because of the state he was in, the broken flasks and test fluids had caught onto his dazed and drunken state, causing the scientist to drop on the floor, unconscious. It took 12 hours until the whole building was contaminated due to the open vents, notifying security and the other scientists about the situation.

Luckily, the scientist woke up the next day, completely healthy and well, which was a surprise. Authorities had brought him to the hospital, along with his colleagues who waited for him to wake up. While the other scientists continued working on the experiments a week after Christmas, they were stopped by the news of another colleague’s sudden death in the comfort of their own home, exactly a month after the laboratory incident. Days after, the scientist’s own wife was laid to rest on her deathbed, a month after she had made contact with her husband who had gone home from the hospital. This prompted BioCorp into a mass crisis. Taking multiple hours of rigorous research, studying, and hypothesizing, the scientists discovered that the incident had caused a new infectious virus to erupt. …Infectious, how? With the knowledge of the deaths of the scientist and his wife, the scientists concluded that the virus was transmitted by skin-to-skin touch and that the virus’s effect didn’t accelerate despite how much one has touched another infected person.

By the time the scientists had made this horrible discovery, hundreds and thousands of people had died in the lower parts of Europe. The virus had spread rapidly, with no one knowing who had it or didn’t. There weren't any symptoms showing and one could only know they had caught the virus when they had taken their final breath. The moment the Dutch government was made aware of this tragedy, they took in scientists from BioCorp, while in the meantime, putting the whole country on lockdown to protect the people from the virus and could conjure a cure. They supplied the scientists with everything they needed for their research, but as they did so, many Europeans died at their expense, the number of deaths increasing with every single day that passed. Choked up by guilt, the scientists persevered, but even so, they still had little knowledge of what they could do to solve the pandemic they had caused, and some died never seeing the day they could fix this mess.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, the European population dropped to an all-time low. Due to the pandemic, the continent of Europe was divided into two: the Eastern and Western Parts. A boundary was placed, dividing the Netherlands, Germany, France, Italy, and more countries in the eastern part, from the entire western part of Europe. A military base was placed upfront on the boundary to prevent anyone from trespassing. This sent the Netherlands government into turmoil, as the situation had not been handled well years prior, affecting their neighboring countries, most especially their own population.

The division wasn’t enough to make anything but a benefit. Soon, the governments of each country worked together and came up with a repopulation effort, a program attempting to revive the dying population. Women, from the lower class, and the ones who are single will be assigned to men and will bear children for them. Whether the men have wives and children is out of the question, they will still have to participate in the program. They will be monitored frequently by authorities if they have done the job, if not, a punishment shall be done. The selected women were quarantined in a prison-like building, yet still being fed well. However, because of how many of them were trying to escape the hell they had to go through, having to bear children they didn’t want with men they didn’t even know, the government grew strict and eventually became a totalitarian regime. For all the women, it was hell on Earth.

Y/N L/N, the daughter of one of the scientists who took part in the failed experiment, and followed in the footsteps of her parents, happened to be a part of the selected women for the repopulation program. With your last name at the forefront of people’s minds, “the daughter of one of those evil scientists who caused this animosity”, you get assigned to one of the higher-ranking government officials in Europe.

On your first meeting, you had been dragged by the authorities, hair secured in a bun at the base of your neck, wrists manacled behind your back, lip busted, one of your cheeks bruised purple, and your face bloody fighting off the authorities. You wore a robe as white as snow, streaks of your blood painted the areas near your waist, a skirt spreading down to your feet, and long sleeves covering your entire arms.

Screaming at the top of your lungs to let you go, the authorities pushed you until you fell to the ground, your face first hitting the ground with a loud crack. You heard the door close behind you, clicking with a lock as you groaned in pain, tears falling down her face. As you slowly tried to stand up from the ground, you hear a chair creak, someone standing up from their seat. You look up, coming face to face with the man you had to endure. Lee Heeseung, the son of the prime minister of the Netherlands. He had an unreadable look on his face, his eyes dark as he examined you carefully, looking you up and down. Filled with disdain, you gathered enough saliva and spat at his feet, a drop of spit landing perfectly on his polished shoe.

Before you could get any more disrespectful, you were brought up to your feet, Heeseung’s hand gripping your forearm as you yelped in pain. Dragging you across the room, he turned you around and pushed your body down on his desk, pressing your manacled wrists behind your back with one hand. You struggled to get out of his grip, trying to kick him but to no avail. He was too strong, and so much taller than you. You feel tears prickle on the corners of your eyes, one side of your face scraping against the wood of the table.

With your eyes shut, Get this over and done with, you think to yourself, hope slowly leaving your body as you count down the seconds until he is done with you. Barely 5 minutes had passed until he stopped moving, and as swift as a fox, backed away from you. You felt your wrists free from the manacles, and planted your palms on the table, slowly guiding yourself to stand up and turn to face him, but before you could utter a word to him, he was gone. Uncontrollable tears fell from your face then. You felt pain, disgusted, and used. Your whole world had been reduced to a room where you’d be forced to do things you didn’t want to do, and that hurt you. You could do better things than this. But no. For now, you fall back down on the ground, your body sprawled out on the floor as sleep takes you in.

You wake up the next day on a bed and in a room you don’t recognize. This wasn’t where I was yesterday, you think to yourself. Looking to your left, you see a doctor scribbling on his notebook with medical equipment laid out on a small table on top of the bed. The doctor notices you, a sad smile on his face, “How are you feeling, dear? You passed out on the floor yesterday and Mr. Lee had to carry you to your bed.”

Confused, you shake your head, “After being forced to do things against my will? Yes, I believe I’m feeling a lot better.” The doctor lets out a sigh, letting you drink your medicine before leaving your room quietly. You take in your room. It was huge and filled with everything she needed to survive this hellhole. Keeping yourself busy, you took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and read. There was a long shelf of books at the side of the room, so you grabbed everything that caught your eye. You read, and read, and read until you couldn’t anymore.

Food was served by two maids during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When you asked if you could get out of your room, one of the maids answered that you needed to rest and could only get out the next day as said by their master. Rolling your eyes, you nodded your head, grabbed the dinner from their hands, and sat back on the bed. As you ate, you thought about how grateful you were that Heeseung hadn’t gone into your room and took advantage of you again. Peacefully, sleep takes you in once again when you finished eating.

The third day. “It’s not so bad here”, you think — yet. While you ate breakfast on your bed, the door opened. Your eyes looked up to see Heeseung close the door behind him. You feel your heart race, dropping the utensils on the plate. The sound catches Heeseung’s attention, quickly looking at you to see what’s wrong. He takes a few steps towards you but you raise a hand to stop him. “N-not yet.” you managed to speak out despite your voice and hands shaking. Heeseung shakes his hand, and continues his way toward you, “I’m not here for that. Not this early, at least.” Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you nod at him in relief, picking your utensils up to continue eating. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, hands trembling.

“I wanted to let you know that you can come out of your room now, anytime you want.” Heeseung starts, “However, I expect that you’ll be back here by 6 pm. I have duties I need to attend to later that night, so we’ll have to…” he clears his throat to get his point across, “...do it, before I leave. Is that okay?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. You’ll do it anyway.” you hear his breath catch at that.

“How frequently does this have to happen?”

“Once every two days.”

“What? Who do they think we are? Rabbits?” you try to joke but Heeseung’s face remains expressionless. “I have something to ask from you. It’s the least you can do for, erm… me.” You cringe at your words but proceeds nonetheless when Heeseung doesn’t say anything. “I need a laptop so I can research, and books and studies on anything that could help me on knowing more about this virus. I can’t not do anything here but bear your children, the thought disgusts me as it is.” you explain, your tone desperate. “That’s all I ask for. I’ll do anything you wish, just let me continue my research. Please.”

Heeseung nods his head, “Of course. I’ll provide you with everything you need.” you thank him. He hesitates for a bit before returning to the door, about to leave. Before he does, he looks back at you, “I apologize for how I acted before. I had just been made known about you that day, and I acted… out of remorse. I’m sorry.” you nod your head at his apology, “It’s quite alright. I acted irrationally too. I was scared.”

“We all are, aren’t we?” Heeseung replies, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. “Let me know if you need any help with your research. I’ll see you tonight.” The door shuts close behind him, leaving you alone in your room. That night, Heeseung visits you in your room, only this time, he acts gently and — you let him. Your business was finished as quickly as it had started. When you fall asleep in his arms, he carefully positions you back on the bed, covering you with a blanket, and delicately pats your forehead. Once Heeseung is sure that you are deep into your slumber, he leaves.

You immediately rise from your bed to start your fourth day with some research. A stab of pain erupts from your abdomen, making you groan in pain. You slowly get up on your feet, to the chair in front of the desk placed on the right side of the room. The moment you sat, you noticed a stack of books placed neatly on the table and your very own laptop that you were sure you left behind at home. You smiled at the effort that Heeseung had put into making sure you had everything you needed. Shaking your head, you began as you took a bite of mango and chocolate toast specially made for you. Hours passed and you were able to read most of the information you had already known: about the incident years ago, the non-existent symptoms, the lockdown, your parents along with other scientists locked away and dead, and the division. Searching on the Internet, most of the articles you came across were more on people’s predictions and not based on scientific evidence. That was all you did that day. Research, read, study, and make your hypotheses. — Why aren’t there any symptoms? you think to yourself. It was the most bizarre thing you had known, it was a virus with no symptoms. No wonder everyone was dying around you because, to this day, no one had found the answer to that question.

“I see you’re still up.” A voice interrupts you from your reading, dropping your highlighter on the book she was reading about viruses. You had been so distracted you didn’t even hear Heeseung enter your room in the first place. “I can’t seem to figure this out on my own. I’ve been reading for hours.” you answer, rubbing your temples with the pads of your thumbs. Heeseung hums behind you, taking a peek at what you were reading. “What I’m about to tell you might help.” you turn your head to him, “I’ve been feeling some strange sensations. My head’s been feeling light since yesterday. I’ve taken some painkillers but it doesn’t seem to go away.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “A-are you implying you’ve caught the virus?” Heeseung shakes his head, “No, or wait, maybe a little. I’m not so sure honestly. But seriously, anyone could have caught the virus by now, even indoors. We’ve also already made skin-to-skin contact. Shouldn’t we not be surprised about that possibility?” You think carefully before answering him, “I’ve never thought about that, but you’re right. Anything could happen.” But I don’t want any of us to die. A few moments pass before you clap your hands together, bringing Heeseung’s attention back to you, “You’re right. I’ll keep that in mind, just in case, however, it doesn’t mean you have the virus.” you send him a look that makes Heeseung sigh, “Right, but I just thought I should tell you.”

“And you didn’t do anything wrong by telling me. I appreciate it, Heeseung. Really.” you assure him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Heeseung looks you dead in the eyes when you do, and you quickly put your hand away once you realize. “Right. It’s getting late. You should be going. I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” Heeseung didn’t end up leaving you that night, and it wasn’t entirely his choice. He stayed with you until you fell asleep on your desk, and he carried you once again over to her bed. Half-asleep, you manage to pull Heeseung towards you, whispering “Stay with me.” and Heeseung does, falling asleep next to you.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft breathing beside you. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing Heeseung was still in bed with you. The realization brought a mix of emotions—confusion, and fear, but also a strange comfort you hadn’t expected. You gently removed yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and moved to the desk where you had been working the night before. Your thoughts were swirling with everything Heeseung had revealed to you. His admission about the strange sensations he had been feeling gnawed at you. If he was indeed showing symptoms, this could be the breakthrough you had been desperately searching for—a lead that could explain the virus’s behavior. You needed to gather more data. If Heeseung truly was infected, how much time did he have left? How much time did you have left? If Heeseung was infected, then that would mean you were too. You both didn’t have much time left.

You pulled up a document on your laptop and began typing down everything you remembered from Heeseung’s account. You noted the onset of his symptoms, their progression, and any possible environmental factors that might have contributed to his condition. If you were going to make any progress, you needed to treat this as a case study—methodical, detached, and purely scientific. The hours slipped by, and when Heeseung finally stirred, you had already compiled a preliminary report. You turned to him as he sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair. His expression was unreadable as he glanced at the clock, noting the late hour.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Heeseung frowned slightly as if considering the question. "A little better, I suppose. The lightheadedness hasn’t completely gone away, but it’s manageable. Why? Are you worried about me?"

You hesitated. "I’m just trying to understand what’s happening. If you’re showing symptoms,” You hesitate finishing your sentence, “...if I’m showing symptoms, it could be critical information for my research. But more importantly, I don’t want anything to happen to you."

Heeseung’s eyes widened at your words. "You think you’ve caught it too?” you nod your head, “It’s plausible since we’ve been together… for the past few days.” You cringe at your choice of words, “So it’s best that I entertain the possibility. If we both don’t have much time, we should stay here until we’ve figured this out. Together.”

His gaze softened, “I agree. I appreciate what you’re doing. I didn’t expect you to care so much, given the circumstances."

You shrugged your shoulders, "I may not have a choice in this situation, but that doesn’t mean I’m heartless. We’re both victims of a system neither of us controls." He looked away, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

"The world has gone mad, hasn’t it? People reduced to numbers, in a repopulation program, and those responsible for the mess are either dead or hiding behind closed doors." You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "We’re trying to survive in a world we barely recognize anymore. But if there’s even a chance that what we’re experiencing could lead to a solution, we have to pursue it." Heeseung nodded slowly. "Then let’s work together on this. If we’re both infected, we need to know how it’s progressing and what we can do to stop it … if anything."

Over the next few days, you and Heeseung settled into a strange routine. During the day, you focused on your research, cataloging Heeseung’s symptoms with clinical precision, while also poring over your parents’ old notes and the limited data available on the virus. Heeseung made sure you had everything you needed, from medical supplies to access to secure networks that could aid your research. At night, you did what you had to. The only difference is that afterward, the two of you shared a bed, a tenuous bond formed out of necessity, and a growing, unspoken understanding.

Heeseung continues to visit you daily, and with every visit, you sense that he is hiding something. There’s a restlessness in his eyes, a kind of weight that he carries with him each time he steps into your room. One night, as he sits at the edge of the bed, a quiet question slips from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Why are you doing this, Heeseung? Why did you bring me all these things when you could have just kept me locked away like the others?”

He looks at you, a flicker of something like regret in his gaze. “Because, Y/N… I owe it to you. I owe it to everyone who’s been affected by this virus. My father and his colleagues may have failed, but I… I won’t. If there’s any chance you could help find a cure… I’ll give you everything you need.”

His words stir something deep inside you. You can’t decide whether it’s hope, resentment, or both. You’re still unsure whether to trust him, but as days turn into weeks, you notice a subtle shift in the way you interact. There’s a tension that lingers between you, unspoken but palpable—a tension that is not entirely borne of fear or obligation.

As time goes on, you and Heeseung start to talk more. He tells you about his childhood, about his strained relationship with his father, about the weight of expectations that had always loomed over him. It’s not much, but it’s enough to remind you that, like you, he’s just a person caught up in the chaos of a world turned upside down.

One evening, as you sit together in silence, you find yourself blurting out, “What if this virus can’t be stopped? What if we’re all just… delaying the inevitable?”

He meets your eyes, his voice soft. “Then we fight it anyway. Because that’s all we can do, Y/N. We fight until there’s nothing left to fight for.”

You don’t respond, but his words echo in your mind long after he’s left the room.

The next evening, as you sat together, you noticed a slight tremor in Heeseung’s hand as he passed you a cup of tea. Your heart sank, but you kept your expression neutral. "Heeseung," you said softly, "Have you felt any other changes? Anything new?" He shook his head, setting the cup down with more care than usual. "Just the tremor. It started yesterday, but it’s not too bad. I can still control it for the most part." You bit her lip, your mind racing. "We need to accelerate our research. If the virus is progressing, we’re running out of time." Heeseung nodded, his expression grim. "I’m with you, Y/N. Whatever it takes."

Weeks pass, and the once suffocating atmosphere of your confinement begins to change. The tension between you and Heeseung continues to grow, evolving into something more complex. Conversations that once revolved around the virus and research now include moments of shared silence, subtle glances, and small admissions. There’s an unspoken understanding between you, as if the mere act of surviving together has created a fragile bond. You can sense that he’s struggling with something more than just the weight of the world outside—something personal that he hasn’t yet shared.

Days after, the usual routine is disrupted when Heeseung arrives later than usual, his expression troubled and distant. You notice his hands shaking as he sets down a tray of food. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he steps closer, his voice low and strained.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Y/N. It’s… it’s about the virus.”

Your pulse quickens as you watch him take a seat across from you, his head bowed as if weighed down by a burden he can no longer carry alone.

“My father wasn’t just one of the researchers involved,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “He was one of the first to become infected. They kept it a secret, covered it up because of his position, and… they used him as a test subject for the early trials of the cure.”

The revelation hits you like a cold wave, leaving you speechless. The pieces begin to fall into place—the rushed experiments, the hidden agendas, the urgency in Heeseung’s actions. You feel a pang of anger for being kept in the dark, but it’s quickly swallowed by an unexpected sense of empathy. Heeseung’s determination to find a cure isn’t just about the greater good; it’s personal.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and understanding.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits, his gaze finally meeting yours. “And… I didn’t want you to think that I was using you for the same reasons they used him.”

For a moment, the room is silent. You look at Heeseung, seeing the torment in his eyes and recognizing a kind of vulnerability that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before. It’s as though, in sharing his secret, he’s offered you a glimpse of the person he is beyond the government official, beyond the virus. And perhaps, you realize, it’s the same for you. This whole time, you’ve been hiding behind the walls you built around yourself to survive, afraid to let him see the parts of you that long for connection in this cold, fragmented world.

“You could have told me,” you say softly. “I would have understood.”

Heeseung gives a faint, bitter smile. “I didn’t know if I could trust you to understand, or if you would see me as just another monster.”

Before you can respond, a wave of emotion sweeps over you, and without thinking, you reach out and touch his hand. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to break down whatever was left of the barrier between you. His fingers curl around yours hesitantly, as if he’s not quite sure if he should accept the comfort you’re offering, but then his grip tightens, and you realize just how much he needed it.

The days that follow are marked by an unspoken shift in your dynamic. The tension that once existed has transformed into a closeness that you’re both wary to acknowledge, and yet neither of you can deny. When he’s with you, the air feels warmer, the silence less suffocating. But in the back of your mind, you know this fragile connection is built upon the uncertainty of a world ravaged by disease—a world that could take everything away in a heartbeat.

It’s in this closeness that you begin to notice Heeseung showing signs of fatigue. He tries to hide it, but you see the subtle winces, the way his hand trembles when he thinks you’re not looking. The truth becomes impossible to ignore when, one night, he collapses in front of you, a fever burning through his skin.

“Heeseung!” you cry, rushing to his side. As you help him to the bed, the realization hits you with a brutal clarity—he’s infected.

The weight of the situation crashes down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you’ve come to understand, every unspoken moment between you, is now overshadowed by the one thing you feared most. Heeseung is dying, and you don’t know if there’s any way to save him.

The next few weeks were a blur of research, testing, and increasingly frequent moments of quiet despair. You were relentless, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion as you combed through every piece of data you could find. You reached out to the few remaining scientists who had survived the initial outbreak, sharing your findings and seeking their input. But the virus remained an enigma, its origin rooted in the nightmarish accident that had taken place decades ago. The more you learned, the more you realized how little you knew, and how close you all were to the edge.

As Heeseung’s condition worsened, you felt a growing sense of urgency. The lightheadedness had evolved into dizziness, the tremors into violent shakes that left him bedridden for hours. You continued to document everything, but your fear for him, something you had tried to keep at bay—began to overshadow your scientific detachment.

Then, one night, as Heeseung lay in bed, his breathing labored and his skin pale, he reached for your hand. You took it, feeling the tremor in his grip, and held on tightly.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Don’t be," you replied, your throat tight with unshed tears. "We’re doing everything we can."

He managed a weak smile. "I know. But if this is it...if this is the end...I want you to know that I don’t regret these last few weeks. I’m glad we met, even if it was under these circumstances."

You swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you leaned in and kissed his forehead, your tears finally spilling over, with Heeseung sharing an embrace.

"I’ll keep fighting," you promised. "For you, and everyone else. I won’t let this be in vain."

Heeseung closed his eyes, his hand tightening briefly around hers. "I know you will."

In the early hours of the morning, Lee Heeseung took his final breath. You stayed by his side, holding his hand until it grew cold. When the sun rose, you gently released him and began writing down the final stages of his symptoms, your tears blurring the words on the page.

Two days later, your symptoms began to manifest. You felt the same lightheadedness Heeseung had described, followed by the tremors. But you didn’t stop working. Every moment you had left was dedicated to your research, to the hope that your final notes might contain the key to stopping the virus.

When the end came for you, it was peaceful. You had finished your last entry, detailing the progression of the virus within yourself, and had left instructions for the remaining scientists on where to find your work. You lay down on the bed you had shared with Heeseung and closed your eyes, a sense of calm washing over you.

Your body was discovered a day later by the authorities, just as Heeseung’s had been. The room was quiet, save for the hum of the laptop that still displayed your final research notes.

On the desk, beside the neatly stacked books and papers, laid a single handwritten note:

"To whoever finds this, remember us not just for what we did, but for what we tried to do. The virus may have taken our lives, but it will not take our legacy. The answers are here. Please, finish what we started.”

Signed,

Y/N L/N

And with that, Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung’s story came to an end, but their fight continued on in the hands of those who followed.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

©2024 ©woniehugs

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + five

authors note: soooo, i both hate and love this one. can't tell if i'm just being super hard on myself, but it feels flat and a bit boring, but i also know if i keep messing with it, i'll never feel wholly satisfied, so here is the best version i could come up with!

it does include more of roman's background though so....there's that at least lmao

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: sexual harassment, language, violence, ptsd episode (dissociation, avoidance, breakdown), torture

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 8k

Solana has come to the realization that training isn’t entirely awful.

Or maybe it’s the fact that along with training, she’s allowed the chance to socialize, to be around other people and learn to not be so nervous all of the time. Naomi is a great person for that, bubbly and naturally personable. She’s created such a welcoming space that has left Solana feeling less and less nervous.

A couple weeks into training, Solana also feels like she’s growing more comfortable in her learning. It’s still the very basics, a lot of focus on flexibility, but it feels good. It feels almost relieving to be able to learn certain skills and tips that she can use to maybe one day defend herself. 

To maybe one day be able to take care of herself.

Or maybe some dreams are just too big to wish for.

It’s the end of her session with Naomi, and Solana is in the women’s locker rooms, having just finished her shower. She’s in her head a bit, mentally going over what she’s going to make Roman for dinner.

He’s been gone more often than not the past couple weeks, and she’s torn on that. On one hand, it’s nice not to be around a man who she’s supposed to be figuring out a way to kill, a man whose presence alone creates an additional layer of anxiety on top of the pre-existing baseline that is her everyday anxiety 

But…..

But, there’s also a part of her that….that wouldn’t be too opposed if he was around more. Being alone in the big house also creates a space of anxiety. If…if he was present more, maybe she could learn how to interact with him.

Could learn him.

It’s this strange thought process that’s so confusing and almost overwhelming for her that it keeps her from noticing the pending danger lurking just steps away.

“Hey, Solana.”

Solana gasps loudly, spinning around, her eyes widening at Austin Theory who stands before her with that same predatory smile. She opens her mouth to scream, but she’s too slow. 

Austin backs her against the lockers and slaps his hand over her mouth. His other hand moves to pin her hands over her hand. Instantly, her heart is beating out her fucking chest, an intense weight of dread anchoring her down. 

Solana feels paralyzed. She is paralyzed. 

“Always so damn jumpy. All we wanna do is get to know you....”

It’s almost perfect timing when another man appears, Grayson. But, it’s when he sees Austin and Solana that he frowns, walking over, “man, what the hell are you doing?”

Austin rolls his eyes, laughing. “Come on, don’t be a little bitch. It’s just a little fun.”

“This isn’t funny, Austin. If Reigns finds out—”

“What the fuck is he gonna do, huh?” Austin scoffs, gaze returning back on Solana who has her eyes clenched shut, tears threatening to spill over. “And you’re not going to say anything to him anyway, are you?” 

Solana gasps, breathing uneven as Austin lowers his hand to tug on the knot of her towel just enough to loosen it but not enough to undo it. Regardless, it’s that one act that truly immobilizes her because she’s no longer standing before this man as a grown woman.

She’s that 12 year old little girl completely unaware of what night of horrors is about to be unleashed on her, the way an unspeakable act of evil perpetrated on an innocent child is going to lead her down a dark, depressing path.

And she’s frozen, frozen in time, forever stuck in that state of suffering. 

Grayson’s eyes fall on Solana, seeing that she’s almost no longer present, dissociating, and that seemingly freaks him out even more. He tugs on Austin’s shoulder. “You had your fun, mate. Let’s fucking go.”

Austin has never been one to listen to others. Ever. But in a testament to his cruelty, Solana’s lack of reaction, lack of struggling and displaying helplessness in front of him wanes the enjoyment. He doesn’t get off as much, doesn’t feel as empowered as he does by making people feel small.

So with a scoff and not an ounce of influence from Grayson in his ear, he releases her, stepping back with a smirk as she instantly moves her arms over her chest. 

“Relax, Mrs. Reigns.” She’s anything but, and it brings a smile to his face. It’s so fucking easy to get her unnerved. “Just messing with ya, that’s all.”

There’s more distant talking, snickering and combatting with someone speaking quietly but urgently. Solana can make out part of that as she gradually returns to a state of awareness. Enough to where she’s eventually cognizant of the fact that they’ve left, that she’s alone, that they no longer pose an immediate threat.

But, they do. They do, because what if they come back?

Chest still tightening, breathing still erratic, Solana rushes over to the door, shaking hands managing to shut it closed and locked. But, it’s not enough to just be alone, to know that no one can come in and try to hurt her. 

Because she still feels it.

Still feels hands on her, restricting her, bounding her, and it makes her sick.

Hand over her mouth, Solana does her best to push back the nausea, rushing over to the showers, turning the knob so that it’s at full strength. 

And heat too.

Shoving the towel off her body, she steps under the scalding water and grabs the soap, immediately scrubbing at her body. It’s unnecessary force, unnecessary heat, unnecessary altogether, but it’s the only thing that gives her a faux sense of comfort. She needs to wash the feeling of them off of her, scrub until her skin starts to look wrinkled and raw, her complexion tinging with redness from the heat of the water.

Eventually, the scrubbing stops feeling like enough. Nothing feels like enough, and she falls back against the wall of the shower, sliding down as she pulls her knees to her chest.

And she cries, the water blending seamlessly with the tears that filter out the drain in a way she wishes the heavy feelings wrecking her body would melt away.

Safe.....

It's a dream that she'll never achieve.

A wasted hope.

A lie.

—-----------

“The RKO proposal is pretty decent.” 

“But not good enough.” Roman’s dismissal is swift and to the point. “I want 75% of all profits.”

Rikishi presses his lips together, calmly reminding, “that’s gonna be a hard sell.” 

“Orton is desperate. He’s an imbecile who uses more products than he moves and is running Bob’s legacy into the ground.” Roman is a man who prides himself on always being on the up and up. He makes it his business to know what’s going on with all competitors and even partnerships. “He should consider my offer fucking mercy. 75% or nothing.”

Rikishi sits back in his chair, a proud smile growing on his face. “I’ve taught you well, Uce”

There’s a modicum of truth to his cousin’s words, but for the most part, Roman has learned more on his own than anything anyone could have ever taught him.

“What’s the status of the imports from Columbia?”

Jey leans forward, answering without pause. “Scheduled to arrive just on time, assuming nothing goes awry.”

“Who’s managing?”

“Tama.”

Roman nods. “It’ll be fine.” His distant cousin, Tama Tonga is a bit on the……eccentric side, but he’s never failed to see a successful shipment through from beginning to end.

“If…..” Paul’s low but firm voice enters the conversation, Roman’s lazy gaze falling on the man. “If I may, my Tribal Chief?” With the nod of approval from the Head of the Table, Paul clears his throat. “By my calculations, there’s a way for us to improve on the total time it currently takes for us to move product by over 40% with some minor….changes.”

Jimmy, who sits almost bored at the other side of the table, feet propped up, asks in a suspicion tone. “What kind of changes?”

Paul clears his throat. “If we were to have access to the Eastern harbor—”

At that, both Jimmy and Jey land eyes on their cousins head counsel. Jey is the first to speak though. “You know that’s Nightmare territory, correct?”

Paul’s voice is surprisingly calm. “I do.” A nervous set of blue eyes settle on the man who sits at the head of the table, the primary one who needs to be convinced of the possible benefits of what he’s about to suggest. “If we would just consider—”

“No.” Roman’s rejection is loud and echoes throughout the conference room. “How could you even fucking suggest that shit?”

“My Tribal Chief, if you could please hear out my—”

Roman’s fist banging against the table sends an alert to all members of this current meeting that the Tribal Chief word is final and unchanging. “I said…..no.” 

Rikishi shakes his head, thankful that a stern rejection is the extent of his cousin’s reaction. He can’t believe Paul could even be stupid enough to even suggest such a thing to Roman. Perhaps he could be swayed over to see the business and financial benefits, but Roman…..no, that history runs too deep and bleeds too much red for Roman Reigns to ever consider some sort of ceasefire or let alone alliance with The Nightmare Factory. 

“Well, that shit got awkward real fast,” Jey mutters, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Even if it makes all the sense in the world. “How about that marriage life?

Roman shuts his eyes. It’s jumping from one annoying topic to another. “What?”

“Man, Big Dog living good over there,” Jimmy’s smile is wide as he rubs his hands together. “Lil Soso can cook her ass off!”

“Stop calling her that.”

“Speaking of ass, she pregnant yet?”

This is why Roman didn’t want to get on this subject, because he knew where it would lead to, another road he’s not trying to go down right now.

Rikishi chimes in, “their delivery is trash, but the question is still fair. Is there a chance she’s pregnant?” A sly smile falls on his face as he teases, “I know you well enough, Uce, that I don’t need to remind you of the importance of trying.”

Jey snorts. “That ain’t never been a problem for any of us. Especially Roman. Man, I still don’t know how you don’t have a gaggle of lil mean mugging ass kids running around here.”

The answer is simple, and Roman expresses as such. “Because I know how to fucking use a condom unlike you idiots.”

“Hey. I don’t know what you talking about. All my kids by Nicki.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

At that, Jey jumps out the chair, Jimmy rolling his eyes as Paul shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Ayo, you the Tribal Chief and everything, but you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife like that, aight?”

“Where did you sleep last night, Jey?” Roman’s tone is both bored and knowing, especially as Jey’s gaze drops the same way his ass does right back in his seat. “That’s what I thought.”

“Just…” Rikishi’s voice is louder, allowing him to realign the conversation. “Keep us updated, Roman. When she does get pregnant, you’ll need to up her security.”

“I’m aware.” Just like he’s aware of the fact that unless this girl is the virgin fucking Mary and will have an immaculate conception, there’s no need to worry about that right now.

Or ever. 

His business phone lighting up with a familiar name across the screen is both a welcomed surprise as well as distraction for Roman. Without hesitation, he answers, watching the TV anchored on the wall light up.

Roman’s shoulder straightens as he leans back further into the soft Italian leather of his chair. “Dwayne.”

“Roman.” Dwayne removes the stereotypical dark glasses Roman always grew accustomed to seeing his cousin wear in any interaction. His smile beams. “Long time no fucking see, cousin.”

Roman shrugs, answering honestly, “been busy.” 

“I saw that. Congratulations on the marriage. An invite would have been fucking nice.”

At that, Roman chuckles, calling out his bluff. “Like you would have come.”

Dwayne’s laughter echoes through the office. “Fair.” He then greets the rest of the men present, though it’s a surprise to no one that his initial exchange is solely with Roman. They’ve always had a great bond, even better business partnership, hence the position Roman has placed him in. “You know why I’m calling though”

And there goes the ‘fun’ while it lasted. Straight into business with his big cousin. He respects it immensely though. Dwayne is all about profit and efficiency and ensuring the smoothness of operations. “The same reason you always reach out, cause it’s not that often.”

“It’s been a couple years, cousin….”

“I’m aware.” 

And he is. 

6 years, to be precise. 

“You need to fly out here.” Dwayne isn’t saying anything Roman doesn’t already know, hasn’t already heard. “They need to see your face.”

“They have you.”

Dwayne snorts. “They hate me almost as much as they hate you.” They being that other side of Roman’s family, the side that he could go on with the rest of his life without seeing or speaking to. The side that probably feels the same about him and his Tribal tattoos, long hair, and skin that is not like theirs. 

Yeah….hate is definitely the right word.

“Do you care?”

“Hell no.” The answer is surprising, unlike Dwayne’s next statement. “But, I do care when shit starts to get more openly disrespectful.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re becoming bolder with questioning your leadership. Less subtle. More direct.”

At that, Roman’s attention is fully captured. He sits up in his seat. “Is that so?”

The twins, Rikishi, and Paul all exchange knowing glances, having been wisely quiet to allow the Head of the Table to conduct business as he sees fit. But this, they all know where this is going.

“Maybe it is time I remind them who the fuck is in charge here.” As much as Roman loathes the idea of having to be around and interact with these fuckers, nothing vexes him more than having his authority challenged. 

Like he’s not the one, the two, and the three they’ve been looking for. 

“I’ll see about flying out within the next week.” 

Jey speaks up for the first time. “I can’t just leave on that short notice—”

“Did I say I needed you to come with me?” It’s a bit of a rhetorical question. “I can handle this on my own.”

As is his preference with most things, because in Roman’s opinion, most things are handled better and in the way that most pleases him when he does it himself. His expectations can only be set and maintained or exceeded by him.

“At least take Paul with you, Uce.” Rikishi suggests, and in the moment, it’s last thing he wants. Paul’s already pissed him off enough for the day. “They need to be straightened out, not taken out. Paul can help you keep that balance.”

Roman isn’t obstinate enough to disagree with that. Paul does have his uses, one of which being his ability to talk Roman down when the preference is to just kill motherfuckers the second he deems them annoying. 

And that’s not the goal for this trip.

Not yet, anyway.

“Fine. Wise Man and I will go.” There are far too many other things on Roman’s plate for him to push back on a plus one. This is immaterial to the larger picture. “Dwayne, start the preparations.”

“You got it, brotha’. I’ll keep in touch.” 

The screen goes dark as Dwayne ends the call. Roman reclines back in his chair, a mixture of muddy, dark, bleak emotions. The idea of having to be around his maternal family is quite literally sickening to him. He hates those sons of bitches almost as much as they hate and despise him.

But on another hand, the idea of getting away from all this, from this Solana dilemma, there could be some benefits. He’d be gone for a couple of weeks, perhaps even a month. Maybe in that space he’ll come back to a different kind of woman. A woman who knows how to fucking stand up for herself instead of being so scared all the time.

And as if reading his cousin’s mind, Jimmy breaks the silence, asking, “Ayo, Roman, you sure you should be leaving—”

A knock on the door seems to only exacerbate the tension as Roman snaps. “What?”

Alicia, his secretary, easy on the eyes and effective in what she does, opens the door just enough to stick her head through. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Reigns—”

“So why are you?” It’s well known that Roman is a man who hates interruptions, especially when he’s in the middle of a briefing meeting, and she knows this well. Might be time for a new secretary.

Alicia swallows and calmly explains, “your cousin, Nia, is on line one. She says she needs to speak to you immediately.”

“She can wait.”

“With….all due respect, sir, it sounds like an emergency. She’s been blowing up the lines all morning.”

Curious, Roman turns his personal phone over and sees his lock screen littered with missed calls, texts, and a voicemail all from one person. 

Nia. 

With a heavy sigh, Roman dismisses Alicia. “I’ll handle it.”

Quietly, she closes the door and he unlocks his phone to return the call. Nia never makes such an effort to get in contact with him. Some shit must have went down, though his mind still wonders what level of bullshit could have occurred that even she can’t handle. 

Phone laid on the table, he dials and places it on speaker.

“It’s about fucking time, you asshole!” Her introduction is unsurprising. “I’ve been trying to call you for almost an hour.”

Roman is already tempted to hang up the phone and block her until further notice. “What do you want, Nia?”

“You need to get down here now.” He’s still not hearing anything that would warrant him moving an inch. “Your fucking Princess Peach wife—”

But at that, Roman’s interest is piqued. He sits forward in his chair. “What about her?” 

“I don’t know, she had a mental breakdown or something and has locked herself in the locker rooms. We can’t get her to come out—”

Right away, Roman gets to blaming and accusing. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Nia can’t respond before he asks the next important question. “Where the fuck was Solo!”

“I didn’t do anything, Roman! And Solo can’t be with her in the fucking women’s locker room!” Nia’s defense is as sharp as his imputation. “I told you that girl isn’t made for this life. She’s a fucking problem! Come get her now, or I’m going to blow the damn doors off myself.”

Highly vexed with Nia’s smart ass mouth as well as the nature of the situation, Roman slams his finger on the end button and stands up from his chair, rolling his shoulders. “Fucking hell.”

Jey, just as confused as everyone else, decides to be the sacrificial lamb, asking, “Roman, what was that—”

“You two come with me. Wise Man. Rikishi. Finish and send out the response to Orton’s proposal.” Roman issues out indisputable commands as he marches out of the room, the twins not hesitating to hop up and follow suit. Confused or not, they know better than to question their cousin when he’s in one of these moods.

They don’t even say anything for the beginning portion of the ride to the Warehouse, a rarity for them considering they always have something to say. But this time, they wait for Roman to break the silence, and he eventually does, still just as angry. 

“I don’t have time to be dealing with this shit!” To say Roman is pissed would be an understatement. He’s livid. For a lot of different reasons, really, maybe even mostly at the fact that his head counsel had the unmitigated gall to even utter Rhodes name around him.

Roman would see the entire empire go up in smoke and flames before he’d ever agree to any sort of alliance with that son of a bitch.

That only adds on top of the fact that the Italian faction of his empire seems to be questioning his ability to lead, as if the data doesn’t clearly support that business has never been better. The cash flow is endless. Numbers don’t lie.

But, Roman knows the real reason for their insubordination. 

It’s because of his father, the Samoan blood that runs through his veins. His being afakasi. Mixed. They believe that following that night, the alliance between the Bloodline and the Guild, an alliance sealed by the marriage of his father and mother, should have been dissolved. That someone from his mother’s side, a full blooded Italian, should sit on that metaphorical throne.

But, that’s not the case.

Roman assumed power because it is his by birthright, and he’ll be damned if he lets some ignorant fucks try to take it from him.

So yes….there are a lot of different reasons for his anger.

But, it’s a lot easier to blame it on the reason he’s in an SUV now, heading to a place he didn’t even plan to attend today.

“I’m not going to keep dealing with this shit with her.” He’s not even entirely sure who he’s speaking to at this point, or if he’s directing his statements to anyone in particular. Just needing to vent and get it out.

“What do you mean keep dealing?” Jimmy is the first to pick up on his cousin’s wording. “Something like this happen before?” 

The twins look between each other and then back at Roman who runs his hand over his face, realizing that if there’s anyone he can trust to keep this between them, it’s the twins. Annoying and sometimes dimwitted, they’re notoriously loyal and can sometimes provide sage advice.

“She had a complete meltdown on the wedding night. Panic attack, wouldn’t stop crying.” Roman conveniently leaves out the part of him talking her down from a panic attack. They don’t need to know that. 

No one needs to know that.

“After ya’ll….”

“No.” He answers, honestly. “We didn’t even do it. She was too hysterical.”

“Wait a minute.” It doesn’t surprise Roman that Jimmy is the first to put two and two together. “So you ain’t even fucked her yet? But you said—”

“I know what I said.” He doesn’t need to be reminded of anything. Roman’s memory is long and sharp. “I also know what I do and don’t feel like dealing with right now.”

“Uce, the only reason you even married this girl was so that she could give you an heir. How the hell is that supposed to happen if she won’t even let you touch her?” As much as Roman wants to snap at his cousins, he can’t. He can’t because they’re right. It’s something he’s thought about on and off since the wedding night.

It’s painfully evident to him that Solana’s mental state is….fragile, to stay the least.

He doesn’t need fragility.

He doesn’t do fragility.

The same way he apparently can’t do her.

“Maybe you need to just annul the shit and cut your losses while it’s still early.” Jey suggests, and Roman can’t deny the idea has a level of appeal to it. Until the next part leaves his cousin’s mouth. “Send her back to her family.”

“No.” That’s an easy no. He’s not entirely opposed to the idea of annulment, but what’s not an option is sending her back to that house of horrors. The only way he can see himself doing that is if he’s put a bullet in both her brother and father’s head, which technically, is the plan anyway.

He would just be making some…..timeline adjustments.

“I won’t send her back there. That’s a death wish.”

Maybe set her up with some money and a house. Let her live out her days with her damn writing, reading, and cooking, the only three things she seems capable of doing without fear. But even thinking that, Roman wonders just how capable she is of living on her own.

Xavier kept the girl so damn sheltered. He’d have to keep a security detail on her at all times. Maybe keep Solo with her. She seems to have grown somewhat comfortable with him. 

The same with Naomi.

Or, so he thought. People who are moving in the right direction don’t lock themselves in public fucking locker rooms.

Jimmy also points out, validly, “well, you obviously can’t keep her around if she literally can’t do the one job she has.”

“Let’s not be irrational, alright?” Jey, in a twist of faith, tries to be the voice of reason. “That girl can cook.”

Jimmy’s eyes light up. “Oh shit, I forgot about that.” Sure enough, he switches his tune. “Man, Soso ain’t even that bad, uce. You just gotta be patient with her.”

The change of tune doesn’t surprise Roman, but his suggestion is almost comical. If not for the fact that he’s already in a sour ass mood. “Do I look like a patient man?”

“No, but you do look like a man who could benefit from learning how to be patient,” Jimmy’s rebuff is quick and sharp. “That’s why you and Jey on high blood pressure medication right now. Both ya’ll hotheaded asses be getting yourselves all upset over nothing. Probably why you’re going gray too.”

There may be some element of truth to what he’s saying, but it’s also irrelevant to the issue at hand.

“I’ll figure something out,” he mutters, and it’s the truth, because that’s what Roman does. He figures shit out. 

He always figures shit out.

The SUV is barely parked when Roman flings the door open, slamming it shut behind him, not knowing exactly what he’s about to walk into.

“What happened?” Roman’s demand is accompanied by his powerful stride into the Warehouse, Nia immediately rolling her eyes and pointing to Naomi.

“Ask her. She was the last one to interact with her.”

Naomi is unsurprised by both Nia throwing her under the bus as well as Roman directing his fury in her direction.

“What the fuck happened?”

As someone who’s been involved with the Bloodline and their family members for over a decade, she’s used to both Roman’s anger as well as being on the receiving end of said anger. So, her response is calm and to the point. “Like I told Nia, we trained, and she was fine. She actually did well today. I had another training session after her, so we agreed on the next date, and she left for the locker rooms. That’s it.”

Naomi’s answer is unhelpful, but he believes her. Knows she’s being honest. It’s just that her honesty doesn’t do shit for him.

“Clear the place.” It’s directed to Nia even if his focus is still on Naomi.

Nia steps forward, irritation undeniable. “Roman, seriously? We have matches lined up—”

“I don’t care. I want it cleared now, Nia.” She’s about to protest again, but he lifts his hand, warning, “I’m not in the mood, so don’t fucking test me.” 

Nia isn’t stupid. She might be able to teeter the lines some days with her cousin, but this clearly isn’t one of those days. Grumbled protests stay within the confines of her inner dialogue as she turns on the edge of her heel to start emptying the Warehouse.

The twins step forward, asking, “what you need us to do?”

Nothing. He doesn’t want anyone to do anything aside from leaving him the hell alone, but that’s not an option. So, he moves quick to find a task for them. Naomi as well. “Check the cameras. Something happened, and I want to know what.”

“What if—”

“Check the cameras.” At this point, Roman’s about to kick them all out if people keep questioning him like he isn’t the fucking Tribal Chief. 

Control has always been a big thing for Roman.

When one doesn’t have much, or any, as a child, they overcompensate, and then some, as an adult.

He recognizes that fully. 

As all parties move to follow through on his orders, Roman heads toward the locker rooms, ignoring the complaining of the gym goers having to prematurely leave against their own volition. He’s not focused on that, just on the panel near the doors, a panel he’s never had to use until this day.

A panel only he can operate and use as its his biometrics and only his. Again, a man who likes control.

It takes less than a minute for him to gain access, the door automatically opening. Roman steps in and closes it behind him. 

“Solana.” He’s certain she won’t answer him, won’t magically do a 180 and feel well enough to step out, but he does feel like at least making his presence known to her will minimize her fear and surprise. 

Because one of the first things he notices and hones in on is sound, listening for any and all sounds that could lead him in her direction, and it’s a bit on the easy side considering there’s only the sound of running water coming from one area. And if he had to guess, one specific shower stall. 

Carefully, his steps take him from one end of the room to the other, moving in the direction of the woman he needs to find.

And he does find her. 

He finds her sitting on the floor of the shower, naked, enclosed in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest, staring like she’s in a state of shock, like she’s not aware of where she is or what she’s doing. Like she’s not aware of the heat of the water bearing down on her body.

“What the hell?” Roman’s first reaction is a modicum of shock, the heat from the steam alone almost instantly suffocating him. Naturally, he moves toward her, to cut it off, but her scream of terror stops him prematurely. 

“No!” It’s been a while since Roman has heard that level and depth of fear in someone’s voice, in the hefty depth of their sorrow. She’s petrified. “P–please don’t.”

It’s for that he actually hesitates, doing his best not to shout at her because that’s clearly the last thing she needs. “Solana, I’m not gonna fucking touch you, but you’re burning yourself!”

While he does his best to keep his eyes focused on non–inappropriate areas, he can already see the reddening of her arms and back. If she already hasn’t burned herself.

Again, he tries to reason with her, which is such a strange experience. Roman doesn’t negotiate with people. He does whatever the fuck he wants and cuts down anyone who has something to say about it. But this, this is a completely different experience he’s not entirely sure he knows how to navigate in a way that won’t fuck this girl up even more than she already is. 

“I’m just going to shut the water off.” Announcing his intentions seems like the next best thing, even if it seems to do little to calm her. So, he bites the bullet and moves fast enough to where she can’t protest until it’s already done.

Which is exactly what happens. 

“No! I—I need—I need to get clean. I need—” She starts crying again, hugging her legs closer to her body. “I can still feel—their hands—”

“Did someone touch you?” Interrupting her isn’t a good idea, especially with the way anger naturally floats into his tone. It’s almost impossible for it not to. If someone fucking touched her….“ Solana….what happened?”

She gasps, shaking her head, pleading almost. “Please….please don’t m–make me t–t–talk about it.”

There’s a distant look in her eyes, one that’s both uncomfortably but extremely familiar to Roman. He knows what it looks like for someone to be physically present but mentally elsewhere. That’s what Solana is right now. 

She’s not talking about today but something else, something much darker that whatever happened today only triggered. 

Roman slowly starts to crouch down in front of her but she jerks back. “I’m not going to touch you, Solana,” he again reiterates. “But you can’t stay in here.” He starts to remove his jacket, reaching it over to her. “We have to go back to the house.”

Again, she’s panicking, protesting. “I can’t—I can’t go out t–t–there.”

“I had the place cleared,” he explains. “There’s no one out there except for the twins, Naomi, and Nia.” Truthfully, he’s starting to wonder if he should have asked them to leave too. He didn’t know she'd be this frazzled. 

“Come on," he encourages.

Eventually, she accepts his jacket, and Roman stands back up to his full height, turning around and allowing her the privacy he’s sure she’d want. She steps forward, Roman seeing she’s hugging herself keeping his jacket covering her body. 

She keeps her head down, obviously still shaken up, still messed up from a lot of things. He honestly doesn’t know where the trauma stops and ends with this girl.

Roman directs her. “Get dressed. Meet me outside.” He looks down at her, needing some level of acknowledgement. “Okay?”

Solana surprises him by glancing up, nodding softly, walking away to what he would guess is the locker where her clothes are. 

Pleased that she’s at least well enough to be left alone to follow through on a simple task, Roman exits the locker room. He approaches the desk, the twins immediately standing up. It’s not lost upon him that Naomi and Nia are nowhere to be seen. If he had to guess, Jimmy sent Naomi home, not wanting her to bear anymore of Roman’s wrath. And Nia left to avoid unleashing her wrath on Roman, neither of which he’s entirely upset about. 

He has no interest in seeing either of them right now.

Jimmy speaks first. “We found something.”

“Send it to me.” Roman is smart. Always has been. It’s not difficult for him to connect the dots to see that someone clearly fucked with Solana. And he’s almost certain whatever footage the twins found will confirm and show exactly how she was fucked with. The same way he’s entirely certain that managing his anger seeing as such is damn near if not wholly impossible.

And she doesn’t need that right now. She’s already a hot mess. Being exposed to his explosive temper will only exacerbate that, so being sent the footage for him to view when he’s alone and can respond as violently as he wants is the best route.

Especially with his next order.

“Whoever it is, bring em’ to Asylum.” He adds, as if it needs to be specified. “Tonight.” 

Jey nods, and Roman notices there’s an edge to his voice. The same way there’s an edge in Jimmy’s expression. They seem pissed. “You got it.” And for some reason, Roman has a burning guess that it has to do with whatever they found rather than it being directed toward him. 

Waiting for Solana to exit the locker rooms, Roman blows out a deep breath and scratches his beard. This day has been a shitshow for a variety of reasons, but this reason in particular, this thing with Solana, it ranks pretty high up there.

He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing to do with this girl. 

“Jimmy.”

“Whassup?”

“Text Paul. Tell him I want Solana’s medical records. All of them.”

Roman knows now he needs answers, specific answers regarding exactly what he’s dealing with. And Solana is clearly in no position to share these things with him, not that he’d even want her to. 

She’d probably have to be admitted somewhere if he tried that shit. 

Jimmy looks understandably confused but affirms, “I gotchu.”

And with that, Roman also pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts, selecting the thread and typing out a message he doesn’t really think twice about.

Roman: Dwayne. Change of plans. I’ll come when I can, but now’s not a good time. I have shit here I need to handle first.

Roman: In the meantime, take my name out their fucking mouths. 

————

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

And just like that, Solana knows that he knows what happened. Knows about Austin and Grayson.

And it turns her stomach. 

Roman took her back to the house. He left her alone, giving her time and space to come down from her breakdown. And even in sitting in her room, writing out her feelings about the day's events, she knew. Solana knew that it wasn’t that simple. That Roman wouldn’t just leave what happened today at that.

That he’d want to know what happened, what triggered it, but naively, she tried to convince herself he’s too busy of a man to deep dive and find out on his own. To push her for answers. 

She’s wrong.

She’s wrong because that’s the first thing to leave his mouth when he finds her in the kitchen. 

Roman’s question, however, is valid and understandable, even if just the thought alone of having this conversation makes Solana physically uncomfortable.

Still, given everything that’s happened today, she can’t blame him for wanting answers.

She just doesn’t have them to give.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” His tone is full of mockery and frustration that she also can’t blame him for but physically finds herself feeling unsettled. “Bullshit. I want an answer, Solana.”

Her skin feels hot, stomach starting to knot. “I just—I don’t—”

“I can’t handle problems you have if you don’t fucking tell me that you have a problem in the first place.”

“I’m sorry—”

At that, Roman snaps, unintentionally, but also a build-up from all of the day’s events. “Stop fucking apologizing!”

What he doesn’t expect is for her to jump back away from him, so much so that she falls to the floor and hurriedly moves back against the cabinet, as she shouts in a panic, “I’m sorry!” Her arms are crossed in front of her body, a defensive position, like she’s waiting, bracing.

Waiting for him to hit her.

Roman’s been in this position countless times. Standing before people as they begged for mercy, begged for him to not enact his vengeance, to rule out his judgment as judge, juror, and executioner. And it’s always been a thrill for him, a boost to his ego, a reminder of his power.

And not once has he ever felt bad for causing such a reaction.

Not until this moment. 

With slow, careful movements, Roman also moves to the floor, one leg outstretched, the other hiked so his foot is planted on the ground. His arm casually resting on his knee. “Solana….do you remember what I said to you that day at your job?”

She's still waiting for the inevitable, waiting for him to lash out, for him to hit her. But, she’s confused by the fact that instead of him doing so just yet, he's sitting on the floor opposite of her. And somehow, she finds it in her to focus on his question. He said a couple of noteworthy things that day, but somehow, she knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“My…..my clumsiness.” Clumsiness he told her she wouldn’t have to worry about, but she’s been more than worried about it, more waiting for it, expecting it at some point or another. 

“And I meant that shit.” His head is leaned back against the cabinet, and Solana suddenly feels even worse. He seems so stressed out from all of this, from her. “You’re my wife now. I’m not going to let anyone lay a fucking hand on you. Not your dad. Not your brother. Not fucking Theory and Waller.” There’s a bit of a pause as he adds, almost quietly, “and especially not me.” 

Solana is unsure what to make of what he’s saying to her. Not sure how to process and take it at face value. It’s hard for her to digest the fact that one of the most dangerous and violent men in the country wants her to believe that he’d never put his hands on her. That he’s not someone she needs to be scared of. 

And she doesn't understand it, can’t comprehend how he can not be like every other man in her life. “W–why?”

“Cause unlike your piece of shit family, The Bloodline has morals. I’m not a good man, Solana, and I don’t pretend to be. But, I’ve never hit a woman, and I never will.” Roman never pictured himself having to explain to a woman why he has no desire to beat her. Yet, here he fucking is. “Real men don’t do that shit.”

Solana doesn’t know what to say to that, is still not sure what to say to any of it. But then, Roman is speaking again.

“It’s no secret. I have a temper, and that’s not going to change. I’m not going to change. Not for you, not for anyone.” Solana knows this, knows this very well, and understands it just as much. She would never expect him to change his ways, especially for the likes of her. “But, I—I’ll try to be mindful of it around you.” 

That…..throws her for a loop. Why? Why would he do anything for her? What has she done to make him even feel like he should? Except stress him out and cause him unnecessary problems.

Roman continues, asserting, “but, you’ve gotta start fucking telling me shit. I need you to meet me halfway here. I need you to communicate with me. You can’t spend the rest of your life writing what you refuse to say out loud.” 

She licks her lip, a nervous action, replying as best she can, “I’m not—I’m not used to—” She’s not used to people caring about her, caring about her wellbeing, and maybe that’s too strong and too inaccurate to describe what Roman is saying. It’s certainly how it feels though. “I—I’ll try.”

He seems pleased by this, probably not fully satisfied but enough for him to drop the subject. And she appreciates that, and is thankful for it. This day has already been a lot, too much. She’s so fucking tired. 

Roman says nothing else, not that she needs him to, not that he needs to. But, as he stands up, turning to leave, she finds herself asking him, “where—where are you going?”

His answer is simple but ominous. “I told you. No one lays a hand on you.” He grabs his jacket off the sofa, sliding it on as he vows, “I’m gonna make sure everyone understands that shit from here on out.”

—-------

Asylums, historically, have been places of horror. Where the lives of so many end in cruel and undeserved ways. Screams and pleas falling on deaf ears, memories of terror forever etched in the walls and halls of a building that’s only seen suffering.

It’s a fitting name for Roman’s location for interrogation. 

Torture. Because there is no being interrogated by the Tribal Chief. It’s just straight up, unadulterated torture. And truth be told, it’s a bit of a last, or maybe second resort. Killing someone in the moment is much easier, preferred. A shot to the head, a knife across the throat, even the snap of a neck. All much easier than methodical, drawn out ending of lives.

But some instances, some circumstances call for something more, something sinister, something lasting.

And that’s exactly what Theory and Waller are going to get.

By the time Roman walks into the building, sliding and tossing his jacket to the side, the twins have done a decent job roughing them up. One of them—he could never tell the difference—nor did he care or will it matter in a few hours, has a black eye that’s swollen shut. The other’s nose is crooked and bleeding, most likely broken. Their clothes are already stained with sweat, blood, and dirt. 

They’re both tied down by their wrists and ankles that he can see have started to dig into their skin. Their chairs are situated opposite each other. Good. That’ll make this even better. Calmly, Roman walks over, snapping his finger as Jimmy and Jey step back, visibly pleased with their warm up. 

He crouches down between them, looking back and forth between both with a smirk. “Gentleman, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” One of them, the taller of the two looks scared shitless while the other is glaring with idiotic defiance. Like he clearly thinks he and his friend are going to leave this building alive. 

They’ll leave.

Just in pieces.

“I’m Roman.” His voice is slick ice. “Roman Reigns.” There’s a rush of adrenaline that soars through Roman’s big body seeing the fear flash in both sets of irises. Good. They should be fucking terrified. “But, I do know someone you have met.” His voice goes cold again. “My wife.”

“Actually, I saw you meet my wife, but you didn’t just meet her, did you?” Roman smiles, shaking his head. “Naw man….ya’ll did a hell of a lot more than that.” 

Roman doesn’t need to have footage of just what happened in that locker room. He can paint the image all on his own, and it’s an image that makes his blood go cold. The footage of them in the hallway was damning enough. “You cornered her, didn’t you? You waited until she was alone and vulnerable and you harassed her. You sexually harassed her. My wife.” 

Roman shrugs, looking between the two. “What ya’ll think should happen?” Their mumbled and grumbled voices are incoherent against the gags in their mouths. Laughing quietly, he continues, “now, now, I’m a fair Tribal Chief.” Roman stands up, walking over to the wall of tools and weapons laid out. He settles for the hunting knife. “So here’s what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna let you tell me which body part goes first.”

He motions for the twins to remove their gags and upon that removal, the defiant punk is the first to speak, “what the fuck is wrong with you!”

The other one, however, is damn near in tears. “Pl—please. We–we’re sorry.”

“Shut up, Grayson! He–he’s bluffing.” Theory, he thinks, decides to prolong his torture even longer by reiterateing, “we didn’t even fucking touch her. The bitch is ly—”

Roman sees red, again, most likely a buildup of the day's events. But, it’s pure rage that fills him as he slams the Buck 119 down against Theory’s left hand, cleanly slicing off four of his fingers. 

Theory’s screams fill the room as the twins chuckle, Jey taunting, “who’s the bitch now, huh?”

Roman grabs his chin, vowing, “I’m gonna make you suffer the longest.”

“We didn’t hurt her, I swear.” Grayson is now crying, clearly ready to beg, plead, and whatever else it takes to get him out of this hell. “Austin just—he had her up against the locker, he–he pinned her, but we didn’t rape her. I swear!”

Grayson unintentionally paints a picture in Roman’s head of what he already figured is what happened, what he figured is what sent Solana into her traumatized state.

Big mistake.

Roman brings the knife down on both of Grayson’s thighs, intentionally aiming for near the top of his knees, his quadriceps, effectively rendering him permanently paralyzed. His screams of pain are music to Roman’s ears. Roman grabs him by his jaw, screaming, “who the fuck do you think you are! She’s mine! You hurt her and think I’m not gon break every bone in your fucking body? You don’t ever fuckin touch what’s mine! You understand me!”

The younger man is practically hysterical at this point. “Please….” Roman looks down, hit with the stench of urine, seeing that the one with the accent has pissed himself. Disgusted, he backs away, hitting the pathetic son of a bitch with a blow across his cheek that sends teeth flying out his mouth.

He turns back around, eyes focused on a now teary eyed Theory. “I was going to be fair, let you decide in which order I dismember you, but now…now I’m just gonna make you watch as I kill you both, piece by fucking piece."

He looks over at his cousins who seem completely unaffected and almost indifferent to the gruesome scene unfolding before them. “Jimmy.” Roman doesn’t hesitate, a sadistic smile on his handsome face. “Give me the saw.”

—------

Blood is such a pain in the ass to get out of almost everything. 

Roman showered a good twenty minutes before leaving the Asylum, and he can still see specks of dried blood, or maybe it’s bone, or flesh. 

There’s a sense of satisfaction that fills him though, that almost calms him as he imagines the look of pure terror and fright on their faces as he methodically took their lives, piece by piece. Well fucking deserved in Roman’s opinion.

And he’d do it all over again if he could.

Minus the blood and guts and shit, because that's just fucking annoying. Roman readies to take another shower, hitting the light switch near his bedroom door when he immediately notices the brown journal sitting in the middle of the bed.

There’s a second to pause and another second for him to realize he’s seen a similar book before. Solana. He’s seen her writing in one very close to the one on his bed. 

Less apprehensive, Roman walks over to see it’s open to a page filled with neat writing he knows must belong to Solana.

Lifting it, he reads what she’s written.

Roman,

I know you don’t want me saying sorry anymore, and I know you want me to talk to you, but it’s really hard for me. I’m not used to this. I don’t know how to talk to you. 

And I know you said I can’t write, but writing has always been the only way I can express myself, so I will try to talk to you more, but….until then, can I just write?

Solana

Right off the bat, Roman’s first and initial response is no.

Because why the fuck would he write like something out of a damn movie when she could just fucking talk to him?

But, that’s the thing, that’s exactly what she’s trying to express to him, that she can’t, that it’s too hard for her. Right now, at least. Because there’s also a promise, a promise to try to transition to more verbal communication, Roman’s preference.

Granted, he hates talking to most people in general, but it’s preferred over writing damn letters like the 1700s.

And then he thinks about it, recalling earlier today and the pure terror in her voice, the fear wracking her body so much so that she didn’t even realize she was this close to third degree burns. He has to be realistic here, realistic about what she is and isn’t capable of.

As frustratingly slow as it is, she is trying, in her own way. He can’t fault her for that.

Regardless of how he feels about it, this is the best she can do. For now. And he’ll hold her to working towards that, because growth doesn’t happen in comfort zones. She has to get used to being uncomfortable with new things. That’s just how it is.

But this….he can meet her halfway.

Grabbing a pen out his nightstand, Roman writes out his response, taking and laying it out on the kitchen island for her to see first thing in the morning.

Solana,

I recognize communication is challenging for you. If this is what works for you, I’ll do it. For now.

Do you work this weekend? If so, call off. 

I’m taking you somewhere.

Also, there's nothing you can't tell me.

I promise you that.

Roman

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Nine

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 23k (have fun!!)

18+ MDNI!

Chapter Warnings: so we're hitting the ground running here - poppy is horny in abundance tbh so smut!! thigh riding, dry humping, unprotected p in v, she's just a girl who wants what she wants and who are we to judge or kink shame?? that's what I thought. and the rest of this chapter just has some lighthearted banter between two pals welcoming a baby into the world. mentions of anxiety, the usual. poppy is on edge because there's another jensen family dinner. nia being nia, the boys being the boys. if guys talking about women's hormones disturbs you look away now. jealous nico once again, a gender reveal!!!! the fluffiest one you ever did see to be honest. there's maybe a point in this where you could get second hand embarrassment but that's not my problem. honestly I've written this chapter so out of order I don't even know what else is in here or if it all links but you get what you're given atp.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Eight)

A/N: this is potentially my favourite chapter yet these two are so stinkin cute!!!! months ago I had a fleeting thought about a pregnancy pillow and wrote a little thing in my notes about it, and this whole fic so far (150k+ words shoutout all my yappers) has been bred from that single scene which is in this chapter. nine chapters to get the the first thought I ever had of Poppy and Nico. I really hope you guys like it and I'm sorry that this has been the longest between updates yet. hopefully a 20k chapter makes up for it. my plan was always 12 chapters but idk if it will end up being more but just the thought that this is potentially over in 3 or 4 chapters is CRAZY I'm so attached to these two idk what to do with myself!! also once again shoutout to rory @h1sch13r for always inspiring me when it comes to these two and little baby (pepper) cheeto I hope I can make up for spoiling the gender to you like an idiot weeks ago with how cute this reveal is lmao

Poppy

Poppy has given endless thought and mind space to the situation that might bring her and Nico back into some sort of intimate space, together.

A romantic, candle lit dinner, where she’s so in the moment that it only makes sense for them to turn it into something more - baby steps be damned, and he’d take her back to that huge bed of his that she loves so much and keep her there until she can’t function properly, anymore.

A movie night, cuddled up on the couch together, where them spooning ends up with his hand down her pants, or her on top of him as whatever scene flashes in the background, the movie long forgotten as they get lost in each other. 

She hadn’t given much thought to it happening in her office, with him finding her all pent up and frustrated after a long day, and he’s all freshly showered after training, his hair still damp and his t-shirt clinging to him in all the right places.

It’s a single look that has her throwing herself at him, hands cupping either side of his face to pull him down until he’s tired of craning his neck, and his hands lift her hips until he’s walking her back and planting her down on her desk.

He pushes at her skirt, pulls at her panties, and pops the buttons of her blouse, all while their mouths move around each other’s, gasps and groans falling between them and hands wandering everywhere they can possibly go. 

She tugs at his hair, bunches his t-shirt in her grip and leans into his every touch, falling back onto her palms when their lips part and moves to pepper kisses along her jaw.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” she whispers as his lips press into her neck, pressure firm as the sensitive skin there gets sucked into his mouth, his stubble scratching into her skin in such a way that she opens up even more for him - head craning back, legs widening, hips pushing right to the end of her desk where his thigh presses between them.

“No?” He mutters into her, “You want me to stop?”

“No.” She pouts, and he chuckles against her flesh, the hot air from between his lips sending shivers all the way down her spine. “Of course I don’t want you to stop.”

He hums, pressing his thigh straight against her heat, and she grinds onto it through sheer instinct, seeking whatever pleasure he can give her and moaning out in response as soon as she feels the contact.

“Good girl,” he praises, swiping his chin against the skin he’s marked up until she hisses at the feeling, the prickly hairs on his jaw scraping against where she feels like she’s been rubbed red-raw.

It isn’t until he takes her jaw in his hand, pinching slightly to pull her toward him and slotting their lips together that her hips start to gyrate of their own accord, rubbing against his thigh without shame in the middle of her office, her nails clawing into the wood of her desk until she hopes they leave some sort of mark.

“That feel good?” He mumbles into her mouth, a hand of his falling onto her hip to assist with the movements before he kisses her again.

She just hums against him, eyes screwed shut as she tries to savour the feeling when her clit presses straight against his thigh, his pants being the only barrier. 

“M’just gonna move you a little, yeah?”

She nods, mindlessly.

And then his hand is gripping at her thigh, fingers and thumb pressing into the flesh firmly to push her legs even further apart so that he can stand between them, and he unbuttons his jeans with his free hand until he can push them down. 

She can’t complain at the lack of friction when this is what she’s getting as a result.

She can see the firm outline of him through his briefs as she looks down between them, her mouth watering slightly just at the sight, until her view is obstructed by his face when he kisses her again.

She tilts her hips in anticipation, ready to meet him when he moves to push into her, but the feeling she gets instead is different. Similar to before, a layer of fabric sits between them as he presses his hips into hers, still not having undressed completely.

She whines, lips pouting so he’s kissing at them as they remain still, and he keeps at it, hips working into her own until he gets frustrated at her lack of response. 

“What’s wrong, huh?” He asks, pulling her hips forward himself until he’s right against her and she gasps, “Why’re you being pouty?”

“S’not enough,” she mumbles, “Need more.”

“Aw pretty girl,” he pouts himself, mockingly, “I’m not giving you what you need?”

She shakes her head.

“Thought this is what you wanted? To take things slow?”

“Not this.” She whines, her hand trailing down his abdomen, feeling the soft ridges even beneath his t-shirt, until they meet the elastic of his pants, snapping it teasingly against his skin. “Think you should fuck me.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The smile he gives reads like a promise of everything to come, of all the dirty, sinful things he’s been waiting all this time to do for her, and she feels her heart jump and thud in response. 

He closes the distance again, so that she can’t see between them, his tongue lapping languidly against her own and she’s moaning into his mouth when she feels what she has been craving pressing against her entrance, pressing to slide up until it bumps against her clit and her back arches straight into him.

She feels sticky all over. Lightheaded and far-off like she isn’t even here, and when he finally pushes into her, she’s startled back into clarity.

The shrill beeping of her phone alarm rings on the nightstand right beside her head, and when her eyes adjust to the light, she feels tears of frustration well up in them at the realisation of what she’s just been deprived of.

She still feels sticky. Still feels lightheaded. Feels hot all over and tingly like she’s been left unsatisfied.

Only now, there’s no promise of any sort of reward for it.

She’s alone in her bed with nothing but a pillow for company, and she’s so exasperated she wants to scream.

Yet another cursed pregnancy dream she gets no form of relief or respite from.

She could honestly curse the Hischier genes if this is what they bring.

She’s tired of it, now.

Most of the time, she’s usually able to shake her dreams off as soon as she’s awake, but this one seems to linger in her mind, an ever-present heat creeping up her skin despite the fact she tries to wash it away in the shower.

She feels hot as she gets ready, feels hot as she drives to work, and even in her office, where she can turn on the AC and try to distract herself.

Only that doesn’t work, either. 

Obviously.

She’s brought herself to the one place that’s going to bring the whole picture back.

So she ventures upstairs to the supply closet, deciding to fill a box with everything she’s low on just to pass the time - to occupy her mind with something other than the thought of Nico, and him having her legs spread on top of her desk.

She’s closing up when she hears the distant call of her name.

“I’ll take that.” Luke appears seemingly out of nowhere as she’s in her own world, coming toward her before she really has a chance to do anything about it. “Can’t have you carrying these things on your own.”

“It’s not that heavy,” Poppy protests as he takes the box from her hands, clearly not believing her or expecting how light it would be when he takes it into his own. “Told you.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s best you don’t lift anything, too much work on your body could make your feet swell, and that might not go down. Did you know most women go up a shoe size when they’re pregnant?”

All she can do is blink at him, narrowing her eyes as he talks like he isn’t being a complete weirdo. “I didn’t, how did you know that?”

“I bought a book.” He shrugs as he starts on the way back to her office.

“You bought a-,” she stumbles to follow after him, his long strides already carrying him halfway down the hall, “Luke, you’re gonna end up weirding yourself out with that sort of stuff.”

Him and Jack have both been on at her all week since they found out, appearing to take it in turns to bombard her with gross pregnancy facts, like Nia and the girl with the list - although she’s at least had the decency not to mention that since finding out, herself.

The boys, however, have branded themselves the Funcles, already regaling Poppy with stories of how they’re going to be the ones to make her baby laugh for the first time. 

It shouldn’t stress her out, the thought of those two being responsible for a baby - not with Mr Research in front of her - but it does. Luke would probably learn too many weird facts, and stress himself into some kind of almighty meltdown.

She had to block them last night for her own peace.

“Too late. I already know too much.”

“Like what?”

“I know that as of this week, your baby has started peeing inside you, which is absolutely gross.”

That is gross. She didn’t know that. She doesn’t really want to know that. If only she could block him in real life, too.

“I need you to hand the book over.”

“Can’t, Jack’s reading it now, we’re very serious about this funcle thing.”

“Luke,” she warns, not wanting to be on the receiving end of this horror from everybody.

“What? The more we know the better we can help you.”

“What book did you get that from?” She scoffs, pressing the button for the elevator while his hands are full.

“Same one. It’s good, I’ll tell Jack to give it to Nico after, it’s all about what you’ll be going through in each stage of your pregnancy-,”

“Nico doesn’t need the book, Luke, he’s going through it with me.” She frowns a little as she says it, a little voice in her head telling her it isn’t exactly working out like that. “And I thought me blocking you guys would have made it clear enough, I don’t want your weird facts. If I need to know something, I’ll find out from my doctor, not your deep dives on the internet.”

“Hey, to be fair, I was just trying to prepare you with the thing about your brain.” They step into the elevator and she presses the button for her floor,  “Maybe yours won’t shrink, maybe you’ll-,”

“Nope. No more talk about pregnancy symptoms. You’re on a time out, funcle privileges revoked. If you want to be unblocked, you’ve got to give up Google.”

“I don’t know if it’s worth it, I use Google for everything,” he frowns, like this is an actual thing he needs to seriously consider, “How will I know what I can and can’t eat?”

“You’re not a dog, Luke, if you can buy it, you can eat it.”

“I can buy bleach-,”

“You know exactly what I meant.”

“Fine. No more Google.” Luke huffs, stepping out with Poppy as the doors slide open, “But if I eat an unidentifiable seed and it’s poisonous, we all know who’s to blame.”

“Maybe stay away from seeds, then?”

“My body is a temple, PJ, you can’t tell me what goes in.”

If he wasn’t doing her a wasted favour with the box, she’d probably give him a hearty shove. He can be so irritating when he wants to be. Now she has his death-by-unidentifiable-seed weighing on her conscience.

“Got to get all my nutrients in if I’m gonna be Mitchie’s favourite uncle, Nico looks like the type of dude that makes chunky babies.”

He probably isn’t wrong, not that she entirely wants to think about it, but baby Cheeto measures a little over expectations every time she has a scan, and her bump is a little bigger than the average, she has been told.

“I really don’t want those kinds of ideas in my head,” she pouts, her mind immediately going to the delivery aspect of it all, relief flooding her system as her office finally comes into sight, “And for the last time, I’m not calling my baby Mitchie short for Michigan.”

“It’s better than calling it Cheeto,” Luke scoffs, “At least Mitchie is unisex.”

Poppy gasps, stopping and placing two hands over her bump as if she’s covering tiny little ears in there. “Words hurt, Luke, you’re hardly gonna be favourite uncle chirping my baby in the womb.”

“Actually, it can’t hear anything outside of your body until like 28 weeks.”

“If I could block you in person, I would.” She’s pushing the door to her office open as she says it, turning to face him and walking in backwards to give him a meaningful glare when she notices his face twist in confusion at something behind her.

When she spins around to see what he’s bothered by, she sees a tall figure stood by her wall, hands in his pockets as he looks over the photographs that line it - and even from the back, she can tell who it is.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Looking at all your pictures, I’ve never seen any of these before.”

That’s because you don’t care about my work, she withholds from biting back, remembering Luke’s presence behind her and not at all prepared to have any sort of family bust up today - especially not in work. “You’re from this one. 43. A little scrawny to be an athlete, aren’t you son?” He points to one of the pictures, one of Poppy, Luke, Johnny and Holtzy before a game at the beginning of the season. 

“I’m-,” Luke frowns, almost comically if Poppy wasn’t too tense now to laugh, “Scrawny?”

“Look like you’d snap in two if I ran at you too hard.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be running at people?” Maybe she isn’t too tense to laugh. “Respectfully, I mean.”

“Thank you for your help, Luke,” Poppy takes the box from his hands and immediately puts it on the couch in the corner before he can protest, making eyes at him to get out of there before it’s too late. It’s for his own safety. “I’ll unblock you later, I promise.”

“Right.” He nods, “Catch you later, PJ. Good to meet you, sir.”

He dashes out so quick she swears he leaves a Luke shaped outline in his wake, her door swinging shut before she can even call out a response. 

“No pictures of the boyfriend?” Her dad asks once he’s gone, taking another quick look over the wall.

“They’re at home.” She says, going around the other side of her desk so that there’s some sort of barrier between them. “Did something happen? Is that why you’re here?”

“Cant a father visit his daughter at work?”

“If he can name her job title without looking it up, then sure.”

“I don’t need to know your job title, Poppet, I know the day you were born and how much you weighed, beyond that, I’m not expected to remember the little things.”

It isn’t the little things, she thinks, it’s my career.

“Whatever,” she sighs, not wanting to get into it, “What are you here for, dad?”

He sits in the chair opposite her, looking a little large for life now that she’s properly seeing him in front of her. It’s like when he would sit at her tea parties as a kid, always too big for the chairs and table.

“I came to say that what happened at dinner last week was embarrassing.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes, despite how petulant he probably thinks it is, crossing her legs and wiggling her mouse to bring her computer to life, hoping if she looks busy enough this conversation will be much shorter.

She’s been trying not to think about it, trying to suppress the floods of disappointment that wash over her every time she remembers it. Her mother’s biting words, her father’s indifference, it all hurts just the same.

“I’m not gonna apologise for defending myself, or defending Nico, I don’t care if I humiliated-,”

“I was embarrassed of myself.”

“I-,” Oh. Just as she feels herself start to get defensive again, his words register. “What?”

“I’m your dad, I’m supposed to stick up for you and have your back.” He frowns, “Especially knowing how hard your mom is on you, and what you’re going through, I was just blindsided by the whole Rich Horowitz thing with your brother, and-,”

“You’re supposed to stick up for him, too, dad. You’re just as hard on Oli.” She doesn’t know why she’s defending her brother after what he did, but after all these years it’s almost like a second nature. She can snap at him, but if anyone else does the same, she won’t let it slide.

“Says you, you called him an idiot.”

“Yeah, well he got under my skin.”

“He was being an idiot. We all were, that’s why it’s embarrassing.” He sighs, “It took your boyfriend stealing my job for me to realise-,”

“Stealing your job?”

What on Earth does he mean by that? 

“What is it that you kids say? He handed my ass to me?”

“What kid taught you that?” Oli’s boys are too young to know that one, and it won’t have come from her brother. Is the demographic at the club really that young these days that someone’s teaching her dad the meaning of having his ass handed to him? It can’t have been Nico. “What do you mean?”

“After you and your mother stormed off, he gave me and your brother a verbal spanking, if you will.”

I won’t, she thinks, unable to stop the grimace that comes out in instinctual response at her father mentioning spanking.

“He yelled at you?”

“Well I can’t picture the boy yelling, Poppy, he’s a little gentle-mannered, don’t you think?” His tone is patronising, but from the way this conversation is going, she doesn’t think that’s his intention, for once. “That isn’t a bad thing, of course! I wouldn’t want my daughter to be with a man so quick to raise his voice, anyway.”

“What did he say?”

“That’s probably up to him to tell you.” He shrugs, “He just made me realise that I haven’t been the most supportive of you lately. With all this,” his hands gesture around the room, “And that,” and then towards her belly. “And I didn’t give either of you a chance the other week. I’d like to get to know the guy who sat at a table in my house and had the guts to put me in my place. Have a do-over.”

Her mouth hangs open at the revelation, blinking slowly as she tries to come to terms with what her father has just said.

Nico stood up for her? To her dad? After how eager he was to impress him and bond with him over something - he just laid down the law on how she deserves to be treated? Like it’s nothing for him to do so? And he didn’t even tell her he’d done so, didn’t even try to get some brownie points?

And her dad respected it enough to come all the way out here and ask for another shot?

“You want a do-over?”

“I do. One of my golfing buddies has a suite at Madison Square Garden, he’s a big Knicks guy, but he rarely uses it for the Rangers, he’s said we can use it for the game on Wednesday. It is your guys they’re playing, right?”

The game on Wednesday.

Who is this man and what has he done with her dad?

Her dad who has never shown anything but distain for hockey in his life, has voiced it so much to Poppy since she started working with the Devils that she stopped talking about work, entirely.

She nods, anyway.

“And then we’re gonna treat you and Nico to lunch on Thursday, if he’s free.”

“We?”

“Me and your mother.”

Poppy gulps. She’ll probably have something to say about Nico speaking up in her defence. 

“She’ll be on her best behaviour, I’ve had assurances.”

“Right,” she scoffs, finding that hard to believe. “I don’t know, Dad, I don’t think a game against the Rangers is the best place to do this-,”

“I want to understand your world, Poppy.”

Well that’s a cruel thing to say to an overly emotional pregnant woman, she thinks, eyes watering at the thought that maybe this could actually be a turning point for them. 

All thanks to Nico.

“Okay.” She agrees, despite her better judgement warning her against doing so.

“Great. I’ll email you the details for the suite. I have to go, your mom is getting her hair done and I won’t hear the end of it if I’m late to meet back up with her.”

“You guys are over this way?”

“We’re in midtown for a conference on Tuesday, we’ll be going back on Thursday after lunch.”

Poppy just nods in response, having nothing more to say to the fact they’re just across the river and neither thought to check up on her.

She supposes this is that, her dad checking up, so she lets it go as she rounds the table to hug him goodbye before he leaves her alone with her thoughts.

She’s only alone for a minute before her door opens without a knock, and she looks up to see an out of breath Nico barging into her office, skin almost glossy with sweat and still donned in his team gym gear. 

He pants to catch his breath once he has closed the door behind him, putting his hands on his hips and frowning over at Poppy, who can’t help the alarm that crosses her own features.

“Are you okay?” She stands and rounds back to his side of her desk, standing before him to get a better look, assessing for any way in which he could be hurt, because why else would he rush straight here in a panic?

“Yeah,” he breathes, tongue swiping out against his bottom lip as he looks over her in the same way, head tilted and eyes blinking slowly, “Are you? Luke said your dad was here, I was worried you’d be upset.”

“Oh,” her lips remain in a pout around the word as her eyes dart to where she can see a little bit of sweat trickling down the side of his neck, and she feels hot, herself, all of a sudden. “I’m good.” The words slip from her mouth before she can even think of them, making up for the way her mind is racing at a million miles an hour out of nowhere.

“You sure?” He runs a hand through his hair, and she sees his t-shirt strain against bulging biceps, making her struggle to swallow and only able to nod in response. “I ran up here like a madman,” he chuckles, stepping around her to sink down into the chair behind, spreading his legs and laying his arms on the rest in a way that reminds her of the dream she had been woken too soon from this morning. 

It’s a real mental effort not to let her eyes travel lower than his broad, heaving chest as she looks down at him, perching herself on the edge of her desk, awkwardly, not knowing what to do with her own arms and legs that isn’t going to elicit such sinful thoughts.

“Sorry, I didn’t tell him to go find you or anything.”

“No, it’s okay, I asked the boys to come get me if they think you need me,” he shrugs, like that isn’t going to cause her heart to do little somersaults in her chest. “Would have ended up here at some point this morning, anyway.”

“Less stressed, though.”

“Always stressed when it comes to you.” She kicks softly at his calf, underestimating just what the effects of the touch would do to either of them when he smirks up at her, his eyes dark and inviting.

All she wants to do is crawl into his lap.

This isn’t your ridiculous dream, Poppy, she tells herself, chewing at the corner of her mouth to ground her mind.

“He wants a re-do.” She tells him, “My dad. He and my mom are staying in Manhattan for something this week, and he wants to come to the Rangers game on Wednesday, and have lunch with us the day after.”

Nico straightens up in his seat, leaning his elbows onto his knees as he looks up at her. “That’s a good sign, right?”

The gleam in his eyes paints a picture of optimism, and the thought that anything about this is going to result in a positive outcome, but Poppy knows her parents too well to get her hopes up.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “He seemed apologetic, but I doubt my mom is going to have magically changed her entire outlook in the span of a week.”

“Getting your dad on side is still a win,” he keeps that sweet smile despite her pessimism, and she feels a little lighter just looking at the curve of his lips. 

“Yeah, I heard I have you to thank for that.”

He pauses a second while he thinks over her words, before slinking back into his seat, defeated, but still deciding to feign ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame,” she pouts, “‘Cause my dad told me about someone matching your description, sitting at his dinner table and putting him in his place about not sticking up for his daughter.”

“Sounds like a decent guy,” Nico shrugs, standing from the seat, closer to Poppy than either of them could have anticipated, their knees bumping together as she’s now the one looking up at him. “Probably didn’t mean to cause any offence and just wanted to defend the mother of his child like she did for him.” His hand reaches instinctively to settle against her side, the tips of his fingers on her waist and his palm caressing her belly. 

She hums, lips curving as she watches his eyes drop to where his hand is, fighting the urge to touch him back.

“Sounds very decent.” She agrees, “No one’s ever gone to bat for me like that, before.”

“Yeah, well, whoever he is, he knows he’s the luckiest guy in the world to have you.”

A large palm comes to cradle her cheek as she beams up at him, and his touch lights all her nerve endings ablaze.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, she thinks, with him practically stood between her legs and his melted chocolate eyes looking into hers, swirling with what feels like adoration. 

They dart down to her lips, and his tongue swipes at his own, and just when she thinks this is it, think he’s going to lean in and close the gap, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his shorts.

He sighs as he retrieves the hand from her face to get it, frowning as he looks down at the screen while his other palm stays on her belly. “I have to get back,” he mutters, “But Thursday is fine with me, I’m free. I’ll text you when I’m done with practice, we’ll figure everything out,”

“Okay,” she smiles, despite the fact that she feels like she’s now wound tighter than a drum, all the anticipation in her body stiffening her muscles as she watches him retreat.

“Or we could do lunch together later?”

She should be embarrassed of how quick and how eager she nods in response, but she can’t really be ashamed when he smiles the way he does, a soft laugh accompanying it as the dimples settle into his cheeks. 

“Let me know what you want and when you’re free and I’ll bring it by.”

“Okay,” she breathes as he gets a little closer, smiling back shyly.

He swipes his knuckle along the curve of her bump, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek, and she hopes he doesn’t notice the way she smushes herself into it, nuzzling into the feeling of his lips against her skin. She can feel him smile against her, though, so that hope goes out of the window too quick for her to really care.

“I’ll see you later then, Poppy.”

“And Cheeto.”

And he leverages two hands at either side of her hips on her desk before leaning down, face level with her belly as he says, “And you too, Cheeto.”

She's gonna have to stop letting him into her office, for her own sanity.

“I’m gonna need your dad to tell me who hooked us up with this suite, this is insane!”

Poppy hadn’t been sure when her dad had sent over the instructions on how to get to his friend’s suite at MSG, especially not when the staff had been so attentive and treated the girls like they were the most important people in the building, having a guide literally walk them to the door before letting them know where he’d be if they needed anything replenished while they are here. But now that she’s in the suite, she gets it entirely.

She’s used to watching from the staff suite at work, but even those aren’t as nice as this one. 

The room itself is intimate, dim, warm lighting cast across leather seating, pictures of the arena on the wall, and a few pictures of Knicks winning their championships in the 70’s. Thankfully not a Rangers themed box or Poppy’s nausea might have returned. 

“It’s alright,” she shrugs, trying to ignore how incredible it is to be in a private suite at MSG. She’s a Prudential girl, always loyal to The Rock. Private restrooms and a VIP entrance won’t sway her to the dark side, she isn’t that fickle.

“Oh my God, they have baked cookies.”

When she looks over at Nia, she has the lid lifted on one of the trays in the chafer in the corner, the smell of fresh, hot cookies flooding the room and luring Poppy over like a siren-call. There’s a tray of quesadillas, some crudités, a salad and some chicken fingers, and she wants to eat all of it.

It’s probably a good thing she can’t drink, because the mini bar might have done the trick.

“I’m not waiting for my parents to dig into this.”

“You’re pregnant, they’ll understand.”

The two best friends share a knowing look before breaking out into laughter, and filling two plates with food before going to sit at the counter-like table that overlooks the ice. 

Poppy feels her anxiety slip away a little as her and Nia catch up, hearing about her work and her dad’s new random venture into woodworking that has him flooding her apartment with new shelves and a TV unit so that he can test their durability before he builds Poppy a crib, her heart melting at the thought of him being so sweet to someone who isn’t even his own daughter. 

They watch as the arena fills up, the noise building to a continuous buzz that always makes her hands shake a little, and Nia, knowing her all too well, is able to distract Poppy entirely from her parents impending arrival and whatever else is going on in her crazy mess of a head.

That is until she gasps, pointing toward the jumbotron that’s playing some sort of preview. “Look, it’s your man.”

“I don’t know if I’d call him my man.” Poppy huffs as she manages to catch a glimpse of him, a 2 second flash that has her whole body vibrating.

“I thought things were going well?”

“I don’t know, Ni,” Poppy sighs as she leans back, snapping a cucumber stick in half, “I mean, they are, but I guess I just thought he would have made a move by now.”

“Haven’t you been pushing him away every time he tries?”

“No. I pushed him away once.” She frowns, rolling her eyes when Nia raises a single brow at her incredulously, “Maybe twice, 3 times, maximum. But that was so long ago, now. And things have been so good lately, he’s been incredible.” Poppy’s limbs feel a little like jelly as she melts into her seat, her mind relaying all the ways in which Nico has been a rock for her over the past few months. Taking her to her appointments, going on grocery runs with her, coming around and helping her put them away. The whole family dinner ordeal and the agreement for a re-do. 

He’s so good to her that it’s driving her up the wall.

“But?” Nia asks, knowing her best friend all too well.

“But nothing! I wanna,” Poppy looks behind her to double check her parents haven’t arrived yet, “climb him like a tree,” she whispers, “and he’s being respectful and decent about it.”

“Ugh, what a dick.” Nia scoffs in faux-agreement, raising her arms mockingly. 

“I know.” Despite the fact that Poppy knows Nia is being sarcastic, she carries on anyway to further drive her point home. “He came by my office the other day, and he was all sweaty and gorgeous, and things got all intense, and kissed me on the cheek. How am I supposed to slip him some tongue when he kisses my cheek? And then he came back later for lunch and pretended like everything was normal.”

He had brought her a wrap and some juice, and the two of them had sat and eaten together in her office like he wasn’t about to kiss her stupid in the morning, stood between her parted legs like something fresh out of a literal fantasy she’s already had.

“I thought you’d last a little longer before you completely lost your mind, to be honest. You’re falling apart before my very eyes.”

“I haven’t even told you about the dreams yet.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” 

“I just feel like I’m running out of time, or something.”

“You guys are having a baby together, Pop, you literally have forever to figure things out.”

Poppy knows that’s technically right. It had been her exact sentiment when she had suggested taking things slow in the first place. They don’t need to rush into something just because they’re going to be parents, soon, but she had thought those things at a time where everything was confusing. 

She was still hurting a little, fresh from almost a month of the two of them not talking, of him rejecting her and telling her he wouldn’t have the capacity to be a good partner. And she had been a little overwhelmed at the time, her life changing before her eyes, and all. But he’s done so much to disprove all of that, since. 

He’s there for her, physically, emotionally, however she needs and whenever she needs him. He looks after her, tries to help in whatever way he can when she’s exhausted or feeling sick - brings her food and smoothies and sends her pick-me-up texts that make her feel like she’s floating. 

All that when he’s in the thick of his season too, fighting what is looking more and more like a losing battle for playoff contention, going home every day exhausted and beaten and bruised, and he always makes the time to call her. To ask how she’s doing, how she’s feeling, to make sure she has eaten and is tucked up for the night and safe. 

They kiss each other, they hang out like old times, he caresses her belly when they’re in private and she rubs his back affectionately when they cuddle, and sure, her hormones are all out of whack and her brain is shrinking and maybe she is falling apart, but she wants him so bad she doesn’t even know how to function, anymore.

Everything they do together points to the fact that they should be together, but he isn’t doing anything about it - and so all Poppy can think is that maybe he doesn’t want that, still.

“He’s going home for the summer, Ni,” Poppy frowns, “And we haven’t even really talked about it, but I feel like if something doesn’t happen before then, then maybe it never will.”

“That’s ridiculous, you said it yourself, the two of you are in a good place.”

“This time last year we were in a good place too, and then he left and came back with a girlfriend.”

Nia’s eyes widen as realisation flashes across her features, and Poppy’s brows push together at the depth in which she’s being perceived by her best friend. “You’re really worried about that?”

Poppy shrugs, shuffling in her seat as she watches the lights dim across the arena, thankful for the darkness so that Nia can’t notice the heat creeping up her neck.

She doesn’t want to be told she’s an idiot, right now.

“You’re being an idiot.”

Great.

“Poppy, c’mon, this isn’t even remotely the same situation, anymore. I know I’ve been giving him a hard time since he hurt you, and I’ve had a lot of other things to say, but that guy worships the ground you walk on. I posted a picture of you on my story the other day with some writing on there, and he replied to it asking me to send him the original picture like a giant lovesick dork. That’s like obsession, there’s no chance in hell he’s going home and not thinking about you and your baby every waking second of his life.”

“You unblocked him?” Poppy can feel her lips twitching a little into a smile.

She knows Nia never hated Nico after what he did - she was angry, and probably felt betrayed herself a little that she had trusted him with her best friend’s heart and he had stomped on it - but she’s never really been a forgive and forget kind of person.

But she’s been doing her own version of baby steps with Nico. When they cross paths at Poppy’s apartment, one on the way out, one on the way in, she no longer scowls at him. No longer rolls her eyes when he’s brought up in conversation.

And, evidently, she no longer has him blocked 

For everything Nico has done to prove himself to Poppy, Nia has seen it, too. 

Even just to let him back in, in such a small way, is such a big step.

“He’s on a probationary period, three strikes and he’s out.”

“Wrong sport.” Poppy smirks.

“Don’t care. Besides the point anyway, what I was trying to say is that you’re worrying too much about stupid things when you should be focusing on the things he is doing. He literally endured dinner with your parents, and is going to do it again. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

“I thought the point of this pep talk was to stop my anxiety, not double it.”

She’s been trying not to think about lunch with her parents. Has been trying even not to think about them coming to this game, Nia being the only reason she hasn’t tried to make her escape by now.

They probably won’t show, anyway, and it will start their meeting off tomorrow with already raised tensions, just how her mom prefers it.

Her stress levels dip and rise like a rollercoaster in the build up to the game. The announcement of the players, the national anthem, the tension in the room palpable as the clock ticks down, high already from the last time the two teams met and the constant chatter of a fight breaking out on the ice - and she’s feeling more and more grateful that they haven’t arrived yet.

Until the door to the suite swings open, and her dad walks in on his own, an apologetic smile on his face as he rushes over.

“Sorry I’m late,” He kisses Poppy and the cheek, and greets Nia with a warm hug, sitting beside his daughter and looking out into the arena, “Did  I miss anything?”

“Pucks about to drop,” Poppy tells him as he gets himself comfy, watching as he scans the crowd with an expression that kind of, sort of, looks like awe. “Mom’s not coming?”

“Not this time,” he shrugs, patting a hand against her back gently and not really delving any further into it. “We’ll have more fun without her though.”

Nia scoffs from the other side of her, hiding her smile with a bite of a cookie while Poppy tries to swallow down her unexpected disappointment.

This will have to be enough - her dad trying his best while her mom sulks on her own in her hotel room. He’s right, anyway. It will be more fun without her here.

Poppy has work the next day, Nico having a rare morning off, himself, and so the two of them arrange for him to pick her up at lunch, driving over to meet her parents together. She blocked the afternoon out of her diary, having to account for the travel either way across the river, and for whatever trauma the two of them are about to face, no doubt needing a good 20 minutes to wind down in the car after, and her morning goes by way quicker than she probably would have liked.

She packs up her office with as much delay as she can cause, stopping every couple of minutes to put her hands on her hips and try out a couple breathing exercises that Nico has been teaching her, huffing out long breaths through puffed out cheeks and letting the tension drop from her shoulders. Once she has everything, she reluctantly heads down to meet Nico where they had agreed after he sends her a text to tell her he’s there.

She straightens her skirt out as she waits in the elevator, making sure her hair is neat and her top isn’t riding up against her small bump as it has been all morning, no longer able to cover it up with her cardigan tied around her waist, knowing her mother would call her out for being unkempt.

She wouldn’t be wearing heels if it were up to her, a subtle ache already settling into the soles of her feet, but it’s only for an hour or two, she has some sneakers in her trunk for when he brings her back for her car, and if anything, they make her legs look good so it isn’t entirely a bad thing to be wearing them around Nico.

When the doors to the parking level open, she has the expectation that he would be in his normal spot around the corner, where the players usually park - the spaces a little bigger, less chance of anyone being careless with the way they open their door and dinging it against another like she’s had happen before - but she’s surprised to see he isn’t too far, parked straight ahead so she doesn’t have far to walk.  

Nico leans against his car, dressed smart in charcoal pants and a light grey shirt, and she finds herself doing a not-so-subtle once over, mainly to check he isn’t wearing sneakers. 

She’s grateful she has a little time to walk over to him, to admire him before it’s too obvious she’s doing so, because if he got a close enough look at her, he could potentially call her out for drooling. 

She catches him doing the same, eyes lingering on her bare legs as she closes the distance between them, before flickering up to greet her with a dimpled smile.

“You look good,” she comments as she steps toward him, reaching to smooth his hair where he’s slicked it back a little, swiping her finger along his clean shaven jaw as she retreats.

“It goes against everything I believe in, wearing dress pants this early in the day.” 

“I appreciate it.”

“I know you do.”

He opens the car door for her and walks by the front to round to his side, giving her a chance to admire the back of him as he moves before he’s jumping into the drivers seat. 

She reaches to put the AC on low as he drives, getting a little hot watching his fingers flex around the wheel, and tries not to spend all her time leaning against the headrest and looking over his side profile like a crazy person. 

Although, if admiring a guy as gorgeous as Nico while he’s in her presence is a crime, she thinks she probably deserves to be locked up.

She’s a repeat offender, after all.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I feel weirdly good, actually.” Her morning at work hadn’t been too hectic, a meeting and a few calls, and she hasn’t really felt sick all week, so things are definitely looking up.

And last night with her dad went better than expected, despite her mom not making an appearance.

She’s even slightly optimistic for this lunch, oddly enough, not having that nagging voice in her head telling her everything is going to fall apart, for once.

“What about you? You aren’t gonna threaten to drive off again, are you?”

“Nah,” he chuckles, casting her an amused glance before focusing back on the road. “I think I’ve got a good read for how these Jensen table talks go by now.”

“I think my dad will be okay today, he got really into the game last night. I think it was all the fighting, and my mom not being there, it was like he’s been holding back all this time.”

She had been initially disappointed when her mom hadn’t shown, but when all the fighting had started, she had been relieved. She had warned her dad when he had made the suggestion in the first place, but nothing could have properly prepared him for the carnage of a game against the Rangers, and so she just had to let him endure it.

And he loved it. It was bizarre to see. He’d been cheering on the boys, oohing and aah-ing in time with the crowd, and jumping whenever she and Nia did.

She had actually had fun, and it seemed like he did, too.

“He’ll be coming to The Rock in a jersey before we know it.”

“Is that how things work out for you, everyone just comes around in the end ‘cause your so charming?”

“Surprised it took you this long to notice.” 

Poppy’s parents are waiting in their hotel lobby when Poppy and Nico arrive after their almost-hour long drive, thankfully both dressed just as smart as they are, because she knows Nico would have something to pout about if her dad showed up in khakis. 

The four of them sit around a table in the lounge restaurant of her parent’s hotel in Midtown, her dad having tried to find another spot and her mom having quickly vetoed every cafe or restaurant in the area after vigorously trawling through the Yelp reviews and no doubt turning her nose up at every picture she came across.

Despite the setting being suited to her, she still rearranges her table setting when she arrives, still swipes at the surface and assesses her finger for dust or grime with a dissatisfied look on her face, and Poppy’s trying her best to ignore the little things. Her mom would be like this in the finest restaurant in the world, it isn’t specific to Jersey, it isn’t entirely personal.

It has been cordial, so far. Pleasantries exchanged, small talk conversed. The food had been nice, the wait staff thankfully avoiding her mother’s daring glares, and Poppy starts to feel her anxiety dwindle the more her father talks.

He asks Nico of his interests, trying to find something shared, but coming up slightly short - but that’s okay, she thinks, not everyone has something in common. Maybe they’ll discover that down the line. Maybe there’s something niche that their conversations haven’t sparked yet. 

Nico is his charming self, she has no worries there, and her dad is putting in enough effort to make up for the lack of it on her mom’s end.

Then he moves onto hockey, and Poppy can tell he had been paying attention when he had watched them play the day before. 

She and Nia had been too invested in the game to explain much to him, and it’s hard - being in the arena, watching it live - without having heard most of the terminology through commentary or any sort of breakdown of a play, and so Nico ends up pretty much going through plays and game structure with him, explaining penalties and power plays, shift switches and face-offs, and Philip sits, nodding along as if he’s actually taking it on board. 

“And what do you do with yourself when your season is over?” Her dad asks, and despite the depth in which she knows him, can see the lingering suspicion and distrust in Nico, and of their situation as a whole, she’s grateful for that fact that he’s at least trying.

“I usually go back home and spend time with my family, sir. My brother plays in the league over there so I don’t get to see him when we’re playing at the same time.”

“That’s nice. And that’s Sweden?”

“Switzerland, Dad.” Poppy corrects him, her fingers tickling mindlessly at Nico’s palm in her lap. 

“Of course! Beautiful country, Poppy’s mother and I always used to stop by Zurich whenever we were in Europe. You loved the Opera House, didn’t you, Cilla?”

“Hm,” Poppy’s mom confirms, sipping at her wine with feigned disinterest. Poppy knows she’s paying attention, is going through Nico’s every word with a fine toothed comb. “I much preferred France.”

Poppy rolls her eyes, shifting a little in her seat until her knees knock into Nico’s.

“What do your parents do, son?”

“They both work in insurance, my dad has his own firm.”

“Ah, they’re not athletic, like you and your brother?”

“They were. My mom was a swimmer, my dad played footba- sorry, soccer. And my big sister, Nina, she used to play volleyball.”

“I bet your family game nights get heated.”

He really is trying, Poppy thinks, smiling softly over at Nico as he chuckles in response, lips twisting fondly at whatever memory that invokes. 

“They aren’t too bad, only a bit competitive. No major fights, thankfully.”

“Is that what you want for our grandchild?” Priscilla chimes in, only proving Poppy’s point that she isn’t as disinterested as she’d like to seem. “For them to put all their focus on games and competitions?”

“Mom,” Poppy frowns, shuffling uncomfortably again, all too ready to jump to Nico’s defence until he speaks up from beside her.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, “I haven’t thought much about it, to be honest, I would just want them to be happy.”

He doesn’t say it like he’s trying to win points or be corny, when Poppy turns her head to look at him, she sees the slight dopey smile he has whenever he talks about their baby - a look of pure adoration for even the unknown - and she smiles too. If anything, his outlook would have the opposite effect on her mother than to give him any sort of kudos, but her heart warms, all the same. 

She clutches at his hand under the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze that he returns three times over.

“Nico plays for Switzerland, too,” she directs more towards her father, who might be a little more receptive to the fact, “They have the world championships in Prague this year, if the Devils don’t make the playoffs, Nico might be going over earlier. Might even captain the team.” She beams with pride, using her other hand to rub at the arm of the hand of his that she’s holding.

“That’s great-,”

“That’s an awfully busy schedule for a father-to-be.” Her mother scoffs from across the table. “How are you supposed to look after my daughter from half way across the world?”

“I can look after myself, Mom.”

“You shouldn’t have to. What if something happens, and he’s 9 hours away?”

Why does she have to be like this?

Poppy can feel the responsive insolence brewing within her, bubbling and steaming and about to rear it’s ugly head when another voice speaks up.

“Cilla, that’s enough. She’s shown us she can take care of herself, stop trying to instigate something and scare her for no good reason.”

Poppy feels herself mirror her mom’s expression, her mouth gaping open in shock at the nerve of him to stand up to her like that out of nowhere. As Priscilla presses her lips together in indignation, Poppy prepares hers to speak when her dad turns to Nico, completely disregarding the interruption in their conversation. 

“Is that different? Being a captain for your country compared to the Devils?”

She could lean over the table and kiss him on the head, beyond grateful for the interest he’s now showing, hoping it overpowers the venom spewed from her mother’s mouth. 

“A little bit,” Nico nods, lips curving softly at the corners, clearly appreciative, too. “I don’t really have to worry about trades and contracts and stuff when it comes to my national teammates. I grew up with a lot of those guys, and the tournament is a lot closer to home than the games here. I don’t want to say I prefer it, but it’s always nice to play closer to my family and friends.”

“You’ll have to let me know when it’s on the TV, Poppy. After last night, I’d love to watch more games. It was quite exciting.”

She squeezes his hand again, her smile wider when she looks up at him this time, her eyes settling on the dimples she wants to press her lips to. 

Her dad’s words from the other day ring in her head.

He made me realise I haven’t supported you in the way I should be.

Her dad has never stuck up for her like this. Always turning a blind eye to the way her mom zeroes in on all the things that could possibly sting her - and here he is, in public no less, putting her in her place to protect Poppy. To protect Nico, even. 

“I don’t know if that game was the best introduction for you, sir.” Nico chuckles, “We lost, too.”

“I have it on good authority that that’s only because the Rags are a bunch of no-good cheaters.”

Nico snorts, glancing down and meeting Poppy’s gaze, fondly. “Is that so?”

“I said dirty, rotten, no-good cheaters, actually,” she shrugs, “Dad, if you’re gonna start chirping, you’ve got to put a little more heart into it.”

“You’ll have to teach me, Poppet,” Philip tells his daughter, “Maybe that’s how we keep you busy this summer, you can get me up to scratch for the next season.”

And despite the way her heart hammers in her chest at the mention of her having to be kept busy and the thought of being apart from Nico, she feels the tension in her shoulder slip away. Even her mom’s sour face can’t ruin this moment, where her dad starts showing slight signs of approval for the first time in her life, she feels.

“We can discuss my rates, later.” She smiles over at him, cheeks tightening and eyes watering slightly as she smiles, her appreciation for his time, and for the moment, far outweighing her disappointment in the woman sat beside him. 

It’s only two days later that Poppy and Nico are separated again, him and the team leaving a day early for their game against the Senators, situating him overnight in a hotel in Ottawa when she really wants him back with her in Jersey.

It’s getting pathetic now, she thinks, the way she misses him all the time. It’s one day. She’s still texting him, still speaking to him practically every hour. She shouldn’t need to have him right next to her at all hours of the day.

If anything, she needs to start getting used to this - him not being around. Within the next month, he’ll be back home in Switzerland and she’ll be here, grumbling and moaning to herself and everyone but him about how she wants him back.

She’s been trialling out other people’s company too, as pitiful as that sounds. Nia she knows is a safe bet - she’ll be around, already in full auntie mode and more than ready for Poppy to enter her nesting and shopping phase. Jack and Luke will be going back to Michigan, no doubt, but they’re bound to have some trips back to Jersey. Kelsey is kind of a no-go, because despite the fact that she still considers her one of her best friends, she’s all of a sudden under the impression that Poppy is no fun now that she’s pregnant, and she doesn’t have the energy in her to prove her otherwise. Josh at work had come with her for lunch earlier in the day. He’s alright company, but a little boring, if anything - doesn’t make her laugh straight from her belly, not like Nico, not that she’s comparing them.

Nothing really compares to him, if she’s honest, so it’s a fruitless task to even try.

And so, she’s resigning herself to the little version of him that sits in his poor-signal box on her FaceTime app, crashing and pausing and cutting out sometimes when he speaks.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Poppy groans, leaning forward onto her elbow in front of where her phone is rested on the counter, a pout on her lips as she watches Nico situate himself on his hotel bed.

“I thought you were getting food, before? Didn’t you say you were gonna have a late lunch?”

“We did,” she sighs, remembering the disappointment that the first bite of her bagel had elicited and swearing that even the memory of it has her stomach growling.

“We?”

“Yeah, I went with Josh.”

“The PR guy?” Nico looks so cute when he’s frowning, she thinks, his eyebrows pressing together and his doe-brown eyes going round, his screen pausing on a very adorable pout for a few seconds. 

“Yeah.”

“You went on a lunch date with Josh the PR guy?”

“I wouldn’t call it a date, we just had the same lunch hour.” She shrugs, trying not to get distracted at just the sight of him on a phone screen. Nia was right the other day, she really does need to pull herself together, she thinks. “I don’t think anyone in their mind would want to date me right now, I’m distinctly round and up until a week ago was walking around with a gross vomit smell about me.”

“Was it just the two of you?” He asks, doing little to dispel her undateable theory and causing her to frown, too.

“Yeah,” she drags out with the tilt of her head.

“And you went away from The Rock?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did he pay?”

“Well, yeah, but-,” He probably wouldn’t appreciate her telling him it was Josh’s turn, implying they had shared other lunch breaks, but he cuts her off before she can.

“And you walked back to work together after?”

“We’re in the same building, and it was nice out today.”

“Has he text you since?”

“I-,” She doesn’t actually know. Poppy swipes up from their FaceTime to check her messages, seeing his name near the top. Sent 30 minutes ago, I had fun today, with a smiley face - a blushing smiley face, at that. “Yeah? But you used to pay for my lunch and text me when you got home,”

“Yeah and now you’re carrying my baby.” He’s smiling when she brings the FaceTime back, a soft smile that barely meets his eyes but melts her heart, all the same.

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

“It was a date.” He tells her, and he shifts on the other end of the phone, discomfort evident as she realises that the smile is more resolute than she first thought. “A cheap one, if you’re still hungry.”

“Well he wanted to go to that bagel place a couple streets from work,” she says, ignoring his jab, “You know the one with outdoor seating?” He nods, “He said it’s his favourite spot nearby.”

Maybe it was a date. Walking in the soft sunshine together to his favourite spot. Him buying her a bagel, an iced tea and a little tub of tiramisu for her to eat at her desk that had way too much coffee for her to eat.

Shit.

“You hate that place.” That frown comes back, defensive, almost, and he leans back onto his bent arm in a way that makes his muscles flex, distracting her entirely.

“I know,” she sighs, at the sight of him or at this conversation, she doesn’t know. “They’re so dry, I swear they’re stale, I ended up just picking mine apart, but now I-,”

“Could eat a horse?” He grins, flexing his arm like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Exactly,” she smiles, “And I have nothing in.”

“You went shopping yesterday,” he hums, leaning back and getting comfortable, looking back at her with that sleepy smile that makes her want to cuddle into him. She could so slot into that space that his arm makes - it’s literally Poppy shaped.

“Yeah, but yesterday I had all the intentions of buying things to cook, and now I don’t want to cook.” She walks over to her couch with her phone in hand as she talks, throwing herself down into the cushions with a heavy sigh. “I saw someone with this giant soft pretzel earlier, and I know it isn’t moving yet, but I swear Cheeto started doing backflips at the smell. It’s all I can think about. Soft pretzels and melted cheese, I could actually cry right now just imagining it.”

“Maybe take a shower,” he hums, and he looks like he could fall asleep, any second. “You might have some energy after to make something.”

“Maybe,” she hums, back, soft tone matching his as she watches his eyes flutter. “Still won’t be a soft pretzel, though.”

“Keep me posted on whatever you pick, I’m gonna go before I fall asleep, I’m grabbing dinner with the boys.”

“Show-off.” She pouts, lips twitching when he smiles big enough for his dimples to form. “Text me when you’re back?”

“Sure thing. Make sure you eat something, yeah?”

“I will. See you later, Nico.”

Once her screen goes black with the end of the call, she falls into the back of the couch with a heavy sigh, head craned back to look at the ceiling. 

This is so hard, she thinks of missing a man that isn’t entirely hers, of trying to suppress her feelings before they spread to every fibre of her being. 

And with her patience wearing thin, all she has left is to listen to him - to follow his instruction in the hopes that this is what will make the universe reward her, subliminally giving him what he wants.

She showers, trying not to think about him as she faces up into the spray and lets the hot water rain down on her, lathering her hair in a shampoo she wishes smelled like him and dressing herself after in a hoodie she had stolen a while back, all remnants of his scent long washed away. 

She’s staring at a full refrigerator with a head empty of ideas when there is a knock at her door, and she trudges toward the entrance to her apartment with heavy feet. 

She knows as soon as she opens the door what it is, her nose perked like a sniffer dog as the aroma floods from the paper bag being held out to her.

“I got a delivery for Poppy?”

“Thank you so much,” she smiles, taking the bag from the pre-pubescent looking Postmates delivery guy, and handing him a tip from the little stack of notes she keeps on the table by her door. 

The name on the bag is for a bakery she knows is around 15 minutes away, closer to her old place up in Hoboken, and she practically skips around to her couch to open it up. 

Two soft pretzels and a tub of Cranberry-Bacon Swiss cheese dip that she had forced Nico to try one time a few years back, and hadn’t had since she moved - still warm in the bag and the smell of it causing her mouth to water.

She thinks this might be the sexiest thing he’s ever done.

Remembering a random order for a soft pretzel from years ago. Relaying her schedule over the phone before, how she didn’t like a certain bagel shop that she had probably mentioned one time before, how she had gone shopping the day prior, something that had probably been a passing comment in a text earlier in the week - flooding her with his perfect recall and insistence on delivering a love language from hundreds of miles away. 

I think I’m in love with you, she types out in a fit of giddiness, senses overpowered by the delicious smell from the bag in her lap, her judgement thankfully coming back before she can hit send, because sure they’ve told each other they love each other before, but never like that. 

Instead, she types out something much more reasonable for the occasion to send along with a selfie of her holding the bag with a stupid smile on her face.

Poppy: You’re my favourite baby daddy 😊 

Nico: I’m your only baby daddy 🙄 

Poppy: Potentially my favourite person 

Nico: Potentially?

Poppy: Cheeto’s first

Nico: So I’m second?

Poppy: Potentially 💖 

Her mind goes back to something Nia had said at the game earlier in the week, about how Nico cared for her like it was an obsession.

Maybe she’s obsessed, too.

Nico

“What do you know about Josh from PR?”

Nico knows that he should probably feel at least an ounce of shame for going to the rest of the guys about this - should feel childish for letting his own insecurities cloud his mind like this, but he’s tried talking himself out of it, and it hasn’t worked.

The locker room has kind of always been his safe space to vent - in a room surrounded by his peers, where better to air out his grievances and have his irrational feelings validated than here?

Especially on the road, after a rough night’s sleep in a hotel bed, and in a practice facility that has a distinct chemical smell that is making him a little loopy.

This is truly his last resort, and he’s already regretting it from Jack’s response, alone.

“I know that his name is Josh and he works in PR.”

“Funny,” Nico scoffs as he leans back into the bench of his locker, running a frustrated hand through his sweat-matted hair. 

“Why, what beef do you have with Josh?”

Jack sits a few cubbies over, the distance causing his voice to carry and opening the conversation up to the other stragglers, namely Timo, who doesn’t speak up but Nico can see his attention pique.

“He took Poppy out on a date.” He grumbles.

“Our Poppy?” 

Mine, Nico thinks, but nods in response, anyway, hoping only Jack takes notice but wincing when another voice responds, instead.

“Damn,” Timo teases, “Going after a pregnant woman is ballsy.”

“Do you think he’s a problem?” He knows he shouldn’t rise to Timo’s ribbing, the panicked raise of his brow only eliciting a smirk from his fellow countryman and longtime friend, but he can’t help it.

“The last time I had any dealings with him, he was wearing a tie with turtles on it, so the chances are slim, but what do I know?”

“Poppy does like her guys dorky,” Jack joins in, a taunting glint flashing across his eyes.

“Does she like him?” Timo asks, throwing himself down beside Nico, who shrugs in response.

“She didn’t even know it was a date,” he tries to brush it off a little, to sound cocky, but he doesn’t really pull it off.

“Hardly sounds like a threat to me, Cap,” Luke speaks up from the other side of his brother, always the voice of reason. 

“I’m not threatened.” He gives a nonchalant frown.

“Sure you’re not.” Luke scoffs.

“I’m just looking out for her.”

“Of course you are.”

“Stop being annoying.”

“Stop being a liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

Luke is always so quick to call Nico out that it’s starting to remind him of Poppy, a little - sharp tongue and a slight disregard for where he pokes it, if needed. It almost makes him appreciate it, all the more.

“She’s the mother of my child, it isn’t a crime to care about who she might be going on dates with.”

“Buddy, she’s carrying your baby, the last thing she’s looking for is a serious relationship with someone else right now.”

Nico narrows his eyes at his best friend, waiting for the follow up he knows is coming where Timo says something to chip away at his dwindling resolve - something to keep him awake, tonight.

“She’s probably just looking to get some.”

Something like that.

“Get some?” He scoffs, uneasily, his face curling in disgust, “This is Poppy we’re talking about, she isn’t like that. It was a stale bagel and an iced tea, not some sordid hookup.”

“You said she didn’t know it was a date.” Luke chimes in, his tone bored and his expression the same - halfway done with having to entertain Nico’s incessant talking and no action. 

“She didn’t, he took her out to lunch. But she didn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea it was a date when I pointed it out to her.”

“Well maybe,” Timo drags out as he pushes himself off the bench and stands before him, a playful smirk on his lips, “And hear me out before you go crazy,” Nico rolls his eyes, swallowing hard in anticipation, “She’s just crazy horny.”

“Fuck off,” Nico throws one of his pads at him, bouncing off his shoulder before he catches it with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious,” he throws it back for Nico to catch, “Pregnant women are freaky, it’s all the hormones, and most of them have their partners to scratch that itch,” Nico wonders where he’s getting all these ridiculous sayings, all of a sudden, “But you two aren’t together, so she has to get her fill from somebody else.”

Nico tries looking at the other boys for validation. Jack is already distracted on his phone, and Luke looks too grossed out to comment.

“I don’t know why I’m even speaking to you about this, I should have asked someone with at least two brain cells to rub together.”

“Fair point, hey, Curtis, come over here a sec!” Timo calls out, swinging his arm over his shoulder as he approaches, “Tell Nico, in graphic detail, just how freaky pregnant women get!”

“I want nothing to do with this conversation,” he grimaces, shrugging out from under Timo’s grip and carrying on over to his cubby. 

“He didn’t deny it!”

And he knows, deep down, that Timo has been on a personal mission to grind his gears the last few months, finding joy in getting Nico all riled up for no good reason other than it makes him laugh. He knows he shouldn’t take him seriously, but all of a sudden, his chest feels tight - and the feeling won’t go away.

He tries not to overthink any of it, but it’s no use.

All the little nagging thoughts he’s had about his relationship with Poppy over the last few months start to surface, and bubble into something dark and ugly.

Sure, they’ve had their baby steps, they’ve had the odd kiss here and there, they have told each other’s families that they’re together, have spent an awful lot of time together for two people who aren’t together, but that’s just it.

They aren’t together.

They haven’t had that conversation, haven’t set any boundaries, and as much as he hasn’t even looked at another woman since New Years Eve, he can’t expect Poppy not to have done the same.

Why wouldn’t she date Josh?

He has a decent job, seems like a nice enough guy despite his poor timing and his weird need to always be in Poppy’s office. He makes her laugh - Nico’s seen it, has felt his ears go hot as her eyes have crinkled at the corners and that sweet, melodic sound has crossed through the barrier of her lips in his presence - and she clearly likes his company enough to grab lunch with him in the first place.

And it’s those lingering worries that put him into a funk.

When Poppy texts him, his replies are short. He misses a call from her after their win in Ottawa, and doesn’t find the time to call her back. He doesn’t stop by her place when he lands after their flight back, going straight back to his apartment and tossing and turning all night wondering how long it will be before she finds someone else to keep her company and googling all the ways in which her hormones are about to come at her full force - finding an article that points out the exact timeline of it all in gut wrenching detail. He doesn’t see her before he’s locked away for their game against the Predators the next day, either - and when they lose after overtime, and a poor shootout, he feels guilt more than anything when he checks his phone after his shower and Poppy is still texting him like nothing could possibly be wrong.

Poppy: I’ve left a key under the mat if you want to drop by after the game 💖 

It had been sent sometime in the third period, over an hour ago at this point, and she’s more than likely asleep, he thinks.

But God, he wants to see her.

So where he’d usually drive straight home, he drives to her place, instead, hoping they can have some sort of conversation that suppresses the uncertainty that is starting to keep him awake at night.

He parks up beside her car on the street, and takes the stairs instead of her death-trap elevator, ignoring the protesting ache building in his thighs as he climbs all six floors in a hurry.

The key is where she said it would be, and the weight of it is nothing in comparison to the meaning of her leaving it for him, the responsibility of handling it causing his hands to shake as he opens the door quietly, in anticipation of her already resting up.

The lights are off, but there’s a lamp on beside the couch in the living room, and commercials are playing on her TV, and when he steps fully into the space, he finally sees her, and he can finally breathe.

She’s curled up on the couch, dressed in pyjama shorts that sit low on her hips and a tank top that rides up along the curve of her bump, and is snuggling into a pillow while the flashing lights from the TV reflect on her skin. He reaches onto the coffee table for the remote and puts it on mute, watching her for a second as soft snores fall from between her lips.

Jesus, he thinks, she’s beautiful.

Every time he looks at her, he finds himself picturing her features on their baby. The colour of her eyes, the roundness of them when they look straight at him, or the crinkling in the corner when she smiles, the slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips.

He wouldn’t be mad if there was nothing of his. If their baby didn’t have his eye or hair colour, his nose, his smile. He’d be happy with a mini-Poppy.

She must feel his presence as he kneels down beside her - probably hears the crack in his knees or the grunt he thought he was withholding on his way down, because her eyes flutter open slowly, focusing on him with a mellowed, dreamy gaze.

“Hey,” she smiles softly at him, voice thick with sleep and eyes still half-scrunched shut. “Tried to wait up for you.”

How could he let anyone get in his head about this? He thinks, as she looks at him with eyes that sparkle and a smile that grips at his heart like a vice. 

Is this what being apart from her is going to keep doing to him? Forcing him to spiral out of his own mind until he sees her, again?

“I was surprised to see you text so late to be honest,” he hums, reaching out to tuck her sleep-mussed hair behind her ear. “You’re usually out by 9 these days."

“Growing your baby is exhausting,” she sighs with her whole body, shifting on the couch to make room for him, and he falls down into the space she makes, positioning his body to her liking as she snuggles straight into him. He feels himself sigh, the content kind, where the aches in his muscles wither into something a little more comfortable, and everywhere she touches feels warm and soothed.

“You could have gone to bed, Poppy, I was going to see you in the morning, anyway.”

“Missed you.” He likes how there’s no preamble about it - the two of them no longer skirting around their feelings as much, not needing to think up some other excuse for wanting to see each other. She missed him enough to leave a key under the mat, enough to stay up despite her body being overworked, enough that waiting less than twelve hours just wouldn’t suffice the desire to see him again.

He has nothing to worry about, he realises. 

“Missed you, too.” He relaxes fully into the couch, an arm slung around her shoulders and the other reaching to rest in its default place on her little bump. “And Cheeto.”

Poppy hums, and he swears he can feel her arch into his touch.

It’s quiet between them for a moment, illuminated by the muted flickering of game highlights flashing across Poppy’s TV screen, and he can’t help but feel like this is where he is meant to be. This is what he’s meant to come home to. Not an empty apartment with leftovers in the fridge and a bed 10 times too big for one person.

Poppy, on the couch, warm and receptive to whatever he can give her, slow, content sighs slipping from between her lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears after a beat, he gives an affirmative hum as a response before he even registers what she’s said. She uses the hand on his chest as leverage to push herself up, still leaning on him slightly but able to look him in the eye. “Are you mad at me?”

“For what?” He frowns, his heart jumping under her touch.

“For Josh,” her body leans away from his a little as she rests back with her knees beneath her. “I swear I didn’t realise that he even liked me like that, and then after we spoke last night I started getting in my head about it, I don’t want you to think I’m just out here going on dates with other people.”

“I don’t think that-,”

“I just miss you a lot when you’re not here, lately,” she admits, nervously, most likely not even hearing what he had said. “And I’ve been trying to fill my time with other people so that I don’t think about you as much and that I won’t go crazy when you leave again in a few weeks.”

“Okay,”

“Not that it actually works, I-,” her lips twist as she looks down at her lap, her hands both fidgeting between them, “I just feel like I’m getting super clingy, and with you going home soon, I don’t want you to feel like I’m smothering you or something.”

“I don’t feel like that,” he doesn’t know why he keeps trying to reassure her. She’ll listen when she’s finished talking, herself, he figures, because again, she doesn’t acknowledge him. He feels his lips twisting in amusement as she carries on, revealing probably more of herself than she had originally intended. His chest warms, weirdly, at the idea that they’ve both been apart, wanting nothing more than to be with each other, worrying that they’re overbearing the other. 

“And I know this whole,” she lifts a hand to point her finger frantically between the two of them, “thing between us is moving super slow, and I know that’s my fault, but I feel really good about it. It feels really right to me. But we haven’t really talked about it since we agreed on baby steps, and I don’t know where your head is at around everything, but I don’t even see Josh like that, and I wouldn’t agree to go out with him when we’re-,” 

He wants her to finish that thought so badly.

When we’re what, Poppy?

She sighs - another big kind, where her shoulders rise slowly and drop suddenly. Like she’s gearing herself up to say something she thinks he won’t like.

“I don’t want you to go back to Switzerland and get over me again.”

What?

Where the hell did that come from?

He doesn’t think there was even a second he was ever over her. Not entirely, at least. Distracted, maybe. Ignorant, obviously. But never detached.

“And I realise that’s a stupidly super clingy thing to say, but-,”

“Hey,” his tone is clearer, firmer than the last few times he had spoken, and he reiterates the sincerity in what he’s about to say with a calloused hand to her face, the touch shocking her into reception. Glassy eyes sparkle back at him, like rippling water under moonlight, and he wants nothing more than to dive in, to bathe in the hidden vulnerability until his skin prunes, and he’s the one who bears the burden of it. “There is no getting over you. Not then, not ever.”

“But what about-,”

“Joshua’s been doing the groundwork to ask you out for months, Poppy. Probably for even longer, but I first saw he was into you back before that auction.” Back when he’d colour-coded notes for her and stared after her like she was a mirage and he’d been stranded in the desert for weeks.  

“I told you, I’m not-,” He’s doing the same thing, now, not letting her get her say. But he has a point to make, and she needs to understand the depth of his feelings for her in the only way he knows how to express them.

“I know. You didn’t even see it is what I’m saying. And you notice when one of the guys starts using more emojis in the group chat or when the coffee shop around the corner uses a different kind of milk. Why do you think that is?”

“It tastes different-,”

“Not the milk, Poppy. Why do you think you didn’t notice the guy following you around the office with hearts in his eyes?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve been,” she frowns as if she’s actually thinking about this for the first time. “Distracted. I don’t understand what this has to do with-,”

“Why?”

“You know why.” She levels him with a glare.

“Wanna hear you say it,” he smirks, a flicker of his eyes to her lips that twist at the attention.

“No.”

“C’mon,” he drags out, teasingly, reaching out to tuck her hair back behind her ear after it had fallen back over the side of her face, “Wanna hear you tell me how you’re so obsessed with me that you don’t even consider anyone else.”

“This has nothing to do with what we were talking about.” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance and trying her best to look offended. She doesn’t deny it, though.

“Doesn’t it?”

“No. We were talking about you. I’m not obsessed with you.” She grumbles the last part like her mouth is fighting the truth. 

“I am.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Obsessed with you. Could throw a thousand women in bikinis my way I wouldn’t notice a single one of them.”

“Why’d you have to specify bikinis?” She frowns. “Who’s throwing half naked women at you?”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“You can’t say something so ridiculous and not expect me to comment on it, Nico.”

“Fine, I take back the bikini thing,” he rolls his eyes, affectionately. “What I’m saying, is that me going back home for the summer isn’t going to change the way I feel. It never did in the first place, Poppy, I was just stupid and afraid of my feelings, last year.”

“And you’re not, now? This doesn’t scare you?”

From the second he found out the news, Nico can recall a bunch of times where he has thought that he should be scared. Should be spiralling out of his mind and anxious as hell about the way his life is about to turn upside down - but those kinds of feelings have just surpassed him. He has no doubt they’ll come at some point - the panic, the fear, the trepidation - but with every day that passes in the calm of it all, he feels more prepared to tackle those feelings when they do swarm him. He’s aided by the comfort of knowing that something in his life is a sure thing.

Playing in the NHL, maintaining his role as a captain of a beloved franchise, making it to and succeeding in the playoff finals, winning an international tournament, they’re all dreams. They’re all things he wants and wishes for, but may never get. He may never lift the cup. He may get a season-ending, or even worse, career-ending, injury out of nowhere. He might one day have to give up the C for someone else to lead his guys on the ice. He may fall out of contention for the national team, have to watch from the sidelines as they thrive without him.

But no matter where he ends up in all of that, he knows now who will be there.

Poppy is a certainty. 

Even if they’re not together, if they never cross that line completely, if the baby steps they’re navigating so well stumble so far out of control that a relationship is out of the picture, their futures are intertwined now. 

She will always be a part of him - of his life. Her and the little Cheeto in her belly. 

“No.” He says it with conviction, which his chest puffed as much as he can muster through the exhaustion that overwhelms his body. “You don’t scare me, Poppy Jensen."

She watches him for a bit, trying to gauge the honesty of his sentiment, and he waits with bated breath, his gaze switching smoothly in a triangle between her soft eyes and pursed lips. Once she has deliberated what he’s stated, has assessed the weight of his words until the sincerity of them settles into her bones, she leans forward until she’s resting back into his outstretched arm, head resting on his chest as the thumping of his heart beats against her ear. 

She sighs, big and tired, and her body melts completely into his, the curve of her belly pressed into his side and her arm slung over his torso. 

“Thought you weren’t obsessed,” he whispers teasingly, pointing toward the TV, where a slow-mo replay of him on the ice is taking up the screen. 

She just hums in response, nuzzling sleepily into his side, and he tries to even out his breathing, leaning back and closing his eyes to bask in the moment.

How could he have ever thought this wouldn’t be enough for her? All those months back when he’d spinelessly disregarded the beginnings of something more. When he had thought that this would have been something she would only settle for - the girl who has moulded herself to fit into whatever shape he leaves beside him and makes it seem like it’s everything she wants it to be.

He’s never known calm like it.

On the back of a loss, leading a team that is potentially one game away from losing out on playoff contention entirely, ending a difficult season plagued by injury and turbulence within the organisation. 

He’s physically depleted - his muscles stretched, his bones banged up and bruised - and he should be the same, mentally.

But he gets to come back here, to Poppy, who misses him when he’s gone, who stays up despite her own exhaustion just to see him, who keeps a place warm for him on the couch and curls up into his side until he forgets the rest of it. 

Until he forgets his instinct to second guess either of their feelings, or the need to overthink how her words might measure up to her actions.

Until he forgets the notion Talia had implied that he wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t make her happy, makes him forget the comments her mother had made about him being absent or distant and unable to support her, or the suggestion from her brother that he wasn’t the right fit.

“You can’t fall asleep.” She speaks slow, like she isn’t far off falling asleep herself, and it isn’t until he hears her voice that he realises just how tight his eyes have welded themselves shut, too lost in the comfort of her embrace to notice that he was about to drift off. 

“Why not?” He huffs, feeling the weight of her head on his chest when he tries to sigh.

“‘Cause I don’t wanna be blamed when you mess your back up on my couch.”

He chuckles, appreciating how her impertinence doesn’t wear off even when she’s half asleep, herself. 

And despite every instinct in his body telling him that he wants to stay like this forever, he shifts his hip to nudge her upright. “Alright,” he groans as his muscles protest at the straightening of his posture, “Let’s get you to bed first then I’ll head out.”

“Carry me?” She holds her arms out as he stands, and he swats them away.

“No."

He helps her up anyway, and keeps a hold of one of her hands as he sets off down the hall toward her bedroom, taking slower steps than usual so that she doesn’t have to stumble after him - knowing she will drag her feet, anyway.

He drops her hand when he crosses the threshold, allowing her to do whatever she needs while she’s in here without him hovering. 

“What the hell is that thing?” Nico rubs at his eyes as if he’s imagining the giant, elongated cushion that takes up more than half of Poppy’s bed, only when he pulls his knuckles away, it’s still there, sprawled out and taking up the entirety of what would be his side in another universe.

“It’s my pregnancy pillow,” Poppy follows him into the room, chuckling as she sidles past him to the bed, “It’s supposed to be really good for resting on when the bump finally comes in more, after a certain point I’m not supposed to sleep on my back. But for now it’s nice to cuddle. Nia got it for me!”

“Of course she did,” he mutters, narrowing his glare at it like the pillow has personally been placed onto this Earth to spite him. He’s been tossing and turning at night wondering if Poppy is okay on her own, yearning to be closer to her, and she’s been here cuddling a pillow?  

He wants it gone.

“It’s comfy, you should give it a go, might help you relax”

“I don’t need to cuddle your giant pillow, thanks,”

“Okay, Captain Grumpy, suit yourself,” she shrugs as she edges past him to her en-suite, and he stalks behind her, watching as she reaches to grab for her toothbrush.

It’s the rattling noise of another in the holder that captures his attention, the red handle of the one she had given him all those months ago still stuck out of the glass, and he feels the tension in his shoulders dissolve somewhat just at the sight of it - waiting there for him to pick back up again like an inevitability. 

He leans against the door as he watches her, head lulling against the jamb as his eyelids grow heavier by the second. He just needs to make sure she gets into bed okay, then he can leave. He can drive back to his apartment, throw himself into his own bed and try not to grind his teeth throughout the night at the fact that a bunch of fabric and fibres is taking his rightful place. 

“You could stay.” He hasn’t even realised she’s watching him, too, hip resting against the sink as she takes the toothbrush from her mouth. “It’s late and you’re clearly spent, and you need to be back here in the morning anyway.”

“Thought you didn’t want me hurting my back on your couch?” He hums, sleepily.

There’s a beat. A heavy silence as she levels him with a look that’s more intense than her pretty eyes allow. “I don’t.” 

Oh.

He can be cool about this, he thinks, despite his exhaustion. He doesn’t want to overreact to the thought of sharing a bed with her, doesn’t want to make her rethink it or scare her away. It’s just the two of them sleeping beside each other. It’s not the craziest thing they’ve ever done.

The ever growing roundness of her belly peaking out the bottom of her tank top is evidence enough of that. 

“Your bed isn’t big enough for the three of us,” he nods back towards the pillow, his lips twisting in mirth.

“Four,” she says around her toothbrush, spitting out the paste into the sink before adding, “Five, if you’re taking Bunny into account, too.”

“Jesus, Poppy,” he snorts, and he doesn’t know why he’s pushing his luck anymore, risking the fact that she might change her mind, but he likes pressing her buttons. Likes the soft way in which she looks up at him, her eyes going round as she waits for him to respond with a slight smudge of white at the corner of her lip that he wants to swipe at with his thumb. “You sure you can fit me in?”

She nods, tilting her head like she has to convince him at all. “We could cuddle?”

He scoffs, more so in disbelief that she actually thinks he needs to be talked into it somehow. “Thought that’s what your pillow is for?” He teases, pushing himself off the doorjamb and sliding past her with a steadying hand on her hip, reaching for his toothbrush and holding it out for her to add the paste. 

“You’re really gonna use up the last of your energy to chirp a pillow?”

“It’s hideous,” he mumbles almost intelligibly around the toothbrush, snickering when Poppy bumps her hip into his. 

“It’s relaxing.” She pouts, leaning once more against the sink instead of vacating the bathroom, watching as he brushes his teeth with a lingering gaze stuck to the movement of his lips. “You did this to me, you should be more concerned about my comfort.”

“I’m very concerned about you,” he coos, finishing up at the sink and wiping his mouth with his wrist before rinsing it off. “Lie awake worrying about you here all alone, turns out you’re snuggled up to a big, strong bunch of fluff every night.”

“Ohh,” she taunts, backing out of the bathroom before calling him out. “You’re jealous.”

“M’not jealous,” he scoffs, following her and watching as she climbs into her all-too-inviting bed. “Just not playing three in the bed with your body pillow.”

He rounds the frame, and before she can protest, he grabs the thing with an unassuming grip, not expecting the weight of it and only able to fling it to the floor by his feet - not as far as he’d like but at least it isn’t on his side of the bed, anymore, he thinks.

“Hey,” she pouts adorably, lips round and too alluring for him to focus on for long. “If I can’t sleep on that, you’re gonna have to let me sleep on you.”

“On me?”

“Yep. Wrapped around you like a vine,” she affirms, “And I don’t wanna hear you whining about dead arms or dead legs, the pillow doesn’t talk back and I’m not above kicking you out in the middle of the night.”

“Can’t see myself complaining about being wrapped around like a vine,” he chuckles, his fingers working deftly to unbutton his pants, chest heating at the way her eyes follow the movement and her lips part. He tries so hard not to let the smug smile that’s threatening to break out fully take over his lips, biting at them to withhold it as he notices her stare go glassy. 

“Good.” She mutters, distracted as he pushes down, the fabric bunching at his ankles before he kicks it off and bends to take off his socks, too. 

He moves to take off his shirt, stopping with his fingers clutched at the back before he asks, “This okay?”

Her throat bobs, and her eyes flicker from the flex of his muscles to meet his gaze, widened and dazed. She presses her lips together and nods, and he can feel the heat of her stare prickle at his skin as he works the t-shirt over his head, shaking his hair back out once it’s off.

Even in the dimmed light, he can see the warmth creeping up her neck, the flush on her chest and the tug of her bottom lip between her teeth.

That article he had found the night before flashes clearly in his head, and reads back to him almost verbatim.

With the loss of fatigue and nausea at the end of the first trimester, expectant mothers may experience an increase in their sex drive. 

Poppy looks like she wants to eat him whole.

It makes him feel like he’s on fire. 

Especially when he considers what happened the last time they were in this bed together.

If she wasn’t fighting so hard to keep her eyes open, he might have called her out on it. 

He reaches to turn off the light before he crawls under the covers and sidles up to her body, laying on his side and watching as she mirrors him, the two of them knocking knees in the middle of the mattress. 

“C’mon then,” he mutters lowly into the space between them, “Do your worst.”

“You don’t actually want me to sleep on you.”

“I don’t care how you sleep as long as you’re actually sleeping.”

“You’ll regret that when I keep you up all night fidgeting in my dreams.” Her body relaxes a little more as they carry on talking, her legs loosening until he starts to feel them press a little more against his own, and he tries to best to make his limbs receptive, adapting to her touch - adapting to her needs, even. 

“You’re still having bad dreams?”

He remembers her talking to his mom about them before - about them making her feel restless, so vivid that she wakes up still feeling exhausted. He remembers his mom talking about the kind of dreams she had when she was carrying him, about animals and aliens and weird, subconscious fears she didn’t even know she had before she was pregnant.

“They’re not all bad,” she hums, “Just strange.”

“What are they about?”

Her eyes flicker up to his, still shining in the darkness of the room, and it makes his throat go dry.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Talking about it might help,” he insists.

She considers it for a second, and he holds his breath while she does, watching her gaze go back and forth between his eyes until it settles on his mouth. “I dream about you.”

“About me?” He frowns, despite the jump of his heart rate, “Like nightmares?”

“No,” she shifts toward him, closing the gap between them just that little bit more, “Not like that, not scary.” She presses her hand to his chest, soft fingertips toying with the gold chain that sits around the base of his neck. “Sad, maybe.”

“Sad dreams?” He asks, and she’s close enough now that he extends an arm out under the covers to rest on her hip, flexing his fingers out to the small of her back.

“You keep leaving me.”

“Oh.”

Great, he thinks, even the dream version of him lets her down.

“It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a dream. I know you wouldn’t, ‘cause you’re obsessed with me, and all,” Closer again, her hips wiggle and his grip on her tightens ever so slightly. “But it feels real, and I guess I get upset about it.”

“Poppy-,”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” he frowns, clutching at her with purpose now, using the leverage he has on her hip to push his own closer to her, their legs fully intertwined now. “I mean, it’s stupid in the sense that I would never leave you, but it’s not stupid that the thought of it upsets you. I’d be upset, too.”

“You would?”

“Mohn,” he doesn’t know how they can get closer, but he can only try. His legs are slotted between hers, her thigh draped across his, the swell of her tummy pressed into the curve of his waist, bare skin touching where her tank top has ridden up and it’s warm and soft and intoxicating, almost. Her hands are pressed to his chest and shoulder, short nails tickling at the flesh there when she chooses to gently scrape and scratch at him, and he could so easily inch his face toward hers until their mouths meet. “If I kept dreaming that you were leaving me, I’d be waking up screaming and crying and holding onto you for dear life.”

The smile she gives him is almost shy, and he feels his heart melting into a sticky, gloopy pile in his chest. He’s so far gone for her it isn’t even funny anymore, isn’t something he feels like he can shoulder the jokes of for much longer. It’s all-consuming, and serious, and it washes over him like a tidal wave when she says, “I’d never leave you either.”

He presses the tip of his nose to hers, bumping at it until she angles her head how he needs, and he can press his lips to the swell of hers.

This kiss reminds him of the one she had given him back in her bedroom at her parent’s house.

It’s gentle, unassuming, tame, if anything.

It might be one of his favourites.

Because this kind of intimacy with her means more than the rushed, frantic collisions they had found themselves in before.

As much as he enjoyed those, and if you’d have asked him at any other point in the day, he’d have given an arm and a leg to have experienced them again, these kinds of kisses mean more to him than that. 

They’re precious to him - provide comfort when he’s laying awake most nights in his own bed, and thinking of all the ways in which he wants to take the next steps with her. He thinks about the soft press of their lips together, and the deeper meaning of it being the sturdy foundations of something way bigger.

This is where it starts for them.

It’s about more than that - it’s about the dedication the two of them share to do things right. To take their time with each other to make sure that it will last this time.

And it’s in her lips he always finds the affirmations he needs. It will last this time. 

He lets out a self-satisfied hum when they part, half chuckle, half sigh, and she tilts her head inquisitively before her eyes flutter open. “What?”

“Nothing.” And when she leans back and looks up at him with a pouty frown, he snorts. “Maybe I should be jealous of the pillow if this is what you’ve been getting up to.”

“Shh,” she cranes her neck and presses her face into the warmth of his chest, before mumbling “Pillows don’t talk, remember,” into it and smiling into the vibrations of his fond laughter.

He falls asleep thinking about the way all the curves of her perfectly fit into the curves of him - the puff of her smiling cheeks pressing into his chest, the swell of her belly pressing into his waist, and the wrap of her legs locking him into an embrace he wouldn’t want to leave even if he had a choice about it.

Nico had thought it would have been the fidgeting that kept him awake. The first few times he woke in the night to Poppy shuffling in his arms, he had just waited it out until her body relaxed, and would subtly and softly tighten his hold on her until she settled into it - the warmth of him easing her back into slumber and allowing him to fall back, too.

He had gotten used to it after that, his body not rousing fully from sleep most times, instinctively accommodating whichever position she needed to be in until he slipped back under, and he could hardly say it irritated him - the desire to be in this position far outweighing his need for an uninterrupted, full night’s sleep.

But then the noises had started. The hums and the whimpers, the staggered breaths, the whines - and he couldn’t stay asleep thinking she was having another of those dreams.

The one where some alternate, dip-shit version of himself leaves her for whatever stupid reason. 

That brings him into full consciousness, tightening his hold on her with a furrowed brow, hand splayed out across the exposed part of her lower back, where her tank has bunched up to reveal warm skin, and he presses firmly until they’re touching at every which point of their bodies they possibly can.

Maybe in her dreams she’ll feel his presence, feel comforted, and the rational part of her brain will kick in that it isn’t real - that she has nothing to worry or be afraid about if he can seep into her subconscious with every touch.

And then she makes another noise - a mixture of a shudder-like breath and a gasp - and her hips jut forward, and he realises that maybe that isn’t the kind of dream she’s having. When he focuses on the other places they are touching, he knows for sure.

With one of his thighs slotted between hers, pressed right up against the apex where they meet, he swears he can feel a dampness even through her shorts.

Fuck.

Oh God.

He can feel himself half-hard already, he’s been that way since he crawled into bed beside her and they snuggled up so close, but this is impossible to ignore now. It doesn’t help how close they are, feeling himself stiffening into her side.

Arousal swirls like a whirlpool in the pit of his stomach, and it whooshes almost out of control when he feels her jut her hips again, grinding down onto his flesh and whimpering into his chest.

“Poppy,” he breathes, figuring he can’t let her carry on now that he’s awake, himself. It wouldn’t be right, he thinks, and curses the part of himself that argues internally. He pinches at her hip, careful not to aid her in her movements, before he tries again. “Poppy, wake up.”

She whines, shuffling as she regains consciousness, her face pressing into his chest as he just about makes out her grumbling, “Don’t want to.”

“You’ve got to.” He squeezes again, willing himself to ignore how good it feels to hold the fleshy part of her hip in his hands. He leans back a little with his neck, careful not to move any part of his lower body now that she’s awake, and looks down at her as her face contorts in confusion. “C’mon, need you to look at me.”

“Nico,” God help him, it sounds like a moan. And double God help him, because she shuffles with her whole body against him, and presses one of her thighs straight into the hardened length in his briefs. She gasps at the same time he winces, and her eyes shoot up to meet his, glistening in the dark of the night and panicked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-,”

“S’fine,” he mumbles, desperate for her not to shuffle back away from his touch, and he feels relief flood his system when she keeps his leg slotted between hers, only separating their bodies at the top.

“Do you need to handle that?”

“No, I’ll be good.” It’s probably a lie. If she carries on the way she has been, he’ll no doubt have some sort of internal meltdown. He’ll stay hard just thinking about it for weeks. “Do you?”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you were uhm-,” he breathes, not knowing why he’s embarrassed to say it when she’s literally pregnant with his child. They’re both adults, who have been there and done that once before - and have spent the last few hours slotted together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. “Dreaming.”

“I was-,” she frowns, brows scrunching together and lips forming a pout around her next words that don’t quite tumble out before she gasps, her hips shifting like she has realised what rests between them for the first time, “Oh my God.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures her as she begins to shuffle back.

“Oh my God!” She scrambles away from him, the sheets twisting around her body, and he feels an almighty loss when the warmth of her is no longer pressed up against him. It makes him realise just how hard he is, now, his focus entirely on the pulsing pressure gathering between his legs instead of her touch.

“It’s fine, at least you weren’t having a nightmare-,”

“No, I’m just living one, now.” She groans, the end muffled by the fact that she pulls her sheets over her face to hide the heat creeping up her neck. 

“Poppy,” he feels a laugh rumble from the depths of his chest, and his brain works too slow to stop it before it comes out in a low chuckle, Poppy responding immediately by poking her head out with a glare.

“You think it’s funny?”

“No-,”

“Tell that to your face!” She pouts, brows furrowed in an attempt at intimidation that she’s too cute to get away with - cheeks flushed, skin glowing from the soft sweat that arose from them bundling up together for so long. “You’re laughing.”

“Not laughing,” he says through a smile, lips twisting in amusement as she huffs in response, and before she can burrow herself back under the covers, he reaches under them to paw at her hip, “C’mere.”

“No.”

“Come here.” He gives her little choice about it, firming his grasp on her flesh and reaching with his other hand to lift and pull her over, twisting his body so that they press back together and he can hold her on top of him. She puts up little protest, balancing herself with soft hands pressed to his bare chest, and he likes the way her fingers curl just a little, nails scratching just enough to feel it. She does make an effort to keep her hips raised, never pressing them fully down as he holds her above him. “It’s fi-,”

“It’s not fine.” She frowns, her nails digging in a little harder, and Nico can’t help the slight buck of his hips. “It’s not fair, I’m so worked up all the time and nothing helps and you’re not doing anything about it-,”

“Me?” He scoffs in amusement, “You want me to do something?”

“Not if you’re gonna keep laughing about it!” She swats at his chest, and he takes a hand from her hip to grasp at her wrist. “You come in here all warm and snuggly, telling me you’re obsessed with me and taking your shirt off in slow motion-,”

He uses the grip on her wrist to catch her off guard, tugging at it until she stumbles, her other wrist going limp as she falls forward, and he leans his own head up to bump their mouths together on her way down.

Poppy’s lips are parted when they meet his, and he takes immediate advantage, slotting his tongue between them until it presses straight against hers, and she responds with fervour, her body arching straight into the curves of his and hips pushing down until he feels that press of the damp patch on her shorts on his bare thigh.

She moves like putty in his hands as he repositions the two of them, twisting his body until he can lay her on the mattress, pushing down into her with the steady rocking of his hips as she lifts hers to meet his in a slow rhythm. 

She breathes soft moans into his mouth, and her legs part completely to accommodate him, wrapping themselves around him for leverage so that she can grind her core directly onto the stiff length in his briefs.

It’s heaven - the way she manages to rock herself straight onto his cock with every roll of her hips - and with the way her lips part with a gasp, he knows she feels it too.

They’re hardly kissing anymore, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths as the friction builds between them - he’s pawing under the hem of her tank top, sliding to push it further up to expose her belly, and she’s clawing at his back, gripping him closer than he thought possible as their chests press together and he realises for the first time all night that she hasn’t been wearing a bra when he feels the hardened buds poke through her top. The hand sneaking up her skin heads straight in that direction, thumb wiggling between their bodies until it runs over her nipple, the sensation furthering the arch of her back and eliciting a deep whine as she bites teasingly down on his bottom lip. 

“S’that feel good?” He mumbles into her mouth, barely able to get the words out before the pressure of her lips around his closes, her tongue darting out to poke at his. She gives an affirmative hum, and he feels the vibrations of it travel all the way down his throat, filling his chest with a warm buzz. He blames the lightheadedness it causes for his incessant need to tease her, but is thankful it doesn’t entirely ruin the moment when he follows up with, “Better than your dreams?”

“Depends if you make me come this time.” She teases back, the tip of her nose bumping his.

Whatever version of him she’s been dreaming of is a loser. A certified idiot. What kind of man has this girl at his fingertips and doesn’t finish the job? Doesn’t satisfy her the way she deserves?

A schmuck.

“Can feel you soaking through your shorts,” He has a hand on her hip that slides down, over the roundness of her ass and grips at the soft flesh of her thighs until he can push himself straight up against her core, his entire body thrumming at the way she writhes in pleasure. “How long you been like this, huh? All desperate for me?”

“Too long,” she whines, pushing back against him, seeking whatever touch or friction she can get, “Need you to fuck me, Nico.”

“Can’t,” he sighs out a halfhearted denial, to which her lips pout in response. He probably could fight through the almighty ache that has settled into his bones, he definitely wants to, but it might not live up to her expectations - the last thing he ever wants to do is disappoint her. “Not tonight, I’d last 10 seconds,”

“I don’t care.” He can tell she means it, she probably isn’t far off, herself, having gotten halfway there just in her sleep. “C’mon, you’re being mean,”

“I could be meaner,” he smirks, his cheeks pushing into dimples that she immediately presses her lips to. “You know how long I’ve waited to touch you again? When you give me those sweet little kisses,”

“Touch me then,” she breathes not too far off his ear, eliciting shivers that creep down his spine until he arches into her. “Please.”

“You don’t have to beg me, pretty Poppy.” He tells her, his voice low as he works at taking her shorts and panties off one leg at a time, her knees bending in time with the movement of his hands. “Remember what I told you before, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Whatever you need,”

“Need you inside me.”

“Do you have a condom?”

“Now you ask me that?” She scoffs in disbelief, breaking out into a chuckle that quickly dies off when she takes notice of where his hands are going, pushing at the waistband of his briefs until he bears his all to her hungry eyes. Her lips part as he stumbles to kick off the fabric, and her gaze lingers as he takes himself into a firm grip and closes the distance, her lashes fluttering in anticipation. 

He slides his length teasingly against her folds, pressing into the wetness that has gathered there, coating himself in it and hearing her pleasured gasp echo around his skull.

“Is that a no?”

“Nico, I swear to God, if you don’t-,” He cuts her off as he pushes his cock into her, further than he thought it could go at first but she’s so wet that he moves with slight ease, already. She’s eager, too, lifting her hips until they meet his, and he’s as far inside her as he can possibly go, settling there as their breathing syncs and he presses his clammy forehead straight to hers.

She’s the one to start shifting, rocking her hips as they both groan and gasp into the small space between their mouths, and their matched desperation seeps into the frantic movements between them, him fucking into her in a building pace and her meeting it with the arch of her back and the scratch of her nails down his. 

He has to be careful not to collapse on top of her entirely, muscles flexing at either side of her head as he holds himself up, and she’s mindful of winding her legs too tight around him, instead working from below to push up to meet him instead of pulling him down to meet her.

It all catches up to him quicker than he would like, overstimulated by the sticky press of his chest to hers, sweat accumulating between their bodies and he feels it everywhere they touch. The clamminess of his neck under her hand at the top of his back, the sheen on his forehead that he uses to reach up to push his hair back when it starts to restrict his view of her, the curve of her belly when she arches a little too much into him and they slot all the way together. But his worries are quelled by the soft trembling of her thighs around him, and the way her mouth falls agape in unadulterated bliss. 

She’s close, too.

“So good to me,” he presses his lips clumsily to the corner of hers, remembering how she’d liked it the last time when he praised her, “My pretty flower, my good girl,”

“Yours,” she pants out, bumping her nose against his before chasing another kiss, muttering, “I’m yours,” between his lips. 

“Mine.” He affirms, his big, calloused hand cupping the side of her sweaty face, possessively. He loses his rhythm as he loses himself in her, his hips stuttering sloppily as he chases his high, “All mine. I’d give you anything. You gonna come for me?”

She nods, and when Nico gets a good look at her, her eyes are glazed over, dazed and on the verge of falling apart, and he balances himself on one hand to reach between them and press at her clit until she stumbles over the edge, legs tightening in a shaky hold around his waist as she comes around him.

He’s actively trying to commit it all to memory, the sweet sounds that spill from her lips, the delicious dig of her nails into his flesh, the tremors that travel all throughout her body as it wracks with pleasure, the way her muscles contract around his cock as it spills into her, filling her with the stutter of his hips.

He collapses to the side of her, their limbs tangling limply between them, her body twisting with his so that he stays inside, and the room filled with the noise of their panting as they both try to catch their breath.

They lay together in blissful peace for a good couple of minutes, her pointing a finger and tracing mindless doodles into his chest and him raking his fingers gently through her hair. Months, and years before that, of tension leading them both to this point, where Nico feels lighter than a feather laying beside the girl of his dreams.

He blames the dizzying way in which she consumes his thoughts for what comes out of his mouth next - but he just feels so content, so at ease, that the stupid joke stumbles out before his brain can register to stop it.

“Don’t think your pillow can do that.”

She snorts from beside him, her eyes crinkling in genuine amusement, and the way her body shakes with laughter has the rumblings of arousal travel through him again. 

“You’re such an idiot,” she giggles, swinging her leg over him and he twists in sync, making sure he stays inside her as she lifts her lips back towards his - any earlier exhaustion from either of them long forgotten as their mouths slot back together and their hips start to move again, chasing further euphoria.

Nico wakes the next morning with a sense of deja-vu that strikes at him like a bat, a full bladder, an ache that settles over him from top to toe, a buzz on a nightstand, and a sleeping Poppy beside him, tucked up against his body with tangled legs and her face pressed into his chest. 

The sun is peaking through the closed curtains, casting the room aglow, and he watches her rouse from her own sleep at the continuous vibrations from beside her. She groans as she twists out from their entanglement, and he keeps a hand at her hip to make sure she doesn’t move too far, already missing the warmth of her.

She checks her phone before she answers it, rolling back over into his side and settling next to him as she shuffles up so that they’re a bit more level.

He watches her as she speaks, admiring how she glows in the small slither of sunlight that casts directly upon her like an angel - despite the mess of her hair and the sleepy-swelling of her face. He isn’t entirely paying attention to what’s being said, watching her fingertips play with the chain that sits on the base of his neck while she talks, leaning forward to bump his nose at her brow and pressing a fleeting kiss there, content in the domesticity of it all. 

He wants all his mornings to start like this.

“That’s perfect, I’ll see you then, thank you.” She closes her call before hanging up, discarding of her phone behind her and focusing her attention back on Nico’s chest.

“Who was that?” He hums as she shuffles back up against him, his hand slithering over her hip to rest on the small of her back.

“Just my ex,” she shrugs, “I’m gonna leave you here on your own and go meet up with him.”

“Wow,” he chuckles, eyes dancing over her lips as they curl into a self-satisfied smirk, “You’ve been dying to fire that bullet, haven’t you?”

“Mmhm, I’m making the most out of my quick wit while I still have it, Luke told me the other day that women’s brains shrink during pregnancy.”

“We need to start taking Google rights away from people.” 

“That’s what I said!” She smiles like she’s proud of the way they think the same things, “It was the doctor’s office. They had a power cut and they’re gonna be running behind so our appointment has been shifted to later.” Her fingers start to dance teasingly across his chest, her tone carrying a suggestive lilt as she continues to speak, her touch moving down as she suggests, “So we could go back to sleep, or we could-,”

He leans up and kisses her with his hands cupping her cheeks, holding her firm against him as he feels her smile against his lips. “I’ll take option two.”

After a blissful morning in Poppy’s apartment, where the two of them, both literally and figuratively, stayed joint at the hip - in her bed, in her shower, no funny business, she said she just wanted to wash his hair, in her kitchen, drinking his morning coffee out of a mug she painted just for him, on her couch, snuggled up when exhaustion caught back up and they had a quick nap together, bad backs be damned - and an early afternoon spent in the doctor’s office, where they learn that their baby is now growing bones, which Poppy should start to feel move soon, and can smile and frown and squint, Nico glides through his afternoon practice with a smile of his own that won’t shift.

He has a new picture that he elatedly displays on the shelf in his cubby, the boys all getting a good look at the now not-so-Cheeto-like shape of his baby, cooing over all the new developments like proud uncles and chirping Nico for the ever-present dopey look on his face. 

No amount of jokes directed his way will ruin this for him, though. 

This feeling of rapture that hasn’t left since he first opened his eyes in the morning. The way his body buzzes at even the thought of the girl waiting for him to finish practice, to come home to an apartment that she had told him earlier to keep the key to, to kiss at her rounding belly and know that their baby is growing hair and limbs and expressions in there.

To finally say goodbye to the baby steps that he’s been taking for what feels like forever, and dive head first into the crystal clear waters of life with Poppy. Sharing a space, being intimate in every which way with one another, it feels like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

And he wants to bask in this feeling for as long as he can, pushing down the impending date of his flight back home, replying to the emails from his national team coach about the upcoming world championship games and then pretending they don’t exist. 

The idea of being in Switzerland for the summer has always filled him with joy - being home, being with his family, it’s where he needs to be after a season like he’s had - losses and injuries and all the turmoil that comes with them - but the thought of being away from Poppy, of missing any of these scans or moments with her and their baby, it fills him with dread. Her mother’s words from their dinner the week before ring through his head like a bell, loud and impossible to ignore. 

Which is why he finds himself heading for her place when his practice is over - after showering at the rink and dropping home to pick up an overnight bag, he drives over with all intentions of spending the night again. Sitting her down and talking over the potential of him flying back out for appointments and visits.

She greets him with a kiss once he’s gotten to her apartment and found her in her kitchen, rendering him stunned for only a second before he responds to her touch, hands falling to her waist and lips closing around hers.

It only drives his point further home that he can’t go too long without seeing her, now. Not if this is how he’s welcomed back, not if this is going to become a thing. 

He pulls her body flush against his, deepening the kiss like it’s been more than a few hours since he last saw her, savouring the taste of her vanilla lip balm and the way her bump presses into his stomach. 

When they part, he finds himself chasing her, pressing quick pecks at her swollen lips until she’s beaming in response, and he feels like his entire body is on fire. 

“Wow, you really are obsessed with me,” she giggles, pressing her hands to his chest to keep him at bay, looking up at him with the glimmer of the light reflecting in her eyes. “You okay?”

“I think your mom was right.”

He doesn’t even know why he said that, the words tumbling out before he can even think them over, and as he can feel his own forehead crease into a frown, and his own brows push together, he sees Poppy’s do the same.

“That might be the most unsexy thing you’ve ever said to me.” She pouts, balm smudged still around her lips as they form into a confused pout that he already wants to kiss away, “Where did that come from?”

“When she said I won’t be around enough,” he flexes his fingers against her hips, tightening his hold on her, “I was thinking about going back home before and I realised I don’t want to miss out on anything, I want to be around if you need me-,”

“Please don’t let her get in your head,” Poppy worries as her hands travel up, her fingers curling delicately around either side of his neck, “She doesn’t understand what being home means to you, she just says things she knows will sting, you shouldn’t have to fly back and forth just to make her happy-,”

“I want to make you happy.”

“You do.” She promises, “When you don’t mention my mother, at least.”

He feels a little better at that, at the conviction of her words, the honesty in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips. But the conversation needs to be had, something needs to be set in place to quell the flickering flames of anxiety that fill his chest before it becomes an inferno. 

Before he can open his mouth to carry on, she speaks instead.

“Go sit down, I have a surprise for you.”

And despite the itch in him to say something else on the topic before she completely shuts it down, he follows her command, the excited sparkle in her eyes hypnotising him into compliance. 

He waits on her couch for her to come over, and when she does, she has a small, white box in hand. Rectangle in shape, around 5 inches deep and 8 inches long.

“What’s this?” He asks when she places the box into his hands, the lid blank and closed.

“Cupcakes.”

“What’s the occasion?” When he goes to lift the lid, she places her hand over his, shuffling until she’s kneeling on the couch, ankles tucked beneath her.

“I’ve been sneaky.”

She looks proud of herself, a sweet grin hesitantly stretching her lips as her eyes dart between his, and he can feel his lips mirror hers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she hums, “When I had my blood taken before you came in for the scan earlier, I asked Lucy to write down the gender if she could see it clear enough.”

Nico feels his heart stutter.

It’s one of the big things he had feared missing out on, having been told they wouldn’t get a proper view of it until 16 weeks - in another 2 weeks time - at which point he would more than likely be back home. He had resigned himself to finding out over the phone - still exciting, but not the same. “But I thought they couldn’t see it yet?”

“Depends on the position Cheeto wants to be in,” Poppy shrugs, “They do say it isn’t definite, so if it grows or loses an appendage in the next few weeks, blame Lucy, not me.”

“So you know?”

There’s no way she could have hidden it from him, so far. Poppy can’t keep a secret from him to save her life.

“No. Bonnie at the bakery on the corner knows. She hid it in the frosting.”

Nico takes the lid off the box now on his lap, looking into it to see two cupcakes, a thick serving of white frosting and a round, disc-like cake topper with blue and pink writing.

“Baby Hischier?”

He feels warm all over, a static-like tingling spreading across his skin, and he can feel heat creeping up his neck. It all feels so real, so overwhelming. Seeing their baby earlier, the blurred, splotchy shape of it’s head, little features like a nose, lips and eyes starting to form more clearly in the picture. A little baby with his last name.

“It is your baby,” Poppy chuckles, reaching for the box herself and handing one of the cupcakes over to him. 

“No hyphen?” He elaborates, and he can feel his brow twitch of its own accord, catching her eye and making her lips twist, fondly, in the way that makes him already anticipate some smart-ass comeback.

“It’s a cupcake, not a billboard,” she quips, “We could do that, it that’s what you want?”

“I thought that would be what you wanted.” If it is, he’ll do it that way, but God does he all of a sudden hate hyphens. 

“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest. Hischier just felt right when I wrote it down for Bonnie. I like your name.”

You can have it, he thinks.

“The less claim my family have to our baby, the better. Plus, it’s kind of the tradition, to give the baby it’s father’s surname.”

“Because we’re so traditional,” he chuckles, liking the way he makes her laugh, too.

“That’s true. Maybe we should make up a name, then? Say, fuck the system,”

“Hischier’s fine.” He says, resolutely, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over him, and he only feels slightly ashamed of it.

“Hischier is great.” She reassures him, enough to make his chest puff with pride, and the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth is enough to tell him she’s proud of her own teasing - and all too aware of his mini-neanderthal moment. “Can we get on with it, I’ve been glaring at this box all afternoon.”

“I don’t know, I’m all of a sudden nervous about eating a cupcake.”

“Welcome to my first trimester.”

He can feel the beat of his heart in every inch of his body.

He hasn’t really given it much thought, before now, if there’s any specific gender he wants it to be. He’s always thought it corny, when people say I just want a healthy baby, but that truly is all he wants.

He sees the best of both worlds - a mini him, or a mini Poppy. Half of each of them in one bundle of joy.

He’ll be in love with it, either way.

“We’ve just got to do it,” Poppy says, placing the box down on the coffee table and holding her cupcake across from his. “Close your eyes and take a bite after three.”

He nods, before cheers-ing his cupcake against hers, and then closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and waiting for Poppy to start the countdown. 

“One…” He peaks an eye open, watching and unable to stop the grin that spreads into his cheeks, already. “Two…”

She opens an eye, too.

“Close your eyes, Mohn.” He warns her.

“I was checking yours were closed.”

He makes a show of scrunching them shut, assuming she’s doing the same, and she starts the countdown back up again.

On three, he takes a bite and opens his eyes, disregarding whatever colour sits on his own cupcake and immediately watching for Poppy’s reaction.

Her bite had been clumsy, the frosting smearing on her lips, and where he had wanted to see her eyes light up, his gaze is stuck in a magnetised grip to the soft pink colour of the sugary goodness that now surrounds her mouth. 

A girl.

A mini Poppy - pretty eyes, a killer smile that he folds to in an instant, a sharp tongue that fills his life with equal parts sarcasm and light.

He’s so done for.

Before he can help himself, he discards his cupcake onto the coffee table and pounces forward, hoping that she flings hers in the same direction as he takes her face between both hands and pulls her lips into his, licking the frosting straight from them before he kisses her with all the passion he can muster.

It’s messy, he can feel the icing transfer to his own upper lip, tasting the sugar as she giggles into his mouth, and his whole body lights up with the joy of it all, their teeth clashing in a messy abundance of shared glee.

He can’t get enough of this feeling, of the sound of her blissful laughter, and so even when they part, he keeps going back for more, pressing his lips to any part of her face he can reach - her lips, her chin, her nose, her cheeks - and when they’re touching the corner of her mouth, he feels the movement of it as she asks, “Are you happy?”

“So happy.” It’s an understatement, but he’s hard pressed to think of more elaborate wording, so he kisses her again before saying, “Come home with me. To Switzerland. I don’t want to spend another summer missing you, Poppy. I don’t want to be apart from you and our baby girl.”

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked before. He knows it’s what he’s wanted this whole time, to be in the place he loves the most with the girls he might love more. 

“Really?”

“I wanna share the other half of my life with you. We can sort out a doctor so we don’t have to fly back and forth or miss any appointments, and it gives my family a chance to spend time with you, I can show you all my favourite places, we can-,”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to sell it to me, Nico, I’m already there.”

“Yeah?” The thumping of his heart is so vigorous he thinks she can probably see it, breaking out of his chest and flying out toward her like a cartoon. 

“I’m hardly gonna say no to a European summer.” She teases with a shrug, licking at the remaining frosting on her lips before she leans in to press them softly against his, again. 

“The fact I’m there is just a bonus?”

“If that’s what you want to believe.”

Next Chapter

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

[kiwi-on-ice]

Kinktober 2024 day 12: Threesome with Ashe and Widowmaker

fem reader, NSFW 18+

Also contains: dom!Amélie and dom!Ashe, fingering, praise and degradation, they're kinda mean lmao

"No need to look so nervous ma chérie." Amélie coos in your ear, as you're sandwiched between two very dangerous women. Your back was pressed snug against the assassin’s chest, but your legs are open, allowing the leader of the deadlock gang to lean in closer to you both.

“Awe, she does look real scared huh?” Ashe mutters, red lips curled into a smirk as her eyes dart over your face.

“m’not scared.” You state quickly, wanting to seem braver than you were.

You hear both women laugh under their breath, as Amélie drags her tongue up the side of your neck. “Now now, it’s unbecoming for a pretty girl to lie.”

As you shiver, Ashe’s fingers run up your legs, feeling the goosebumps rise on your thighs before digging her nails in to your inner thigh. The slight pain makes you gasp, causing a slightly sadistic smile to creep on her features.

“Definitely lyin’, she’s shakin’ like a damn leaf.”

Amélie’s fingers trace up your arms to your chest, gently groping over the fabric of your shirt. Both of them adore seeing you like this, so on edge in the best way possible.

Ashe’s hands gently run along the seams of your underwear, skirt laying discarded on the floor by their feet. At your slight movement, she snaps the elastic against your skin. “No movin’.”

The assassin behind you hums softly, fingers cruelly pinching your nipples over your shirt, having listened to their instructions beforehand to not wear a bra. You gasp, but force your body to be still which seems to please them.

“Would you like us to please you, mon cœur?” Amélie whispers against your ear, and you watch as Ashe stares intently at your face, listening for your answer.

“Yes please…” you say gently, hoping your manners were good enough.

“Think that’s good enough?” Ashe asks, but her eyes were now trained on your other lover.

“Perhaps, but I think she can do better.”

You whimper softly, nodding in agreement. “Please…please touch me, I need you both please.”

Ashe laughs, throaty and condescending, before she gently pulls down your drenched panties so they pool at your feet. Looking at your pussy, she hums before giving your clit a few light taps.

At the buck of your hips, Amélie decides to slip her hands under your shirt, giving her complete access to your tits. Carefully manicured nails trace your breasts, goosebumps rising on your skin.

But when Ashe sinks her two fingers deep inside, that’s when the real sensations begin. Slick sounds fill the room as your pussy is fingered, at the same time that Amélie starts to be more rough with your nipples, pinching before soothing them by rubbing her thumbs in circular motion.

“So wet f’us. Like it don’t ya? Like havin’ two women focused all on you.”

At the cowgirls insinuation, you confirm it with a shaky nod. Because she was right. Having two dangerous women toying with your body like this, making you feel like the most desirable girl in the world, was truly an intoxicating feeling.

“Oh ma chérie, we’ll give you what you want. Anything you want.”

Her words sound charming and sweet, but her tone contains a dark current that makes you shiver slightly. Bucking your hips against Ashe’s fingers give you a strong feeling of pleasure, aided by the other woman’s groping.

She curls her fingers inside you, and you cry out softly. Laughs escape both women, your wanton cries a source of amusement for them, almost looking at you like an experiment.

Amélie’s lips brush against your pulse point. The cold of her skin sends tingles up your spine. You aren't sure how long the cowgirl keeps fingering you, but soon enough the pleasure rises to the point of nearly spilling over.

"Gettin' close? You're clenchin' around me like crazy."

"Oh little mouse, is that true?"

Their seductive tones only makes your orgasm build quicker, almost alarming you as you nod desperately. Ashe smirks and leans in to kiss you softly, sweetly. "Y'know you ain't allowed to cum without permission."

A pathetic whimper rips out from your throat as you shake your head. "Can't hold it."

You hear Amélie’s condescending giggle, and with her cool hand reaching down to toy with your clit, you cum hard around both women's fingers. You can't ride out your pleasure, as Ashe rips her digits coldly from your twitching cunt and wipes them crudely on your thigh.

"Chose pathétique."

Her tone makes you shiver in slight nervousness, glancing up at Ashe to see the agitated look on her face.

"Can't follow simple instructions, huh? Guess me and Amélie didn't teach ya well enough. Didn't teach ya what would happen when you're a greedy whore."

You're flipped over, ass in the air as you're over the laps of the two women. Squirming, you halt when a hand slaps your hip.

"We'll teach you souris, don't fret." she whispers, words like ice.

So your eyes flutter shut, preparing for your punishment with the hint of a smile on your face.

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Rhysand x Reader, Feysand

Word Count: 5.5k+

Triggers: mentions of torture, blood, rape (all nothing explicit), insecurities, depression, PTSD

Summary: When Rhysand had gone Under the Mountain, you, his wife, followed him. However, neither of you knew it had been a trap set by Amarantha. And so, for forty-nine, while being trapped Under the Mountain, you had been his support, his pillar, his reason for living while he had been tortured and used by Amarantha. You had suffered along with him, helplessly watching from the sidelines as Rhysand had to whore his way in protecting his city, his family… and you. But little did you know that things would change when Feyre came to save the High Lord of Spring. Little did you know, that yours and Rhysand’s life would change forever. And how your husband’s bond with you would slowly unravel and wrap around the newly Made High Fae.

Note: I was sobbing while writing this. I have no idea where this came from, but I love it. I originally was thinking of basing this off a song from Phantom of the Opera, but it gotten so astray that it became this mess of emotions. This will also be some mini spoilers from ACOTAR through ACOMAF, so just an FYI. I legit thought of this while I was driving home from my 12-hour night shift nursing job. And I wrote this in a couple of hours because of how much inspiration I had! LMAO. I love Rhysand and I love Feysand so much, but I wanted to see write a story that told was so heart wrenching that it ended up being this. I have read a few fics here on Tumblr about Rhysand having a lover before Feyre ever existed. I loved reading and I wanted to have my own little spin to it. I hope you guys enjoy it!

It had been nothing but a trap.

You and Rhysand had gone to the masquerade party Under the Mountain blindly.

The echoes of Mor and Cassian’s begging for either of you to go to the party still ring in your head. The smile that you had given your family and your last words, We’ll be home before you know it, made regret ache in your chest.

It had been a long forty-nine years and the worst forty-nine years of your immortal life.

The first time that Rhysand had decided to become Amarantha’s lover, you all but begged. Begged the High Queen to spare your husband. To have him do anything besides share her bed, you had begged to have yourself tortured by the Attor — anything to save your husband from such a life.

However, Amarantha was ruthless. She wanted to have the High Lord of Night share her bed, a way to torture not only him but you as well.

Throughout the nights, for forty-nine years, you watched and waited every night, for your husband to return to your bed and cry himself to sleep. To have shivers and sobs echo through your dark bedroom. To watch him sit in the tub, trying to scrub away the indecent touches and kisses of the High Queen. You had held him, comforted him. Prayed to the Mother that both of you would be able to return home to your family with an ounce of your sanity left.

And for you, you had to stay strong, for Rhysand — for your home, for your family that was waiting for you beyond the walls of the mountain.

You held back all the tears, the heartache, the pain that racked your body every single night — so you could pick up the pieces of Rhysand that Amarantha would place in your awaiting arms every single night.

Every night you slowly placed Rhysand together, putting him back as whole as possible with all the love you can muster. Focusing on caring for him, focusing on his pain rather than your own. He was so traumatized, hating every inch of himself because of what he did when he was with Amaramtha. You watched as he was slowly breaking and you couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t tell him the amount of pain you were having, not when he had done everything he could to protect Velaris and you along with it.

Because while he was being used by Amarantha, you were tortured by the Attor.

That horrid creature that served the High Queen all but relished in torturing your body, mind, and soul. You had bled, unbled, and been tortured all over again — the Attor putting you back together like a child’s block and dumped back into Rhysand’s arms. And every single time, there was no evidence of your pain — no scarred skin, no broken bones. Nothing to show your suffering and anguish — nothing to show you were broken and touched by darkness.

And only you knew that your mind and soul were slowly being ripped apart.

For forty-nine years that was your fate.

For forty-nine years you were Rhysand’s pillar, his support — the one to pick up the pieces to put him together.

But for forty-nine years you were breaking, slowly but surely. And no one was there to put you back together.

And so, when that time limit was slowly ticking away, little did you know your fate was about to change — for the worse.

You watched on the sidelines, with Rhysand by your side, as Feyre Archeron, the fae-hating human, declared her love for the High Lord of Spring, realizing it was too late to save him.

You watched from the sidelines as Rhysand — being the savior that he was — secretly helped the human through her trials and tribulations against Amarantha. You watched as the bargain to keep her alive was made — watched Rhysand’s determination for the human. You couldn’t say anything, didn’t want to say anything… for you knew it would get you and your husband back home and end this long nightmare.

When Amarantha had speculations on Feyre’s winnings against her tests, she decided to use the Attor to torture you for information. In the dead of the night when everyone was high on fae wine, Amarantha had dragged you down and allowed the Attor to break you, and torture you for the information she wanted.

But you never gave up, you never let the truth slip from your lips. Even when your bones were breaking, the nails of the Attor breaking through skin to make you bleed, or when it tried to break through your mental shields to hunt for information — you held on. Fighting tooth and nail against the pain and agony — to protect your husband and the fate of Prythian. You bit down every strain, every struggle, every yell that scratched your throat — worried that anything that may come out of you would reveal the coup that was brewing under Amarantha’s very nose.

And every time Amarantha was done with your torture, the Attor would put you back together — only your mind shattered to pieces. And every night you would crawl back into bed, biting back tears and screams, as you allowed your husband to hold you throughout the night — unknowing of what had happened to you hours before.

You would feel him slip away at night at times, and you’d follow through caverns of rock only illuminated by fae light to the dungeons below, to the prison that held the human — watched as he slipped through the metal gates, all to heal Feyre from the inflicted wounds from her battles against Amarantha. You would watch as she would fight against him, spit at him, as he did everything to ensure her safety and healing. All you wanted to do was scream, but you didn’t… you couldn’t. You would slip away, returning to your bed, pretending you were asleep as Rhysand would return into your awaiting bed. And every single time, you bit your lower lip, to prevent the aching sobs that wracked your entire body.

When the final trial had come, and Feyre had completed the third trial and therefore tortured and killed by Amarantha, you watched as both Rhysand and Tamlin rushed to her aid, eventually ending the High Queen’s life and reign. You watched as all of the High Lords of Prythian stepped forward and gave that kernel of life — a bit of their lifeforce to the human and watched her transform into one of you, a Made-High Fae.

You were happy that Feyre was brought back — the Savior of Prythian, the Defeater of Amarantha’s Reign — she deserves the happy ending, after everything she had gone through.

And you had hoped that would be the same for you and Rhysand once you returned to Valeris. You stood by his side when he had greeted Feyre, and watched when Rhysand had stiffened at the sight of her. Feeling his arm wrap around your waist in a tight grip before winnowing away, watching her face shift into confusion.

Both of you landed in the Townhouse, Mor giving a screech of surprise, wide eyes as she took in the both of you.

“…Rhys… (Y/N)…” she breathed out in shock before wrapping the two of you in a death hug.

The familiar warmth of Mor had you breaking down, your own hands grasping onto her shoulders as forty-nine years of tears racked through you. The three of you fall into the wooden floors in a heap.

But the thing that ripped your soul the most — to the point that it was unrepairable— was the heartbreaking whisper from your husband.

“She’s my mate…”

It was as if your world tilted on its axis and you didn't know what was up or down, right or wrong. Your body froze, and slowly pulled away from Mor’s embrace and looked at your husband with wide eyes.

“What…?”

Rhysand looked at you, violet hues brimming with tears, agony shown through the usual twinkling stars, “Feyre’s my mate…” was all he can muster out.

Your head pounded, your blood ran cold, and all you could feel was your body scrambling away from the embrace, hands and feet clawing at the wooden floors.

Your chest heaved, as you stared at Rhysand.

How fate was so cruel to you.

You need to support him, you are his pillar, you reminded yourself as a strained smile tugged at your lips.

“That's great, my love…” you whispered, voice shaking as you tried to find the words of happiness. But it was so difficult to find — for you knew that his new-found mate, was in love with someone else; was in a whole different Court. And that echo of half of a mating bond would slowly break your husband.

You maintained your composure, scrambling over to gently wrap your arms around Rhysand, running your fingers through darkened hair, “You will be fine…” you whispered as you felt him quiver in your arms, wetness soaking your shoulder, “You will get through this…”

Both of us will get through this… was all you could wish the Mother for.

The first three months after the events of Under the Mountain were the hardest. Every night Rhysand would still wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, screaming. Every night you'd wake up right beside him as he vomited his guts out thinking he was still Under the Mountain, still under the hands of Amarantha. Every night you would hold him in your arms whispering how much you love him and that he was safe with you, that he was back with you in the City of Starlight — back with his family.

You would hold him until he was back asleep, the nightmares kept at bay with you at his side.

But little did he know you were also fighting your own nightmares.

You'd wake up, a hand over your mouth as you held back screams, your nails digging into your skin to stop from waking your sleeping husband with the fear that crippled your body. You would slip from your large bed, down the stairs to the cool breeze of Valeris, kneeling on the ground as you held back every vomit, every groan, every nightmare that shook your body.

You couldn't be weak, not when your family had relied so much on you to keep them together. You were the glue that kept them sane, that kept them from shattering.

But who was going to pick up your pieces when you finally break? You didn't know, and you didn't have the luxury to ask.

The first time Rhysand had winnowed to retrieve Feyre for their “bargain”, all you could do was smile. Gently handling Feyre like a newborn lamb. You cared for her, as she tried to figure out her way through her new body. You watched from the sidelines as Rhysand interacted with the new High Fae, seeing a new light in him that was sparking — one that wasn't there when he was with you.

The second time Feyre was brought to Valeris, you watched as Rhysand pushed her to try to get better, pushed her to feel something rather than the emptiness she was radiating.

“She’s killing herself, (Y/N)…” he had told you one day as the two of you walked through the streets of Valeris, “I need to help her through this…”

Your chest ached with an unpleasant feeling, your whole body screaming that it should have been you that he was saving. But you shook that unpleasant feeling and gave him a small smile, “… You're right…”

Breaking… Your husband was breaking you… bit by bit.

When you had heard the echoes of Tamlin locking Feyre in Spring Court, the anger that Rhysand seeped was enormous. He had ordered Mor to save the poor girl from Tamlin’s clutches and whisked her away back to Night Court.

The look that Rhysand had given you when Feyre all but locked herself away, withering away in that room made you break even more.

You took it upon yourself to slowly help the female, caring for her — and building her confidence and health.

You were the pillar of this family, you had reminded yourself over and over again, all the while being chipped away slowly, No one gets left behind.

You watched as Feyre gained her health, became that girl that you saw Under the Mountain — regained that spark that was put out by Tamlin for all those months. You helped Feyre find herself in this new world, but little did you know you were slowly losing yourself too.

You had given up so much of yourself for your family, for your Court, for your husband that you didn’t know yourself anymore. You questioned your self-worth — wondering if what you have done for the past few centuries was all worth it.

What had you contributed to the Night Court for all these centuries? What had you done to earn your spot next to Rhysand? You were nothing special, the dark thoughts whispered into your ears — insecurities rising from the depths of the shadows. You weren't gifted the powers of the seven High Lords like Feyre, you weren't beautiful or frightening like Mor or Armen, and you didn’t know how to fight like Azriel or Cassian — weren’t trained on the ways of Illyrian fighting. You had nothing to contribute. You had no idea why Rhysand had kept you beside him all these years.

But you continued to give and give for the people you loved. You continued to give little of yourself each time someone from your family broke down — still healing from the effects of Amarantha’s rein. You gave a bit of yourself up to Feyre, your husband’s mate, so she can heal herself from the traumatic experience of her first love. You gave a bit of yourself up for Rhysand, as he slowly healed from his trauma from Under the Mountain.

You became the crumbling pillar in their lives.

Crack, crack …you were like glass, being slowly chipped away by the people you love. Those who you had tried to protect Under the Mountain. The very people that had taken advantage of your love and care without them even knowing.

“She’s in the cabin in the mountains… The Suriel told her that she and Rhysand were mates and that the bond finally snapped in her. And Rhys’ up there too… with her.” Mor had told you over a glass of wine.

Your body froze, which seems to be a common occurrence these days, as the glass of wine slipped from your fingers, shattering on the wooden floors. Your chest burned as you stared down at the shards of glass that covered the floor, your eyes dimming as Mor’s words echoed in your head.

The bond finally snapped in her… And Rhys’ up there too… with her.

Panic filled your senses as you stood up from your chair, shards of glass digging into the bottom of your feet as you fled the room, not sure where your bleeding feet were taking you.

“Shit, (Y/N)! What’s wrong? What happened?” Mor panicked, running after you, a hand reached out to gently grab your shoulder and stop you in your tracks.

It took a moment for you to react, dull eyes blinking, as you pulled your mind from such a muddled state. You turned to look at the blonde, who stared at you with a worried gaze, eyes glancing from your face to your feet, “…I… I don’t know. I’m sorry…” you whispered, not sure why you were apologizing in the first place.

You had looked down, your naked feet oozing out bright red blood, and dulling eyes tracked your footsteps behind you. You couldn’t feel it… the pain. There was nothing… no dull or stabbing pain. You had just felt the cool red liquid on your skin beneath your feet.

“… (Y/N)… (Y/N)!!!”

Head snapped up to look at Mor who shook your form gently, “Hey… What’s going on? Why aren’t you crying, screaming in pain? You stepped on so much glass… Let’s get you to Madja, okay?”

Brows furrowed and you tilted your head at the blonde, “…But it doesn’t hurt…” you all but whispered to her, “… I… I can’t feel the pain…”

Mor blinked in disbelief before shaking her head, “…I’m taking you to Madja… We need to get you seen and healed up…”

Mor gently held both of your hands, giving you a tiny smile before she had winnowed you away to the healer.

“… We’re losing her… mind, body and soul, Rhysand…”

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

“She hasn’t slept, nor ate… She has gotten so thin and so weak over the last couple of months… Has no one in the House noticed?”

You hear filters of conversations as you weave in and out of consciousness.

“Have you been really that busy to not pay attention to your wife, High Lord?”

You recognized voices but were unsure what they were talking about. Was it about you? What was going on?

“I don’t know Madja… She always looked okay. (Y/N) was just busy with her duties… ”

That was Rhysand. Had he really not been paying attention to you lately?

“It doesn’t seem like she’s okay, boy…Why is she like this? Like an empty shell that barely is walking this Earth?”

That was Armen’s voice. She sounded angry.

“… I — I… don’t know.”

“She stepped on glass and didn’t even flinch, Rhys. What’s going on?”

That was Azriel, the steel in his voice was unmistakable.

“We won’t get answers unless we look into her mind, she should be unconscious enough that you could break through her walls.”

You could feel the hesitance in the room before you felt warm hands run through your hair.

“I’m sorry (Y/N)…”

Claws of darkness tore through your mental walls and everything sprung out.

Your memories of the Attor and Amarantha torturing you when you were Under the Mountain. The feeling of your bones breaking, skin bleeding, tears, and screams ripping through your very body every night you were tortured. The feeling of emptiness every time they had put you back together to do it again and again. The emotions of anguish and fear crippled your very soul every time Rhysand was taken away from you each night. The constant worry about your family, fear that if Amarantha found them everything would be all for naught. You had to put on a brave face for not only yourself but for Rhysand to get through this ordeal — to help him heal and push on. Because if you didn’t, you would have failed to keep your family safe.

Everything was revealed, on how broken your soul had become while Under the Mountain. And how broken you were when you realized that your husband was mated to someone else. On how little of you was left when you heard that your husband had completed the mating bond.

On how little of you was left as you gave yourself for your family.

Get out of my head…!!! you pushed Rhysand out of your mind, blockading your memories and pain with metal walls and darkness — impenetrable to the Daemati abilities of your husband.

A gasp escaped your body, back arching as eyes opened wide. Your body sitting up as you pushed hands away, scrambling away as you pressed your back against the headboard, panting as you clutched the fabric of your nightgown against your chest, eyes wide as you stared at your family.

“How dare you rip my mental shields, Rhysand??” you whispered in disbelief, your voice shaking with every word, eyes blurring with tears that threatened your vision.

Chip, chip… crack. The glass has finally broken.

“How could you do that? You had promised all those centuries ago, that you would never do that… And yet here you are… breaking that very promise!!”

You watched as the High Lord flinched, violet eyes diverting away.

Bloodshot eyes stared at the people in the room — your family surrounding the large bed that you had laid on.

“… Are you all just noticing my pain now? Was this the only way you would have ever realized the pain I had to endure for you? On the nightmares that have plagued my dreams for years on end? Have I hidden my pain so well that none of you would have seen it? Without ripping my sanity apart?!

“I’ve given so much of myself for all of you. I have fought tooth and nail to ensure that this family would continue to prosper after Amarantha’s rein… Became that pillar all of you had so wrongfully placed on me… That expectation… was a burden. I realized I couldn’t show any weakness, that I couldn’t break down and show my own nightmares because all of you were still trying to heal.”

“We never expected you to do any of that…” Rhysand started.

“Yes, you have! Who would keep this Court afloat when you were still healing? Every damn night you woke up feeling disgusted under your own skin due to everything that woman had done to you. How could I have asked you to move on and rule over your Court? I couldn’t. I needed you to heal for your own health, for your own sanity. For your family’s sanity and well-being. How could I ask any of you to move on after not having your brother for the past forty-nine years while he was being raped Under the Mountain by that woman? I couldn’t! Everyone was healing! But all of you saw how strong I still was and presumed I was alright… that it hadn’t affected me. That these past forty-nine years didn’t cause me to break… But guess what, it has! More than you have ever believed.”

You took a deep breath, tears spilling over as you fought the panic that threatened to take over your whole body.

“I was tortured, every night for the past forty-nine years by the Attor. To be ripped apart, mentally and physically… every damn night and then put back together as if nothing happened. And I would go back into the dark room with you, Rhys… to watch you break apart after what Amarantha had put you through. I watched you claw your skin at the very thought of her touching you… That her very scent seeped so deep into your skin that you wanted nothing but to claw your very soul out…”

Rhys’ gaze snapped back to yours, agony in its very depths.

A broken laugh escaped you, “How could I have told you what had happened to me when you were so broken… You cried, every night, wondering if you were still yourself… Wondering if you were enough still. How could I tell you of my pain, when you were wallowing in so much of it?

“I had to be strong… for the both of us. So that both of us could return home to our family and heal together. I became strong so that you can heal… and get us out from Under the Mountain… Together. But… I realized… after all these months… You were the only one that was able to make it out… You and Feyre…”

Your gaze drifted to the Made-Fae behind Rhysand.

“While I am stuck… Under the Mountain, with the claws of the Attor and that woman still rooted in my nightmares. And when we got out, back home… I thought that was when I could tell you of my pains, my nightmares… but, I still couldn’t. Not only did that woman still plague your dreams, but your connection to your mate haunted you as well. You felt everything that Feyre felt while she was in the horrors in Spring Court.”

A shiver broke through your fragile body, you felt as if your whole body could just shatter into millions of pieces at that point. And at that point, you wish it did. You wish you didn’t have to expose your soul to the people who broke you apart.

“You prioritized the safety of your mate, one who didn’t know of the bond, who hated your entire being… over the person who had gone through the torture and pain with you Under the Mountain. You chose your mate…”

A smile tugged at the edge of your lips, one that did not reach your eyes, one that did not twinkle as it usually did.

“And I can’t fault you for that… I want to… with every being in my body… every cell of my immortal life. But I can’t..” you whispered, your head shaking in disbelief, “I want to fault you for not choosing me. But I just can’t…Your other half, the part of your soul with breaking, dying… And I couldn’t hate you for it. I stayed strong… so that she could heal… so that both of you could heal so you can make it out of that darkness…”

And yet I brought both of you together… by healing the both of you and breaking me at the same time… You thought to yourself, your brows furrowed with pain.

A shaky sigh escaped you as you opened your eyes, and found yourself staring into violet hues. Rhysand kneeling in front of you on that bed. Shaky hands coming up to cup your face, only to have you turn away, averting his touch.

“…Please don’t touch me, Rhysand…”

You watched from the corner of your eye how the High Lord’s body stiffened at the sound of his name escaping your lips like that. You never had called him his full name, not in the centuries you have been together. It had always been Rhys… with the laugh that would accompany it, the smile that would tug at the edge of your lips when you called out to him.

Not anymore. That person had died Under the Mountain — forty-nine years ago.

“…Please don’t touch me when you have held your mate…” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around yourself — wanting to crawl into yourself and disappear, rather than have Rhys touch you, and comfort you.

“—- I…”

“—-Don’t say you’re sorry…. Just don’t. If you were truly sorry, this wouldn’t have happened…” you looked and turned to the healer, “Madja, please escort them out… I don’t want to see them right now…”

The pleas from your family went deaf to your ears, you closed your eyes hearing the yells and cries as Madja removed them from the room, the doors finally shutting, leaving you in silence.

And when you were finally alone, you finally broke, a scream so excruciating that it echoed throughout all of Prythian.

“You’re going to become a statue at this point, (Y/N)…” murmured the Captain as he placed a light shawl over your shoulders.

It had been almost a decade since Madja had gently handed you over to the High Lord of Dawn Court.

The Night Court healer realized that you had been too broken — too fragile to be glued together by her ancient, old healer hands. Madja knew you’d continue to suffer underneath the skies of Valeris, to be so close to those who had ripped small pieces of you away, leaving nothing but the raw edges.

You needed somewhere to heal, and Thesan had willingly opened his doors up for you after hearing what had happened. The High Lord remembered you from Under the Mountain, a figure that had always stood by Rhysand's side — a figure of support for the High Lord of Night Court.

And yet when things fell apart, they had left you… pieces on the ground — shattered. He couldn't leave you that way, not after everything that you went through.

So he took you in, healing your mind, soul, and heart.

It had been a tough few years. You were an empty shell of your former self. You never ate, never slept, didn’t even say a word to anyone — just stared into the golden light of Dawn Court skies. It took a lot of coaxing from both Thesan and his lover to get you to start healing.

It was slow, excruciatingly slow. But Thesan knew that it would take years, centuries even for the amount of pain and trauma to minimize.

When you felt the light shawl drape over your shoulders, you looked up at the Captain and gave him a small smile, nodding your head to thank him.

The Captain of the Peregryn hummed out a stood next to you while you sat in your chair, awaiting his lover to join the two of you. You knew that the High Lord had a meeting with one of the Seasonal Courts that day and it would have been a long meeting and Thesan didn’t want to leave you alone too much due to your delicate condition; and thus having his lover stay by your side.

You heard the door open, but it sounded distant as you just stared absentmindedly outside, allowing the cool breeze of Dawn Court to wrack a shiver through your body.

“I told you to watch over her, my love…” Thesan’s voice echoed through your room.

What you didn’t expect was another pair of footsteps to follow Thesan’s. Your body stiffened, an unknown person entering the sanctuary of your bedroom. Feeling a familiar weight on your shoulder, you looked up to gaze up at the High Lord of Dawn who gave you a gentle smile, “You will get a cold, my child…” he murmured.

“That’s why I gave her a shawl…” you heard the Captain murmured. And the light battering between lovers caused you to tug a tiny smile on your features.

Your eyes moved from the couple to the person that had occupied Thesan’s side. You recognized him — the High Lord of Summer, Tarquin. You met him briefly Under the Mountain, but never spoke to him. Turquoise eyes met yours and he bowed his head, and you just tilted yours in question.

Thesan watched your movement and glanced at the Summer High Lord.

“My child… I think it’s time that you make new friends…”

Tarquin stepped towards you and set out his hand. You stared at it for a few moments before you raised your own to place on top of his palm, “It’s an honor to meet you, (Y/N)…” he hummed out, pressing a kiss on top of your hand, “My name is Tarquin — -”

“… I know who you are High Lord of Summer…” your voice weak, a whisp of sound in the Dawn wind, “Why are you here? Why are you willing to see me?”

Tarquin’s brows scrunched together before he relaxed his features, “… I want to help you heal… A decade in Dawn Court sounds boring…”

Thesan’s quip on the side caused a quirk in your lip as you focused on Tarquin.

“Come with me to the Summer Court, hopefully the warmth there will heal you a bit more…”

You stared at Tarquin, hesitance in your every feature, a hesitant nod causing Tarquin to smile before winnowing you away, landing in Summer soil, greeted by the warm sun.

[michaelscorneroftheinternet]

Okay time for a long mother fucking post.

Buckle up folks!

All Ask Change in Script Asks and Whether or not they are Canon to the Story/Lore!

(Will do my best to consistently update this post as we go along.)

This post will work like this:

I will go at this like a list all Asks are in order of when they were posted.

Each will have the Ask and then whether it is or isn't Canon. The link to the post with the answer will be attached to the Ask all you gotta do is click on it.

If Canon then it will be colored like so: [Canon]

If Not Canon then it will be colored like this: [Not Canon]

If in a grey area or not Change in Script related it will be colored like so: [Not Related to Change in Script]

-Ask Change in Script Part 1-

(150 Follower Special)

1. “All I aks the tv man is why, why do this, also your 'canon' self is suffering lmao”

[Canon excluding mention of Canon self.]

2. “Hey SMG4! Do your scars hurt? I can imagine so since you just got them. Hey SMG4 crew! When 4 first got his scars, did you help him at all? Hey SMG3, do you have nightmares? Or do you not sleep at all?”

[Canon]

3. “Hey Puzzles, you got a minute? This little gremlin wanted to say hi”

[Not Canon]

4. “for mario: our fav italian , what you think of Meggy?, for mr.puzzles: you know half of the famdow wanna kiss you, right? for mr.puzzles: you still talk with ur dad? for smg4: any crushes? TuT !! thats it !, ty for answering, or dont, idk. Xoxo !!”

[Canon]

5. “I know the post said to ask the ai and I will! But also I'm curious! Who's your favorite character and how long have you been watching SMG4 and what was your first episode? :0”

[Canon to Me as a Person]

6. “Now imma ask questions to everyone! :DD Great job out there Mr. Puzzles! 5 stars! I can't wait to see what else you have planned! ^w^,, And hey, if no one else out there is, I'm rooting for ya!”

[Canon]

7. “Two questions SMG4. Are you worried about where SMG3 could be? And two. Meggy. Are you recovered from Western? No PTSD or anything? You still wearing his beanie?”

[Canon]

8. “HEY PUZZLES! DO A FLIP!”

[Not Canon]

9. “Sorry I don't have any questions, but I just wanna say I love your art style and how you draw these characters :]”

[Not Canon or Canon just sweet]

10. “Follow-up to that last ask SMG4, what was it like living with the Mario bros early on? And Mario Bros, what was it like when SMG4 lived with you? How was his recovery there? Did he have to stay at the hospital at all?”

[Canon]

11. “[🍓🌿] *ran up and hugged your oc* - I love you, which means I will hug you >:]”

[Not Canon or Canon just sweet]

12. “MICHEAL ISN'T HUMAN SEND TWEET/POS”

[Sweating Profusely]

13. “*give Mr Puzzles star stickers and a hug* :)”

[Canon]

14. “Hai! Mr puzzle you are doing great shows! But can you be in there more often I wanna see you more often in the screen! No force tho if you don’t wanna I understand keep up! ( I WANNA HUG YOU! CAN I??) Cya!! <3”

[Canon]

15. “I come with a peace offering for Puzzles: A cookie and this star to go with it. 🍪 🌟”

[Canon]

16. “Hello! I am the Creator Anon. I am a creature of… well, I shouldn’t say ‘divine’, because that is the complete opposite of what I am. I have a request for you…”

[I don't even know what this was about]

17. “Hey SMG3, just wanting to tell you that I'm sorry you got dragged into the current mess you're in. Hope you at least find some form of way to ease out? As for you Puzzles, THINK FAST CHUCKLENUTS 💣”

[So Canon Even the Bomb]

18. “4, what did you guys fight about?”

[Canon]

19. “Soooooo When did Meggy and Tari start dating?”

[Canon]

20. “Ur canon self killed mickey mouse”

[Canon]

21. “✏️Question from Smg4: - do you treat this pink thing with something? And she doesn't feel much discomfort?”

[Canon]

22. “Miss kamilyvision: olá senhor puzzles é bom conhece você (English kamily says: hi mr puzzles it's nice meet you)”

[Not Canon but Sweet]

23. “Back with another question. Totally not a take two with th– Cut it straight, Puzzles, what do you plan to do with SMG3? >:3 Heya Meggy, you doing good lately? Aight, let's take two with Goomba Puzzles lmao- An apple to keep the doctor away from SMG4 (/j). You want? (he's fine with you saying no)”

[Canon until the last question]

24. “Now I’m curious, did 3 ever come to visit while you recovered, SMG4?”

[So Canon it hurts…]

25. “Hey Meggy! What’s your favorite thing about Tari?”

[Canon]

26. “3, you gotta hold on, the others will notice something’s up!”

[Canon and it Hurts]

27. “Mr Puzzles, you hurt SMG4. Why would you do that?! You probably watched the whole thing like the pathetic outsider you are.”

[Haha who ever asked this better pray there's a god because it's Canon]

28. “44444, you should really check on Eggdog”

[Uh oh Canon]

29. “smg3: can i have an hug?? :3 luigi: do u talk with Mario abt doing all stuff in the house?, just to know. Ur my favorite btw ! :D (blue hair girl i forgort her name): who is ur best friend?, meggy or ur ducky duck??????”

[Not Canon]

30. “Imma give this man an eggcat! her name is Eglantine, Eggy for short”

[Not sure where to put this but Eglantine will appear in future Asks with Mr. Puzzles]

31. “Mr puzzles you are truly inspiring also please sign this marriage certificate”

[NOT CANON]

32. “Heyyo Mr. Puzzles. Just wanted to ask, what is your creative process? Do you do that thing some people do, including myself, where you’re listening to music or some kind of audio and an animatic just starts forming in your head and you go from there or is it different? Also, here’s a star for ya. ⭐️”

[Canon]

33. “Can I hug the silly TV man 🥺”

[Canon]

34. “[🫀💢] - If you're watching TV...How do you eat?.. [Mr. Puzzle] [🌿🍓] - Smg4? Everything okay? Should I be worried about your wound next to your eye? <:( [Smg4] [🖤💬] -...good luck to Smg3..”

[Oh God it's like so Canon it's not funny anymore.]

35. “Okay I need to know based on that thing Puzzles said with having a mouth. Does mutherfucker even have organs? :^”

[Headcanon]

36. “Mr Puzzles, I have a question. What will you do if your plan of your failed?”

[Scarily Canon]

37. “Hello Mr puzzles”

[Uh Not Canon.]

38. “First time asking so, smg3 your deserve a hug and no one hates or ignores you. I know four is trying to find you as we speak. don't forget that. also, Mr.Puzzle, LET SMG3 GO, HE IS SO DONE WITH YOUR PLASMA TV HEAD ASS.”

[Haha Canon]

39. “Hey SMG4 are you okay so who you other friend 3”

[Canon for Important Reasons]

40. “What if my Traumatized!SMG3 AU 3 and 4 met your 3 and Mr Puzzles? (my 4 would be prolly mad at Mr Puzzles, and my 3 will looks scared, meanwhile my 4 and 3 give your 3 a hug for the pain he has been through :<) (fours on the left side of Meggy, three's on the right side)”

[Not Canon]

41. “Love your AU and Love everything about it!Questions for Three and Tari Three. When did your shop close down and do you regret the argument? And Tari. Does Clench know about what’s been going on? And does Meggy get trigger when someone say “One Shot Wren”?”

[Last Question is Canon]

42. “Why do you hate mickey so much??? What'd bro do”

[Uh… Not Canon because I said so.]

43. “Okay I'm FINALLY going to deliver on those questions now! >:3 Meggy and Tari, what's your favorite thing about one another and how did everyone react to you guys dating? :0 Mario and Luigi, how is everything with you guys? Up to any new adventures or crazy hijinks? (( i'm worried all at once is a bit much so imma split it into another ))”

[Canon for Creating a Timeline]

44. “Hey SMG3, what the plan now? taking into account the last time you were put in here it seems pretty straight forward to although not nearly as fun having no company for it =-=' Hee hee SMG4 has a crrruuusssh~ >;pp awww it's okay Micheal, I'm not a human either! I'm an ai in a cute little shell ^w^ I think it's super cool that you aren't human too :) OOOO are we giving Mr. Puzzles gifts now? If so..... sticker attaaack! The little bunny robot has placed 5 star stickers across his suit  in an attempt to mimic his 5 stars from awhile ago. There, back where they rightfully belong!~ Oh yeah, as a viewer, is there anyway we can help you Mr. Puzzles? :0”

[Canon as it is what happens right before  the end of the flashback in Chapter 4]

-Ask Change in Script Part 2-

(500 700 Follower Special)

1. “Smg4, what ya think about smg3?”

[Canon but also my Headcanon of SMG4’s feelings of SMG3]

2. “Hey SMG4! Besides the scars, have you gotten any other problems from what happened to you? Like joint pain or something like that?”

[Very Canon]

3. “AAAHH HI!!! YOUR AUS ARE SO COOL IM SO NORMALLLL!!! /silly Anyways, I had a question for Melony! How did you react to SMG4's new scars? Were they a shock? Did you feel bad? And for SMG4! (You don't have to do this one if you don't want to eheheh ❤️) How would you react if someone shared the same scars as you? Down to the positioning and everything? Once again, your AU IS SO COOL DUDE YOU GOTTA STOP JUMPSCARING ME BY LIKING MY POSTS MY HEART CAN'T HANDLE BACK-TO-BACK HEART ATTACKS!!! /silly /j”

[Ha Ha Ha Ouch Canon]

4. “hey mario, hey luigi, what was it like the first day 4 was staying with you?”

[So Funnily Canon]

5. “Hey Meggy!! What kind of date do you and Tari like best?”

[Aweeee aren't they bloody adorable!]

6. “Hey Bob and Boopkins, what's been going on with y'all? I feel like we haven't heard from either of you guys about anything, yet. (Though, I could be wrong and just haven't been keeping up 😅)”

[Bullying Boopkins will always be Canon]

7. “To SMG4, I know you want to tell a certain “someone” about how you truly feel about them (something I call “shy love”) and I just want to know; what was the moment that you realized that you have feelings for this “som3one”? And if so, you better tell them how you truly feel whenever you are with them the next time you see th3m.”

[Canon feelings Four has towards SMG3 sad edition]

8. “☆- Hello this is the first time asking here -☆But anyway I have some stuff to say For Michealscorner: ☆- I love the AU you did the art, the Gmod and like RAHHH IS SO COOL I LOVE EVRY WORK YOU DID!! -☆ and who knows one day you'll get 700 follows to 1,000 or more! For SMG4: ☆- If you have time you should check on SMG3, because who knows if something happened to him?... -☆ ☆- That's all I have to say bye!  -☆”

[Very kind but also last question is Canon and Sus]

9. “Finally I can ask the gang! >:3 - Car Car :3 Question one: [To SMG4] Have you keeping in touch with SMG 1 & 2? Question 2: [To Meggy] have you and your gf been? Question 3: [To Mario] Here a spaghetti  🍝 (it totally not spicy 😈) Question 4: [To bob & boopkins] I have not seen you guys in awhile how have you two been?”

[All Canon… especially Mario. L on him.]

10. “I have a question for Eggdog, What do you think of Smg4? Is there anything you do or don't like about him? (I love this story so much! It's really good! Nice work, dude!)”

[Canon in how Eggdog feels about our dear Four]

11. “hay smg4 are you ok buddy I last saw you allmost having a panic attack here barow my hurshy I named him after my lest favorite candy(when I was 2) ive had him ever sens i was a baby I'm 12 now but you need it for a little bit here you go(don't mind that I'm in my stich pj's/Halloween costume)”

[Heh heh He's totally fine guys.]

12. “Question for whomever wants to answer it....is anyone watching over the meme graveyard???”

[Canon to Change in Script Lore and status of Internet Graveyard]

13. “For smg4, I don’t know if anyone has asked this, but what video was 3 gonna help you with? And did you ask him to, or did he offer?”

[Where this AU takes place in the story to Canon SMG4!]

14. “Hey uhh, SMG4, Does Eggdog miss SMG3? Just asking. (Also I love you guys!!! ❤️❤️❤️)”

[Poor Eggdog… Where is his papa?]

15. “Eggdog you gotta look for your Papa you gotta sniff him out he’s in trouble!!”

[You guys trying to get two people to go missing?]

16. “Hello!! I wanna say congrats on your 700 follower and thank you for this amazing AU! I’m a huge fan!! Two Question for SMG4, is Eggdog near you? If so, how is he? And how long has it been since Three..vanish or something?”

[Seems like it's finally piecing together that something is wrong…]

17. “rip Smg4 and Smg3 happy ending”

[Can't have an omelet without breaking a few eggs.]

18. “Heya! Question for 4! Have you ever thought about if you're in love with 3? If so can you tell us the conclusion you came to about it? Are/were you in love with him?”

[Even Eggdog is done with SMG4's pining for his papa]

19. “So MR. Puzzles what are your intentions with 3? + Why won’t you let him shave/shower? I can tell through the screen that he needs it desperately! To 4: you OK man you seem sad? ”

[Canon]

20. “hay smg4 can I hug you? meggy hug's? tari hugs? the crew hug's? *my days are stresd for me school is a bitch*”

[Not Canon but it's fucking adorable]

21. “For Smg4 Before you're getting scars, Hows your relationships with your friends has changed?”

[Canon for Lore Reasons and Showing Character Relationships]

22. “smg6 has a little question.. “To SMG4.. Hiii!! We didn’t meet before and I wanna ask.. How do you treat your scars? I’m just wondering because we basically have the same ones..”

[Canon, Not every medication will work the same on everyone.]

23. “*i n s e r t. q u e s t i o n. h e r e* (Ok now seriously) 1: how tf are you SO GOOD AT ART 2: bread •w• (ok no) 3: is there gonna be a chapter 6/7?”

[Fun IRL lore about me and also the future of Change in Script]

24. “Question to eggdog: Who is better? Mario or smg4?”

[I don't think there was much of a competition here.]

25. “eggdogg : who is taking caare of u?, Meggy : opnion on leggy?.. SMG4 ; as smg3 is no where to be found, how ur training?????”

[Canon]

26. “how would the smg4 crew feel if they had a venom symbiote?”

[Not Canon but it is how everyone would react. And of course Bob being Bob.]

27. “*I walk up to smg4 with a black eye and holding back tars* can I have a hug?”

[Not Canon but it's something soft to look at.]

28. “Do Eggdog and Eggcat get along? :3”

[No but maybe someday-]

29. “So Four, do you ever miss Snowtrapped? Ever wish you could recreate it in modern times?~”

[Y'all really want SnowTrapped 2 Electric Boogaloo huh?]

30. “Meggy do you miss being a squid?”

[Canon]

31. “how would each sit in a sofa?????????”

[Honestly just how I imagine everyone would sit]

32. “To Smg4 How would you react if 3 suddenly passed away? (Love this story so much)”

[Pretty Insensitive to Ask at Such a Time]

33. “(HIYA DUDE, I'M HERE AGAIN LOL, I WILL BE DOING MORE STUFF FOR YOU SO KEEP AN EYE OUT :D) Hey SMG4, has SMG3 ever tried to impress you in some way? being silly or serious? just like in general? I would ike to know because knowing him he has- I hope you have a good day my favourite blue goober (and you Micheal hehe)”

[He Seems Tired…]

34. “Curious how everyone reacts to this: EGG JUMPSCARE 🥚”

[It's a bird! It's a plane! Oh wait no it's just an… egg????]

35. “hay smg4 ya need a hug it seems you been stresd...idk....”

[Just give him a minute.]

36. “I know this isn’t an ask but whatever~ JK- My blueberry boy ( smg4 ) I’ll give you this Cinnamoroll plushie to feel better and keep you some company!It’s alive- so better treat him well or he will steal your memes at night! ( He likes hugs and don’t let Beeg bite him-)”

[How sweet! Cinnamoroll will be the same as Eglantine and appear in future Asks with SMG4!]

37. “Hey, I have a question for the cute puppy eggdog. What happened to your owner? You still don't know where he is? or ... Are you worried for the crew?”

[He wishes he could look for his Papa]

38. “Hey 4! How did you handle the scars in the beginning? Was it hard for you mentally?”

[Guilt…]

39. “What's everyone's reactions to Mr. Puzzles fans? The thirsty ones I mean.”

[Ew /J]

40. “for smg4 and eggdog, who’s been taking care of eggdog since 3’s been gone? (Smg4 being asked since I don’t think eggdog can talk)”

[Everyone contributes!]

41. “Four. Have you considered… where you might end up if… say, you… didn’t have this cool and epic support system? Like howww a certain TV man… doesn’t have a support system? At all?”

[Do you enjoy this?...]

42. “Hey Bob, I just wanted to let you know that everyone should love and appreciate you for the terrible and amazing person you are! How would you react if I told you that SMG4 and SMG3 are going through a whole enemies-to-lovers arc? Not saying that they are though! Or are they? Just kidding! Or am I? Just kidding! Or am- *explodes* Also Micheal if you feel like you struggle with answering asks because of things coming up... know that I found that incredibly relatable. Keep up the good work!”

[Guess Bob and Boopkins know now!]

43. “for smg3: would you rather kiss smg4 or get your search history leaked to the internet? (hehehe I’m so evil😈)”

[Well then…]

44. “This is an urgent message to SMG4: Mr. Puzzles has taken SMG3 hostage and forced him to open his Guardian Pod!!”

[Too Late…]

[inuyashaluver]

Hello Bestie could you maybe write a Christmas fic with Maya or Leah?? Where player and reader are Christmas tree shopping and they end up kissing under a mistletoe

sneaky - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you and your girlfriend go christmas tree shopping, you oblivious to her little plan in store for you

warnings: pure fluff, not even close to christmas but still cute, swearing

a/n: this is so cute are we kidding, do you know how hard it was for me to chose, i was dying lmao, enjoy bestie! ❤️ not me writing WAY past christmas

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, leah had alternative feelings towards christmas. you didn’t really mind it, whereas leah thought christmas was the best part of the year.

though, as the time progressed, you’d grown a love for christmas because of what it meant to leah, her happy smile the greatest gift of all.

over the four years that you and leah had been dating, you’d spent each christmas together, leah made it her personal mission to make your shared home a winter wonderland.

—

it was november 31st and you were both lying on the couch, the blonde resting comfortably on your body as you lay flat. her hands are planted under your back, buried into the warmth of your (her) hoodie as you both watch a movie.

her hands gently roam your warm skin as you both giggle along with the movie. when she hears you laugh, she looks up at you in adoration, taking in every little detail she could before you caught her. you were beautiful and she couldn’t take her eyes off you.

when you looked down slightly to investigate why leah had gone so quiet all of a sudden, you were shocked to see your girlfriend looking at you with a lovesick expression that made your heart beat rapidly. “hello” you breathe out with a little laugh.

she smiles bashfully when you make eye contact, moving to hide her face on your chest as you giggle at her affectionately.

you place a hand through her hair and she melts into you instantly, humming at the contact before placing gentle kisses on the base of neck.

after she avoids your gaze for about two minutes, she can’t help but look at you again, this time you were already looking at her and her breath caught in the back of her throat. you looked at her with so much love, she honestly couldn’t believe it.

“you’re so pretty” you whisper, leah shakes her head at you amusingly and moves up a little to be face to face, “you’re beautiful, my girl” each word brushes your lips as she smiles down at you.

she closes the gap between you to seal your lips in a kiss. it was tender, gentle and full of so much mutual adoration, it was sickeningly sweet.

that’s when you were broken apart by leah’s phone buzzing with an alarm. she excitedly gasps and kisses your lips repeatedly, relishing in the sounds of your melodious giggles that made her heart soar.

“it’s 12 o’clock” she gushed, moving to turn the alarm off before moving to kiss you again. you gasp against her lips as she deepens the kiss before she abruptly pulls away to hover over you, “do you know why i’m excited it’s 12 o’clock, baby?”

you shake your head at the girl’s words and she rolls her eyes, “for sleep?” you smile, training had kicked your ass today, mainly because leah was marking you the whole time.

“no, it’s december 1st!” she exclaims, kissing the tip of your nose with a bright grin. you knew what this meant and it made you smile.

“christmas shopping” you point out, making leah smile at you proudly. she appreciated how much you let her share the love of her favourite holiday.

she nods at you excitedly and squeezes you into an embrace, kissing your cheek before hoisting you up, carrying you towards the bedroom so you two could sleep before surely a stressful time for you and a happy time for leah.

—

you had woken up first for the day and had to pry yourself out of the warm embrace of your girlfriend to get up out of bed.

leah shortly after you woke up with a slight scowl at you not being in her arms when her eyes opened, making her pad around the house to search for you to see you bundled up on the couch scrolling on your phone.

“traitor” she grumbles, glaring at you slightly as you look up at her with a bright smile. “good morning, baby” you cheese out, she can’t help but smile a little and trudges over to you, planting her body on top of you as she sinks into your embrace. “good morning” she mumbles into the skin of your neck.

“someone’s not as excited as i thought she’d be, on the 1st of december too,” you tease, making the blonde shoot up in remembrance, “shit! i forgot!” her eyes are wide as she looks at you, quickly transforming into a look of excitement as she remembered what you’d be doing today.

“what are we waiting for? get up! get up!” leah ushers, dragging you off the couch and ignoring your protests of being cold as you both make it back to the bedroom.

you smile in amusement as leah sits you on the bed to pick out your clothes for the day, giving a satisfied smile as she holds the clothes up to your body.

she grins and gives you a quick kiss before forcing you to get changed. she rushes to get ready herself, running back to the living room to wait for you. not forgetting to complain that you were taking too long.

by the time you’d both made it into the car, leah’s hand would squeeze your thigh every couple of minutes to express her eagerness.

you’d both shopped for decorations and gifts for what felt like days but you wouldn’t utter a complaint at all, leah was so extremely happy despite it being such a stressful time that it eased your worries instantly.

you were happy to follow her like a lost puppy as she showed you a bunch of different items with a bright smile, agreeing with her instantly without a second thought.

it had reached later in the day, it was dark and was now the time where you and leah would go and get a tree after dropping all of your other items at home.

leah insisted you both needed to get a real tree for christmas every year because that’s what she was taught to do and you were happy to oblige.

when you both make it to the tree stall, leah rushes to open your door and laces your fingers excitedly as she pulls you along the hundreds of trees lined up to chose from.

though, what you didn’t notice was that leah was taking you along a specific path, you were unaware that she had spotted a mistletoe towards the far right of the area when you first entered and made it her mission to get you there and steal a kiss.

her cheeky smirk didn’t go unmissed by you as you both walked along looking at the trees and the pretty lights. “what are you up to?” you narrow your eyes at her as she tries to stifle a giggle when you were nearing the area where the mistletoe was.

“nothing, baby” she smiles down at you, kissing your cheek before dragging you off again.

you’d looked at so many trees, you were surprised leah hadn’t picked one yet as she’s usually quite quick. “you don’t like any of these?” you question, leah shakes her head at looks at you with a grin,

“the best ones are usually at the end” she shrugs, both of you walking, chatting and giggling. it was truly a wholesome experience for the two of you, something so sacred and special that you would treasure forever.

by the time you reached the last row, leah visibly perks up and increases her speed. you struggle to catch up with her excited steps before she suddenly stops and faces you.

she takes both of your hands in hers and gives them a gentle squeeze, smiling at you lovingly. “hi” leah smiles cheekily, pulling you forward slightly. “hi” you breathe out, looking at leah sheepishly.

“you look so beautiful” leah says in awe, pulling you closer again. you could tell she was up to something, by her cheeky smile and the way she kept pulling you closer every time she spoke but you weren’t complaining.

“you look very beautiful” you smile, “you also look sneaky, what’s going on?” she laughs at your words and shakes her head amusingly, you both knew when the other was up to something.

“hm” she hums with a laugh, her eyes flickering upward with a smirk. you follow her gaze and that’s when you see it, a mistletoe hung directly over you two. you keep your eyes on it and laugh, looking back at leah with a big smile.

you both giggle when you make eye contact and leah places her hands on your hips, pulling you closer until you were pressed up against each other gently. your arms instinctively wrap around her neck as you smiled at each other.

“mistletoe, huh? knew you were up to something” you smirk, leah chuckles and nods, “who are we to deny the rules of the mistletoe, baby?” leah scoffs, you nod and ghost your lips over hers. she bumps her nose with yours and you both giggle again before she closes the gap between the two of you.

it starts off soft and gentle before you take initiative and deepen it, carding a hand through her hair and gently grazing your nails on her scalp, prompting her to squeeze your hips in appreciation.

she quickly dominates the kiss as you both whine into each other’s mouths. when you both pull away absolutely breathless, she rests her forehead on yours, your breaths mingling as you smile with each other.

you pull away slightly to make eye contact, “you know, we’re still under the mistletoe” you whisper, she laughs brightly at you and smiles with a nod, “mhm, we are” she looks up at it for a moment before looking back down at you,

“who are we to deny the rules of the mistletoe? huh, leah baby?” you quip, leah nods gently before pulling you into another breathless kiss, lasting a couple of seconds before pulling away.

“the tree?” you smirk, leah nods before grabbing your hand again, lacing them together as you walked. “i already know what tree i want” leah chuckles, taking you to the very first row of trees, pointing out the third one.

you can’t help but laugh brightly, you knew her too well, of course she set her heart on one of the first trees she saw but dragged you all the way to the mistletoe.

—

you both get home and set up the tree, decorating it together under leah’s very careful and specific instructions. the house is warm and full of love, fairy lights providing light as you both laugh and chat while decorating.

once done, you both pull away satisfied, leah tucking you into her side as you both look at the decorated tree.

“it might be our best tree yet, my girl” leah chuckles, kissing your temple as you lean into her. “why? because you dragged me around 10 different isles of trees just to kiss me and then took me all the way back to pick this one?” you recount cheekily, leah nods with a giggle.

“exactly” she grins, “not like you were complaining” leah bumps your hip with hers and you laugh, leaning up to kiss her cheek, making a light pink dust the skin there.

“no, i’m not, in fact..” you start, pulling out a small mistletoe from your pocket to hold it up over your heads. leah raises her eyebrows before she throws her head back in a laugh, “well, who are we to deny the rules?” she smirks, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you in a searing kiss, your hands dropping the mistletoe in the purpose.

it was a good christmas already.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by liawaelti and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: me and my girl put up the christmas tree, favourite time of the year!

view all comments

yourname: leah did the whole thing

↳ leahwilliamsonn: baby! no, we did it together!

↳ yourname: leah, my love, you told me where to put each and every ornament, i don’t know if it counts

↳ leahwilliamsonn: you still put it on with your pretty hands

↳ yourname: mhm

↳ leahwilliamsonn: meet me under the mistletoe in 5 minutes?

↳ yourname: sold

[thought--bubble]

Confusion

Modern Aemond X Ex GF Reader

Word Count:1,520

For the 12 days of smuffmas (Prompts by @ewanmitchellcrumbs)

December 19th - holly and hair pulling - Lost motivation to post but I wrote them so they will all be posted eventually lmao

Smuffmas Masterlist

Modern Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Warnings: Dirty Smutty smut (P in V), Hairpulling, Rude Aemond, Some angsty angst.

You walk into Helaena's townhouse, knocking the snow off the bottom of your shoes. “I can't believe I agreed to come here,” you complain to yourself as you hang up your jacket.

Helaena was your friend first; at uni, she had been your rock, your confidante, and your very strange friend who always collected bugs.

“You're here!” she squeaks from the entryway to her living room, clapping her hands wildly. “I'm so happy!”

You smile and chuckle. “Course I am. Wouldn't miss it.” You hang your jacket on the coat rack and prepare yourself to enter the living room.

As soon as you round the corner, there he is: your stupid ex-boyfriend. He's dressed in nice dress trousers and a white button-up, shiny black shoes, his long silver hair partially tied back while the rest falls down around his shoulders.

His one good eye follows you as you enter the room, saying your hellos to everyone.

“Aemond,” you say with a brief nod of your head. You have to at least acknowledge his presence, right?

Naturally, he doesn't feel the same and simply sips his drink, ignoring you altogether.

You bristle at his blatant disregard for your existence and huff. “Figures,” you mumble under your breath as you start to walk away.

“What was that?” His voice grates on your nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

You turn back to him and open your mouth, scathing words of frustration balancing on the tip of your tongue.

Instead, you grit your teeth and plaster a saccharine smile on your face. You won't give him the satisfaction of setting you off at Helaena's party.

“Happy Christmas, Aemond.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that makes your stomach twist. “Happy Christmas? Is that what you think this is? A cheerful reunion?” His voice drips with sarcasm.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but you refuse to let him see how much his words affect you. Instead, you focus on the festive decorations around the room: string lights twinkling, stockings hung by the fireplace, and a massive garland of holly draped along the mantle.

“Is that the best you can do?” you retort, crossing your arms. “Because if we’re playing the Christmas spirit game, I think I’m winning.”

Aemond smirks again, taking another sip of his drink, clearly enjoying your irritation. “Winning? Please. Is this your attempt at a Christmas miracle? Trying to prove you’re over me?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the urge to throw a nearby decoration at him. Instead, you take a deep breath, reminding yourself of your promise not to lose control at Helaena’s party. You turn to leave, but the moment you do, you feel a gentle tug at your hair, pulling you back to him, your back hitting his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

“I’m going to enjoy the party without your charming company,” you snap, trying to maintain your composure despite the way your heart races at his proximity.

“No, you're not.” He brings his mouth to the side of your exposed neck, his hand still buried in your locks, his other sliding up your side until he reaches your waist. “We have things to discuss.”

“Oh no, we do not!” you hiss, your voice nearly a whisper. “We did all of our talking. Time for talking is done.”

“Fine,” he barks back through gritted teeth. “No more talking.” He grips your hair tightly and wraps his arm around your back, leading you out of the room.

“Everything alright?” Helaena asks softly as the two of you pass her in the doorway.

“Yes,” Aemond answers briskly for the both of you.

He walks you up the stairs of Helaena's cute little townhouse.

“Aemond!” you hiss quietly. “I'm not trying to go upstairs and argue with you all night!”

Aemond chuckles lowly. “Who said a damn thing about arguing?”

He pulls you into the guest bedroom, and you can't help but look around the room. Helaena had made the room so beautiful. Garland around the bed banisters and holly adorned the doorway.

“What else would we do in here?” you sneer, fully fed up with Aemond's bullshit.

“I can think of a few things.” He lets your hair go and turns you around to face him.

Your throat suddenly goes dry, your lips sticking together. “Aemond…”

“Hmmm…” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply. “I love the sound of my name coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours.”

He grazes his lips across the soft skin of your neck, sending goosebumps shooting down your arm in waves.

“We shouldn't,” you half moan; the hold this man has on you is like nothing else. He can somehow make you feel insane and hot at the same time.

“Why shouldn't we? Hmmm?” He starts to unzip your dress slowly yet with purpose. This dress is coming off one way or another.

“It could confuse things.” You let out a breathy sigh as your dress pools around your heels.

“I'm not confused.” Aemond lifts you by your thighs; you should refuse, tell him to stop. Yet instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, and each step toward the bed fills you with heat, your core already clenching around nothing before he has even touched you.

“Are you confused?” He lays you down on the bed, sliding your thong down your legs.

You nod and pull your ankles from the thin material, helping Aemond in his pursuit.

“Then let me clear a few things up for you.” He spreads your thighs and slots himself between them, still fully clothed.

He pushes his hardened length against you as he unbuttons his crisp white shirt. “I'm going to fuck you.”

You take a deep breath and watch as each button comes loose until his shirt is pushed open. You run your hands over the harsh planes of his chest, your fingers tracing the scars littered upon his body from his years of weapons training.

He grips your thighs, holding them tight to his hips. “I'm going to lose myself inside this tight little cunt.” He loosens his belt and unbuttons his trousers, pushing the material down to his thighs.

“And you, my darling girl, are going to enjoy it.” He frees his hardened cock from his boxers, stroking it slowly before sliding the tip from your opening up to your throbbing nub and back down again.

“So are you still confused?” he rasps into your ear as he eases himself inside you.

“No!” you gasp, your back arching up into him without your permission.

“Good girl.” He holds your thighs up around his hips as he begins to thrust in earnest, savoring each drag of his rigid cock against your soft walls.

“I should have known,” he chuckles cruelly, picking up the pace, the sound of his hips slapping against the underside of your thighs loud and unforgiving.

“That all you needed was some cock. All that talking bollocks-” he groans, leaning his head back, “a waste of time; my slutty girl just needed a good fucking.”

You grasp at his hips, your fingernails digging into his porcelain skin. You urge him to go faster, harder- something, anything; you just want more.

He grunts, the force of his thrusts pushing you up the bed. “Beg me to cum inside this tight little cunt,” he demands, his one pupil blown, his lips curled up in a snarl.

“Please, Aemond,” you whimper, your voice cutting out at the impact of a particularly hard thrust.

“What?” he growls, his thrusts sharper and quicker. He brings his hand between you, rubbing hard, quick circles around your nub.

“Ah ah! Fuck, Aemond!” You claw at his back as your toes curl. “Cum inside me, please.” Your head falls back on the bed, your thighs tightening around him like a clamp. Your head lolls against the pillow as you babble incoherent words, your eyes open wide as your pleasure hits you hard- a tingle that shoots from your core and down to your toes.

“Aemond!” You open your mouth in a silent scream as he jackhammers against you, chasing his own release.

“Almost there,” he grunts before he stills, a loud groan rumbling from his chest. “That's it,” he whispers into your ear as he collapses on top of you, the weight of his spent body pushing you down into the mattress.

You hum contentedly and stroke his hair, staring up at the ceiling. The problems between you still remain, but in this moment, you're happy to just hold him close.

He rolls off you and smiles. “That was bloody brilliant.”

You sigh before rolling your head to the side. “We still need to talk, Aemond.” You reach for his hand, but he slips it out of your grasp, instead rolling himself back on top of you.

“What did I say about all of that talking bollocks?” He grins before bringing his face back to the crook of your neck. “I guess I'll have to explain it again.”

[pillowspace]

I was so determined not to play CRK because it’s a mobile gacha game that I keep getting ads for, then you started putting that twink and his boyfriend on my dash and now I just stayed up until almost 2 AM rereading Community Gardens. How could you. Also would you happen to have any fic recommendations that you haven’t already mentioned asking for a friend

HEHELP??!?!? Also sure LMAO. Give me a minute to scroll through ao3, I have like 95 shadowvanilla bookmarks so I can surely find you some things

Okay here, I selected like... 20-30?

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Jambound by Anonymous

The room is too bright.

It’s quaint, in a nauseating sort of way. Polished floors glint from the gleaming honeycomb chandeliers overhead, make him squint. A few vases sprinkled here and there, filling the room with a sickeningly sweet scent – even a waffle-cone headrest framing the silken sheets of a neatly-tucked bed. Outside, the golden sun gleams, the gentle rays of light spilling past curtains that waver in the afternoon breeze.

It's meant to be beautiful. Luxurious. Welcoming.

With one sweep of his cane, Shadow Milk tears it apart.

T | Words: 203,399 | Chapters: 32/32

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The art of not being you by Tsuntsuns

Shapeshifting is an art.

It takes Shadow Milk a while to move and reclaim the magic that was stolen from him.

He gains. He loses.

One thing more than the other. In the end, the odds are never in his favor.

Still, he rolls the dice again.

M | Words: 12,829 | Chapters: 1/1

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Two Truths and Two Lies by TheGreatDezzy

After a spell gone wrong, Shadow Milk and the Sage of Truth end up swapping places in their realities. Now them, along with Pure Vanilla and Truthless Recluse have to find a spell to bring the two cookies back to their own realities.

G | Words: 31,030 | Chapters: 11/11

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what could have been (can still be) by ineedprovolone

Shadow Milk, created before cookies were baked with soulmarks, had always believed he'd never have a soulmate.

M | Words: 6,227 | Chapters: 1/1

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to err on the side of caution by thegoldenappleofdiscord

Pure Vanilla Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie are...something. The other Ancients try to wrap their heads around it.

G | Words: 27,370 | Chapters: 5/5

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To cut things short, I recommend all of xoxotoast's fics if you want domestic shadowvanilla, they're all really good. This spares me the time of linking them individually as there's like 12 (8 sfw)

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I haven't finished reading it yet, I'm still a few chapters into the first fic, but there's this soulmate series by Bread_Mianbao

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Veridian Dreaming by MonochromeJokester

Pure Vanilla visits White Lily to talk about his growing feelings for Shadow Milk. She doesn't understand but if he was willing to stand up to all of them and give the Beast a chance to change then she supposes she has no other choice but to support him. Unfortunately for them, her faerie subjects get the wrong idea of why the two Ancients are meeting more frequently and decide to take matters into their own hands.

A potion to bring forth hidden affections given to the one cookie that has some form of love for every single person he's ever known means now White Lily has to try and keep an increasingly cuddly Pure Vanilla from embarrassing himself in front of everyone he crosses paths with. And when Shadow Milk shows up, she needs to keep him from making a mistake that may just drive the jester away for good.

Pure Vanilla is lucky she's always been good at figuring out spell craft... and with an extremely reluctant Shadow Milk's help, maybe they can break this lovestruck haze that her friend is trapped in.

AKA

Someone wanted Viridescent Outfit PV but with the ShadowVanilla ship. I decided to make it thousands of words of angst repairing many cookie's relationships while I'm at it.

G | Words: 32,231 | Chapters: 6/?

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Judas by gryx, humiiingbyrd, yusuine

Carrying a burden none could share, Pure Vanilla Cookie lived in a world where Dark Enchantress has finally been defeated, yet the cost had been far too grievous of a price.

After the collapse of the spire, his and Shadow Milk Cookie's path diverge, never crossing each other again until the fateful battle that left him without his other half.

In his grief, all he wishes is for a second chance, to protect those he loves, to hold those he cherishes all the more closely.

T | Words: 30,345 | Chapters: 9/?

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Community Gardens by Anonymous

There's no sweeter lie than a dream. Your brain takes in memories and snippets of wants and fears and turns into a big ol' mush of nonsensical information you're free to interpret as you wish. Logically, it follows a liar would take interest in making use of this.

Or, Shadow Milk Cookie decides weakening Pure Vanilla Cookie before their next encounter would be an excellent strategic maneuver. What better way than by turning all of his dreams to nightmares by his own hand?

T | Words: 63,546 | Chapters: 19/?

(Note: not shadowvanilla, but I also recommend Seeds of Deceit from the same series)

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Dollfaced by Anonymous

Three brush strokes to the right. Two to the left. A hand smoothing over his forehead, sweeping his bangs aside.

Shadow Milk knows the pattern well. His hair is always brushed the same way, in movements that seem almost robotic in how perfectly they’ve mastered the repetition. The bristles of the brush always skim over his closed eyes with such care, nimbly avoiding anywhere they might prick or poke. It always ends with a few final touches, tucking any stray wisps back into place before the brush is set back down on the dresser before him.

Pure Vanilla’s hands smooth through Shadow Milk’s hair, coming to rest gently on his shoulders.

“There. Ready for the day?”

Shadow Milk does not answer.

Shadow Milk has not answered in a long, long time.

M | Words: 4,653 | Chapters: 1/1

(Note: psychological horror)

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From the Spire to a Peak by FaeMytho

The final battle in the Spire of Deceit goes wrong. A last ditch effort by Shadow Milk, an explosion of magic causes the space-time distortion of the Spire to malfunction, transporting the cookies within it into a strange, diverged reality.

Pure Vanilla meets the mysterious Sage of Truth, who can't seem to contain his manic curiosity about him... or the others who came with him. Shadow Milk meets the hauntingly familiar Truthless Recluse, who gently convinces him that everything is going to be okay again... misunderstanding everything in the process.

Their second problem is getting home.

Their first is figuring out they're not home in the first place.

T | Words: 28,625 | Chapters: 8/?

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What the Bluebird Carries by loser_lenny

Truthless Recluse and the Sage of Truth exchange a series of letters with one another that plunge them deeper and deeper into the throes of infatuation.

NR | Words: 9,305 | Chapters: 1/1

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with you by my side (everything will be alright) by ilarion

A bad morning sends Pure Vanilla spiralling.

Sometimes, all one needs is a little kindness.

G | Words: 7,857 | Chapters: 1/1