#Of the devil's head - spin-off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hischierhoney · 2 months

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I KNOW

Nico Hischier x Hughes sister!reader

• Off Limits Pt 2 • 6.2k words

Summary: Things between you and Nico are going well, but the two of you might not be as sneaky as you think.

Warnings: mild sexually suggestive content, 18+ MDNI

You don’t think he’s noticed yet. In all fairness, he’s pretty used to seeing you in a Devils jersey. It’s what you’d been wearing when the two of your first met, and most times you saw each other after that. Especially now that two of your brothers are on the team, you’re almost always wearing some form of NJD gear. This jersey is different, though.

Nico’s been at practice for most of the day. When you met him at his apartment, you'd taken the liberty of grabbing one of his jerseys from his closet and slid it over your head, and for good measure, ditched your pants, too. You’re waiting on the couch in nothing but the jersey, which he probably would’ve realized if he wasn’t so busy organizing all his gear, and telling you about the practice, and trying to eat a bit of the pasta you’d brought him all in the middle of it.

You see it when he notices, and you hear it, too. His talking stops, and his gaze freezes on you, on where you sit on the couch, bare legs crossed over each other. He blinks a couple times, and then his eyes grow even wider.

“Nice jersey,” he says, voice suddenly an octave lower.

You crane your neck to look down at the number 13 emblazoned across the shoulder and the captain’s C on the chest. “Oh. Had to rep my favorite player, you know.”

He nods, makes a sort of low humming noise. You just smile up at him, watching the way his cheeks flush. If you’d known it would have this effect on him, you’d have gotten yourself one of his jerseys a long time ago. Maybe before he even rescued you from that bar.

His gaze drags up and down your body. “Schatz.”

You cock your head and blink softly. “Yeah, Nico?”

He sets his plate down on the coffee table. It’s still half full of pasta. You watch him with soft eyes as he takes a few steps towards you, lips barely parted. He beckons you towards him with two bent fingers. You go without even thinking twice, up off the couch in seconds, the jersey falling to your mid thigh.

When you’re within arm’s reach, his hands come up to hold your shoulders, rubbing up and down gently. His eyes are all over you.

“Did you steal this from my closet?” He asks.

You nod, chewing on your lower lip. “Hope that’s okay.”

Nico rumbles out a laugh. He shakes his head, and then he brushes his lips against your temple, down the crest of your cheek, and against your jaw. He takes a couple steps, turns slightly, and then spins you around in his grip, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your back tight against his front. You gasp at the maneuver, and your eyes flicker up to his reflection in the floor length mirror in front of you.

He’s not looking at you. Instead, his eyes are on your upper back- his last name, across your shoulders, you realize.

His eyes flicker up to meet yours. Your face is hot, the rest of your skin getting there, too. There’s a look on his face- a mix of awe and affection and attraction. He presses a soft kiss behind your ear and takes a deep breath.

“It’s more than okay,” he says. One of his hands slips down to your bare thigh, toying with the hem of the jersey. “You should keep it on.”

You lean back against him, resting your head against his shoulder, never breaking eye contact in the mirror. “Yeah?”

He nods, and his hand slips up your thigh so he can squeeze your bare hip. He raises his eyebrows when he finds nothing there- no fabric, no underwear. You raise your eyebrows right back.

“But you’d better find some pants,” he says, nipping lightly at your jaw, “‘cause we’re going on a date.”

He’s gone within seconds, leaving you reeling. Your heart is racing, chest heaving, and he’s just- gone. You look at your reflection in bewilderment.

“What?” You call after him, turning around. “Nico, where are you going? What are-“

He pops his head out from around the hallway corner, and his cheeks are red and rosy. You almost stumble towards him, but something makes you stay planted there. Maybe this was too much. Maybe you’re coming on too strong.

“We’re going on a date,” he repeats. “Keep the jersey, find some pants. I’m taking a quick shower.”

You blink at him. “You just showered. Your hair is wet. You’re being weird.”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Yes. I’m taking a cold shower. The jersey worked, schatz, but I have a date planned for us.”

Then he disappears. You hear the shower kick on a few seconds later, and the shocked yelp that follows. You turn back to the mirror and laugh at your reflection.

20 minutes later, you’re in his car. He’s freshly showered, and you’re wearing his jersey and a pair of leggings. He has his hand on your thigh, like he always does any chance he gets, away from prying eyes. You rest your hand on top of his and run your fingers over the veins. Five minutes out from your very secretive date- he hasn’t given you any details- he tells you to close your eyes.

“C’mon, it’s a surprise,” he says, squeezing your leg.

“But Nico-“

He laughs and lifts his hand, placing it over your eyes. You squeal and try to pull it away, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, keeps your vision covered. You whine about it the whole way, but he just teases you the entire time.

When the car rolls to a stop, he leans close and whispers in your ear, “keep your eyes closed for me?”

You squeeze them shut tighter than you ever have before. He opens his door and shuts it, then opens your door and pulls you out of the car. You laugh the entire walk, as he keeps his hands on your hips and leads you in. There’s a squeaky, heavy sounding door, echoing footsteps on tile floors, and nothing but the darkness of your eyelids. And then- cold.

“Are we at the rink?” You ask, stopping in your tracks.

He groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. “How the fuck did you figure that out?”

You laugh and reach blindly for his face, pinching his cheek lightly. “Nico, all of my brothers play hockey. I know ice rinks.”

He sighs heavily. You turn around in his arms and open your eyes, face to face with him. His gaze is soft and warm even though he’s pouting.

“Why are we here?” You ask.

He shrugs. “You said… after the family skate you mentioned how you wished we could’ve skated together. And then I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So. I thought we could have our own skate.”

You swear you melt into a puddle, right there at his feet. “Oh. Wow. That’s-“

You lose the ability to say anything other than the words that have been stuck on your tongue for weeks now- I love you. He just kisses your cheek and drags you away to the locker room. Within a few minutes, you’re stepping out into the arena as he turns the lights on. They shine down on the empty rink. You’ve almost never been in here when it’s empty like this. It feels strange. You’re used to being a part of the roaring crowd, used to cheering on the team from the sidelines.

Nico helps you lace up your skates, and then he walks you out to the ice, so carefully it makes your chest feel tight.

“I know how to skate,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says, kissing your temple.

Despite that, he keeps his hands on you when you get out on the ice. You know it’s not about making sure you don’t fall, and you think back to dates when you were a teenager, boys suggesting ice skating because they thought it’d be an easy excuse to hold your hand. You’d skated circles around all of them. But Nico’s a professional hockey player, and you want to hold his hand, so you let him take both of yours in his, facing each other, and you smile when he starts to skate backwards and pulls you along.

He’s so at home here. You’ve seen it when you watch the games, but it’s more obvious now, watching the way his face lights up as he skates. It’s so endearing, and it makes you feel warm from the inside out. This is his thing, and you get to share it with him, at least for a little while.

He spins the both of you in a circle and glides to a stop. You bump into his chest and laugh, pulling your hands from his to wrap your arms around his middle. He laughs, too, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“This is nice,” you say. “You know, when I was a kid, the boys made me be the goalie.”

Nico snorts out a laugh. “Were you any good?”

You shake your head and sigh. “They’d put me in a fucking dirtbike helmet, and I was too small for any of the pads and they smelled bad, so they’d tie pillows around me, and… yeah. I was a bad goalie.”

“Why’d you let them?” He asks, sounding mildly concerned.

You shrug. “I was being a supportive sister.”

He laughs and pulls away just slightly, holding you at arms length. His hands slip from your sides and come up to cup your face, and then he kisses you, warm and sweet and gentle, like he always is at first with you. He tucks your hair behind your ear as he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips and pressing against yours. Suddenly, despite the ice and the cold, you’re burning up. He tends to have that effect.

He pulls away sooner than you’d really want him to, but you let him go. There’s plenty of time for more of that. He pulls away fully and stands next to you on the ice, looking down the rink.

“Race me?” He asks.

“That’s so not fair,” you grumble.

“I’ll give you a head start,” he suggests.

You narrow your eyes at him, and then without even thinking, you take off across the ice. He’s hot on your heels within seconds, but the quick takeoff is enough to buy you a few precious seconds. You only lose by a couple feet when both of you slide to a stop at the other end of the rink, laughing so hard neither of you can stand up straight. He skates towards you and sweeps you up off the ice, wrapping his arms around your middle and spinning as you cling onto him and laugh even harder.

The happiness is bubbling up in your chest, and it feels nearly overwhelming. It’s been a long time since you’ve been with someone who makes you feel like this- happy and carefree and fun, and like you can be all those things without worrying about what he’s going to think. He sets you down carefully on the ice and pulls your back to his front, resting his chin on your shoulder.

He points up into the stands, at a row of seats that looks familiar. “There’s your seat,” he says, the words washing over the skin of your neck.

Your breath catches in your chest. Your seat isn’t a front row one- it’s pretty far up in the arena. From the ice, it looks far away and tiny. You’re not sure you’d be able to spot yourself all the way up there, let alone when it’s crowded with people and the ice is busy, when there are so many people clamoring for attention.

“You know my seat?” You mumble, pressing one of your hands over his.

“Mhm,” he says. He takes your hand in his, raises it and points towards the seat. “Right there, right? Under the screen. I always wave.”

He does. And not just since you started dating- you can remember your second ever Devil’s game, watching him glide around on the ice, and the way he paused in your corner and waved. The same spot, every game you’re at.

You nod. “Yeah. I just. I thought that was just you saying hi to the crowd.”

He laughs and kisses the side of your neck softly. “Next time, I’ll blow you a kiss or something so you know it’s for you. Maybe flip you off. Stick my tongue out. You’ll know it when you see it.”

You nod in agreement and turn around to face him. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, and that’s when you hear it.

“Hello?” A voice calls out.

Nico swears in German under his breath and then pulls you close, until you’re right against him, your face hidden against his shoulder. For a moment, you panic- you’re wearing your jersey, whoever it is will see your last name- except it’s not your jersey, it’s Nico’s.

Nico swears again, then calls out, “Just me, Jesper!”

“Nico?” Jesper calls back, sounding confused.

You hear footsteps, and Nico sighs. He keeps your face pressed into his chest, one hand on the back of your head. You’re fighting hard not to laugh. The footsteps slow, then stop, and Nico lifts one hand from your shoulder to wave.

“Oh, Hischier, you’re in trouble,” his teammate teases, whistling lowly.

“What, you gonna tattle on me for sneaking into the rink when you’re doing the same exact thing?” He asks.

“I’m not sneaking in, I saw your car outside and came to check on you,” his teammate says. “And I know a Hughes when I see one.”

You feel the rumble of Nico’s groan in his chest, and a giggle slips past your lips. You try to pull away, but he holds you tightly to his chest. You’re the one grumbling now.

“Lemme go, he already knows,” you huff.

“He has no proof, baby,” he says.

“Don’t need proof,” Jesper calls out.

“Shut up!” Nico calls back.

“Tell me to shut up again and I’ll call Jack!” He says back. You groan. “Or! You know what, I think I’ve got Quinn’s number-“

“No!” Both you and Nico yell, as he finally lets you go and you both spin to face Jesper.

Jesper laughs, doubling over on the edge of the rink, shaking his head. You falter a bit on your skates, and quick as a whip, Nico slips his arms under yours to hold you up. You grumble, but you’d rather not faceplant on the ice, so you let it go.

“Oh, he’s gonna kill you,” Jesper says, still laughing.

“Which one?” Nico asks.

“All three,” he responds, finally standing up to look at the two of you. “Team effort, probably.”

You sigh, though you know it’s probably true. Nico squeezes your side affectionately. You wonder what the look on his face is right now. You turn over your shoulder and you’re met with nothing but affection, even in the face of his teammate’s threats.

“Don’t worry,” Jesper says. “I’m not gonna tell ‘em.”

You hold your breath. Behind you, Nico’s doing the same.

“He’s had a crush on you for ages,” Jesper says, and Nico groans, loudly, and buries his face against your shoulder blade. “I’m proud, honestly. Never thought he’d get the balls. And maybe this means you’ll finally stop third wheeling my dates, huh?”

“Okay, goodbye,” Nico says, as he starts to skate backwards and pulls you with him. “We’re having a date, you know.”

Jesper makes a face at him. You know Nico’s making one back. He waves, though, and walks away, headed for the exit. Nico sighs happily and pulls you closer to himself. In the empty arena, your heart feels full.

…..

Nico leaves for a road game the next week, and you whine about it the whole time he’s packing. He whines right back, about how your whining makes it harder to leave, which you remind him is sort of the point.

“You’re supposed to be a supportive girlfriend,” he says, teasingly.

You pout. “I’m very supportive. I go to all your games. So really, it’s about time you missed one to support me.”

It’s not the first away game he’s had, nor will it be the last. It’s just hitting you hard this time. You think it has something to do with the way you look at him and think, oh, I love you, every time. It’s making your chest ache.

He rolls his eyes playfully and juts his lower lip out. “Oh yeah? Should I put in a text to the team group chat? Sorry boys, can’t go, my girlfriend is pouting. And then they’ll say, ‘you have a girlfriend?’ and-“

“Obviously I don’t mean it,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’m gonna miss you.”

He leans over the edge of the bed where you’re sitting, hands braced on either side of your hips. He’s suddenly so close, and your breath catches in your chest. He smirks.

“I know,” he says. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

He lifts a hand to your side and pushes- you fall back against the bed easily. You’d had your legs crossed, but they unravel and fall to either side of his hips as if on reflex as he looms over you. He rubs his large hands smoothly up your thighs, over your sides, and then he rests them on the bed, on either side of your head, caging you in. You’re warm all over, suddenly.

“You’re not done packing,” you whisper, tugging a stray t-shirt from under your head.

He leans close, runs his nose along your jaw, and sighs. “Mm. Packing can wait.”

You frown. “You said-“ you’re interrupted when he presses a soft kiss to your jaw, then nips at the same spot with his teeth. You reach up and tangle your hand in his messy hair. “-said you wanted to pack early-“

“Yeah, that was stupid,” he grumbled. “How the fuck am I expected to pack when you’re sitting so pretty right here?”

You scoff. “Nico-“

He lets out a noise of dissent, reaches down, and takes both of your hands in one of his. Then he pins them above your head, squeezing softly. You choke on your breath. He pulls away, warm brown eyes on yours, and you swear you’re melting.

“Is that okay?” He asks, quietly.

“Please?” You answer, voice cracking on the word.

He laughs and ducks his head back to your neck. “That’s my girl.”

An hour later, he’s less packed than he was when he started, because he’s gone digging through his suitcase to find you a hoodie to wear after he took your clothes off of you. You tell him he’s being ridiculous. He just smiles, kisses your forehead, and pulls you into his arms. You fall asleep with the suitcase still on the bed.

…..

He calls you from the hotel the first night he’s there, after he gets off the plane and has dinner with the team and gets settled. You’re definitely not sitting in bed, staring at your phone, waiting eagerly. Well. Not as far as he knows. When it buzzes on the comforter, screen lit up with his face, you let it ring three times before swiping to answer so you don’t seem crazy. You’re so casual about this.

“Hi,” you breathe, and you know you’ve failed miserably at casual with just one syllable.

“Hi, baby,” he laughs down the line. You can almost hear the smile in his voice.

Warmth curls through you, and you snuggle farther into the blankets. “How was the trip?”

He launches into a story about TSA and the plane ride. You’re happy just to listen to him talk. His voice is warm and affectionate, even as he describes all the frustrating parts of travel. You can’t help but think that he has such a nice voice. He’s so nice to listen to- you’d let him just talk for hours, if you could. You love to hear him tell you stories, mumble things in your ear while you’re watching movies on the couch, love listening to the inflection of his words when he reads you a recipe for whatever the two of you are making for dinner. You love him. As he starts talking about the stupid decision his coach has made, your mind drifts further, to thoughts of his lips against your ear, telling you how good you’re being for him, how good you feel, how-

“Schatz,” he says, almost teasingly. “You okay?”

“Hm?” You ask.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he says. The tone he takes makes your spine tingle. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” You try to take a silent, deep breath. “Yeah, just… you know. I’m fine. Just miss you.”

You almost hope he’ll drop it, because you’re slightly embarrassed, really. He’ll probably think you’re crazy.

“I miss you too,” he says, and you nearly breathe a sigh of relief. Then he adds, “now tell me what’s got you so distracted.”

“Nico,” you hum, trying desperately to come up with an excuse.

He clears his throat. “Did I ever tell you I love it when you say my name like that?”

You press your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sharp intake of air. He lets out a rumble of a laugh, one that carries over the phone and washes down your spine, leaving you buzzing. Oh, he knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing. You’re caught now.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about all day.”

You melt further back into the bed and close your eyes. “You just. You have a nice voice. I like your voice.”

“Not as nice as yours,” he says. Your skin grows hotter. “You sound so pretty. So sweet.”

With nothing but the backs of your eyelids in your vision, surrounded by soft blankets and sheets and the sound of his voice, you start to feel like you’re floating. “Nico,” you repeat. He laughs.

“You nice and cozy, baby?” He asks, voice dropping an octave and lighting up your every nerve. “Bet you’re all curled up in bed in your shorts and a hoodie, huh?”

You nod before you remember he can’t see you. “Mhm.”

“Fuck, I miss you,” he says. “It’s only been a day and I miss it. If I was there, I’d-“

He pauses, or cuts himself off, you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter. You’re waiting with bated breath, chest tight, burning up with your eyes squeezed shut. You turn your head and breathe in, deep. The smell of him is still stuck to your sheets. You could cry.

“You gonna be good for me?” He asks. “I’ll help you, alright, honey? You just be good for me.”

You nod frantically, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah, Nico. I’ll be good.”

“I know,” he says. His voice drops another octave when he says, “what hoodie are you wearing?”

“Yours,” you whine.

He rumbles out a laugh. “That’s my girl. Leave it on, but take the shorts off. Underwear, too. Gonna make yourself feel good for me.”

You shove the aforementioned pieces of clothing off, almost frantically. When you’re done following his instructions, you catch the hint of a familiar sound. His hand, slick and wet, moving over himself. Stars are already dancing behind your eyelids at the thought of it. You’re not sure you’ll be able to take much more.

“I’ve got you,” he promises.

I love you, you think. You wonder if he’s thinking it too.

You fall asleep afterwards with the phone call still going, and his soft snores soundtrack your dreams.

…..

When he calls the next night, the conversation is starkly different.

“Jack’s mad at me,” he says.

You frown, pausing your kitchen counter scrubbing. “Why d’you think that?”

Nico sighs. “Because he’s hasn’t talked to me for a whole day. And during practice he checked me into the wall.”

“I mean, maybe he’s not mad at you, maybe he’s just mad in general,” you suggest.

You can almost see the look on his face when he groans. It’s a bit scary that you know him so well, that you can picture the furrow in his brows and the soft pout of his lips.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” You ask. “I can see what’s going on.”

“If you ask why he’s mad at me he’ll know I told you,” Nico points out. “Which would be suspicious.”

You hum. “Yeah, I guess. It’s Jack, I’m sure it’s fine. He’s just a brat sometimes.”

Nico snorts out a laugh. “Must run in the family.”

You try to act mad, grumbling into the phone, but you can’t help but laugh. He follows suit. You love the sound of his laugh more than nearly anything in the world, you’ve found. It’s a terrifying, exciting feeling.

…..

A few nights later, you’re in your car, parked down the street from the rink. You have the lights off, and you’re ducked low behind the dash, praying nobody looks your way. You’d picked your parking spot specifically based on avoiding the route Jack and Luke always take to get home, and you’re praying they don’t notice your car.

Other cars start to roll out of the parking lot. You watch carefully, peeking over the hood and looking in your mirrors. You have an excuse, if they catch you, but it’s not foolproof, and there’s the added worry that one of their teammates will spot you and ask them about it. It’s risky. But…

Nico’s been gone for what feels like forever, even if it was only a few days. You’ve missed him terribly. So you offered to pick him up, and when he agreed without question and told you how much he’d missed you, too, you’d set the plan into motion. Now you’re here, so focused on the exit from the rink parking lot that you don’t notice the guy next to your car until he knocks on your window.

You scream, then immediately slap your hand over your mouth. It’s Jesper, again, of course it is- he’s leaning on the window and grinning like he’s entertained by it all, and you groan.

You roll the window down and hiss, “Jesus, man, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry!” He says, still smiling.

“S’fine,” you grumble. “If you saw me then my brothers will too, I should probably move.”

“No, that’s why I came to get you. I knew you’d be here, Nico mentioned it,” He explains. “He is arguing with your brothers in the locker room. Mostly Jack.”

You groan and rest your head against the steering wheel. “Of course he is.”

Jesper lets you into the building, and you wander the halls until you make it to the locker room. You can hear them arguing before you get to the door- clipped words and snappy tones. Whatever Jack’s been mad at Nico about must’ve boiled over. You decide to break in before you overhear too much, worried about hearing something you shouldn’t.

“Hello?” You call out from the doorway.

Nico turns to look at you, and your brothers follow suit. They’re scattered through the locker room- Nico’s standing in the middle, Jack’s in front of his cubby on the bench, Luke is standing in a corner. You make eye contact with all of them separately- Luke looks like a deer caught in the headlights, Jack is so angry his cheeks are flaming up, and Nico…

Nico meets your eyes and smiles, soft and warm, and if either of your brothers even spared a glance at him, you think they’d know. Or maybe, this is just how he’s always looked at you. Your heart squeezes in your chest, and you want nothing more than to run over and throw yourself into his arms. You stay put, even as he looks you up and down. Suddenly, you wish you were wearing his jersey instead of your normal Hughes one, just to see his eyes light up.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asks, gently.

He’s being nice. Almost too nice. Jack is almost never unkind to you, but he’s your brother- annoying most times, a pest all the time. The tone he’s taking with you is abnormal- he shouldn’t be so nice about you showing up here.

“Oh. I, uh, was gonna surprise you guys and see if you wanted to grab dinner or something,” you say, shrugging. “And then Jesper found me in my car and said you guys were arguing, and that maybe I should break it up.”

Jack huffs and whirls back around to glare at Nico. “You’ve got Bratter covering for you?”

You look at your brother with wide eyed confusion. Luke groans and drags a hand down his face. Nico, for his part, also looks confused.

“Jack, I-“ he tries.

“No,” Jack interrupts. He turns back to you and points. “You, me and Luke will go out for dinner. Okay? I’ll meet you outside.”

“Jack-“ Nico tries again.

“Shut up,” Jack snaps.

You need information. You need the full story. And when that’s what you’re looking for, you look to Luke. He’s the youngest, and he’s a tattletale.

“Lukey,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Jack opens his mouth. You hold your hand up to him. He groans, but he stays quiet. Nico’s staring at you, entranced. Jack has always been so overprotective, and Luke, too, that you’re sure sometimes it’s easy to forget that you’re actually their older sister. That is, until now.

Luke sighs, heavily. “You and Nico are dating.” You raise your brows and gesture for him to continue. “And. Um. He had a girl in his room Tuesday night.”

Part of this makes sense. Of course they’re upset with Nico. They’ve figured out that the two of you are together, which Jack had explicitly said was not allowed. However, you’d always sort of figured that when they found out, they’d drop the overprotective act. They both love Nico, and they both want to see you happy, right?

Then you realize what the second half of what Luke said means- they think Nico cheated on you. You turn to look at your boyfriend, already knowing it’s not true for a variety of reasons, most important of all the fact that you were on the phone with him on Tuesday night. He’s giving you a pleading look, like he’s trying to convince you it’s not true, even though you didn’t believe it for a second.

You blink, then frown, then tilt your head. “No, he didn’t.”

“He did,” Jack pipes up, shoulders drooping. “Someone said they heard… noises. Of a sexual variety.”

Nico groans and buries his face in his hands. Meanwhile, you start to laugh, unable to help it now. Jack makes a noise of confusion.

“Jack,” you say, between giggles. “There are other things people can do, rather than just straight up sex, like maybe talking over the phone…”

Your brothers are silent for a moment. Then Luke groans, loudly, and covers his ears. He swings around and looks at Nico with wide eyes, then closes his eyes tightly. Jack, meanwhile, flops backwards against the wall and covers his face in his hands. Nico’s face is red. It’s not exactly how you would’ve chosen to tell them, but… it gets the point across.

“Please never say that to me again,” Jack says. “Actually, if you never say the word sex in my presence I’ll be happy.”

You roll your eyes and turn to Nico, shrugging lightly. Despite all of it, he’s still smiling at you. He looks so soft, in a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, hair an unbelievable mess. You have a strong urge to run your fingers through it. Jack lets out another noise of distress, and you turn back to him.

“You asked,” you tell your brother.

“No, I did not!” He snaps. “Excuse me for being worried, I thought you were being cheated on.”

“You really think that little of me?” Nico finally pipes in, looking at his friend.

Jack pulls his hands from his face and turns to look at Nico. He sighs heavily, frowning. Nico keeps staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“No. I don’t know. I…” he sighs again. “At worst, I really thought maybe you guys just weren’t exclusive, and that was…” he turns to look at you, and jerks his head in a little nod. “Jesus, you’ve had a crush on him for forever, we all knew it, and I told him you were off limits, so then I was worried that I was the reason he was maybe seeing someone else, too, and…”

You see Nico relax at that, shoulders loosening. You’re sure it must’ve been a tough feeling, to have one of his good friends assume something like that. You’re a bit relieved, too.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Yeah. I heard. How about we agree no more of you deciding things like my dating life for me?”

Jack nods solemnly. Nico raises his hand.

“But you are officially off limits,” he says. You smirk and roll your eyes, and he smiles brightly at you. “Right?”

“Right,” you agree. “But by my own choice.”

He grins at you, and your heart skips a beat again.

“Can we buy you guys dinner to apologize?” Jack asks.

You shrug. “Maybe another day. We have plans.”

Nico nods and stands up, headed for you. He turns to his teammates. “We good?”

“Yeah, man,” Jack says. He narrows his eyes, and you fight not to roll yours, because you know what’s coming next. “But if you hurt her-“

“I know,” Nico says, warmly.

Jack nods. Behind him, Luke raises his hand, a look of concern on his face.

“So. When do we tell Quinn?” He asks.

You, Nico, and Jack exchange a look.

“Maybe never,” Jack says.

“I’m fine with that,” Nico winces.

“Yeah,” you agree. “Need to know basis.”

Nico follows you out of the room and down the hall. He slips his hand into yours as soon as you’re out of sight of your brothers. You could remind him he doesn’t have to wait now, that he doesn’t have to hide it, but you think maybe it’s for the best until things settle down. The two of you are quiet as you walk out to the car, and you huddle close to him at the chill of the night air. The car isn’t far, and the parking lot is empty. He reaches into your jacket pocket and snags your keys- you’ve learned that he hates to let you drive, not because he thinks you’re bad at it, but because he likes driving you around. It’s quite sweet, really, so you let him get in the driver’s seat as you climb into the car.

He pauses once he’s turned it on, and he looks over at you. “You said we have plans? Are we going somewhere?”

You laugh and reach up to cup the side of his face in your hand. He leans into your touch.

“Wherever you want,” you say, quietly. “Just wanted it to be me and you.”

He smiles slowly. It spreads across his face like molasses. Your heart skips a beat in your chest.

“You know I love you?” He says, like it’s so, so obvious. Like he’s just checking, just to make sure.

You nod, because you think you did know, that maybe you’ve known it since you started feeling it too. “Yeah. I know. I love you, too.”

…

You're on the phone with Quinn, nearly a week later, when you slip up. He asks what you’ve been up to, what you did the past week, if your brothers are giving you trouble.

“I’ve just been busy with work,” you tell him. “But Nico and I went to a really cute restaurant last night. I had the best seafood pasta.”

You don’t even realize what you’ve just said. You just wait for Quinn to answer, and you’re met with silence. He coughs, like he’s holding back a laugh.

“Did you mean to tell me that?” He asks, and your stomach drops.

“Fuck!”

Quinn laughs down the line, and your face grows warm. You’d forgotten- Luke and Jack know now, so it feels less like something you need to hide. But Quinn didn’t know, and Quinn is overprotective, and shit, fuck-

“I already knew. I’ve known since your first date,” he admits, and you feel your own face morph into confusion.

“How?”

“I never reveal my sources,” he answers. “But I knew something was up when he took you home from the bar and had you stay the night.”

“You’re all such gossips,” you grumble. “Why didn’t you just tell me you knew?”

He makes a noncommittal noise. “Honestly, it’s been fun to watch all of you dance around it. Once I figured out that Jack also knew, I figured he was keeping an eye on it close enough. Also… he seems like a good enough guy. Of all the hockey guys you could’ve picked, he’s up there, you know?”

You smile softly. “I really love him, Quinn.”

“Gross,” Quinn says. “But I’m happy for you.”

You look over to the front door, where Nico’s just walked in. “Yeah. I know. Hey, I gotta go.”

Your older brother sighs heavily. “Tell Hischier I said hi,” he grumbles. “And that if he hurts you-“

“He knows,” you say.

Across the kitchen, Nico smiles softly. You hang up the phone and melt into his arms.

“Bad day,” you say. “Missed you.”

“I know,” he says. “Missed you too.”

a:/n: thanks for reading! also happy b-day cece!!

#nico hischier x you #nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nhl fluff #nhl oneshot #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #x reader #nh13

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lymtw · 2 months

Text

NSFW

Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Description: It doesn't matter that you're in love with Toji's son. He can still take care of you in ways that you can only dream Megumi will ever be able to.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Um… Mr. Fushiguro, have you seen my bra? I swear I threw it over here somewhere.” You lay completely flat on the ground and search under the bed. You find your shirt, your pants, and your underwear, but there’s still no sign of your bra.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he says. “You know, I would help you look for your lost treasure, but, I just get so sluggish after a good fuck. Especially when it’s with your greedy self.” He chuckles quietly to himself, replaying the sound of your voice saying ‘more’ in his head.

“I know, it’s just… I don’t want to leave like this. What if Megumi comes home? I’m indecent.” You grunt as you stand up. You turn around to obscure your private areas, like Toji hadn’t just seen every part of you, and get dressed into what you could find.

“He’ll know he’s been waiting too long to fuck you, and then you kids can start going at it like rabid animals.”

It was a little uncomfortable to talk about being intimate with the man’s son, especially since you had just given yourself to him.

You turn to face the older man, and to your surprise but prominent relief, he has your bra spinning around his finger by one of the straps.

“Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. Fushiguro!” You smile brightly.

“First, it’s Toji. When you call me ‘Mr. Fushiguro’ it makes me feel ancient. Second, what are you thanking me for?” He stops spinning the garment and begins feeling the material.

“You found my bra. I don’t have to leave with my nipples poking through my shirt.”

The last statement drew attention to your chest from him. While he stares, he feels the little red satin bow that sits in the middle of your bra.

“Mm… I think i’ll keep it.”

Your heart dropped, and then the anxious feeling returned.

“It’s an incentive for you to come back to me. You can get it back next time, but only if you trade it for the one you’re wearing.”

“Mr.- Toji.” You inhale, a polite smile on your face. “Can I please have it back. I can’t walk out like this.”

“Sorry, baby. Just know that every time I look at it, i’ll think of how I manhandled you today.” He puts the garment on the pillow next to him, an act that made you lunge toward it to try and get it back.

“I thought I told you you couldn’t get it back today.” The devil shows its face through him. His grin is wicked, his eyes lidded like getting a rise out of you is no big deal.

“Then you can keep it because i’m never coming back here. You’ll never get me alone with you again.”

The man chuckles like you’re crying over spilt milk. “Come on, baby. You’re being dramatic. You should be glad that I want a memento for today.”

Your piercing gaze is the last thing Toji sees before you turn around and leave the room. You quickly create some distance from Toji’s room to kill any suspicion that arises from Megumi, but it was as if you had summoned your best friend the second you got two steps away from Toji's door.

“Hey, Megumi,” you try to say casually, like your heart isn’t in the depths of your stomach. He walks in clutching one of the straps of his backpack.

“Hey, sorry I made you wait so long. I know I said 3:30, but I had some things to finish up after class.”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. I think i’m gonna head out right now. I have to work on the index cards for an upcoming presentation.”

Megumi’s eyes keep looking down at your arms over your chest.

“Are you cold or something? Here, take my jacket.”

“No, i’m fine. Megumi-” you pause abruptly, defeated. He’s already taking it off and handing it to you. You can’t deny him when he’s pushing it towards you.

You hear the door to Toji’s room open and take the jacket quickly, seeing the chance to cover your chest up while Megumi is distracted.

“Kid,” Toji greets his son, simplistically.

“Dad, ugh…” Megumi looks away in embarrassment. His nose scrunches and his eyebrows furrow. “Can you get decently dressed? Please?”

You turn around, catching a glimpse of the outline in Toji’s pants.

“Oh, i’m sure that your friend doesn’t mind that i’m comfortable in my own home.” He fires a wink towards you.

You turn away again, flustered. “N-Not at all. I’m gonna go. See you later, Megs. Thanks for the jacket.” You pick up your backpack from the wall it leaned against and walked as quickly as you could.

“See you soon,” Toji says.

The door is opened quickly and shut even quicker. Your heart races and your stomach has not stopped turning since Megumi got home. Your house is a far enough walk to give you time to think about why things happened the way they did.

“Why do you have to be so creepy?” Megumi grumbles, picking his backpack up from the floor, ready to head to his room.

“You would know all about creepiness, huh? Little weirdo,” Toji bites back.

Megumi huffs, walking off. Sometimes he wonders if the man is older than five.

“Wait, one more thing.”

The younger man turns to face him again. Careless, lidded eyes meeting a smug expression.

“Are you taking care of her?” Toji is the only one who knows the hidden meaning behind that question, leading to a confused reaction from his son.

“She’s just a friend from school. I’m sure she handles herself well enough.”

Toji snickers at the response, quickly coming up with something else that is just as confusing for Megumi.

“Are you checking her oil?”

“She doesn’t drive.”

Toji can’t hold back a chuckle, but throws one more curveball at Megumi.

“Have you attacked the pink fortress yet?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Megumi’s annoyed now, wanting to leave this conversation so badly.

“Jesus Christ, are you fucking her?”

Megumi’s eyebrows furrow like it was a preposterous thing to ask, especially by his father.

“No, i’m not. We’re just friends.”

“You should definitely get on that. She’s waiting for you.”

Now Megumi was interested. Not in the sex, but in what Toji saw when you talked to him. There must have been some spark to insinuate that he was capable of bedding someone as pretty as you.

“What do you mean?”

“‘See you later, Megs.’” Toji mimics your voice. “She wants your dick, and you’re so oblivious.”

“I’m done with you for today.” Megumi doesn’t even know why he expected a different response—something more realistic.

“Later, Megs.” He copies your nickname for Megumi.

—

It's been two weeks and you still feel like shit for screwing your best friend's dad. It doesn't help that he won't stop texting you, constantly reminding you of what happened.

Hey

You look away from your laptop for the first time in an hour or so, only to look at the smaller screen next to you. You roll your eyes, not wanting to indulge in whatever Toji wanted from you.

Three minutes went by and you didn’t respond, so Toji sent another message.

You still mad?

You didn’t intend to read the message, but you did through your peripheral vision. It only made your skin crawl even more.

Answer

Why aren’t you answering? Quit leaving me on read.

You sigh, shutting your laptop. He won’t leave you alone until you answer so you put away your computer and toss yourself on your bed.

What do you want, Fushiguro?

Oh you’re mad mad huh? This is fun.

If you don’t tell me what the hell you want i’m blocking you

No need to be feisty baby. I’m trying to call a truce.

Give it back and i’ll think about it

Give what back?

Toji was grinning sinisterly behind the screen. He knew what you were talking about but it was risky for you to mention it through text. What if Megumi went through his phone and saw this conversation?

You know what i’m talking about. Quit playing dumb.

Fine. Come back tomorrow and you can have it back.

What time? I have to study with Megumi.

Ditch him

It’s not up for discussion.

Ditch him or you don’t get your bra back.

You sigh. Megumi is your best friend. Why he chooses to hang out with you? You don’t know. But doing this is gonna make you feel even less deserving of his friendship.

Fine

Good girl. I’m expecting you tomorrow by 4:00 sharp.

Don’t make me wait any longer than I already am.

You roll your eyes and shut your phone off, turning onto your side to get some much needed rest.

—

Morning crept up on you dreadfully. You weren’t looking forward to lying to your best friend, especially when it involved seeing his dad behind his back.

Class went by slow, as if you were being given the time to sum up the courage to tell Megumi that you wouldn’t be studying with him later. In reality, you were overthinking it like hell because when you got around to telling Megumi, he was cool about it. He shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal and said that he would study with Yuji.

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, so you check what it is and almost drop it in the process of trying to hide it back in your pocket.

Do you want me to pick you up?

The message is unanswered for the duration of your lunch break. As you’re walking back to class you quickly respond.

I’ll walk

—

The rest of the day went by too quick. As the end of your last class neared, your heart refused to calm down. It’s not like you were looking forward to seeing this horrendous man, it’s just that his last message left you on edge.

You walked the distance to Megumi’s house once again. You really took your time, not wanting to show any signs of eagerness or urgency to meet up with Toji. You felt your phone continue to buzz in your pocket, so you checked to see who was spamming you.

Hurry up

It’s only 3:40. You’re in no rush to get to him anyway.

Where are you?

I’m so fucking hard, can you walk any faster?

[Video Attachment]

Your ears suddenly fill with huffs and moans, and the slick sound of Toji fisting himself until his dick spews. You shudder, the sounds making your heart race.

Just know i’m not keeping these conversations

I bet you wish you could

Now that Toji is expecting you, he keeps an eye on the door. The second you knock, he jumps up from the couch and rushes to the door. The door opens and you can’t even get a word in before you’re pulled into the house.

The door slams, and your back hits the wall.

“Take your shirt off.” He crashes his lips against yours, not allowing you to do anything. His hands go under your shirt, feeling your warm skin beneath his fingertips. “You’re early. Missed me, didn’t ya?”When you feel him go for the hooks of your bra, you push him lightly, making him stop.

“Slow down, Toji. I don’t want to be fucked against the door.”

He rolls his eyes, “Forgive me, I didn’t know I was screwing royalty.”

You shove his hands away from you, your expression showing utter disappointment.

“Fuck you. I don’t have to do anything for you. Keep the stupid bra.”

He grabs your wrist as you reach for the doorknob.

“No, wait. I was just messing with you, kid. You don’t really want to leave, do you?” He’s thinking with his dick. The rock hard one that’s outlined in his pants, poking at your thigh.

You drop your hand, his hand still around your wrist. “I don’t want to stay if you’re just gonna be a jackass."

“It’ll be good. Come on.” He pulls you along with him to the room.

You enter the room, and it’s as empty as you remember. No photos on the walls or on his dresser. The most prominent thing being his TV mounted on the wall.

“I don’t understand why you keep calling me back here. You talk to other women, and I have no doubt in my mind that you’re messing around with them, too.”

You sit down with Toji at the end of his bed. He chuckles, his hand caressing your face. “You’re my favorite.”

“It’s wrong, Mr. Fushiguro.” You ignore the look on his face after hearing you call him by his last name. “Do you ever think about Megumi? He’s my best friend, not to mention, your son.”

“My son’s got one hell of a best friend. So fuckin’ hot.” He brushes your breast with his hand, his lips going for your neck as his hands continue their wandering.

“I don’t love you, I hope you know that.” You shut your eyes, engulfed in the sensation of his rough hands on your skin. You feel his kisses get harsher against your neck, luring a hiss.

“That’s okay, doll.” He chuckles, his breath hitting the side of your neck. “You don’t have to love me to let me destroy your pussy.” His hand trails down from your chest to your stomach before dipping into your pants. He feels the lace trimmings of your panties and goes beneath the layer, his fingers meeting your folds within seconds. “So wet already. You sure you’re in not in love with me?” He teases, a grin playing on his lips as he glides his middle finger between your slit.

Your chuckle blends with a moan. “It’s always like that when I see Megumi.”

“You’ll be waiting a while, princess. That boy lacks my personality.”

You gasp as his finger makes its way inside you, slowly pumping in and out. “Oh, thank god. He’s perfect.”

Toji’s lips purse in a form of annoyance. “We can stop talking about that little shit, now.”

“You jealous?” You giggle. The laughing stops and your heart pounds when you’re pushed back onto the bed.

“You think you're funny, huh?” You’re completely surrendered to Toji, your arms up and pinned by his hands.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, partially from the lack of touch, partially from the vulnerability of your position. You’re nervous, but you still manage to utter out, “Then why aren’t you laughing?”

He oughta fuck the sassiness out of you. You must really want Megumi to catch you in the act.

“Keep it up, sweets. Really want to hear you talking like this when I don’t let you cum.”

You go silent as your own decision, but the reminder that you’re there voluntarily sits in the back of your mind.

“You’re so pretty when you shut up. Love when you listen.” He grins, his hand cupping your jaw loosely.

He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s not loving at all. Not with the way he bites your lip and tugs on it as he pulls away, leaving saliva and a sting on your lip that makes you wonder if he nicked you.

He exhales through his nose as if contemplating what to do with you now that you’re in his reach. There’s a lazy grin etched on his face, and he’s staring you down, taking in the clueless look on your face.

“Take it all off.”

You crack, a chuckle leaving you. What is so funny? He expects you to display yourself for him like he’s the one doing you a favor. The least he could do is peel the layers of clothes off of you.

“Forgive me, didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty,” you bite, mimicking his phrase from earlier. “The least you could do is take it all off for me.”

“Fucking hell.” He sits you up, grabbing the end of your shirt and pulling it up swiftly over your head.

You blink, a smirk on your lips when you see Toji’s deadpan expression.

“So lucky I love your tits.” For a second he was talking to them, not you. “So warm and soft and perfectly made to hold.” Once again you are pushed down onto the bed. He pulls his shirt off and takes off his sweatpants, tossing them somewhere in the room before laying over you, his eyes targeting your breasts. He pulls the cups of your bra down, allowing your breasts to spill out and display their malleability. “You’re killing me, mama.” His tongue licks a stripe over your right nipple, his fingers coming up to roll it in circles until it’s hard. “How can you keep this from me? Hm?”

Your breathing is shaky as he continues on abusing your boobs. You swear you could keep him there until you want to leave if you really wanted to. You wouldn’t even have to touch him anywhere near his dick and he wouldn’t notice.

“That feel good, pretty girl?” He only asks because he can feel your stomach quivering against his abs.

“I-I need more.” Your fingers run through his black locks, gripping somewhat as he just continues to lap at your stiffened buds. You could cum with just enough friction.

“You want me to fuck you?” He grins, looking down at you like you’re the pathetic one in this situation.

“Fuck,” you moan, loving the friction of his thigh between your legs. “C-Come on,” you mutter to yourself, chasing that shockwave of pleasure before Toji takes it away. He listens to the little pants and huffs you let out as you continue to roll your hips against his thigh, watching the way look around the room because you can’t even look him in the eyes from how flustered you are.

“That’s enough.” His hands easily put an end to what would have been a crushing orgasm. His hands push down on your hips. He thinks the way your thighs tremble is adorable, and your ragged breaths are even cuter. “Trying to get off on my thigh when my dick is right here? That’s the dumbest thing you’ve done so far.” He leans down, inches away from your face. “I know you were about to cum,” his voice goes sultry. He speaks enticingly, causing your pussy to flutter. “But, I can’t have that yet, doll.”

He kisses your chin, going down the column of your neck where he takes the opportunity to litter the area with rose colored marks.

“Why are you covering me in hickeys? It’s like you want Megumi to find out about us.”

“I want you to see them whenever you’re alone," he murmurs into your skin. "I know you’ll touch yourself to the memories of today.” He feels the way your nails sink into his biceps, causing him to look up at your slightly irked expression. “Don’t be ashamed, ma. I have my moments, too.” His hand reaches back down to play with your pussy again, his mouth now at your ear’s level. “You know what I really love to think about?”

“Oh,” you gasp. “W-What?”

“How easy it is to get you wet. Just gotta be close to you like this,” his middle and ring finger rub up and down your slit, slowly driving you crazy.

You whimper, closing your thighs around his hand. “Greedy as ever. Won’t even let me give you what I want without you taking more.” There’s a wicked grin plastered on his face, anyway. There’s a part of him that loves this greediness from you because it means that a part of you wants him, even with all your little fits.

"K-Keep—oh my god." You can't even get through your sentence when he starts kissing your neck while he continues rubbing your cunt.

"Hm?" He mumbles against your skin, slowly moving down towards you chest again.

"G-Go, keep going! I... I," you moan, only to be left panting with dissatisfaction.

"You're not gonna cum from my fingers, if that's what you think is happening." He raises his gaze to look at your teary eyes. "You gonna cry?" It makes him smile like the little sadist he is.

"Of course not," you say, blinking a tear away. "It's not like you didn't edge me three times already."

"You're just an impatient little princess. Wonder how my brat will handle this attitude from you."

It's a constant push and pull between you and Toji. He likes the challenge of making you submit because you like pushing his buttons when he wants to take his time.

You gasp when his thumb runs through your slit again, the rough pad giving your clit a couple rubs before pulling away again. It makes him chuckle, the way you tense at his touch.

"You're not that touch deprived, are you?" He puts a hand on each side of your head, leaning down to watch the flustered response your dumb little brain comes up with.

"You're the one messing with me." You huff, putting your hands on his chest.

"Don't you masturbate?" He asks, grinning at the tension that returns to your body at the question. "Touch yourself until you cum so hard that your brain goes numb?" He whispers in your ear, making you tremble. He teases your breasts, his fingers brushing them until you start squirming.

"I-I do," you stutter out.

"Yeah? What gets you going? Who's on your mind?"

He is a lot of the time. Occasionally, it's Megumi, but because most of the time he's so sweet to you, you find it a little hard to sexually fantasize about him. Whereas his dad looks at you like you're something he can pin down so effortlessly, and now has proof that can do it, too. When you go over to his house to study with Megumi, Toji watches you so intently, and you can feel his gaze like a laser pointer aimed between your brows. You can't admit that to him, though. His ego will burst from how inflated it is. You also want to see the look on his face when he you tell him that Megumi is what you think about.

"Megumi."

He lets out a deep chuckle. You can see the irritation on his face. It's something that makes you grin.

"We'll see if you're still thinking of him in a minute."

The precum on the front of his boxers is now visible, something that makes your heart beat so fast. He sees the way you look at the bulge in his boxers— half amazed, half scared. Now that managed to boost his ego regardless of you trying to throw him off earlier. You almost choke on your spit when he takes his boxers off. Your eyes go wide for a second, and your heart starts threatening to jump out of your chest once he gets back on the bed.

"H-How?" You ask, looking at the cocky expression on his face. He knows exactly what you're wondering about.

"We've done it before, we can do it again." He kisses your knee, his hand trailing up your thigh. He thinks back to the first time he got you in his bed, and how your eyes twinkled at the size of his cock. He laughs quietly at the image before him. Same woman, same reaction.

"It's gonna hurt again." You say, as he gets closer, his cock grazing your thigh.

"Only for a second, and then we both get the best orgasm of our lives." His hand caresses your face, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the apple of your cheek.

"Okay, fine."

"Good girl," he almost purrs. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about you since the last time you were in his room. You were so tight, almost like you were brand new. The feeling haunted him for those two weeks. Whenever Megumi came home, he looked out for you, hoping that when you did tag along, you searched for him too.

You couldn't deny that him calling you a good girl sparked something in you. It was approval from someone older than you, someone who is very attractive and is in the middle of showing you how attracted they are to you.

"You ready?" He asks, rubbing the outside of your thigh soothingly.

You nod, and Toji gives your thigh a little slap. You laugh at the smirk growing on his face, knowing what he's on about.

"I'm ready," you confirm more clearly.

"Good. I'll go slow like last time."

You nod, nervous again. He runs the tip through your folds, watching your face as he teases you. You look like you're premeditating the pain, your brows slightly pinched as you wait. The tip finally slides in, luring a whine out of you.

"Shh... it's okay. We got it going." It's always hard for Toji to be slow and gentle when you look like that, but he does it so that there are more tears of pleasure than there are of pain. He pushes in a little more, listening to every sound you make. The little whimpers as he stretches you while he works to make you take more of him in, the sniffling as tears start to brim in your eyes.

"Good, so good," he praises. He leans into the crook of your neck, kissing, and leaving souvenirs of your time spent with him. He attempts to distract you from the ache of him pushing deeper by biting your shoulder just hard enough to focus on the new area of pain.

"Ow, f-fuck," you moan, one of your hands tugging at his hair while the other rests on the nape of his neck.

"Just a little more. Almost there," he says, stifling a groan. While you're trying to adjust to his length, he's trying not to bust in less than a minute because of how tight you're clenching around him. "It's okay," he assures, unable to hold back a chuckle when he sees the tears gliding down both your cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumb and leans down to kiss your lips, using this as another distraction from the last push. You gasp and try to pull away from the kiss once he pushes the rest of his cock in, but Toji kept his mouth latched to yours, swallowing every whimper and cry that came with your pain.

He finally releases you, instantly noticing the new color on your tear-stained cheeks. You're blushing over his kiss?

"Didn't know a kiss would rile you up so much." He chuckles, wiping a few more tears off your cheeks.

"You never kiss me like that."

He sees the stars formed in your eyes. It's kinda cute.

"Eh, anything to get you to focus on something other than me stretching you out." He looks away for second to kill the romance trying to seep into the situation.

You put your hands on his chest and slowly move them upwards to his shoulder. "That's all of you, right?"

"Right. Can I start fucking you now?" He wraps your legs around his waist to give him better leverage, and positions his hands at each side of your head.

"Do it. I want it."

You shook something inside of him with that one.

"You want what?" He asks, making sure he's in his right mind and not just hearing what he wants to hear.

"I want your cock, Toji. Wreck me again."

It made chills run up his spine to hear you say that, especially with the way your nails gently dragged up and down his shoulders.

He starts moving his hips, starting at a slow pace even if you didn't ask him to. He pulls out, then slowly pushes in again. Your little moans are adorable every time he pushes into you again. He's turning you into a flustered mess with how intently he watches you. You can hardly hold eye contact with him. His face is inches away from yours, memorizing the way your lip quivers after biting it. Then he hears something that takes him back to the first time you slept with him.

"M-More, Toji. Faster, please."

"Greedy as always, hm?" His tone is raspy as he tries to remain composed. Nonetheless, he complies with your wishes, picking up the pace. The new pace instantly makes your chest rise and fall quicker, panting at the pleasure being fed to you.

"H-Huh? How's that?" He groans. "Don't wanna break ya." He chuckles breathily.

"F-Fuck, so good. Just want you... w-want you to make me cum," you moan, your stomach quivering.

"Yeah? Want me to make you cum?" He coos. The way your eyes rolled back made his cock twitch inside you.

"You're so fucking big, I can feel you rearranging my insides."

Toji realizes you've reached the point where you're so fucked out that you start babbling nonsense. This is his favorite part because when you're not talking, your moans get louder and fill in the silence perfectly. Your moans go straight to his dick, making it just so much better.

"You're so pretty like this, all desperate for my cock."

"Toji," you moan needily.

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. You have a twisted way of making his heart race over something that isn't cardio.

"Toji..." you repeat, your voice like slick honey. Your nails dig into his back when he prods at your sensitive spot, your hips rolling up against his thrust.

"Fuck," he groans. "What is it?" His grip tightens into a fist on the sheets.

"I just really like saying your name. Fuck, Toji," his name rolls off your tongue again, the sultry sound reaching his ears so quickly.

"I will cum right now if you say my name like that again."

You giggle, watching a bead of sweat glide down his temple. You wipe it away the way he wiped away your tears, and this flipped a switch inside Toji's head. He laces his fingers between yours and pins them above your shoulders. You feel even more vulnerable beneath him, and he can keep you pinned there for as long as he wants.

"You think that's funny, doll?" He presses his nose to yours. Your pussy clenches at his tone, but you have no choice but to fend for yourself against this god of a man. So, you nod and bat your lashes at him. "Say it again."

"Toji."

His thrusts quicken and you feel like you're inching closer towards this 'best orgasm of your life' he mentioned before.

"Again," he grunts. His eyes are so dark as they keep you locked in his gaze. His lips hover over yours, ghosting them as you follow directions.

"T-Toji..." you whimper, your cheeks getting hot again like before.

"God... say it again," he croaks. He is so close, his mind is clouded as hell.

"O-Oh my god, Toji." You gasp, digging your heels into his lower back. You arch your back, rolling your hips against the bed as you cum so hard that you feel you might make Toji's knuckles bleed with how hard you dig your nails into them. Your toes curl and your mind goes hazy for a second. You're grounded by the feeling of Toji still drilling your sensitive cunt, chasing his own end.

"Oh fuck, just a little longer. Please, sweetheart," he groans, burying his face in your neck. You could hear hear all his moans and grunts so close to your ear as he gets closer to his orgasm. It fueled your attraction to him like gallons of gasoline fuel explosive fires, and it really did feel explosive in the moment. He nibbles on your neck as he nears his orgasm. Your thighs tremble around his hips, your knuckles white from the tightness of your grip.

"O-Oh fuck.. Gotta pull out, doll... Let me pull out," he says, releasing your hands and moving quickly as the cum threatened to burst out of him and into you. The emptiness in your pussy felt strange because you were filled by him for so long. You instantly missed the feeling.

You watched the frenzied state he was in with stars in your eyes, the look on his face as he released thick spurts of cum all over his stomach. The stuttered cursing as he swiped his thumb over the slit of his tip to collect the dollop of cum left. He chuckles, breathlessly, upon turning his lidded gaze to you. "Whatcha thinking about?"

You sit on your knees, and wait for him to catch his breath before saying anything.

"What is it, pretty girl?"

"Can I?" You look at the thick substance on his thumb.

"Really?" He asks, a smirk on his face that practically calls you pathetic. You nod, so he raises his hand up to your face, the pad of his thumb smearing his cum all over your lips before lowering your bottom lip and allowing you to taste it off the digit. You lap at his thumb, wrapping your lips around it once you licked it clean.

"You're so fuckin' nasty," he says as his cock threatens to ask for another round with you. He can feel it twitching as you suck on his thumb. The warmth of your mouth and the way you maneuvered your tongue around him was driving him just a little crazy. He can't help but stare at your glossy, saliva and cum coated lips.

You pull away, immediately licking off the cum on your lips. "What?" You ask, when you notice the way he's looking at you. Looking like he's going to pounce on you again. He developed a similar twinkle in his eyes as you.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to say anything. You gave me a look," you tease.

He's quiet for a second, allowing you to read the expression on his face. "There's just no way you can do that to my kid."

You burst out in laughter, slowly making your way to the edge of the bed. You see all your clothes on the floor and quickly locate your bra.

He moves towards the head of the bed, and leans on the headboard. "You'll kill him if you do."

You keep giggling as you get dressed. "Aw, did you almost die?"

He chuckles at your jab and leans into it. "Saw my life flash before my eyes for a few seconds."

You sigh contently, "Good. Well, gotta go." You start towards the bedroom door.

Toji quickly wraps the sheets around his lower half, and shuffles over to you. "So, when will I see you again?"

Your hand remains on the doorknob. "You're funny." You giggle, shaking your head. You turn the doorknob and open the door.

Toji pushes it shut and keeps his hand pinned on the door. "Tell me you've had better sex." His enticing green eyes hold you down, and suddenly you're fluttering down there again.

"I've had better sex," you challenge.

"Mean it, princess," he argues, but the corner of his lip twitches, a grin forcing itself out.

"I hate you." Toji swears that's the sweetest voice he's ever heard. You unintentionally sugarcoated your sentence.

"That's what makes it so good." His hand releases the door and settles on your shoulder. "I wanna see you again."

"You're obsessed," you laugh.

"I'm gonna text you."

You open the door again, effortlessly as Toji stopped putting pressure on it. You walk out, and Toji only takes a couple steps out to follow you, given the status of his clothes. "Remember, it's gonna be a long wait for Megumi. Boy's got no type of awareness."

"I'll gladly wait."

"Wouldn't mind keeping you until then," he shoots, eyeing your frame from behind.

"You should really find someone closer to your own age, Mr. Fushiguro," you tease, a playful smirk resting on your lips. You wave goodbye not turning to look back at him. Toji returns to his room, dropping the sheets as soon as the door closed.

Megumi won't be home on Wednesday

Come keep me company

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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 months

Text

In Between the Bookshelves📚

AU Librarian!Miguel O'Hara x Fem grad student reader

(image isn't mine, found it on Instagram under the account @/ brokenohara and asked for their permission to post it)

Synopsis: a normal trip to the library results in a little bit more than you were expecting when you meet the new librarian on duty. Word count 4.6k

A/N: reposting this new and hopefully improved version of one of my very first Miguel fics I deleted a while back. I tried to make him more awkward and cute🖤🤓. Still not totally confident in the smut but oh well. Writing smut is so hard sometimes? Or maybe my skills have gone down, idk 😫 Hope you enjoy...

TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT TOWARDS THE END: FINGERING, ORAL SEX F receiving, Gag(he uses his shirt to muffle your moans) Public sexual activity, talk of anxiety, mention of family troubles and anti-deity/religion language

It's 7:00 pm on a rainy Tuesday night in the middle of October. You just got out of your evening Database Systems class. You can't help but feel poetic as you stroll down the grey, soaked, Manhattan streets twirling your umbrella, hot coffee in a cardboard cup in hand. Your shoulders begin to ache from the thin faux leather straps of your backpack. You're wearing your favorite brown sweater over a short sleeved black dress that hits you mid-thigh, with some holey black tights and your favorite knock-off Doc Martens. Damn, I still need to write that 2 page paper that's due tomorrow..

You decide at the last minute to spend your night at the library. You know you won't get anything done if you go back to your apartment. You spin on your heel and pick up the pace as you head hastily towards the NYIT library in Manhattan.

The library is pretty dead except for a group of three people sitting together in the middle table talking in hushed voices, one woman sitting on the floor scrolling with a laptop, and one jock looking fellow sitting at the computers, cracking his knuckles and bouncing his knee anxiously as he scans his assignment he's typing.

You sit down at the empty table right next to the librarian's desk. Since you're a regular here you recognize Polly, the librarian on duty who is a plump woman who looks to be in her 30s with short curly brown hair, wearing a mustard yellow cardigan and brown corduroy pants tonight. She's stapling papers together and gives you a small nod in acknowledgement as you sit down at the table in front of her desk.

She whispers to you, "I'm actually heading out for the evening, but the new person on duty should be here any minute now if you need any assistance."

You nod, and, speak of the devil, here he comes. You suddenly feel your chest get hot when you lay your eyes on the new librarian.

Tall, dark, and handsome would be the simplest way to define this man's appearance, but that would be a very feeble attempt at doing him justice. Sculpted bicep muscles push against the sleeves of his flannel with the cuffs rolled up halfway on his thick forearms. The flannel is unbuttoned and flaps gently away from his body as he walks, a white t-shirt underneath. He has broad, wide, shoulders and a narrow waist. He's also wearing dark wash athletic jeans and a pair of canvas slip ons. His hair has one stubborn strand in front from his small widow's peak that falls endearingly in the middle of his forehead. His most disarming quality is his eyes. A shade of brown that's earthy and natural like the sediment that decorates stream beds. He wears a stoic expression under large framed glasses.

He nods and mutters a "thank you" to the woman librarian as she shimmies into her coat and leaves. His eyes notice you and latch onto you momentarily. You feel your cheeks grow warm and you turn back to your laptop, unable to resume where you left off, wanting to start a conversation with him but not sure how. After a few painful moments of silence, and a quiet rumble outside from the ongoing rainstorm, you decide to break the ice by telling him your name. He blinks as you tell it to him, and you continue trying to make small talk to try and prod more out of him.

"Have I seen you here before? I come here a lot and I don't think I've met you yet."

"Miguel O'Hara," he answers shortly, but politely. "I'm a grad student. I started working for the university in exchange for assistance with my tuition."

You nod, feeling the heat leave your cheeks a little bit as you realize you could have a normal conversation with this man, and not just be an awkward mess around him the entire time. When he mentions he's a student, you realize you have something in common with him and try to go from there.

"These mid-terms are going to be the death of me. I have just one more paper to turn in then I can finally breathe, thank God..."

Miguel blows a short puff of air out of his nose seemingly in agreement, but doesn't say anything else.

He's quiet. Truth is you are too, and you're stepping way more out of your comfort zone than you normally would. Amazing what a pair of charming brown eyes could do to you.

"Honestly, if I had to work anywhere on campus I'd pick the library too. Seems peaceful with minimal people around, and everyone's required to be quiet by default. The ultimate dream workplace."

Miguel can't figure out why this stranger keeps talking to him, but you brought up a point he feels he needs to clarify.

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Most people that come in here are loud and inconsiderate as hell. And there's always that one person who hasn't heard of shocking headphones. Always."

The corner of your mouth raises. "God, that would drive me insane. Being a librarian isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?"

Miguel shakes his head. "No. More like a glorified adult babysitter who knows where the historical fiction section and restrooms are located, and that's about it. That's literally the only two questions I get asked all day." He turns to look at you more fully, this conversation a slight breath of fresh air, the first chance he's gotten in a while to air out his grievances as the night librarian.

He continues, complaining about the horny couples he's had the misfortune of overhearing get busy on the beanbags in the far corner, and the people who leave random drinks and empty chips bags on the shelves and seem to have forgotten what alphabetical order means when they put books back.

You listen to all of it, nodding your head, and let out a cackle at his expressions he's making with those defined, bushy brows of his. He talks with his hands and it's a little endearing to watch him be so animated. This expressive side you've managed to crack through beneath his solemn exterior.

Miguel feels warmth rise in his body at the sound of your laugh for the first time. It's genuine and hearty, and honestly it's funnier than whatever bad quip he just made and he can't help but feel a little more attracted to you after hearing it. You were a good listener, and he appreciated that a lot about you.

You glance at the windows across the room, nodding in its direction with a remark about the weather, how rainstorms are your favorite. He tells you he loves them as well.

Soon, the others have shifted out of the library and he's now sitting in the chair across from you leaning his chin in his hand, listening to you speak as the rain gently pelts the windows outside.

He finds out you're originally from a smaller town, and you came to New York City for college and to escape your overbearing parents. You're 26 years old and trying to finish this Master's degree after taking one too many semesters off. You tell him about your mom who's a bit of a pushover, and your dad who's kind of an asshole.

He tells you he's 29 and has a younger brother who lives on the other side of the city, and his mom is similar to yours. She's kind but tends to set herself on fire to keep her kids warm. Like you, his dad is also a bit of an ass.

You're both introverted, but you can fake it when you need to, which he appreciates, otherwise he never would have been brave enough to say something to you this evening.

You two share a love of education and coffee. You discuss religion.

"I just don't get it, I'm supposed to love this guy and accept Him into my heart because He died for my sins even though I didn't ask Him to do that? But yet if I break any of His rules I get sent to the Inferno for all of eternity?"

"Sounds like a toxic relationship." Miguel quips as he spins your nearly empty coffee cup across the table absentmindedly.

"Exactly!"

You two talk about love as he shuffled some stray books back to their rightful place.

"C'mon, I know you've had to have dated at least once."

Miguel shakes his head. "Well, I did date a girl in high school. Knew her since the 7th grade. But she pretty much ripped my heart out when I saw her making out with one of my buddies on graduation night. I've had a couple dates here and there since then but that's it."

You click your pen. "Damn, so we both have exes from hell that we dated in high school?"

Miguel nods his head. "It would appear we do. I'm sorry you know the pain and annoyance of adolescent heartbreak too."

You shrug your shoulders. "It happens, y'know? It's like one of those things in life you're just meant to experience. It's like, unavoidable you know? And there's nothing you can do about it. What would you call that? Like not a trope per se, but almost like.... destiny?"

Miguel shrugs in return, "Like a canon event?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Yeah... exactly. How'd you come up with that?"

The ghost of a smirk appears on his face, "Just made sense to me, I guess."

You two sit at the table again and he asks about your childhood and you explain that you suffered from anxiety as long as you can remember and he looks at you with sympathetic eyes.

You do your best to try and ignore what feels like his knee pressing against your calf under the table. The thought of touching him sends heat waves through your body, but you remain frozen in place to send the message you're not opposed to more contact. Miguel feels it too, and deep down his leg is falling asleep with the way it's positioned but he's too nervous to move, either.

You both love the nighttime over mornings, and you show him one of your favorite playlists. He smiles at you tenderly as he holds one of the earphones to his ear.

Soon, it's 10:30 pm and he needs to do his closing duties. Luckily, there weren't any patrons who needed his assistance during his whole shift, proving his point earlier. Before he excuses himself, you two sit in silence for the longest time, both trying to gauge if now's the time to say goodbye to one another, but neither of you wanting to actually be the one who does.

Not sure if it was the absence of any light outside, the late hour, the good conversation you two shared, or a combination of all three, but the ripple of attraction you harbored for him has now washed over you completely and morphed into a formidable wave, threatening to take over your whole body, the darkness of this library and persistence of the ongoing storm outside pushing you closer to him.

He's staring at the corner of your laptop, similar feelings ebbing through him, not sure what's got into him. The art of flirting turned itself into uncharted territory for him a longggg time ago.

He finally decided to look at you but you're already looking at him and he snaps his gaze back down onto the bare table below him, silently cursing in his head as a shade of red fluster rises in his cheeks.

You realize you're going to have to be the one to be brave this time again. "Well, this has been fun...."

Miguel scoffs, starting to bounce his leg under the table. "You say that in the most sarcastic tone known to man."

You return with a scoff of your own, adding a smile, "Well I mean, technically you were working this whole time, isn't that boring?"

Miguel shrugs, the heat in his face returning. "You made it more fun..." The volume in his voice decreasing to a murmur.

You look down as well, your heart fluttering in your chest. You really wanted to kiss him. Or just be closer to him, you don't know why. Of course he was cute as hell but after talking to him for hours, there was no denying a spark had formed. You just didn't know whether one or both of you would make the first move to actually do something about it.

Miguel can't believe that he's actually going to try and attempt to ask you to stay longer with him, but he's going to. Just to hang out some more, maybe keep up that amazing conversation you two were sharing just before this. Completely innocent.

Well, if the way the glow from the desk lamp keeps on making your face look so warm and alluring, he's not sure he'll have the strength to shut down any escapades that ensue later, as long as you're completely up for it, of course.

He inhales "Um...so not sure if you have things to do later or..."

You look at him, pupils widening with anticipation at his pending question.

He goes to say, "I was wondering if you wanted to keep hanging out," but it gets combined with the phrase, "Do you want to stay here a little longer," and the word jumbo that exits his mouth is a little incoherent.

"Was wondering if you were wondering to stay and keep hanging longer out?"

You blink rapidly at his blunder, and he groans, placing his face in his hands.

You immediately feel bad for him, shaking your head and sliding a hesitant hand towards his arm. You stumble over your words too sometimes and it's always fucking humiliating when it happens, so you feel no judgement towards him whatsoever. If anything now he's even more attractive. Every little cute thing about him is just pushing you towards him closer than ever before.

Your fingertips skim across the top of the table and press gently into his forearm. He slowly rolls his head to look at you, his cheek resting in his arms as his eyes look at you from behind his glasses which are slightly askew from the way his face is positioned.

His face is still red, but his heart flutters at your sweet smile. "Sorry, my brain just...takes a dump on me when I try to be smooth sometimes..." Miguel mumbles with a weak chuckle, running his hands through his hair.

You shake your head. "I do the same thing...but to answer your question....yes please..." Your voice becomes quieter at the word "please", an trickle of lust you added on purpose, hoping he's picking up on the vibe you're putting down with the way you're gazing into his eyes, your fingers pressed against his arm, the subtle scoot closer you just made with your chair.

Miguel releases a shaky breath, oh, he's paying attention alright. Damn it all if he doesn't take the leap right now. He decides to ask one more time to be sure, slowing down so he gets it right this time.

"Will....you stay longer, with me?" his voice is low, almost a whisper even though it's only the two of you in his dark library, but it's dripping with seduction. A low rumble from the rain clouds interrupts the pause between his question and your answer.

"Yeah..." you say softly back with double affirmation, a sneaky smile forming on your lips. He flashes a dazzling smile back at you, a woozy feeling in his stomach for what's about to happen in the next few minutes.

He excuses himself and goes back to his desk, typing on his computer, the excitement of having you alone making him just type nonsense for the first few moments, wheeling away some carts to the back and stowing a stray book back where it belongs.

It's now 11 pm. Closing time. Miguel turns off all the lights except for his small desk lamp. The clouds are still rolling and rumbling outside with the wind whistling against the windows. Raindrops are still decorating the street. It's a beautifully dark, sensual scene just for the two of you.

He laces his fingers in between yours and leads you to a dark space in between two large bookshelves. His hand is clammy, and he's a little embarrassed about it on the inside but you squeeze it reassuringly. There was literally nothing he could do at this point to make your crush on him go away. The shelves tower over both of you, even Miguel, who's 6 foot 9.

He leans a hand against the shelf just above and to the right of your head. He accidentally pins a piece of your hair under his hand, making you wince a tiny bit.

"Augh.."

Miguel's eyes dart in alarm to search for what he did that caused you pain and he realizes your hair is trapped under his hand. He pulls it away, shaking his hand and flicking his fingers in an effort to free any of your strands from it. "Goddamit...."

He rolls his head backwards in exasperation at his epic failure of having zero game tonight. You hold onto the flaps of his flannel, making him look at you. "Hey, hey come on...it's okay...."

He finally looks down at you and his lips fall open at your beauty, his heart rate speeding up much more quickly now, and he brings a shaky hand to your face. In his mind, he can't help but realize he's being a huge hypocrite, committing the same sins as his horny patrons of getting busy in the library. But seriously though, at least he had the decency to make sure it was after closing when he was off the clock.

You feel your knees go weak as he brings his other hand to your face, pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb. He wets his lips and he leans in pressing his tongue gently in the space he opened in your bottom lip, begging to be let in. You oblige immediately, diving forward into his soft lips, goosebumps appearing on your arms.

Oh fuck....this kiss felt good. He forgot how nice it felt to share intimacy with someone, those feelings that laid dormant for so long rising and nearly bubbling past the surface. It's all coming back to him as he just wills himself to get lost in the warmth of your mouth, the sheer layer of your Chapstick leaving a tasty feeling on his tongue.

You considered yourself decently experienced, but the way his lips move on their own show you he's a force to be reckoned with and you'd be more than happy to sit back and let him handle things...this handsome, geeky, sweet librarian...

The noises you two make as you desperately kiss each other are little shuffles as you bump into the shelf behind you, with an occasional "oh fuck...," from Miguel. Hearing how turned on he's getting causes you to let your first moan escape your lips.

Once he hears it, he needs more. His hands make their way to your ass and hoist you up onto an empty bookshelf ladder and he sets you down on one of the rungs. You grab his shirt in your fists, not tearing your lips away from his.

"Do you care about these?" Miguel says softly, out of breath, his mind running a million miles a minute before his actions can catch up to him, gently pinching the thin material of your tights between his thumb and pointer finger as his palms grip the soft flesh of your outer thighs. You shake your head no, wanting to fuck already.

Then, his hand is in your crotch, ripping a whole right in the middle, tearing away at the fabric concealing your ripe pussy away from him as though it's the cover of a brand new novel. His cold pointer finger hooks behind your panties and pulls it to the side. You gasp loudly as you feel his finger and the cold air hit your soaked heat.

He chuckles, his breaths still coming out in rapid, succession, the baritone hum of his voice only adding to the wetness between your legs.

"Sorry, my hands are cold..." Then you can't believe what's happening when he drops to his knees, spreading you open like a book. His elbows pin your knees against the sides of the ladder, the wood pressing painfully into your kneecaps, but the sensation he gives you next makes you forget about the whole thing.

His tongue glosses over your wet pussy like a finger stroking the edge of a page. His nose tickles the tiny hairs sprouting from it as he takes a deep breath in, the smell of you going straight to his cock. He teases the lips of your pussy for a moment, an agonizing back and forth along the slit...

....back....and..... forth

"God....you're so wet..."

Back.....

"Miguel..." you whimper..

and forth...

"Fuck...." your fingers shake as you ball them into a fist...

before his tongue dips into your wet hole. Your back arches on instinct, making your body lurch forward, accidentally pushing his tongue further into you which he welcomes eagerly by gripping low on your ass to hold you in place.

You shudder and twitch violently, throwing your head back at the insanely divine attention he's injecting between your thighs. Miguel pauses for a moment, tenderly licking the inside of your thigh before sealing it with a kiss as his eyes flicker up to you.

"You okay?...." he whispers.

You release a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding, a slightly empty feeling as the mind numbing pleasure was abruptly switched off.

"Yeah, yeah...I'm okay."

Miguel reassumes his position, tongue fucking you. The soft pad of his tongue fondling the plush walls inside you. He lets out a low groan and he feels you turn to putty in his grasp, his head gently bobbing as his tongue completes lap after lap eating you, enjoying you, savoring you....every drop from that pretty pussy soon seeping out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

Your moans grow louder than they ever have, plucking him from his pussy-drunk state. He stands up in a panic and rips off his flannel, bunching it up as his eyes do a quick scan to make sure you're both still all alone.

"Shhhh.....baby, we need to be quiet.....bite this for me."

His angelic face comes up to look at you, his forehead pressing tenderly against yours and your eyes go half lidded at the sight of your arousal glistening down his chin, shiny on his thick neck from the thin flickers of moonlight that have managed to leak through the darkened windows of the library.

You do as you're told, biting his flannel and he stuffed it hastily in your mouth, making a makeshift gag as your eyes water. His elbows assume their position pinning your thighs back and he's back between them again.

You understand why he made you a gag as he goes directly for your clit this time. You yelp, your sound muffled by the fabric. Your nails dig into his shoulders, two perfect handles while you ride his face. The material of his shirt is thin and you feel every muscle ripple under your palms as he moves to keep fucking you with his mouth.

Your clit throbs to near overstimulation but Miguel doesn't relent. He swirls his tongue with low sighs of appreciation, unable to tear himself away from the wet heaven in front of his face.

His saliva and your slick mix together until it's all the same. The love you're dripping onto him and the love he's licking into you becoming a lewd stream of passion. He groans into your pussy as his bulging cock begs to relieve itself of all the cum built up with tormenting ache.

He decides he wants to watch you cum. He gets up, replacing his tongue with his thumb and his first two fingers, pumping into you with a circular rhythm and easing your clit at a torturous pace.

"On me, baby...." he whispers.

Your eyes struggle to stay open as you look at him, a little unsure of what he said. "Mmmm?...." You ask with a high pitched sigh.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me..." he repeats, his own eyes going half-lidded from the lure of your mouth hanging open. "Fuck...."

He abandons his plan momentarily as he rips his flannel from your mouth to kiss you again. You invade his mouth with your tongue and he mumbles your name again in response. You start to taste yourself and then whimper when you realize the pleasure is beginning to become too much.

"Miguel," you pant. "Baby, it's so much...." your breaths begin to hyperventilate.

Miguel gives a low sigh when you say his name, his cock straining once more when he realized he drew you to say it. He tilts his head at you, his jaw open and curls into a smile when he sees how crazy he's driving you.

"Cum f'me, baby. Wanna watch you while you do..."

You try to look at a spot on the ceiling but Miguel interrupts your concentration when he moves his head to keep himself in your vision. The spiciness of this sexy encounter banishing all fears he had before. No, he won't let you look at anything else when you cum.

He gives a loud grunt and clasps a hand over your mouth, fingers turning white, muffling your cry of sweet release as you squirt all over his flannel, your passion causing a few books to collapse from the shelf.

You shake and start to shiver all over as the sweat you produced during all the action starts to cool. Your hands are tingly and numb. Miguel gives a soft chuckle and presses a soft kiss into your temple with his wet lips and another one on your mouth before he returns his tongue to your thighs, collecting any remaining arousal left behind.

You rest your head back on the ladder rung behind your head, reeling in your come down. He smiles and plants a kiss into your thigh before bidding it farewell, then comes up and hugs you, nestling you in his tantalizing embrace, as he rests his cheek in your hair.

"Thank you..." you murmur, only barely sobering up from your high, his musk and cologne delivering you to a whole new state of intoxication.

He smiles down at you in response and holds your face in both hands, running his thumbs along your cheeks.

"See me tomorrow?"

You practically melt at those big brown eyes of his, glasses still slightly askew and the neck of his wrinkled shirt dampened with his sweat, silently hoping you will.

You beam up at him and nod enthusiastically and he chuckles and plants a line of kisses on your neck as you giggle underneath him. After a few soft hugs and another round of delicate kisses, he walks you to the door. Making you promise you'll call him as soon as you get home as a reluctant compromise at his uneasiness of you walking alone in the dark.

He watches you walk away into the night and doesn't stop until he sees you safely board the bus. He turns around and goes back inside the library, shutting off his desk light with a small click.

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #spotify #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #Spotify

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short-honey-badger · 3 months

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Older Men

Pairing! Crocodile x Reader

Warnings! Drinking

Crocodile realizes that you need someone older to take care of you, not the boys that you seem to want.

Masterlist

You fast walk through the tall tents of Buggy Town, arms wrapped tight around yourself and head ducked low so that no one else could see the tears streaming down your face. You'd been rejected again, by the third man in less than three weeks. All you wanted was a little companionship, someone to hold you close at night. To kiss you good morning when you woke up. Was that so wrong to want from someone your own age?

You don't notice how close you've gotten to Crocodile's side of the town until you physically bump into the man himself. You grunt when you lose your balance, and you brace for a fall that never happens. Instead, you feel warm sand supporting your back and upper arms, gently setting you back on your feet, and dangerously close to the ex warlord.

“Pretty things like you should watch where they are going,” Crocodile grouches lowly, and you look up at him through wet lashes.

“Sorry, sir. I'll be more careful,” you murmur, and fresh tears spout up at the reprimand. Now look at what you've done. Gone and pissed off one of the leaders of the Cross Guild.

Crocodile looks down at you, looking rather unimpressed with the thick cigar clenched between his teeth. He recognizes you and has seen your walk of shame back to his side of town each time your little date didn't go as planned. He didn't understand why you would want to waste your time on pip squeaks like them when he has been here this whole time.

The devil fruit user comes to the conclusion quickly and spins on his heel, “Come with me.”

You blink at his retreating back and jump to follow after him when he glances over his shoulder with an expectant look. You follow him to the edge of the town, and he steps to the side to allow you inside his personal tent first. You're just a little nervous being in here. You've known Crocodile for a while, after all.

He breezes past you, stopping at his desk to pour two glasses of dark liquor. He pushes one glass to the edge, an obvious offer that you are hesitant to accept. However, it's never a wise choice to not accept anything that the towering man offered.

The liquor burns as it goes down, but you find yourself relaxing because of it. You watch as Crocodile hums in satisfaction and sits back in his chair, mouth going a bit dry at the way he spreads his legs and rests his dangerous hook on his thigh.

“Why do you bother with those boys?”

You jump at the unexpected timbre and whip around to give him a look of confusion. He scowls at you, rolling his purple eyes skyward.

“Don't play ignorant. I've watched you each time you come crying back home. Why do you keep trying with them?”

You sink into yourself a little. You don't understand why it matters to Crocodile, but you couldn't not answer your boss.

“I um. I should be with someone my own age, right?” You say carefully. You've never really thought too much about the why of it.

“ku- ha ha, Who told you that?” He demands and his voice drips with condescension, clearly thinking you an idiot. You blush and embarrassed tears well up.

“No one? I just thought that's how it's supposed to go.”

Crocodile lets out a soft hmm, and then sets his now empty glass away. He eyes you, looking all cute and pathetic.

“Come here, Doll,” he murmurs and pats his lap, “Those boys out there will never know how to treat a beautiful woman. You need someone to take charge, someone who knows what they're doing. Someone a little older.”

Your face feels like it's on fire, but you can't help but hang on to every word that the gator says, his tone soft and beckoning. You step closer, clearly nervous, but Crocodile makes your decision for you when the ground under your feet becomes less stable and you fall forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulders.

Crocodile rumbles another laugh and tugs you into his lap properly, tucking you close to his chest. His hand finds your face, and the ex warlord is gentle in the way that he wipes your spilled tears away. His eyes soften, and you look on in wonder as he leans in and presses his lips to the top of your head.

“You've got me now, _, so don't think for a second that I'll send you away.”

#one piece #fanfic #reader insert #fluff #crocodile x you #crocodile x reader #crocodile x y/n #crocodile #sir crocodile #cross guild #fanfic writing #writing promt

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yuujispinkhair · 8 months

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Gamer boyfie Kuna headcanons

These headcanons are inspired by @windlullaby-arts super sexy fanart of gamer boyfie Kuna. You said you would like someone to write about him, so I did it ;) I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for blessing us with that sexy art!!

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: 18+, smut, cockwarming, dirty talk, creampie, oral, cum-eating, possessive Sukuna, implied possibility of getting overheard during sex. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who looks so cool and so sexy, sitting there dressed all in black with his cute cat-ear headset, eyes focused on the game he is playing. But when you walk into the room, he always has time to wink at you and make a kissy face.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who is so proud when his teammates hear you through his mic and ask if that is his girl.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who loves to show you off when he asks you to join him and his boys for a game. But who gets possessive when they talk too much to you and try to hit on you in the chat. "Back off, I know she is perfect, but she is mine. You wouldn't stand a chance against me anyways."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who smirks so smugly when you walk over to him and press a kiss onto his cheek afterward, whispering in his ear that he is your only, while he starts the next round with his online friends, who complain that they already miss you.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who grins when you crawl under his desk and unbuckle his belt and open the zipper of his skinny black jeans. Who bites his lip when his thick cock slaps against your face before you take his gorgeous dark-pink tip in your mouth and suckle so sweetly on it.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who tries his best to play a good game, even while you blow him under his desk. But in the end, he can't hold back and just fucks your mouth. One large hand lands in your hair, tugging on it, and his hips buck while he moans, "Fuck yeah, princess, that was worth losing that round."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who, under normal circumstances, plays to win and, in most cases, does win because he is good at everything he does. But on the rare occasions when he loses a game (without you being the cause), he will throw a fit. Flaming everyone, getting banned, throwing his mouse against the wall, and then complaining when it doesn't work anymore.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who isn't scary in those situations, though, but rather ridiculous because he becomes so dramatic. And you know he would never shout at you or hurt you. To you, he is always the sweetest devil, purring like a kitten when you coo at him and scratch his undercut, and run your fingers through his slightly sweaty pink hair. "Aww baby, did you lose a game?"

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who sighs and pulls you onto his lap, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and telling you something about how those other guys clearly used cheats! Because it cannot be that a gaming God like Sukuna loses!

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who needs lots of kisses to get over the defeat. Strong, tattoed arms wrap tightly around you, keeping you on his lap while he licks into your mouth with his pierced tongue until your head spins.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who whispers hoarsely in your ear, telling you to stay on his lap while he starts a new game. It feels so good to snuggle against him, feeling his firm muscles under his shirt and his toned arms encircling you.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who gets hard when he has you so cutely on his lap in your little skirt, feeling your warm pussy press against him through your thin panties and his jeans.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who slips a hand into your panties while waiting for the game to load, playing with your pussy until he has you whimpering and squirming on his lap.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who smirks and pulls your panties to the side, murmuring to you softly, "Keep me sweet company, princess. Wanna feel your pretty pussy on my cock, keeping me nice and warm while I own all those losers."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who tells you your pussy is his good luck charm. "See, I can play even better when you sit on my cock, my sweet thing."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who makes you whine because it feels so good to cockwarm him while he plays round after round, your pussy stuffed with his thick cock, feeling so full and so loved when you snuggle against him and just feel him.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who looks at you with a passionate fire in his eyes when he is finished playing, and his large hands land on your thighs, kneading them while he rolls his hips upwards to push his thick cock deeper into your wet heat.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who tells you in that sexy low voice to ride him right here on his gaming chair. "Let's celebrate my success with a victory fuck. Thank you for being my lucky charm, baby."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who looks so sexy when he lets his head fall back against the headrest of his gaming chair, his cat-ear headset askew, eyes closed in pleasure, and lips opening in soft groans, while you ride him.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who smiles when you get up from his lap afterward, with wobbly legs and his warm cum running down your thighs. He doesn't let you get far but stops you with his strong hands, making you sit on his desk, pushing your thighs apart so he can lick your pussy clean, driving you crazy with his tongue piercing against your clit.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who also loves to play games with you, basking in the quality time you spend together. He is always very biased towards you and lets you get away with everything, letting you win and get the loot. No matter how ambitious he is, when it comes to you, he is fine with losing.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who thinks it's incredibly cute when you take his place and sit on his gaming chair wearing his cat-ear headset, playing the games you enjoy.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who spends hours playing on your account to unlock a special achievement for you so you get the mount you want so bad. Who grins broadly at you when he calls out to you, "Hey, princess, come here and look what I got for you!"

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who laughs softly when you squeal and throw your arms around him. "Oh my God, Kuna!! Thank you so much, baby! But this must have taken hours!" And Sukuna just smirks that irrrestible, sexy smirk and tells you in that velvety voice, "You know I would do anything for you, princess."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who always makes sure to log off after a while and spend some time with his girl because, after all, you are his favorite toy, and playing with your pretty pussy gives him more satisfaction than any game could.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who hopefully turned his mic off before he fucks you hard on his bed, or everyone will hear your cute moans, letting them know how good he fucks you and that you only belong to him.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who doesn't just take a break from gaming to fuck you but also to take you on cute dates, or cook with you, or just lie on the couch with you, his big body curled around you, hugging you from behind, cuddling and kissing you while you watch your favorite shows together.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, whose top priority will always be you. His princess, his love, his player 2.

HE GIVES ME BUTTERFLIES 😭😭😭 Thank you so much for reading! Seeing that gorgeous fanart drove me crazy!! I went into obsession mode and couldn't stop writing, and suddenly it was dark outside lol. Now I want to sit on his lap the whole time while he plays aaaaahhhhh!!!

I hope you like gamer boyfie Kuna!! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #sukuna x you

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starsandhughes · 4 months

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I Know Places

inspired by i know places by taylor swift <3

pairing: quinn hughes x tkachuk! reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: drinking, use of y/n, mentions of throwing up (not actually done), fade to black smut

MASTERLIST

-----------------------

Maybe it wasn't the best idea you've ever had, but it wasn't like you planned this! You didn't plan to fall for one of your brother's best friends, someone that was a groomsman at his wedding, it just happened.

You and Quinn kept sharing looks during the start of the wedding reception. It was a dangerous game and you both knew it. Quinn and Brady were best friends, and both of your families were friends— you were terrified that too much was at risk with this relationship.

There wasn't a fear that your families wouldn't be happy about the relationship, because there was no doubt in your mind that everyone would be thrilled, it was the fear that your relationship would no longer be just yours.

It would be theirs, too. It would belong to your parents, Quinn's parents, Brady, Matthew, Taryn, Jack, Luke, and eventually all of the fans.

Your relationship would be under the scrutiny of the public eye. You'd be subjected to hate from Quinn's "fans," and probably your brothers's as well. You knew that some girls online tended to take every single blink as a chance to over analyze a relationship from a player they obsess over. Many fans were supportive of the various WAGS, but there were a few that would be sobbing over the fact that Quinn is taken. These fans are the hunters, and you're a fox trying not to be caged.

Your relationship was fairly new, only a couple weeks old, and it started back when the Devils were still in the playoffs. There was a gap between one of Matthew's games and one of Jack and Luke's, so you hopped on a plane to go see one of them before Quinn got his wisdom teeth out. Quinn drove you back to your hotel at the end of the night and well... things spiraled from there.

Love was fragile. It could burn out. And in your experience, especially new love.

The more alcohol that you put into your system, the less careful you and Quinn were being. There were cameras everywhere, but it slipped your mind for just a moment. You two had been friends for a long time and an innocent touch surely wouldn't be enough for everyone's heads to turn, so you let it happen.

Quinn stood behind you with his hands on your waistline as you moved your hips to the music. You knew they were his hands before you even turned around, you were familiar with his touch at this point. It wasn't until you heard Luke whisper to Jack, "look!" that you had any concern.

"Let go, Quinn," you whispered to him. "Luke is looking suspicious."

"So let him," Quinn whispered back.

"Quinn," you groaned.

Quinn obliged to your concerns and took his hands off of you. He extended his hand towards you instead and lifted it up when you took it, a subtle motion signaling you to spin under his arm. You laughed as he did this, and to play it off like you were just two friends dancing, he called out to Luke to catch you as he spun you outward.

You fell into Luke laughing before you turned back to face Luke and threw your arms around his neck to dance to the beat with him.

"What was that about?" Luke asked you. You internally panicked, but outwardly remained calm.

"What was what about?" you laughed it off.

"Quinn's hands on you," Luke said, as if it were obvious. In his defense... it was.

"We were just dancing, Luke. I've known him forever! I've known you forever and now we're dancing! Is there something wrong with that?" you turned it all on him.

"No, no, nothing wrong with that," he said calmly. He was too smart for his own good and you knew it, but he was also respectful enough to not call you on your bluff.

Luckily, keeping an eye on you was the last thing on Brady and Matthew's minds with everything that's going on around them. As the night went on, Jack was getting drunker and Luke was on Jack duty, so Quinn's brothers were finally less of a problem.

All you wanted was to be with Quinn. If you two were further along in your relationship and unworried about your families, you two would be attached at the hip and having a good time. But everyone in your family was around. Grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles. Everyone. Hell, even Josh kept eyeing you and Quinn. But the wine running through your veins was making you crave Quinn's touch even more.

All the happy couples surrounding you certainly weren't helping. Every kiss you caught a glimpse of made you think of Quinn's lips. His soft lips. You felt your face begin to heat up as your mind wandered too deep into memories of your last time with Quinn.

"I know that look," Quinn said as he walked up to stand beside you.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you feigned innocence. Your thoughts were nowhere near innocent.

Quinn stepped in front of you, dangerously close, "Yeah, you do. You've got that look on your face that you have while we're..." He leaned in close to whisper the rest of his sentence in your ear, "...alone."

You closed your eyes and gulped. He has you in the palm of his hand, and right now was not the best time to be feeling such things.

Quinn's hands found your hips and pulled you closer to be pressed up against him, "I don't think anyone's watching."

"Quinn..."

"Just one kiss," he proposed. "To get it out of our system."

You looked around and discovered that your boyfriend was right. Everyone was too wrapped up with the party to pay any mind to you two. You gave into him and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him softly.

Quinn brought a hand up to your cheek and cupped your face when you pulled away, "I love how red you get every time I kiss you."

Then it happened.

A flash. A camera flash to be exact.

You began to panic. Once Brady and Emma get all the wedding photos, your secret would be out. There was no chance that you could play off whatever the camera caught as something just between friends!

"Shit!" you said, a little too loudly.

Your big brother was more keen to you than you thought, because you saw Matthew spin around in search of you. Those stupid protective tendencies never shut off for him. He was the oldest. He felt responsible for his siblings. His protectiveness is normally your saving grace, but it was your number one enemy right now.

"I know a place where we won't be found," Quinn hurried out. You grabbed his hand, "Let's go."

You two dashed out of the reception hall, not too fast as to make a scene, but you weren't moving slowly.

You two were practically sprinting through the hotel towards the elevators once you escaped the reception hall.

"Quinn, your hotel room would be too obvious!"

"That's why we're going to Matthew's," he said as if it was obvious.

"What?!"

"He gave me his key to watch because he tends to lose things," Quinn explained. "Your brother's hotel room is the last place people would think to look. I don't even think Matthew knows which room he's in."

Quinn had a point. You were pretty sure if anyone actually saw anything it would be Matty, and his own hotel room was not going to be his first idea of places to look. You immediately pulled Quinn closer to you the second he got the door open. You kissed him hungrily as you walked backwards, only parting when he gently laid you down on the couch.

Quinn climbed on top of you and started to kiss you again. His tongue slipped into your mouth as his hands gripped your hips, wrinkling your bridesmaids dress between his fingers. You moaned into his mouth when he bit your lip, which only made him bite harder before he tugged and pulled away. He then trailed his lips across your jaw and down your neck. You gasped and gripped your hands onto the ends of his hair, feeling the oxytocin flood through your body now that you finally get to feel his touch.

His left hand found its way under your dress. He traveled up your thigh slowly, making you shudder. His fingers lightly grazed across your silk panties, teasing you as he snapped the top edge against your skin.

"Please," you whimpered. It's been so long since he was last able to touch you— really touch you. Long distance is hard, but a secret long distance relationship? It's hell. "I need you."

"We don't plan on going back down to the party, do we?" Quinn asked you low. You hummed a no, pursing your lips as you tried to keep it together. "Good," he smirked.

Your heartbeat quickened when he reached up a hand to caress your cheek, something he does when he wants you to look at him. You opened your eyes to stare into his greens, completely mesmerized by the hold this man has on you. Just with one touch he can get you to do what he wants and he knows it.

"I want you to beg," he instructed. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows expectantly, and did so subtly.

"Please," you whined.

Quinn tutted in disapproval. He wanted more than that from you. He leaned down close to your ear as he slid his hand up your body to your tit and softly squeezed, "I'm going to need more than that, baby."

"Please, fuck me," you said with more urgency. He was driving you insane.

"Please, fuck me, what?" he smirked.

"Please, fuck me, Daddy."

Quinn gave you a sly smile, "Well... since you asked so nicely.”

– – –

Your naked frame laid atop of Quinn’s, your head against his chest, as the two of you fought to catch your breath. If you were home, at either of your homes, the notion of having to get up and get dressed wouldn’t even have even crossed your minds. And if it did, you would’ve laughed it off. You don’t get that luxury when you decide to sneak off during your brother’s wedding to your other brother’s hotel room.

“Q–”

“Don’t,” Quinn cut you off. He brought a hand up and ran it up and down through your hair, “Not yet. We have time.”

“How do you know?” you whispered.

“Because the world can’t be that cruel to me,” he mumbled, holding you tighter.

Turns out, the world could be that cruel to him. To both of you. Because the loud and rowdy voices of Matthew, Jack, and Luke were coming closer and closer.

You practically dived off of Quinn and started to put your dress back on. Quinn was frantically looking for his jacket before giving up entirely and going without it.

“Act drunk!” Quinn whisper shouted at you.

“What?!”

“Act drunk! Go sit by the toilet and act like you’ve been throwing up!”

You finally caught on to what Quinn was saying. There was no way you two could escape out of Matthew’s hotel room, but you could act like you intended to be in here. Quinn grabbed a hand towel and got it wet. He rubbed it across your face so it seemed like he had cleaned your face off post you throwing up. You then threw open the toilet lid and flushed it, hoping that the boys were close enough to have heard it. Quinn sat down on the bathroom floor with his back against the wall and his legs straight out, and you curled up into a ball and laid your head on his thigh. You weren’t drunk by any means, but you were pretty inebriated, so forcing yourself to cry like you normally do post throwing up wasn’t that hard.

You guess they went to the front desk to get another key to Matthew’s room, because instead of a knock, you heard the door click open. Matthew immediately heard your sniffles and rushed into the bathroom, “What’s wrong?!”

“Y/N got super drunk, and your room was closer than mine, sorry,” Quinn said softly, rubbing your back up and down.

“I didn’t see her drinking a lot,” Luke said suspiciously.

“She can be a lightweight if she doesn’t eat enough,” Matthew said, completely oblivious to what Luke was insinuating. He was crouched down on the ground trying to tend to you. He looked at Quinn, “I got her.”

Quinn helped move you into a position where Matthew could pick you up and carry you to the bed.

“I don’t feel good, Matty,” you fake cried.

“I know, Y/N/N,” Matthew shushed you. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

Matthew told Quinn to unmake the bed so that he could put you in it. Matthew gently laid you down and Quinn covered you up. Matthew left to get you some water and Advil and told Quinn to watch you.

“Next time, I’m picking the place,” you mouthed. Quinn silently chuckled and sent you a wink before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“You got this?” Jack asked his brother.

“I had it before you got here, so…” Quinn trailed off.

“Alright, alright,” Jack said. “No need for sass!”

Jack left, but before Luke followed him, he stopped to look at you and Quinn. He looked out the door and when Jack was far enough away, he spoke.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Luke started.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes! Happy?” you shouted out, not lifting your head to look at him.

Luke smiled and looked back at Quinn, who sheepishly ran his fingers through his hair and nodded.

“I knew it!”

Quinn came back to you once Luke had left and knelt on the ground to be eye level with you.

“You put on quite the show just to cave and tell Luke,” he said.

“Yeah, well, your little brother is relentless,” you pouted.

“That he is,” Quinn laughed lightly.

“My brothers will make a big deal of it. I want the beginning of this relationship to be us figuring us out, not them telling us what our relationship is,” you told Quinn. Quinn grabbed your hands in his and kissed them, “Just as long as you know better places we can hide.”

“Trust me, Q, I know a lot of better places than my brother’s hotel room.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x tkachuk! reader #quinn hughes fluff #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #brady tkachuk #jack hughes #luke hughes #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #luke hughes imagine

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msfantasy-comics · 4 months

Text

The Little Three

Platonic!Damian Wayne x WonderGirl!Reader x Platonic!Jon Kent

Summary: A short story on “really want to see just a cute little platonic relationship with a reader who’s wonder woman’s daughter with damian wayne and jon kent. like a mini trinity goofing around while bruce, clark and diana are like “oh hell 😐”

A/n: Inspired by this post

Masterlist - Tip Jar

“Obviously Jon will be the best leader.” Y/n declares, finger outright pointing towards the half kryptonian. Damian’s snorts at such a blasphemous proclamation.

“That is ridiculous, I am obviously the best suited to be a leader. If you two went on a mission by yourselves you would not even develop a sound strategy. Jon would come up with a half-baked plan which will quickly crumble, while you would just go to the location and wreck havoc until you win.” Damian accuses, a signature bat frown now adorning his features.

Y/n just rolls her eyes with a groan. “It’s part of my strategy to overwhelm the enemy… it always works.” Which only grates on Damian’s nerves.

“You are only proving my point further. It is reckless and stupid. You cannot be successful by being a brute.” A high pitched gasp escapes, Y/n’s hands now slamming down onto the table.

“Shut up Damian! Just because you don’t like my battle strategy, doesn’t mean you’re better.” Smirking he crosses his arms over his chest, feet now kicked up on top of the hologram table.

“I am better than you, because I am smarter, stronger and better trained than you.” Jon slouches further back into his seat, nervousness creeping up his spin at the familiar dispute.

“Guys… let’s just calm down -“

“Oh shut up you annoying little rat! How about a game of capture the flag to prove who should be the teams leader. Whoever captures the flag wins!” Y/n asserts, fist outstretched waiting for Jon and Damian to fist bump in agreement.

“You are on Little Wonder.” Damian stretches his fist out, bumping the young wonders knuckles with his own. Y/n only clenches her jaw in irritation.

“Don’t call me that, Shorty!”

“Not all of us are born with Amazonian genetics freak!” Y/n and Damian are just about pressing noses, now playing an unspoken game of chicken.

Jon continues to stand behind them pinching the bridge of his nose. The soft ticks and beeps sounding off from the technology around them. The Justice watchtower now shifting and readjusting before settling back to a set position. “Guys… I’m not encouraging this I’m out.” Jon crosses his arms, launching himself backwards into the leather seat again, he turns his attention back to the holographic table, checking for his Dad’s location and only hoping that the pin is moving back towards the tower. Y/n and Damian only meet eyes with a knowing smirk.

“Jon’s the flag?” Y/n asks only getting a small nod from Damian.

“On your mark.” Damian says which only makes Jon’s eye bulge.

“Guys - stop! I said I didn’t want to be part of your games!” The two devils only smile as if not hearing his refusal.

“Get set.” Y/n says, the two now shifting their weight to the balls of their heels. Jon growls twisting and taking off in a quick dash.

“Go!” Damian and Y/n both shout taking off at inhuman speeds, eager to catch their human(?) flag.

Damian pulls out his bat gun, launching a wire and hook into the long wall in an attempt to quick zip line towards Jon only for Y/n to grab the wire and snap it with her bare hands.

“Leave me alone!” Jon shouts, the sonic sound of his shout vibrating the objects around him.

“You’re mine!” Y/n springs out, grabbing the corner of Jon’s jacket only for Jon to step away launching Y/n head first into the large computers and screens with a loud crack. The screens glass sprays across the floor, the Amazonian only jumps up and bounds towards Jon without a second to spare.

“Launch emergency Kryptonite!” Damian shouts into his suit mic now throwing lethal batarangs and recalling the projectiles. Jon only evading the objects by mere millimeters.

The projectiles where only continuously puncturing the steel walls and solid objects around. Sparks fly as Damian hits an electric reserve.

The red emergency lights now blaring a warning.

But the three pay no mind to the danger alarm, Y/n and Damian too absorbed in capturing their objective. Jon too distracted to not getting injured.

————

“Code Red, Watchtower is under attack.” An AI Voice announces into the earpieces of the Justice team. “Permission to counter attack the enemy by any means necessary?”

“The kids!” Superman exclaims, Batman redirecting the route of the Batship.

“Permission denied.” Batman grumbles into his mic. Worry now coating the features of Clark.

“What foe could be attacking the tower right now?” Diana voices, hoping that the answer will relieve some distress. Batman only grumbles a reply.

“Probably the kids.”

————-

Arriving to the tower the big three stand at the teleport entry, eyeing the mass damage that has occurred on the tower in the short moments they were gone. All of the screens are cracked and ruin, the holographic projector now laying on the floor in a broke heap. Sparks flying away from live wires.

“I caught him first!” Damian shouts, yanking Jon towards him.

“What are you stupid?! I caught him first!” Y/n shouts yanking Jon into her grasp. Jumping up she locks her legs around his torso, arms wrapping firmly around Jon’s neck in a lock. “You can claim him if you wretch my dead body off of him.”

“Fine.” Damian says coldly, taking a step back and launching himself onto the two making them tumble over with a loud thud. Yelps and grasps coming from the three now strewn a-crossed the floor. Jon now trapped between his two friends, thrashing limbs.

“What is going on here?” Diana yells making Y/n instantly release her grip and scrambling to get up only to slam into the floor as Damian’s grip is still wrapped around her ankle. The three slowly look up at their parents faces who are angry to say the least. “How could you let this happen.”

Y/n kicks her foot at Damian, before finally standing up, Y/n slouches under the angry gaze of her mother. “We couldn’t decide on a leader so we made it a competition of capture the flag… Jon’s the flag.” Diana’s eye twitched at the absurdity of your words. The watch tower was destroyed because their super kids decided to settle an argument with ‘Capture the Flag.’

“And added inflicted millions of dollars in damages in the process. You’re all in big trouble.” Clark reprimands, his usual friendly demeanour now replaced with stern anger.

“But Dad! I didn’t even want to be part of this stupid game!” Jon whines which only makes Y/n and Damian shoot Jon a silent deathly look.

“A good leader would’ve prevented a dispute in their team.” Clark reprimands Jon which only makes him bow his head in shame.

“You’re all clearly not ready for a serious role in the hero’s league if you plan of settling disputes with childish games and inflicting mass damage in the process - Clark, Diana and I will re-evaluate your readiness. Until then, the Little Three team is banned from missions.”

“What?! This is so unfair!” Y/n exclaims in exasperation. The hero’s team banned before they even got started. They hadn’t even picked a leader for crying out loud.

“What is unfair is that Jon, Damian and yourself have destroyed perfectly good resources all for a game.” Clark reprimands. “Jon your grounded, you will be staying home for the rest of the summer completing all farm chores including mine.” Jon groans at his punishment.

It was Bruce’s turn to supply Damian a punishment. “No vigilante work until you move stocks to cover the cost of your handiwork.” Damian stands stick straight, accepting his punishment without resistance.

“Yes father.”

Diana leans over, her brows knitting together in irritation. “Listen here missy!” Before Diana could utter another word, Y/n’s hands reach out to her mothers face, pressing her fingers into her mothers pinched brows, as if making Diana not frown would resolve her anger. Y/n begins to jut her lip out and stare up at her mother with big shining eyes.

“I’m sorry Mama, please don’t be mad.” Her soft and delicate voice pulling at Diana’s heartstrings.

“…it’s okay baby…” Diana folds instantly to her adorable daughter. “Just don’t do it again.” She coos giving her precious girl a big kiss on the cheek. Y/n only looks at her fellow mates with the cheekiest of grins.

The two boys stare in disbelief as Y/n escape parental punishment, especially as she is the instigator of the incident. Jon decides to take the plunge. “Dad-“

“Don’t even try it son.”

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bellaxgiornata · 3 months

Text

The Devil at Your Window |2: Borrowed Scarf|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.4k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Another fluffy and flirty installment for this series! Some hurt/comfort coming up next for this series! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala

Stomping your boots on the little entry rug just inside your apartment, you attempted to knock most of the snow from off of them. You didn’t want the water to pool all over the hardwood by your door when the snow inevitably melted. Even though, admittedly, the floor in your place wasn’t in the best condition to begin with. But you always thought it added ‘character’ to the apartment.

With a sigh you leaned to your right, resting a shoulder against the wall while your left hand clutched the two bags of takeout you’d just picked up. Reaching a foot forward, you gently nudged your apartment door shut with a boot before drawing your leg back towards yourself and sluggishly removing them one at a time single-handedly. Once you’d removed both boots, you placed them on the rug to dry before pushing off the wall and taking a moment to lock your front door.

A strong, delicious scent wafted out of the takeout bags as you made your way over towards your kitchen, your stomach rumbling hungrily in response. You knew you'd gone a little overboard ordering tonight, aware there was no way you could actually eat everything you'd picked up, but you figured whatever was left could end up as lunch tomorrow at work. Everything had just sounded too good because you’d been starving when you ordered it.

Setting both bags down on your kitchen counter, you headed towards your fridge and swung the door open, grabbing a beer from off the top shelf. You twisted the cap off, tossing it into the garbage as you passed it. Taking a drink from the bottle, you opened a cabinet with your left hand and pulled down a plate, closing the cabinet door with your elbow before spinning on the spot. Heading back towards the counter where the bags of takeout resided, you set both your plate and beer bottle onto the surface. With your hands free, you immediately began to tear the bags of food open, rifling around in them and pulling out one of the burritos and setting it onto your plate. Next you dug out the container of rice before grabbing the chips and salsa, setting them on the counter before opening the nearby drawer and pulling out a spoon. In a rush to eat, especially after having made the trek around the corner to pick up your food in all the snow, you began to quickly plate both items hungrily.

Once everything was ready, you grabbed your beer in one hand and your plate of food in the other before making your way out of your kitchen and over towards the living room, leaving the mess on your counter to deal with once you’d eaten. As you began to lower yourself onto the couch, you reached forward and set your beer onto the coffee table. Settling down onto the cushions with a contented sigh, you balanced your plate of food on your lap and picked up the television remote from the arm of the couch. Impatiently you turned the TV on with one hand while beginning to unwrap your burrito with the other, too hungry to wait to eat until you’d started your show. Tearing off a large bite of food, you opened up Netflix while you chewed, fully prepared to continue binging the series you’d been watching. Though the sound of a few loud raps gave you pause before you could push play.

Swallowing down the bite of food you’d had in your mouth, your brows furrowed in confusion. It was late, almost eight o’clock. You’d been held over at the office today, and then the snow-laden sidewalks had slowed your walk home from work afterwards, making your walk take longer than usual. After getting out of your dress clothes, you’d decided you were too tired to cook this evening and ordered food instead. Which was why you were now having such a late dinner on a Tuesday evening.

But it was Tuesday evening. Which meant you weren’t expecting visitors.

The knock sounded again and your eyes narrowed as you lowered the burrito to the plate in your lap and set the television remote back onto the armrest of the couch. That’s when it hit you. There wasn’t someone knocking at your door, there was someone knocking at your window .

Your head spun to the right instantly. Sure enough, the Devil clad in all black was standing on your fire escape. The moment your eyes landed on him, he raised a single gloved hand and waved, a smile forming beneath his mask. Eyes going wide, your mouth once again fell open at the sight of him standing there so casually on your fire escape in the cold of the night.

It had been just over a week ago since the snowstorm that had led him to fall onto your fire escape when you’d first met him. The same night where you’d cuddled with him for warmth when the power had gone out in your building before accidentally falling asleep on him. But he’d snuck out of your apartment before you’d even woken, and you hadn’t heard from him since, even if you had seen him in some blurry photos on the news.

But it wasn’t as if you’d truly ever expected to see him again after that strange night where you recalled staying up and talking with him well past two in the morning. Sure, you’d hoped he’d stop by again–fantasized about it maybe, especially with how good your mind kept recalling him looking in person in all that tight-fitting black. Those blurry cell phone images of him truly didn’t do him justice. But they were just that. Fantasies. The conversation had flowed and you swore you’d thought he was being a little flirtatious, but you figured that was probably his ‘thing.’ It didn’t mean anything. At least, not to him. And you’d scolded yourself repeatedly every time your brain decided to remind you of him over the past few days because that encounter shouldn’t have meant anything to you, either.

So why the hell was he suddenly standing on your fire escape now gesturing for you to open the window?

Still feeling entirely confused, you shifted your plate from off of your lap and onto the coffee table next to your beer. Rising to your feet, you made your way the few steps over to your window. As you moved, your eyes never left the Devil’s face, and you noticed how the smile never left his.

Reaching out, you unlatched the locks on your window and pushed it upwards. A cold rush of air burst into your apartment instantly and you shivered. Your eyes remained focused on the Devil’s face, a rush of questions racing through your mind as you took in the now almost cocky grin on his lips. Eventually your mouth blurted out the first question it could before you could stop it.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked him.

He raised a gloved hand up, clutching at his chest dramatically as he took a partial step back from the window. “Ouch,” he replied. “Certainly not the greeting I expected.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head as the bitter chill of the night continued to bite at your skin, “that’s not how I meant it. I meant, why are you here? I didn’t expect to see you again unless I needed saving or something.”

“Maybe I just missed my favorite space heater?” he teased.

Heat immediately flamed at your cheeks. Even if he was joking, his words still had an effect on you. And the way his smile grew into more of a smirk in the brief silence that followed wasn’t helping.

“In all seriousness I came to return this,” he said, holding up his other hand.

Your eyes darted down at the movement, not having noticed he had been holding something in his other hand. It was a bunched up ball of fabric with a bright blue plaid pattern.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, eyes widening as realization dawned on you. “My scarf? You have my scarf?” A laugh bubbled up out of you as you glanced back up at his half-obscured face. “I wondered where that had gotten to! I thought I’d left it at the office somewhere.”

An almost sheepish smile tugged at his mouth now as he shook his head. “I uh, I borrowed it. It was freezing that night when I left your apartment and you’re right, this suit doesn’t offer much protection in general. I figured you wouldn’t mind because I intended to return it the next night, but well, I may have gotten a little…distracted with some things this past week.”

“Yeah, it definitely seems like you’ve been keeping busy from what I’ve heard in the news,” you told him.

The cocky smile easily returned to his face as his head tilted a little to the side. Your heart skittered at the sight and you tried to ignore it.

“Keeping tabs on me?” he asked. “I'm flattered.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your breath was coming in a little faster now, too. Really though, it wasn't fair how that deep gravelly voice of his paired with all those muscles and his charm could get your pulse racing with such little effort.

“Do you maybe want to come in?” you asked him when another harsh breeze blew into your apartment. “To get warm for a moment? Or do you have some super secret vigilante business that you urgently need to attend to?”

He chuckled in response, the warm sound drawing a little smile onto your own lips. So you could still make him laugh. That shouldn't have made you as pleased as it did.

“It's currently quiet in the city,” he replied. “Which is why I had time to stop by and return your scarf. But if I'm not interrupting your evening, I wouldn't mind getting warm for a moment.”

“You're not interrupting anything,” you assured him, stepping away from the window and waving him inside. “It's not often I get the opportunity to help out Hell’s Kitchen's literal superhero.”

“Well now,” the Devil began as he slipped effortlessly through the window, “that title might be undeserved.”

You gasped dramatically, catching the smile on his face just before he turned around. His gloved hands raised up, grabbing onto the window and closing it after himself, immediately cutting off the harsh wind that had been blowing into your apartment.

“You? Being humble?” you teased, watching as he turned back towards you still grinning. “Now that’s a surprise.”

“Are you implying I have an ego, Miss…?” he asked, holding your balled up scarf in his hand out towards you.

You reached out, grabbing the scarf from him as you shook your head and waved a finger at him. “Uh uh, no. But nice try,” you told him. “If I can’t know your name, why should I give you mine?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he playfully teased back, “maybe so I could properly thank you for letting me steal your scarf for a week? Especially since you’re not the one going out at night committing countless crimes and actually having a need to keep your identity hidden?”

Turning, you headed back towards your coffee table to set the scarf down onto it. You’d forgotten just how enjoyable the verbal back and forth with him had been the night he’d fallen onto your fire escape. He was funny but he was witty, too.

“You can thank me just fine without a name, Devil,” you pointed out. “Besides, you just admitted to being a criminal. Probably not a good idea giving my name out to a criminal.”

The Devil shook his head, a smile stretched wide across his face when you glanced back at him. One of your brows rose curiously onto your forehead.

“What?” you asked.

“I mean, what does your name matter when I know where you live?” he questioned. “And if you’re that worried about your safety with me, you should probably stop inviting me into your apartment to get warm as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, waving a dismissive hand at him. “It’s not like I’m actually worried about my safety around you,” you countered. “Otherwise I would’ve called the police on you that first night, not let you in. And I certainly wouldn’t have invited you in a second time, either.”

The Devil’s masked head cocked to the side, the corner of his smirking lip twitching. It was impossible not to stare at his mouth when everything else was covered up. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“So then why did you let me in a second time?” he asked.

His gravelly voice had somehow pitched to something lower when he’d spoken–something that almost sounded borderline flirtatious. Again. And it only had the hair on your forearms raising, goosebumps prickling along your skin. For a moment you just stood there in your living room, blinking hard a few times as your brain fumbled to come up with a witty retort. In that brief hesitation, you saw his smirk grow.

“Maybe I just have a thing for strays,” you finally shot back.

His lips parted in surprise, the smirk vanishing from his face. A pleased smile made its way onto your own in return because you’d clearly taken him off guard. He didn’t seem like the type to be surprised that easily.

“Are–are you calling me a stray?” he asked in mock-offense.

His surprise had caused that deep, fake voice of his to falter when he spoke, allowing you to catch what you assumed was his real voice for the first time. You liked the sound of it.

“I mean technically I did feed you, give you water, and a place to get warm,” you joked, laughing lightly as you replied. “And well–” you gestured a hand at him standing across your living room, “–you came back.”

“Yeah,” he said, his own hand gesturing to the scarf you’d set down on the coffee table, “to return the scarf I borrowed.”

“Stole,” you corrected him.

A mental image of him dressed in his entirely black outfit with your blue plaid scarf bundled around his neck as he jumped from roof to roof suddenly surfaced in your mind. You couldn’t help but giggle at the visual of it. The Devil took a few steps towards you at the sound, his boots thudding heavily against your worn wood floors. That easy smile was back on his mouth again.

“What’s so funny?” he asked curiously.

“I was just thinking,” you told him, “that the bad guys on the streets this past week must have thought you were trying something new fashion-wise. Or that you got dressed in the dark with you running around wearing my scarf.”

He nodded his head, a chuckle slipping out of him. “Well maybe I did,” he replied. “Get dressed in the dark, I mean. Or something like that.”

You paused for a moment, laughter subsiding as one brow rose up onto your forehead. What a curious thing to say.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of the extra takeout food sitting on your counter. You remembered how he’d admitted previously that he didn’t keep much food in his fridge and you nervously began gnawing on your bottom lip. Would it be weird if you offered him dinner? You did have extra, after all. And you had a sinking feeling that when he finished his night out fighting crime–or whatever the hell he called it–he was probably not about to find something to eat.

For some reason that realization made you a little sad. How often did Hell’s Kitchen’s hero actually take care of himself? Was there even anyone who looked out for him? After everything he did for this city and the people in it, surely he deserved that.

“You know, I was actually sitting down to eat dinner when you showed up,” you began, though you abruptly quieted when he took a few steps back towards the window.

“You’re right, I noticed,” he replied, his tone suddenly serious. “I’ll let you get back to your night.”

“No, no,” you said quickly, taking a step towards him.

He stopped, his head once again tilting to the side. It seemed like he was eyeing you curiously beneath that black mask even though you couldn’t actually see his eyes. His lips were set in a straight line as he waited for you to continue, all joking suddenly gone from him. Had he really thought you were kicking him out?

“I actually was going to ask if you’d like something to eat,” you told him. “Something more than some protein bars this time.”

There was a few seconds of silence before he spoke.

“You’re…asking me to stay and eat with you?” he questioned, surprised.

“Yes,” you answered.

Another few seconds of silence passed and you figured he was pondering the offer. Then gradually, his posture changed and a smirk reappeared on that tempting mouth of his.

“Are you trying to feed me so that I’ll come back again?” he teased. “Like the stray you think I am?”

Heat flamed at your cheeks, your eyes going wide at his accusation. “No!” you answered, shaking your head. “No, I just remembered you saying you didn’t have much food at your place. And I get the feeling you skip dinner most nights because of running around the city as the Devil.”

“Well they do say breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he countered cheekily.

You rolled your eyes at him yet again, though you couldn’t resist the smile that returned to your face as you made your way around your couch and back towards your kitchen.

“Okay, well I’d like to make sure you’re not malnourished,” you said, reaching up into a cabinet and pulling down a glass. “Or dehydrated.”

You stepped over to the sink, filling the glass you’d just pulled out with water from the faucet. Vaguely you were aware of the Devil making his way into your kitchen as you did.

“What makes you think I’m malnourished?” he asked curiously.

You shook your head, laughing lightly. “Please, there’s barely any body fat on you,” you answered, turning off the faucet before turning around.

You almost dropped the glass of water onto the floor with how surprisingly close he had been standing behind you. Eyes going wide, you stared up at the masked face of his that was now only a foot away from yours.

“Been observing me that closely, have you?” that deep voice of his rumbled out.

Swallowing hard, both of your hands tightened around the glass of water. Your mouth felt like it had gone dry, your heart picking up its pace inside your chest. A slow, satisfied smirk twisted the corner of his mouth as he reached a hand out, gently grabbing the glass of water from your hands.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Mhmm,” you hummed out.

He turned around, heading back towards your living room while taking a sip of water from the glass. Letting out a quiet exhale, you quickly ran a hand over your forehead and tried to collect yourself. He should not be able to affect you so easily.

“I admittedly don’t have much time,” the Devil called over his shoulder to you. “So I probably shouldn’t stay long.”

“That’s–” you began, shaking your head lightly as you tried to remember how to form a sentence, “–that’s okay. How quickly do you think you can eat a burrito?”

Pushing yourself off the counter you’d apparently fallen back against, you headed over to the bag of takeout where you’d left it. From your living room, you heard the Devil laugh.

“My old college roommate has asked me that far too many times before,” he told you.

“Oh?” you asked, digging through the bag for the second burrito. “So the Devil went to college?”

You glanced up at him as you pulled the neatly wrapped package from out of the brown paper bag. The amused smile was gone from his face, replaced with that serious expression once more. You frowned in response. You'd clearly done something wrong.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that about me,” he mused quietly.

“It’s alright,” you assured him, making your way back over to him. “The number of people who’ve gone to college and had a roommate is vast. I’m not going to guess your true identity based on that alone. It’s not like you told me where you went to school or what you studied.”

You came to a stop in front of him before slowly holding the wrapped burrito out towards him. He stood there in silence, a muscle jumping in his cheek as if he was grinding his teeth. You almost felt bad for calling out his minor slip up. You hoped it wouldn’t suddenly keep him away, because admittedly you’d found yourself enjoying this second unexpected visit of his, too. You kind of hoped there might be a third one.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

Hesitantly his black gloved hand rose up, cautiously accepting the food from your outstretched one. Despite you joking earlier, he actually did remind you a bit of a stray. Especially with how guarded he became if you touched on the wrong topic, like he was ready to bolt right back out of your window if you did or said the wrong thing.

“Why don’t we sit?” you suggested.

Making your way back over to the couch, you heard his heavy footsteps following after you. You returned to the spot on the couch where you’d been initially while the Devil sat further away from you, all the way on the opposite end of it. Trying to hide your disappointment at the obvious space he’d put between the pair of you–one that hadn’t been there last time–you picked your plate back up from off of the coffee table, setting it onto your lap.

“So why exactly don’t you have long to eat?” you asked him cautiously.

Truthfully you were afraid the answer was because of you. Because he didn’t want to risk giving too much of himself away. Or that maybe now that he had returned your scarf, he had no more reason to be here anymore.

“Because something might be about to happen in the city,” he answered, unwrapping the burrito and drawing it up to his mouth. “And I might be needed.”

You sat there dumbfounded at his response, your hand hovering over the burrito on your plate. Yet again it was another odd thing for him to say. How could he possibly know that while he was sitting here in your apartment talking to you?

“Okay,” you said slowly, watching him tear off a large bite of his food and chew it quickly. “Do the criminals around here have a schedule you got a hold of somehow?” you asked, half-joking. “At quarter to nine this evening they’ve penciled in some nefarious activities or something?”

The Devil huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he swallowed down another bite of food. “No, nothing like that,” he answered with a mysterious grin.

He tore another bite from the burrito in his hands, your brows both raising onto your forehead at how quickly he was making his way through it. How often had he downed burritos in college in a rush? You found yourself curious, wanting to know more about him–who he was outside of the Devil–but you knew better than to ask. Surely a single question that was a little too personal would have him running off like a scared cat.

“Well that’s…an oddly cryptic comment then,” you told him, picking your own burrito up and drawing it towards your mouth. “But I’ll just chalk it up to keeping your identity secret, I guess.”

“Much appreciated,” he replied around a mouthful of food.

Trying to stifle the giggle threatening to slip out of you at how adorably comical he looked stuffing his face with that mask on, you took a bite of your own food and began to chew. A comfortable silence settled between the pair of you for a minute as you both ate, your mind trying to work up a safe topic of discussion. Though before you had a chance to think of one, you noticed him abruptly stiffen on the other end of your couch. Your eyes narrowed curiously at him, watching as his head darted back towards your living room window, shifting around a few times like he'd heard something.

“What?” you asked him cautiously.

Your head darted over your shoulder, looking out the same window he was. Though you couldn’t see anything.

“I have to go,” he said.

You glanced back at him and saw that he’d abruptly risen from your sofa. Brows knitting together, you quickly placed your burrito back onto your plate. The Devil started to swiftly make his way back to your window without another word.

“Wait, what’s going on?” you asked after him.

Hurriedly, you set your plate on the coffee table before scrambling up to your feet and following after him. He spun around towards you once he’d reached your window, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downwards.

“Someone’s in danger, I can’t explain how I know,” he said in a rush. “But I have to go. Thank you for unknowingly letting me borrow your scarf and for feeding me.” He held up the almost finished burrito in his hand, a smile briefly ghosting over his lips before it disappeared. “A second time.”

“Of–of course,” you stammered out, watching in puzzlement as he turned back around and quickly opened the window. “Are you going to be okay?”

With a grace you could never muster, he climbed back through your window, stepping out onto your fire escape. One last cheeky smirk was on his lips as he turned around and eyed you through the opening.

“Are you worried about me, Miss…?” he asked.

You bit your lip, trying to fight back the smile threatening to break out across your face. “Nice try yet again,” you told him off-handedly. “And what if I was?” you shot back. “What if someone in Hell’s Kitchen was actually out there worrying about you? What then?”

“Well,” he answered, that cheeky smirk still on his lips, “then I’d tell them not to worry about me. Because I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.”

Lips parting in surprise at his response, you watched as he briskly turned around. And then, with a cat-like grace, he flung himself over the edge of your fire escape, burrito and all.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock #daredevil

392 notes · View notes

lovingmattysposts · 5 months

Note

hii could u do a smut femxmatt fic where they meet at a party and they’re both drunk and matt’s like flirty and touchy and they end up fucking!! tyyy!!!

Angel

"are you really an angel?"

"Not even close"

pairing: y/n and matt sturniolo

summary: Matt sees you from across the room at a halloween party and immediatly took interest, because you didn't look like everyone there. You looked special, natural, kind and it drove him crazy.

warning: smuutttttt, insecurities, cursing, drinking. A little cringe?

not proof read

I kind of took my own spin on this request so sorry if I didn't do it exactly how you imagined, but i though i could make it more investing than just a random party-sex thing😅

xoxo, Autumn

I hated going out with Taylor. Every time I stood next to her, I looked like a joke. Especically tonight. Standing in mirror I felt confident, looking at my angel outfit. I chose a bra top that had sequeince in it to make it more like a top.

It was out of my comfort zone at first but when I put it on I knew I made the right decision. I felt almost confident. Which is almost never the case, especailly on halloween in LA.

Taylor convinced me to go out, I normally refuse but it was halloween so i couldn't. I smiled to myself in the mirror as I smoothed out my skirt. Taylor busted through my door, catching my attention. I looked over and she had her phone in her hand before she looked up at me.

I wanted to crawl in a hole after seeing her outfit. A perfectly fitted red bodysuit that complemented her body and curves. Her hair was tied up and her lashes were long, with small devil ears on her head.

"Oh my god, you look so cute!" She jumped clapping down at me. I looked down and back in the mirror as she walked over to me and looked at us in the mirror. I glanced from me to her, swallowing the lump in my throat as she smiled.

It was like a little sister going out with her hot, popular, cool older sister. It wasn't even a competetion at this point.

"You look-" I shook my head looking at her. "I know! I got a size too small and it's acatully suffocating my legs" She complained showing off her legs in the mirror. I closed my eyes and turned not even wanting to compare myself next to her.

She filled out her costume like a damn supermodel and you looked like you were playing dress up. It was embarrassing. I rubbed my face and sighed.

"You almost ready?" She asked turning to me. I nodded. "Yeah, i'm ready" I smiled. She raised her eyebrows. "Can you at least but one some lipstick?" She asked scanning my face. I just blinked at her.

"Uh, yeah" I mumbled, walking over to my makeup table and picking up a gloss. I held it up, forcing a smile and smering it on my lips, swallowing. She sighed rolling her eyes before walking towards the door.

"The uber's here come on" She said walking out. I sighed walking over and slipping my shoes on, before walking out and meeting her in the living room.

I needed to get out of my head. I was just as pretty as her. I can do this. We're the devil and angel, obviously the devil is going to be a tad sexier than an angel. Or at least the way she did it.

She grabbed her purse before looking down at my shoes and crossing her arms meeting my eyes. I looked down at my tennis shoes before looking back up at her.

"What?" I asked. "Where are the heels I laied out for you?" She asked shaking her head. I scanned down her body seeing heels that made her legs look long and slender. I bit my lip, turning towards the door.

"I don't want my feet to hurt" I explained. What i meant is I hated wearing heels. They hurt my fucking feet and I can't pull them off nearly as good as you and it makes me look stupid.

She shook her head, turning around. "I tried" She mumbled to herself as I followed after her.

We've been at this party 30 minutes and every guy we've come in contact with has greeted Taylor with a "Oh my gosh, Taylor!" or an "Damn Taylor, looking good." and a "Oh who are you again?" when glancing at me.

I looked down at my shoes, seeing my shoes being ruined by the dirk and sulk about an inch thick layering the ground. I sighed putting the drink back up to my mouth, pleading with the alcohol to make me feel more at place here. It was slightly, working but not enough.

I looked over at Taylor who were talking to about three guys, giggling and pushing them playfully. I somehow merged out of the circle standing slightly by myself.

God I hated this.

I looked up, looking for an escape. I glanced around the room slowly before I caught a pair of eyes looking at me. I stopped and my face burned red when I realized he was looking at me and..smiling? I bit back a smile and looked at my feet.

God, he was cute.

I cursed myself. You can't even look at a guy? Come on y/n. Man the fuck up. I looked back up at him and he was still looking at me with a curious expression. He lifting his hand motioning for me to walk over to him.

My eyebrows furrowed and I turned around seeing if he was talking to anyone else. There was no one looking in his direction from where i was standing. I turned meeting his eyes again, he slightly chuckling and shaking his head.

Fuck, he was talking to me.

I swallowed and looked at Taylor for guidenece, but she was caught up in the blonde boy with the chain and what he was saying. "Taylor" I breathed. She shook her head laughing. I poked her slightly, making her looking over at me.

"What?" She asked shaking her head. I looked back over at the boy, who was taking a sip from his drink, but his gaze was still on me. I looked back over at her.

"Um, I'll be right back-I'm gonna go talk to this guy" I smiled at her. she shook her hand. "Okay, whatever just go. I'll find you later" She said obviously annoyed that I interupted her conversation. I swallowed stepping back and then walking over to where the boy was standing.

matt pov

I blinked at Chris as he tried to explain to me for the third time that drinking on halloween and getting blacked out didn't count because we were wearing costumes, so we technically weren't ourselves.

"Right" I breathed shaking my head at my brother bringing the drink back up to my lips. I kind of hated parties. Everyone here was the same. Wearing the same slutty, boring, unoriginal costumes. It was started to hurt my eyes.

"Did you text Nick?" Chris asked looking at me. I nodded. "He said he was coming to get us around 2" I explained. Nick didn't want to go to the party, he hated them more than me. So he agreed to pick us up from the party instead since Chris was dying to go out.

Don't get me wrong I loved to go out, but it's not like i'm going to find my wife plastered drunk at a party while she's wearing underwear as a costume. Chris agreed, but he didn't care he would usually find someone to hook up for the night and move on feeding his short-lived wants and never looking for anything long term.

Sometimes I question if we were actually related, then I remember we have the same face.

"Do you think people will know we are vampires?" Chris smiled up at me. I smiled shaking my head. "For safe measures maybe you should keep in the plastic fake teeth, that's making you drool all over yourself" I chuckled. He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the teeth out of his mouth, that was making it hard for anyone to understand what the hell he was saying.

He glared up at me. I shook my head, before scanning the room slightly. Unimpressed from what I saw, before my eyes landed on her. I furrowed my eyebrows. She looked uncomforable. She was standing, her arms crossed over her body as she looked down at her shoes. Tennis shoes. I looked her up and down.

She was wearing white tights, a white mini skirt, and a sparkly top and tennis shoes. I chuckled to myself. She was standing slightly outside of a circle of guys and a blonde girl, who seemed to be chatting up the men around her, while the other girl stood there looking around. Like she was out of place.

I lifted my drink up to my mouth as her eyes landed on me. I smiled slightly. Her eyes went wide and her eyes retreated to her shoes. I smiled. Who was this girl? She glanced back up at me a few seconds later.

I motioned for her to come over here, clearly she was not excited about the position she was currently in. Her face scrunched as she turned around, glancing around her. She didn't think I was talking to her, making me shake my head and chuckle are cluelessness.

I saw her turn and tap her friend, who ignored her. I just watched her as she attempted to get her attention. She looked less than intrested in what she was saying. She looked back at me before saying something to the blonde and then biting her lip before starting to walk my way.

Y/n pov

Relax y/n. It's just a guy. A really fucking cute one. I took a deep breath before walking up to him, forcing a smile on my face. Anything to get out of that situation.

"Hey" He smiled down at him, a drink in his hand. I smiled. "Hi" I breathed. He smiled down at me. "I'm Matt" he said holding out his hand. I looked down, before shaking his hand. "Y/n" I said smiling.

"I'm Chris" The other boy said sticking out his hand. I smiled and shook it, looking over at him and then pausing. I looked back and forth between them. Why did they look the exact same just with different hair cuts?

"Are you guys twins?" I asked. They looked at each other and then shook their heads smiling. "Triplets" Matt said looking down at me. I furrowed my eyebrows glancing around.

"Nick's not here" Chris shook his head. Matt looked down at me and I nodded. "Why did you look so miserable over there?" Matt asked motioning to where I was just standing. I felt my face go red.

"Was it that obvious?" I chuckled before turning back to him. He chuckled and looked down. He nodded. I sighed leaning back and finishing what was left in my cup.

"What are you suppose to be?" I asked motioning to his costume. Chris sighed. "I told you, you should have kept the teeth in!" He said throwing his head back. I giggled. Matt rolled his eyes and looked back at me.

"I'm a vampire" He explained. I looked him up and down and raised my eyebrows. "It was last minute okay?" He said shaking his head, his cheek slightly burning.

"And you are?" He asked. I rolled my eyes and motioned to myself. "An angel?" He questioned. I nodded smiling. He smiled before licking his lips.

"Can I get you a drink?" He offered looking down at my empty cup. I looked up at him. "Please" I breathed. He smiled picking up the drink and walking over to the drinks placed on the counter. I nodded to Chris before following Matt.

Matt started to mix some things in my cups and I just watched him. "Cranberry Juice and Tequila?" I asked looking at he poured 1800 in my cup. He glanced over at me smiling.

"Trust me okay?" He said as he placed the bottle back down. I shook my head and took the cup before taking a sip. I winced as it went down, but the flavor was good.

"Is it not good?" He asked looking at my reaction. I shook my head. "No, it's great. I just don't drink that often" I explained, already feeling the previous drink move in my system. He nodded.

"Would you believe me if i said I don't either" He said setting his drink down. Not to be judgmental, but i looked him up and down and raised my eyebrows, causing him to laugh.

"Probably not" I said honestly smiling at him. He nodded. "That's fair" He smiled looking down at me. I shook my head and looked down, and looked up seeing him just looking down at me as he leaned against the counter.

"What?" I whispered as he stared at me like I was the only person in the world. He licked his lips as his eyes scanned my face. "You're pretty" He whispered, making goosebumps appear on my arms.

"Oh my god" I chuckled shaking my head, looking away. "What?" He asked smiling. I looked back over at him pursing my lips and I shrugged. "I just don't get that a lot" I answered honestly.

I didn't. It's not like I thought I was an ugly girl, i'm not a fucking pick me. I just wasn't a outstandingly gorgeous girl compared to the girls simply walking by us, and defenetely not to the standard of Taylor.

He rolled his eyes at my response. "Now I'm the one who doesn't believe you" He said picking his drink back up. I bit my lip and looked down.

"Everyone kind of just likes my roommate, Taylor. And I'm kind of the girl who's just with her" I sighed honestly. He furrowed his eyebrows. "The blonde" He asked motioning towards Taylor. I nodded looking at him. He squinted and tilted his head looking at him.

"Eh" He breathed. I rolled my eyes and pushed him, causing him to laugh. "I'm serious" He smiled leaning back up. "She seems without" He shrugged. I smiled and looked at him.

"And I'm not a liar. I know a pretty girl when I see one" He said leaning up towards me. I blushed and looked down. I felt him place his hand on my hip, rubbing his thumb back and forth. He looked down.

"You have a tattoo" He said, mentioning the guitar on my hipbone that was shown since I was wearing a low waisted mini skirt. I looked down and nodded.

"Yeah" I said confirming his statement. He looked up at me. "Any meaning?" He asked close, very close to me. I closed my eyes smiling and nodding.

"It's the Gibson Mastro Vibrola, it's the first guitar I ever had" I explained. He smiled as I spoke. "You play?" He asked glancing down to my lips every other second. "Mhm huh" I hummed looking at his blue eyes.

I let out a shaky breath, has he moved his thumb slowly against my hips.

"It is embarrassing to admit this is the most i've been touched by a boy in the past six months?" I breathed, the alcohol speaking for me at this point. He smiled and then shook his head.

"Why haven't you let a boy touch you?" He whispered quietly, his eyes boring into mine. I swallowed letting out a shaky breath. "They haven't wanted to" I whispered back.

He slipped his finger ever so slightly under the waistband of my skirt, rubbing my skin back and forth on my side.

"I don't think that's true" He whispered back, his eyes not leaving mine. His gaze so strong It could have knocked me over.

"Are you drunk?" I whispered. He smiled. "It's possible" He stated, gripping my hip and pulling me against him slightly. I breathed in.

"Are you?" He asked. I looked down at my cup before lifting my cup and finishing my second drink and setting it down, and nodded making him chuckle.

He moved his finger lower as he looked at me. I bit down on my lip, trying to think while he looked at me so intensely.

"Y/n! Who's this?"

Matt and I moved away from each other at the announcement of my name. I turned and saw Taylor standing staring Matt down like he was a piece of meat and she was starving. I looked between them and sighed stepping back.

"Taylor" She smiled sticking out her hand. Matt glanced at me before shaking her hand loosley. "Matt" He breathed. I bit my lip and looked away, feeling every drop of confidence exit my body. Great.

"What are you suppose to be" He asked raising his eyebrow. I looked up at her as she spun around showing off her outfit and looked back at him. I swallowed the lump in my throat. He crunched his face and shrugged. She sighed and looked over at me before pulling me against her.

"See, were a devil and an angel" She said motioning between us. I looked down. I hated standing next to her. Absoutely hated. it. Matt blinked between us.

"Cause, you see i'm like all dangerous and stuff and she's like-" Taylor glanced at me. "Not" She breathed, tilting her head. I felt my face burn red. Wow this was humilating. I looked at Matt who just stared at Taylor, confused on why this whole interaction was going down.

I let out a breath looking at Taylor. "Yeah well, i'm glad you got that point across Tay" I said walking past her and hitting her shoulder on the way as I felt tears brim at my eyes as I walked through people and towards the bathroom.

I reached up wiping my eyes as I pulled the door open and let out a breath.

One guy. I just wanted one guy. I groaned putting my hands against my face, leaning over the counter. Don't get upset y/n. That was even more embarrassing. I sat up looking at myself in the mirror.

Get yourself together geez. I took a deep breath before starting to pace back and forth in the bathroom.

You are going to walk back out there and pretend you are not upset. Stop acting like a baby. I groaned leaning my head back. I heard a knock on the door.

"Hold on a sec!" I yelled over the sound of the party outside, lifting my head back up. The knock came again stronger. I groaned before opening the door, but paused in my tracks when I saw Matt standing on the other side of the door.

I froze in my tracks, my eyes wide.

"Your roommate is a fucking bitch" He breathed before stepping forward and grabbing my face and smashing his lips against mine and pushing me back.

It took me a second before I figured out what was happening and I closed my eyes and melted into the kiss, kissing him back just as hungirly. I heard him kick the door closed behind him as his hands came around my waist, pulling me against him making me whine.

He smiled against my lips and he picked me up, as if I were weightless and set me onto the counter and moving himself in between my legs.

I felt him bite my lip causing me to gasp as he slipped his tounge into my mouth. He pressed into me pushing his hardening length into my almost bare self. I moaned against his lips as I wrapped my legs around his torso pulling him harder against me.

He leaned down before kissing me neck, biting and sucking making me throw my head back and let out uneasy breaths come out of my mouth at a fast pace.

"Matt, fuck" I moaned. He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes dark and glossed over and his lips swollen. I blinked at him in awe.

"tell me, are you really an angel?" He asked breathless looking at me, breathing heavily. I licked my lips as I looked at him. "Not even close" I shook my head before grabbing his hand and pushing it between us, showing him the lack of underwear under my skirt.

His eyes glistened over as he smirked feeling over me himself. I sighed, leaning my head against his shoulder as he dipped a finger into me slowly fucking me with his finger.

I grabbed his arm and shuttered. "You weren't lying you haven't been touched in a while" He breathed next to my ear. I looked up at him through my eyelashes. "Matt" I breathed. He looked at me, moving his fingers in and out of me.

"Please fuck me" I sighed. He smiled before pulling his fingers out of me and leaned forward and kissing him roughly again.

I reached down between us, fumbling for his belt and pulling it out within a swift movement. He looked down as started to unbutton his pants and looked back up at me smiling leaning down and kissing my cheek and then my jawline.

"Fuck, you're so pretty" He whispered, making me giggle. He reached down after I unbuttoned his jeans before pulling his pants completely down and his underwear with it. I disconnected our lips and looked down between us, seeing his dick sprung free.

"Holy shit" I whispered. He lifted my head with his finger. "You can take it, angel" He said before connecting our lips again slipping his tonuge back into my mouth. I moaned at the sensation. I felt him reached down beneath us before lining himself up to my enterence.

He pushed slowly inside of me, letting me adjust to his size. I let out a moan disconnecting our lips as he sank into me. "Fuck" I mumbled, biting my lip. "Stop, biting your lip. It's driving me crazy" He groaned as he pushed all the way inside me and started to pull out again.

Slowly he started to move in and out of me. Fuck, I hadn't had sex in a while. This felt so fucking good. "Matt" I sighed. "Hm?" He asked pressing his forehead against mine. "Move faster" I said softly looking at him, making him smile as he picked up the pace.

He moaned closing his eyes as I reached up pulling on the strands of his short brown hair. I reached over grabbing his arm that was around my waist and pushed it under my leg, making him hit from a different angle, making me cry out.

Matt looked down at me as he held my leg. "Holy shit, you're gonna make me fall in love" He said as he sqweezed my leg. I smiled and chuckled as he moved faster.

"I can barely hold out angel, how far are you" He leaned down and pressed his lips against my ear. "T-Talk to me" I said making him edge it on. Not even a split second later he spoke again.

"Let go for me angel. I want you to come all over me. Mark me with you. I want everyone to know i'm yours" He whispered slowly kissing my neck. That was all I need before I broke all over him, laying my head on his shoulder.

He moaned edging on his own finish. "Matty, let go for your angel" I whispered in his ear. Immeditaly he hung his head and bit my shoulder as he came inside of me. I smiled as he collapsed against me.

He let go of my leg and placing his hands on either side of me before sliding out. I looked up at him and he smiled at me. Suddenly there was a pounding at the door.

We both turned our head and Matt reached below us before fumbling his clothes back on. I reached down, pulling down my skirt and hoping off the counter and clearing my throat and brushing through my hair with my fingers.

Matt stepped forward opening the door revealing his brother Chris and another one, blonde, who look like Matt. They both looked between us.

"We've been looking for you for like 20 minutes" Chris said looking at him and then me. I blushed looking down. "Sorry" Matt breathed, pushing his hair back.

"We're leaving let's go" The blonde said turning and walking away clearing angry. Chris looked between us before smiling and shaking his head, walking away too.

Matt turned back to me and grabbed my phone off the counter before typing in his number.

"Call me" he winked before running out the door, leaving me a blushing mess.

helloooo i loved this one hope u did too

#nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year

Text

lover of mine - n.hischier

nico hischier x f!reader

warnings: swearing, angst, description of injury/bruises etc, sad nico, mentions of vomiting/dizziness, medical inaccuracies

word count: 21k

You were in your room, having just got back from a late trip to the store for some last minute bagels and milk – you weren’t doing anything in particular. You were sitting on your office chair, eyes occasionally drifting to the essay waiting for your corrections on the table, but you found it hard to tear your attention away from your phone. There wasn’t anything specifically attention grabbing that you were scrolling through, mainly just browsing Instagram and replying to some messages from friends.

There was no jeopardy surrounding the evening: it was dark outside, around eight – so not too late that you felt like you had to rush to sort things out, but late enough to deplete your energy levels completely to the point where you couldn’t really bring yourself to work.

Your bedroom door was open, vague chatter from the Devils match playing in the living room – your roommate, Maisey, wrapped up in the whirlwind that seemed to accompany any fan of hockey. The last time you’d seen her she was leaning towards the TV, her elbows on her knees as she shouted words every couple of minutes.

It was a routine quickly becoming familiar to you both; usually you’d be sitting next to her, both yelling profanities at the TV in synch, but in an attempt to distance yourself from the drama in your relationship at the moment, you’d decided to take a step back somewhat. You could still watch the highlights and every now and then you’d sit in and watch with her, but there was only so much of watching the matches anymore that you could take without being reminded of your recent heartbreaks and tribulations – all because of a certain captain.

Needless to say, when her shouting stopped and an eerie quiet descended from the living room, the commentating getting louder as though Maisey was trying to listen even more carefully to what was being said, it didn’t escape your interest, and your curiosity peaked. You paused, your thumb faltering as you threw a cautious glance at your door, still no sign of any rustling or movement that indicated she’d only turned it up to take the bins out or have a quick toilet break. In fact, apart from the occasional flickering from the light of the TV, the only thing you could see was the ajar bathroom door from across the hallway.

You furrowed your brows, ears straining to pick up the quickfire chatter as something ugly and dreadful settled itself in your mind and chest. You tried to dissect the sensation, but the tightness of your chest and the cold chill of your bones could only pull you in the direction of foreboding.

“Maise?” You called out, slowly hauling yourself off your chair, phone switching off as you turned into the hallway.

When you looked down the corridor to the sofa just in sight, you could see Maisey’s worried gaze peek over the back, and you gravitated towards her, “Yeah?” She asked, blindly fumbling for something as you got closer.

It was only when you rounded the corner to cast a glance at the TV, heart thudding against your sternum in anticipation of seeing something you didn’t want to, that the commentary cut off, the screen turning an abrupt black. You could see your reflection looking back at you, the momentary flicker of people in black tracksuits crowding around a horizontal figure crumpled against the boards.

You looked to Maisey on the blank screen, who was looking at you with an essence of anxiety, awkwardly spinning the remote in her hand, her eyes burning holes in the back of your head as though she expected you to react.

To what?

“What’s wrong?” You spun around, moving to take a seat next to her, completely unaware of what had been playing out before your entrance.

You knew there was a Devils game tonight, she’d been watching it when you came back from your little trip and unloaded the fresh produce into varying cupboards, and you’d even cast curious glances at it when you were looking in the general direction of the TV, but you’d immediately hidden yourself back in your room with the honest intent of finishing some work before bed.

She shrugged, acting nonchalant as her shoulders drooped, “Nothing.” She mumbled, “I thought you were working?”

You nodded slowly, feeling some tension begin to wear off at her lack of urgency, “I tried to, but I can’t concentrate. It’s too late to think.” She nodded, twisting her mouth awkwardly, “Why’d you turn it off?”

She shrugged again, pulling the remote away from you before you could even move to turn the TV back on, “Just…Nico was playing.” You fought a wince, a wave of sadness clenching in your chest, “I didn’t want to upset you.”

You were grateful for her consideration, but her subdued, almost too-casual demeanour was off-putting and quite frankly irritating. You could tell she was hiding something from you, that much was obvious from the way she hid the remote out of your sight and made no move to turn the TV back on even despite your reassurances. You’d seen some of Nico’s games recently, she knew that – and she also knew that you had nothing against her watching them in the front room.

And it wasn’t like you and Nico were over – even if it had felt like it recently, although that was the definition of being on a ‘break’, wasn’t it? You’d agreed (after much deliberation and many tears on both your behalfs) that a rather reluctant break was needed; little to no communication…it was rough. It was also the first time in two years that you hadn’t gone two weeks without speaking to Nico, or even seeing his face on FaceTime, and you were kind of dying. Or, at least it felt like it.

It was difficult trying to sleep lately, hence why you’d been trying to get into bed earlier – mind seemingly intent on torturing you with images of Nico and replaying conversations and moments.

You’d lost count of the number of times you’d had to remind yourself that this break – although temporary – was essential for your relationship, and it was no secret neither of you wanted to break up. That had been made abundantly clear the last time you had spoken when you were both speechless in his front room before you’d reluctantly left him there.

And Maisey knew this, she respected this, which was why you found it so hard to believe she was telling the truth.

“You know I don’t mind watching the games.” You said, tilting your head in interest when she squirmed under your gaze, “Are you okay?”

Your heart was hammering in your chest when she turned to look at you, brows knitted together and eyes wide, chewing on her bottom lip, “I–” She hesitated, “The game wasn’t very interesting.”

You nodded, attempting a smile even despite the thick atmosphere. You had been friends with Maisey since high school, so you knew when she wasn’t telling you something, but you brushed it off, respecting whatever reasoning behind it – you trusted her, so if she was avoiding telling you something, you knew it was within reason.

“Do you want some tea or a drink?” You asked, switching the topic of conversation to avoid maintaining the awkward tension.

When you looked at Maisey she was eyeing your phone. And almost as though she’s willed it into existence, the screen lit up.

Her eyes snapped to you, where you’d frozen half-lifting yourself off the sofa, and there was an immeasurable panic in her face. It had something dropping in your stomach, dread pooling throughout your body, and you swallowed anxiously, your mouth drying.

“You should answer it.” She said, thrusting it towards you.

You blinked, taking it numbly and without allowing yourself to dwell yourself into a pit of your own panic, clicked the answer button.

You sat back on the sofa, vaguely aware of Maisey switching the TV back on, muting it instantly, but you were too focused on trying to hear what someone was saying on the other side of the line to even glance at the TV.

“Hello?” You asked, voice somewhat shaky.

“Hi, is this Y/N L/N?” The voice on the other side was stern, and at the mention of your name you paled. Usually if someone began a call like that it was to schedule an appointment of sorts, but judging from Maisey’s sombre reaction and prediction, you knew it was something worse.

“Yes.” You replied, tucking your hands into the arms of your hoodie to stop them from trembling.

“My name is Oliver Crosby, I’m one of the physios from the Devils Hockey Team.” You closed your eyes momentarily, before opening them to the TV, your eyes frantically scanning the ice for any sign of Nico’s familiar #13 C jersey. The sluggish movements of the players immediately had you guessing something had happened, because the Devils players seemed to be hanging around near the bench, and even the Capitals were skating absentmindedly. You shared a look with Maisey – she was sympathetic, biting her lip, “I’m calling on behalf of Nico Hischier, you’re listed here as his emergency contact–”

“Has something happened?” You interjected, horrified at the mere prospect.

It seemed Oliver had expected a reaction of sorts, because he responded without hesitation, “He’s alright, not in any immediate danger. He made contact with another player and we’re waiting for an ambulance. He’s in a lot of pain and we’ve assessed him as thoroughly as we can; we think he’s got a concussion, a separated shoulder, and a broken collarbone.”

You let out a breath, “Right.”

“See, he keeps asking for you is all, won’t really let us do anything until he sees you. We would ask you to come to the Center, but with the amount of pain he’s in, and the severity of the concussion, we think it’s better if you could meet us at the hospital, is that alright with you?”

It took you a beat to answer, the information overwhelming, but Maisey was already holding out her car keys towards you, a reassuring smile on her face.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Was all you could manage, briefly fighting the urge not to hurl.

“Okay, thank you, we’ll tell him you’ll meet us there. If we get there before you – oh, the ambulance is pulling up now – I’ll wait by the entrance.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fine. I should be about fifteen minutes.” You were trembling, not allowing yourself to look back at the screen, instead focusing on your lap. You honestly didn’t know how you hadn’t at least stuttered through the entire conversation, let alone not started crying.

His reiterations of Nico’s pain only escalated your concerns, and you already knew you wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

“Great, that’s amazing…” Oliver paused, and over the commotion in the background, you could vaguely hear him talking to someone else in the background, before his voice became clearer – at the same time, Maisey had climbed off the sofa, and was rooting around to pick up your coat and a pair of suitable shoes, “I know this is all pretty scary, but he’s gonna be just fine.”

You nodded, shivering, “I just–He’s kind of…This is the first time anyone’s rung me as his emergency contact–”

“–We tend to enact that protocol when injuries require immediate medical attention, i.e. the hospital – even more so when it involves a head injury.” Oliver’s tone was grave, but understanding, and his ability to read you even through the phone had you guessing you weren’t the first…whatever, that had said that to him.

His honesty was refreshing, but it did little to ease your churning stomach.

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath, a hand going to rest on your stomach, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“See you then. Please drive safely.”

“Always will. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

And then you were pocketing your phone, and shrugging your coat on from where Maisey had held it up ready for you, struggling with the zip as you fought to calm your nerves. You wouldn’t be able to drive if your hands were shaking, let alone your brain firing off warning signals.

Maisey placed her hands on your shoulders, steadying you, “Do you want me to come with you?”

You shook your head, “I think I’ll be okay. You don’t need the car tomorrow do you?”

“No.” She offered you a small smile, squeezing your shoulders in a reassuring manner, “Text me when you get there, and feel free to ring me at any point. If you want me to, I can start getting a bag ready–”

“No, that’s fine, most of my stuff is still at his anyway, and I don’t know what’s gonna happen after the hospital, so don’t bother.” You inhaled through your nose, thanking the universe for sending you an angel like Maisey and planting her on your timeline of life, “Thank you, though.”

She brought you closer, wrapping her arms around you in a much-needed hug, which you reciprocated, not really wanting to pull away.

“I love you.” You said, not really knowing how else to convey your utmost appreciation.

“Love you too,” she pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “Let me know how he is.”

You nodded, pulling away completely before snatching your bag from the table by the door before walking out and into the car park – your mind so completely stuck on Nico’s condition that you bypassed Maisey’s car entirely, having to double back and press the unlock button to pick it out of the sea of vehicles.

When you switched the engine on, the sudden blaring of the radio had you automatically smashing your fist against the control panel, turning it off and calming your racing heart at the shock of the sudden sound. The car remained silent the entire ride to the hospital, you not really able to stomach listening to whatever songs were playing at that particular time, which, realistically, would only irritate you – and drove with the passenger window half down, needing to distract yourself with the white noise of the road.

And when you pulled into the dark parking lot of the hospital, the first thing you did was seek out Oliver near the side entrance. He was a familiar silhouette – one you recognised as having seen around the Center on game days before, and he was standing in front of the door, his eyes jumping over empty faces until he saw you above their heads, immediately meeting you halfway and placing a comforting hand on the crook of your elbow, already talking your ear off before you could spout a greeting.

“We’ve got him scheduled for an MRI–” he opened the front door, and you lent closer, trying to hear him over the busy corridors of the ER, “it’s not for another fifteen minutes, though.” He pulled you to one side, stopping short of a curtained off room.

You gulped, not expecting it to have been so close to the entrance, and felt your eyes naturally drift to the gaps in the curtains. You could see there was a low light – possibly from a bedside table. There was a head of hair directly next to the door, one you could just make out. You let out a sigh you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and turned back to Oliver.

“He was on our gas and air and when the ambulance came they got him an IV of morphine.” Oliver started, glancing at a clipboard you hadn’t realised he’d been holding, “It looks like we were right; definitely a concussion, a pretty serious one – but it doesn’t look like they’re wanting to keep him for overnight observation; it also looks like he’s broken his collarbone, but the MRI should confirm that, and he’s definitely separated his shoulder, too.”

You paused, “How long will he be out for?”

He winced in response, and you felt something tighten, “It depends on the results of the MRI. Purely from the separated shoulder, it could be anything between two to at least ten weeks.”

You let out a breath, brows shooting up your forehead, “Shit, he’s gonna be so bored.”

Oliver nodded in agreement, “Oh yeah, you’re gonna be sick of him by the end of it,” he joked, “I can talk to you afterwards about treatment, but he hasn’t stopped asking for you.”

You nodded, your anxiety spiking as your attention flickered to the closed door on your right, “What’s he like?”

“He’s been complaining of dizziness and he’s a little bit confused – doesn’t remember what happened, but it’s expected with his grade of concussion.”

You nodded, making a mental note of his symptoms, before thanking Oliver and heading inside. Like you’d seen through the blinds, there was only one light on in the corner of the room, and you made sure to shut the door softly, not knowing if any particular sounds would trigger something or irritate his head further.

Honestly, you were a little weary of his confusion, and it had occurred to you that the reason he’d been asking for you consistently and diligently was because he didn’t remember what exactly had happened between you both, but at the end of the day, you didn’t really care if that was true or not, because the first thing you did was look at him; his entire left side strapped and braced up, his right arm home to an IV. His eyes were shut, a deep frown on his face as he winced occasionally, a cardboard dish resting on his heaving chest.

He wasn’t wearing his game pads, but his leggings were still on, and there was a hospital gown draped across his body, tied at the back, you suspected – easy access for the doctors to look and assess his shoulder.

You didn’t really want to look at it, mainly because you’d never been the best at looking at injuries deeper than a surface scratch, but also because you were fixed entirely on his face. His brows were pulled together, his mouth twisted to keep a groan at bay. He’d scrunched his eyes up, and you could see his uneven breaths from under the gown. His hair was wet with sweat, and he still had that post-game glow, his cheeks red with exertion.

As you shut the door behind you gently, your attention switched to the person sitting on your right, who – upon noticing your arrival – stood up, flashing you a comforting smile as he walked out straight after you. You cautiously placed your bag on his empty chair, taking a seat on Nico’s uninjured side.

He made no reaction as the doors opened and closed, and although you desperately wanted to soothe that ache and touch him, you didn’t want to startle him and make him tense his shoulder at a sudden touch, or overstep your boundaries.

“Nico?” You whispered as softly as you could, fearing something in the room would break if you raised your volume even a little more. You shrugged your coat off onto the back of your chair and lent as far forwards as you could without making contact with his outstretched arm.

At your whisper, something flickered across his face, and he slowly peeled one red eye open. Your fears seemed almost irrational when he attempted a shaky smile, before immediately snapping his eyelids shut and pushing himself further into the mattress.

His palm opened, and you took it as a signal to touch him, one of your hands holding his as tightly as you were comfortable with, and your other going to rest at his wrist, not daring to touch anywhere higher on his arm out of fear you’d knock his IV.

“How’re you feeling?” You cringed at the question, having already been debriefed on his symptoms, but he showed no protest, squeezing your hand.

“Fucking hurts, ‘nd missed you.” He struggled, almost fighting for breath.

Your heart seemed to shatter in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you were reaching up for him, eyes stinging, as you ever-so-carefully threaded your fingers through his sweat-ridden hair, peeling it off his forehead. His brows softened slightly at your delicate touch, and before he attempted to move into your palm, you spoke up.

“Don’t move or open your eyes, you’ll make yourself dizzy.” You whispered, leaning closer to the bed and fighting with yourself. The last thing you wanted was to cry. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help the watery laugh that escaped you when Nico grunted in protest.

“But I want to look at you.” He complained, eyes still screwed shut.

“You can look at me plenty when we get home, okay?” You negotiated.

He hummed, seemingly content with that promise, even if the ‘home’ had slipped from your lips unconsciously. He didn’t seem to notice, though.

“I missed you too.” You pressed a kiss to his free shoulder – the skin hot and salty under your lips, finding some amusement in the way you were practically stretched across him, one hand in his, your other in his hair, and your head near his.

His mouth curled up, lips twitching somewhat at the contact, and you breathed a soft, quiet laugh against his skin at the momentarily emotional relief you read on his face.

“Didn’t think you’d come.” He muttered after a while of silence, your hand still gently working his hair, not wanting to intrude too much in case his head was still sore.

But at his comment, you froze, hand stilling, and you had to look at the ceiling to suppress the tears that almost broke free, “Don’t be silly…” The chastise was half-hearted, before you resumed your previous motions, “I’m always gonna show up when it comes to you.”

“I really wish I could look at you right now.”

Even despite his condition, Nico was managing to compose himself a lot better than what you’d originally imagined. Sure, his speech was a little slow – as though he had to think hard about talking and thinking, and you could tell the small conversation was beginning to wear him out a little. He’d softened, relaxed, a product of a comforting touch and the effect of the painkillers.

Then, almost as if he’d lulled himself into a false sense of security, he seemed to pale, and before he could control himself, he was opening his eyes, and you could sense something was wrong purely because he’d tensed, and your body seemed to know what he needed before your mind had even registered it, because you’d lifted the cardboard bowl from his lap right under his chin, rubbing a soothing hand down his arm as he chucked up the contents of his stomach – not that there was much left to spew.

He groaned, clamping his eyes shut and breathing heavily as you reached for the box of tissues on the side of the table, hastily wiping his mouth. You couldn’t tell if the groan was from the dizziness or the pain from having moved his shoulder fractionally.

He groaned something in German, squeezing your hand even tighter as his face screwed up.

“I take it that’s not the first time that’s happened tonight?” You asked, carefully placing the carton on the side, not really knowing where to put it – you were sure there was a protocol for human waste in a hospital, but you'd have to ask someone when they’d come to pick him up for his MRI.

He grunted in response, slowly lowering himself back on the propped up mattress with a sharp wince, “Twice in the ambulance.”

You sighed, brows knitting together, “Oh, baby.” There was a small part of you that felt a little guilty for not going to his recent home games, let alone watching them all on TV live.

Maybe if you’d have been there, he wouldn’t have been so alone in the ambulance. You knew that Oliver and his partner were a capable set of hands, but there was nothing as daunting as travelling to the hospital by yourself, dazed and in pain, and lacking a familiar support network.

Before you could say or do anything to ease him, the door was creaking open, Oliver offering a polite smile – eyes inevitably drawn to the carton – with a string of people in uniform following behind him.

They all ensured to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb him too much – though you knew as soon as they’d wheel him out of there that that effort would be wasted, because the corridors in the ER were anything short of quiet. The lighting was harsh as well.

Oliver gently explained what they were going to do, though you both had an inkling none of it really mattered to Nico, considering he remained stoic, a firm grip still on you, and you took the liberty of digesting the information, a cautious glance thrown at his shoulder. It was strapped against his chest, his arm in a compressed sling of sorts. You imagined the contraption was fitted around his back, keeping his separated shoulder in place, and the sling at the front could only be to stabilise his suspected broken clavicle.

You nodded along to Oliver, only when it was time to wheel Nico out, he gripped you even more, a groan of disapproval passing his lips as the porters attempted to wheel him. It was safe to say they didn’t get too far.

Despite his eyes still being closed, you could sense the panic across his face. His brows were furrowed, and where there was a wince on the bottom half of his face, now it looked more like someone had drawn a smiley face and rotated it 180°, because that was the frown now decorating his mouth.

“Come with me?” He mumbled, gritting his teeth.

You shared a look with Oliver, already knowing there wouldn’t be much point, “I can’t. By the time you’re in the room for the MRI, I wouldn’t be able to touch you anyway, and Oliver says it’s going to be a quick in and out procedure until they get the information they need.” You squeezed his hand.

“Stay here?” He all but whimpered, brows dipping in question. His mouth quivered – he wasn’t about to cry, but you could tell the separation (both of your relationship and of the current moment) was having him doubt your whereabouts.

“Hischier, I’m coming home with you.” You laughed softly, placing a kiss on his forehead when the tension in his face seemed to dissipate slightly, “I’ll stay here until you get back.”

“M’kay.” He grumbled, the right side of his mouth quirking upwards.

___

It was a dire struggle trying to get a well-built, 6’1” hockey player into the passenger seat of your car when he was half-conscious, unable to use an entire shoulder, and exhausted. Oliver had wheeled him out of the hospital, promising to email you a report of exactly what to do with him as soon as he found himself in front of a computer (which you were incredibly grateful for), but he’d had to scuttle off and ring management with the updates, which left Nico blinking tiredly, a cardboard bowl on his lap and unable to move properly for you to sort out.

It had taken a long three minutes trying to wrestle him in through the door, you being incredibly careful not to bang him against the frame or hurt his shoulder in any way – your heart practically leaping to your feet every time he groaned or grunted in pain.

Nevertheless, you’d managed, arms aching after the exertion. You switched the engine on, casting a short glance back at him as your car lit up, but he’d lent his right shoulder against the side of the door, his cheek pressed against the glass.

Neither of you had said much when he came back after the MRI scan – there wasn’t much of a need to considering all your questions had been answered by Oliver, and the ones you had for Nico would be pointless considering he wasn’t entirely there enough to even process your words, so you’d stuck with holding his hand, his grip tight against your own, until he had to be coaxed to change into spare clothes that someone had thoughtfully packed when they were all waiting for the ambulance.

And in the car, as you pulled out of the car park, taking extra precautions to turn corners slowly and braking gently, trying your best not to disturb him. He was asleep, or at least trying to, his right hand cradling his left to his chest, that telltale furrow of his brows and crease on his forehead letting you know he was still in an immense amount of pain. You kept the radio turned off, and you tried to keep the heating in the middle, not wanting to freeze him or cook him – he’d had concussions before, and he always had trouble regulating his body temperature, so you’d negotiated.

When you pulled into Nico’s parking spot and killed the engine, there were a few seconds where you kept your hands on the steering wheel, leaning forwards slightly to rest your forehead on your arms.

You’d tried to keep everything bottled inside before you made it into the apartment, but the stress of the last few hours, most of it sitting and waiting for results, had taken its toll on you. You were exhausted, but the worry for the man curled up next to you overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn’t decipher the heaviness in your chest when you glanced at him, even out of the corner of your eye.

You felt your breathing hitch, eyes pricking for a second before you pulled yourself together. It was no use sitting and moping in Maisey’s car when you had to attend to Nico. You’d barely let yourself feel it properly for thirty seconds before you were taking a deep breath and leaning across the console, placing a hand on Nico’s thigh.

“Honey, you need to wake up.” You said, hand gently squeezing him.

He shifted, frowning, and before you could give him a little nudge, he blinked, “I-Can we stay in here? I don’t really want to move.” He muttered, trying to tuck himself further into the crevice he’d nestled himself in.

“No, we need to get you into bed. Lots of pillows, too, because you need to be propped up, and if you stay in here, you’ll only end up more uncomfortable.”

You waited, but it took a while for him to answer, seemingly gathering the courage to actually move.

“Okay, then.” He sighed, straightening up in his seat, eyes still glued shut.

You moved over to his car door, opening it gently. It wasn’t far to walk to get inside Nico’s apartment: he was on one of the top floors, but the walk from the car park to the lobby lift was short. You knew, however, that it would be almost double that time if he couldn’t stand up properly or walk in a straight line with his dizziness.

It was a hobble and a half – lugging Nico into the lobby and then having to shove a paper bag under his mouth if his breathing got heavier and he lent against the wall. You had to stop four times, and out of those four, he threw up once. Thankfully, you’d managed to make it past the desk and into an empty lift, so there weren’t any wandering eyes or nights ruined by the sight of someone hurling in the corridor.

It shocked you to know that his inability to remain upright and walk fluently in a straight line wasn’t because of an injury to his legs, but sheerly due to the fact that his concussion was that bad, and he was that drugged up on painkillers, that he couldn’t see straight.

It felt like an injustice that the hospital didn’t lend you a wheelchair.

He was almost catatonic when you sat him on the edge of the bed and unzipped the hoodie he’d been given. Only one arm was through the sleeve, so it was relatively easy to remove, but it didn’t stop the twinge in your chest every time he groaned or made a noise of pain.

You felt it almost inhumane to force him to clean his teeth or put on his pyjamas when he couldn’t keep his eyes open for longer than three seconds in one go, so you worked quickly in propping up his pillows like you’d seen them do in the hospital, and took his hat off his head once more, running your hands through his hair so it wouldn’t bother his nose.

You had to clench your jaw when, even in the darkness, you could see how pale he was, how he fought to keep his head up straight. It made you feel nauseous looking at his half-conscious state.

“You still with me, hm?” You whispered.

You were as soft as you could be with your touches, as quiet as your voice would allow you for it, and you hadn’t turned on any lights on entry. Trying was all you could do considering the fact you didn’t exactly have the knowledge you were comfortable with in looking after him in the state he was in.

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and he hummed halfheartedly.

“I’ve put up your pillows behind you, but you need to shuffle back a bit.” You started, halting when you heard his breathing get ragged for a moment, fearing he was about to be sick again, “You good? I’ll help you.”

He sniffed, eyes opening enough to see the room around him, and he turned, anchoring his shoulder to his chest as he looked back at the shadow of his pillows. You let him manoeuvre himself, not wanting to intrude further, but ghosted a hand on the back of his t-shirt just for precautions, until he slowly lowered himself onto the pile, huffing a contented sigh.

You saw his entire body relax, and you reached towards the foot of the bed and draped the duvet over him. He didn’t react, so you left the room to fill up a glass of water and took out some of the medication Oliver had given you in a plastic bag before placing them on his bedside table. You were about to leave the room again to take off your own coat shoes when you heard him grumble something under his breath.

You paused initially, not sure if he was complaining about something or just huffing and puffing, but upon hearing your silence and stillness, he cracked one eye open.

“Stay here?” He whispered clearer, his good shoulder twitching in the direction of the space on the bed you usually occupied.

You swallowed nervously. You wanted to. You wanted to crawl under the covers with him and just watch him like a hawk the entire night for your own peace of mind, but you were also aware of the looming black hole in your relationship.

You guys were on a no-contact break, and something felt wrong about climbing into his bed before having a conversation about the entire thing.

But then again, he’d been advised not to think too hard – literally. And by doing what he says, you guessed it’d spare his thinking…for arguments sake.

Truthfully, you also wanted to make sure he was okay, and if you were across the hall, he wouldn’t be able to shout for you as easily as he would if he just reached out across the mattress.

He must have sensed your hesitation, even through the darkness and with his eyes closed, because he reached his hand out, just catching yours, “Please.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand in a way of reply, and you could tell from the slight smirk that momentarily flashed over his face – almost like he’d forgotten his pain for the briefest moment (and that alone made you cave and crumble completely) – he’d known he’d win you over with that simple action.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You gently untangled your hands, lifting your bag over your shoulder and making your way around to your usual side of the bed, “Will you be okay if I go for a quick shower?”

Your side hadn’t been touched. Some books you’d left behind but knew you wouldn’t miss were still stacked on top of each other; your digital clock was still there, as was the empty dish for your jewellery. Though, contradicting your previous observation of untouched, organised madness, you could tell he’d dusted around it. Two weeks meant dust was inevitable, yet there wasn’t a single speck of residue on your fingertips when you swiped your finger across the top.

Your bag found its usual home on the chair next to the radiator, and you turned back to him. He was watching you. His eyes were open wider, and you could see them glisten in the dark.

“I’ll be fine.” He whispered.

You attempted a smile, taking your coat off and placing it next to your bag.

You could still feel his eyes on you as you made your way to the chest of drawers at the foot of your bed, taking out a pair of your pyjamas, which – in your rush from leaving before – consisted of an old pair of Nico’s boxers and a Darth Vader long-sleeved t-shirt.

The thought of shooting him one last look before you left the room hurt too much to dwell on, so you left the room without saying another word, not turning on any lights until you reached the bathroom on the other side of the house. You knew he’d have questions as to why you didn’t just use the en-suite, but…you needed the privacy – somewhere to just let a few tears slip down under the water, because as much as you tried to deny it, it hurt even being in the same room as him.

Not only had he almost sent you to an early grave because of sheer worry and panic, but two weeks felt like too soon, and you’d already made your decision, but you didn’t want him thinking you were taking advantage of him needing someone to look after him to just pop back into his life again, much less if he hadn’t even made a decision yet.

Being back in this house, this area, this car, this stupid bathroom, where – even if it wasn’t the one you’d primarily use – he still had your body wash and hair care bottles lined up, like he was waiting for you to come back – and that tangible taste of knowing exactly how easy it would be for you to just infiltrate back into his everyday life, for both of you to coexist around each other like it was the easiest thing apart from breathing, felt like torture.

And you knew if you got back into bed with him, you might not even be able to sleep properly. You’d be terrified that he’d stop breathing through the night and you wouldn’t be awake to notice it.

The only thing that seemed to solidify the whole situation was the endless texts from Maisey and Jack, not to mention a few other friends too, and the entire ESPN page raving about how long he might be out for.

That was another thing: if Nico didn’t have hockey, what did he have? Sure, he’d find some way to get himself back in the gym and near the ice at least, but he’d miss the general euphoria and adrenalin of playing with his guys.

“So…” he was crying, a hand over his mouth. His eyes were red, and tears were dripping down his cheeks, but his shoulders weren’t heaving. He was sitting on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees from where you were sitting on the floor, your hands resting on his kneecaps, not much better than him, “How long should w…we do it for?”

You shrugged, not really finding an answer. You weren’t sure if there was a correct answer to that question. It couldn’t be too soon, or else you’d both still be fresh from whatever had blown up here, but if you left it too long, neither of you would have the courage to rehash everything.

“A month?” You suggested weakly.

You didn’t want to do it for a month. A month was too long. Please say a month is too long–

“A month?” His brown eyes flickered up to yours, brows furrowing somehow even more, and his expression crinkled after holding your gaze, “I don’t–It’s too long.”

You sniffed, “What do you suggest, then?” It hadn’t meant to come out so sharp, and you hated that it did, hated it about a hundred times more when he looked at you again.

“I’ll miss you too much.” He admitted quietly.

“I think that’s the point of going on a break.” You laughed bitterly, squeezing his knee.

“I already know what I want, and four weeks won’t change that.”

You sighed, retracting your grip on his knees and sitting back on your heels, “Nico–”

“Do you not want me anymore?” He sounded so wrecked in himself you had to do a double-take, your own tears beginning to melt down your cheeks.

“Come on, you know that’s not it–”

“Then what is? Because I really don’t see the issue. I want you, I love you, and I think you feel–”

“Of course I fucking love you, but this is different–”

“Explain it to me, then!”

“I’m trying! Only every time I do you interrupt me.”

You were both glaring at each other, frustrations rising to a boiling point as the pain of the past few weeks all emanated through the fiery stares. He sighed, leaning back against the sofa and flourishing his hand for you to go ahead.

“I want this to work so badly, but we both come home after work, and we don’t talk to each other. Sometimes we can barely stand looking at each other because it’s just another thing to maintain after an exhausting day, and that’s not right. It’s not healthy for either of us, and I don’t know about you, but it really fucking hurts me when that happens.” You took a breath, watching him carefully. You knew he understood what you were saying because he’d softened and his chest was hitching as though he was forcing himself not to break again, “I miss when we used to come home and not feel like being with each other was a chore. I want that again; I want us to hang out here and not get drained just forcing conversation.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I don’t want a break,” you admitted, voice soft, “but I think it’s the best thing for us.”

“Three weeks,” he interjected, making eye contact with you, “and then if we decide this really is worth it, then we go to couple’s counselling.”

You turned the handle, and the shower stopped. You made sure to take as long as humanly possible, using a towel to squeeze your hair out and taking what was left in the cupboard and using it on your skin. Then you took twice as long as usual in cleaning your teeth, and slowly put on the pyjamas, taking extra care not to slip on the water that had gathered on the tiles.

On your way back to Nico’s room, you made a quick detour to the living room, pulling his laptop out from under the chair. Oliver had told you he’d emailed the recovery plan to Nico, only you didn’t know where his phone was, and his laptop was the next best thing. You lugged it back to the room, quietly shutting the door behind you upon noticing he was asleep already.

You had to tiptoe to the bed, gently lifting the covers so the draft wouldn’t wake Nico up, and you settled yourself in, making sure to plug your phone in to charge, and lifted the lid of the laptop.

The screen was bright but after dimming it and logging onto Nico’s email, eyes eagerly drinking up every work Oliver wrote, you found yourself almost hypnotised by it all. Oliver’s report was brilliant – very informative – but it didn’t stop you from obsessively googling the actual injuries so you could visualise what had gone wrong in his body and where.

Each word you read only seemed to send your heart plummeting, and made you cast anxious glances to Nico, who’d slumped slightly against his mass of pillows.

He wasn’t snoring – he never did. His chest was rising and falling rhythmically, the action pulling the sheets each time he inhaled, but you could hear his heavy breathing. The lack of silence you’d become accustomed to was oddly comforting. It was something you hadn’t realised you’d gotten used to in the past three years of living together, but that first night in Maisey’s house only seemed to highlight his little idiosyncrasies, or lack of them.

Were you being dramatic?

Two weeks was all you’d spent apart, and in hindsight, it wasn’t a lot of time at all – especially not in comparison to the four years of previous dating history, but four years of Nico and then a day without made you realise how other-worldly it felt not being with him.

Maybe you were, in a way, being completely rational?

____

You woke up to the feel of a draft against your back and the sound of retching.

You barely had time to wipe the sleep from your eyes before you registered what was happening, leading Nico into the bathroom by the crook of his elbow, his good arm clutching the bedroom bin under his chin.

It was difficult trying to navigate in the dark, but you could still make out the gleam of the toilet bowl. You hesitated, flushing it first just because boys aren’t the most hygienic of people, and then knelt on the tiles, aware of the fact that you were currently on his injured side.

Nico followed suit, sitting on the cold floor and passing you the bin as he hovered himself over the toilet, breathing slowly as his eyes fluttered shut.

You were operating automatically when you placed the bin in the bathtub, and then turned your attention immediately back to Nico, his hair hanging in his face.

Headband.

Your eyes looked to the sink station just above him, trying to pinpoint where your other dish for hair ties was, and you stood up, carefully sidestepping him as you blindly reached a hand out, fingers tracing the marble surface until…bingo. You snatched up an elastic headband, before crouching back down on the floor next to him, rubbing a soothing hand across his back.

“The room’s spinning.” He said, clamping his eyes shut, gripping his own leg with his hand.

At his admission you faltered, retracting your hand, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Yeah.” He took in a deep breath, his entire body shuddering.

You’d been dizzy before – it was an oddly recurring thing you’d grown out of, and it was horrible. Waking up dizzy completely threw off your balance and sense of the world around you, and the fear of it all had you shaking – not just because you were cold. It was a genuine shock to the system. You hadn’t had one in a year, but whenever you did, Nico seemed to have a sixth sense because he’d do what you were doing for him right now.

And him saying he’s okay with you touching him only cemented the idea that actually having someone to touch you anchored you to solid ground.

So you replaced your hand on his back, your other playing with the elastic headband you’d acquired, silently waiting for him to calm down before you asked if you could move his hair out of his face to stop it getting drenched – both from sweat and the other alternative.

You could feel his heart hammering in his chest through the palm on the back of his ribs.

“I’m gonna put a headband on you, okay? You don’t have to move or turn your head, just let me know if you’re gonna be sick.” You said, shuffling yourself on the floor so you were somewhat facing him – again, incredibly conscious of the sling contraception taping his entire left arm to his chest.

You were slow with your movements; sliding the band over his head and letting it drop to the base of his neck – the speed of your usual movements might have overwhelmed him – before slowly dragging it back up his face, careful not to clip his nose as it brushed his fringe out of his face.

How you’d not managed to notice it in the hospital was beyond you, but when you lifted his hair up, there was still a visible redness from where his mask had dug itself into the corner of his head. Usually it meant the sponge stuck to the skin or whatever, but this one looked different. There was a bruising quality to it, and you found yourself inching closer to get a better look at it.

“Boards.” Was all he managed.

You knew he wouldn’t be able to see it, but you nodded.

Oh.

___

It had been about fifteen minutes since then, and both of you had nearly fallen asleep against various surfaces: Nico against the cupboards, and you against the side of the bath.

It was Nico straightening and hovering over the toilet again that caught your attention, but he paused, brows furrowing.

Then there was a grumble and a groan, and almost comically you saw him look at you out of the corner of his eye.

You’d frozen, sure you’d mistaken the sound for something else, but with the way he’d eased up and gradually gotten to moving his head and eyes around without getting caught in a bout of dizziness, something had undoubtedly changed.

“Are you hungry?” You asked, fighting a smile.

“Yeah.” He answered, visibly confused as he placed a hand against his stomach.

You lifted your watch up to your face, the screen illuminating the room.

7.18am.

You almost laughed at the hilarity of it, because you knew his morning alarm was always set for 7.20, and without fail, he’d always end up waking up a few minutes before – partly due to routine, and also partly because his stomach always woke up before he did.

“It’s nearly twenty past seven. You good to move back into bed?” You began to stand up, offering him both of your hands, but he groaned and without hesitation you were kneeling in front of him again, brown furrowed as you searched his face for some sign of discomfort.

He could do with taking some painkillers if he’s finished throwing up.

“What’s up?” You asked, your eyes darting across his face from his pinched brows to the slight curl of his upper lip.

He was clearly in some sort of pain, not that it was entirely surprising, but you asked anyway, preferring to have a rundown of his symptoms instead of guessing.

“Shoulder, head, chest.” He listed, squinting up at you.

You furrowed your brows.

You’d accounted for his head and shoulder, but his chest…Did they miss something on his MRI?

“Your chest?” You sank to your knees, level with him.

He seemed to be breathing normally, his chest wasn’t hitching when he inhaled and exhaled, and his breathing wasn’t rattling. Truth be told you didn’t really know what you were supposed to be looking for, least of all through a t-shirt — which would be another challenge to overcome when the time came for him to shower.

“Chest.” He repeated, nodding as his hand came to rest right over the source of pain.

You were sure you were pulling a face, and when you made eye contact with him, it was clear he was implying something else. His eyes had softened, the creases having faded out, and he swallowed nervously when you looked at him.

It had you wondering if it was the first time he’d realised you were there since last night; he was so out of it from the painkillers and concussion you didn’t know how much he’d have remembered, but the intense way he was gazing at you had you faltering, your brain going blank for a moment.

You knew what he was implying. It was hard not to once he’d moved his hand right over to his heart, and you were pretty stunned to say the least.

Honestly you wanted to talk about it as well, the elephant in the room that you’d pushed to the back of your mind after prioritising him over your own wishes, and you knew now wasn’t the time to discuss it, even if the look on his face had your confidence dwindling by the second.

“I can’t do anything about that right now.” You mumbled, twisting your mouth to the side rather regretfully as his face fell.

“Why?”

“Because Oliver said you’re not supposed to be thinking much for at least another day or two. Something about the concussion and it inhibiting your ability to think and do.” You weren’t lying, it had been part of the recovery plan for his concussion, something you couldn’t quite understand the specific logistics of, but it seemed reasonable.

You also weren’t too sure how much you should believe what he was going to say until you were certain he was back to his usual mental activity.

“I can think clearly.” He insisted, frowning slightly as he pushed back at your excuse.

“I’m sure you can, but that’s a discussion for a later time.”

“Later, when?”

“When you’ve had painkillers, eaten and drunk something, had a shower, called Luca yourself and updated him, had a good few days of rest…”

“Why?”

You sighed, beginning to get a little frustrated with him. You’d given him a reason backed up by medical advice and a list of priorities and he was still fighting back — albeit not with his usual vigour and quick wit, but it was to be expected.

“Because you don’t need to stress yourself out—”

“I’m not stressing myself out. If anything, dragging this conversation out is stressing me out.”

“And arguing on the bathroom floor knowing you don’t have any painkillers in your system and aren’t in bed with a plate of food is currently stressing me out.” You pressed a hand to your cheek, refraining from rolling your eyes.

It was still dark in the bathroom, the automatic lights fitted under the sink gently illuminating the tiled space, but your eyes had gotten used to the darkness after a good amount of time, so you could see the lost look on his face.

It made you feel guilty, but you weren’t about to break doctor’s orders if it meant following them would help him get back on his feet quicker — even if this one little factor might not play a large role in his recovery.

You yawned, deciding to change tactics seeing as you were both a little hurt from that topic of conversation, “Do you want to shower first or eat?”

The rumble of his stomach answered for him.

—

Nico had only stayed in bed for eight minutes before you heard his feet enter the kitchen from where you were leaning over the hob, scrambled egg cooking in the pan.

You hadn’t expected him to stay still much but you’d hoped he would. He’d had some more painkillers and you left him with the TV remote but he’d clearly gotten bored of early morning programmes and wandered out into the hall, even despite your stern advice.

That’s all it was, really. Advice. You knew it would be futile trying to tell him exactly what to do, because it would only frustrate him, knowing his entire day was set out by your concerned orders, and at the end of the day, Nico did what Nico wanted.

And he clearly wanted to stand as close as he could to the pan. You heard him take a deep inhale from over your shoulder, and a moment later the familiar rumbling of his stomach could be heard even over the noise of the extractor fan.

“It’s only gonna be another two minutes.” You promised, dodging around him to take the four slices of toast out of the toaster and making quick work of spreading butter onto them.

It was a routine you weren’t entirely used to, but one you’d seen Nico follow countless times before, and you didn’t want to seem too proud of yourself, but it was easier than what he’d made it out to be. Whenever he made eggs on toast he’d manage to splatter some egg all over the countertops and he’d fall over himself in an effort to take the toast out of the toaster but then remember he hadn’t gotten any plates out. It was always an awkward dance of wrong timings but it used to be your favourite morning entertainment.

That, and he always used to cook without many layers of clothing on.

Now, however, it was you performing a similar routine, only this time having to dodge him as he remained standing in between the island and the hob. You guessed he did it on purpose because every time you had to pass by him, you had to brush last slowly so as to not disturb or accidentally knock his arm.

He only moved when you were dishing out the egg on top of the toast, and even then he seemed to stretch his back before wincing and making his way back into the bedroom, the sound of the TV turning off following a moment later.

You paused, waiting to see if he’d decided to stay in bed or was simply turning off the TV before choosing to eat at the island, but when he made no reappearance you were forced to carry both plates into his room. He was settling himself against the cushions again, and although you hadn’t noticed it when you were cooking, his cheeks seemed to have regained a little more colour.

He always got pale when he was hungry, but this was something else. Did pain make people lose colour?

Maybe.

As he was leaning back against the cushions another thought occurred to you, and you stopped where you were, mind racing to come up with an immediate solution.

“What?”

“I’ve just realised now that you can’t actually cut up your food.” You replied, and it seemed Nico had only thought of that issue then and there because his gaze slowly trailed from you to his arm and then back to you, “It’s okay, I’ll leave mine in the microwave—”

“You can eat yours first—”

“Your stomach says otherwise.” You laughed softly, placing his own plate on his lap before replacing yours in the microwave to keep warm.

When you got back, Nico was looking at you expectantly, a proud smile on his face, “We can share both plates. That way we both eat now.”

Admittedly, it was probably one of the most effective ideas he’d ever had.

“Sure.” You nodded, climbing onto your side of the bed. You’d turned on your bedside light before you’d gone in to the kitchen, not wanting to startle his eyes too much and give him another headache, but you both knew he’d have to get used to a little bit of light, and even though it was on the dimmest setting, you could tell he was trying his darndest not to look in that direction.

You took a seat directly next to him, your front angled towards the side of his torso, and took the plate off his lap and placed it into yours.

Neither of you said anything as you took it in turns, carefully balancing each forkful before feeding him a bite and then taking one for yourself. It stayed that way until both plates were demolished and both your stomachs were significantly fuller.

It was the sound of your phone dinging that caught your attention, and you leant over to your side of the bed, reaching for it.

Jack: Do you want me to drive Nico’s car round?

You: Please. When do you want to come over?

Jack: Does 11 work for you?

You: Yeah, see you then.

You switched off the phone, pushing yourself back up and into Nico’s line of sight. He had an eyebrow raised and you rolled your eyes at his nosiness.

“Jack’s coming by to drop your car off at eleven. It gives you enough time to shower and maybe have a nap if you feel like it.”

He nodded, and you took the silence as an opportunity to stack up the plates and take them into the kitchen, leaving them to soak in lukewarm water as you headed back into the bedroom. You had every intention of asking what Nico wanted to do next, whether he’d rather shower or sleep before Jack came over, but you’d found yourself facing his back, his t-shirt half taken off as he struggled to lift it over his shoulders.

You waited for a moment, wanting to give him an opportunity to at least try to undress himself so you couldn’t be accused of coddling him, but it was clear from the way he huffed and then audibly ‘ow’d’ before relaxing his entire body, part of his t-shirt somehow wrapped over his head that he was having a particularly hard time.

He stumbled, blindly spinning on the spot, and you found yourself automatically reaching for him – God forbid this man hurts himself even more – and steadied him with a hand tugging at the band of his shorts and on his good arm, the one that happened to be caught up in the shirt he was trying to take off in the first place.

“I’m stuck.” He grumbled, and the shirt moved, exposing the tired bags under his eyes through the neckline.

“I didn’t notice.” It was a half-hearted attempt at trying to conserve some of his dignity, and he huffed in response, rolling his eyes at you through the neck of his t-shirt.

All it took was one quick glance at the knot of material to figure out what he’d done, and it did leave you glad that you’d shot down his previous attempts at The Talk in the bathroom earlier, because he clearly wasn’t anywhere back to his normal range of thinking – Nico was intelligent – seeing as though he’d forgotten to take his sling off in the first place.

You pulled his shirt back down before reaching for the clasp – a big, bulky plastic thing that looked as though the arm pinned to his chest would fall into a usual sling, the kind that someone with a broken arm would usually wear – and turned to him, a stern glint in your eye.

“I’m gonna need to unplug this to take it off so please,” you emphasised the last syllable, “keep it held with your other arm.”

He nodded, wordlessly moving to grip his elbow, before steeling himself by closing his eyes and screwing his face up. You could see the steady, controlled rise and fall of his chest, as though he knew to keep himself breathing regularly because no matter which way you approached this, it was gonna hurt like a bitch.

Your fingers found the clip, and squeezed.

The tension keeping his arm to his chest slackened, and Nico bit his lip in pain as it fell away, before you pulled the material over his head – quickly snapping the headband off his head as well.

He peeled open one eye, looking straight at you expectantly, “What now?”

Your eyes widened, “I don’t know. Don’t you know?”

“No.” He shrugged with one shoulder, before his jaw dropped and he fought a sharp intake of breath at the discomfort shooting across his back. “Why don’t you know?”

“Because it didn’t come with a fucking instruction manual, I–” you halted, trying to recall if Oliver wrote anything, “Okay, you’re gonna have to drop your arm.”

“I don’t want to do that.” He shook his head.

“Then I’ll have to cut you out of your shirt.”

“No.” It was a fierce protest, one that left little to no room for argument – and was remarkably stroppy.

“Do you want to stomp your foot, too, and get it all out of your system?” You were smiling now, and you saw Nico’s eyebrow twitch upwards slightly at having caught you, before he slowly drew his sore shoulder down.

You pressed your lips together, trying to maintain a front that wouldn’t let him know that his pain was beginning to make you uncomfortable, because even though his mouth remained shut, you could tell from the way he seemed to tremble and the way the hairs dangling in front of his face were being blown, that he was having to force some exertion into not groaning out loud.

He did it, and looked straight back at you, his smile a little wobbly. Even though it had only been a matter of seconds, it looked like he’d worn himself out after hours of practice. The bags under his eyes seemed heavier and more prominent, and any trace of previous amusement had melted from his features, leaving nothing but the expanse of someone that desperately needed to sleep, and even more desperately needed a shower.

You wanted to smile at him, offer some comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet.

“Okay,” you cleared your throat, not sure if you could feel your heart beating or breaking in your chest, “if you slip your right arm through the sleeve and over your head, you should be able to just pull the rest of the shirt off your other shoulder.”

Instead of jumping to undress himself, he inhaled, tilting his head in your direction, a question clearly written on his face. You tried to brush it off, instead reaching forward to brush your hand along the hem of his shirt, trying to encourage him to take it off, because the quicker he did, the sooner he’d be able to sleep, but he didn’t budge.

“What?” You asked, retracting your hand. You were still standing pretty close – enough so you could see his mouth twitch and something flicker across his face. “Do you want me to leave you…?” You trailed off, feeling a haze of uncertainty wash over you.

“No, I need you to help me shower–”

“Shower?” You laughed.

He nodded slowly, his good hand going to cradle the hand on his bad shoulder, as though he was itching to pin his arm back up.

“Okay…” you swallowed nervously, “Why were you looking at me like that?”

“Did you Google how to take a shirt off with only one functioning shoulder?”

You breathed a short laugh, hand going back to tug at the hem of his shirt, this time internally cheering when he lifted his arm up, allowing you to lift the shirt up with it, purposefully covering his face with the material so he couldn’t see you blush. You guessed your silence was enough of an answer, though, because when the shirt popped back off his head, coming to hang around his injured one, he was attempting a grin.

His dimples were the first thing you noticed. It was funny how you didn’t truly realise how much you’d missed seeing them when he smiled until he was smiling at you for the first time in a while.

Nico’s dimples meant he was happy, even if it was momentary, and you’d take that over the melancholy any day of your life.

Which was why you found yourself smiling silly at him without even realising it.

“You looked it up.” He said, his voice a little higher in excitement, and you swore his smile widened because his dimples looked deeper, and something in your chest fluttered and then clenched, and it seemed that entire internal reaction was synonymous with the fact that your eyes had trailed from his face to the deep blotches on his skin – blotches that were so dark and so large you’d noticed them when you were looking the opposite way.

Holy fuck.

Your brows knitted together, your smile no longer on your face as you gently dragged his shirt off his injured arm, letting it drop by your feet.

It was a horrific sight. You’d never seen gore or many injuries on other people in your life, and even though Nico had been injured before, it wasn’t anything like this. Looking at his shoulder – generally speaking – was like looking at tyre marks on a race track. The bruises were so dark they almost looked like dirt in the night, and they crawled right from the back of his neck, down across his collarbone, and followed in a left movement until the colour seemed to fizzle out just below his shoulder joint on his arm.

You knew it was bad; a broken collarbone with a separated shoulder – yet the visual confirmation seemed not to do the diagrams of what had happened to the inside of his body any justice at all. This was real, and it was…ugly. It turned your stomach to know the lump on his collarbone was where the bone had snapped, and that the bump on the top of his shoulder was where it had separated.

“I’m okay.” He reminded you gently.

You hadn’t noticed it, but you were squinting when you’d seen the blossoming legion, trying to block out the sight to some extent – a natural reaction to stop yourself from crying, too, because it was difficult looking at the mess of it all.

And when your gaze all too gratefully slid back to his face, he was regarding you with an element of shyness. He’d crooked his jaw, eyes flicking awkwardly between your face and reaction to the shirt on the floor, and you wanted to just gather him up in your arms and not let go, because he had no choice but to be vulnerable with you, as much as you wished it was a choice, he didn’t have a say in the matter. The truth was that he only had one good shoulder, and he used that one to hold the broken one with – meaning he couldn’t really move.

Couldn’t cook eggs, cut the bread, butter the toast, take his shirt off, shower.

It was a big adjustment for someone usually so capable, and you knew then and there that he was in for a tough recovery – not only because of the frustration, but because he was bound to forget and then he’d work himself up.

“I know.” You replied, biting the inside of your cheek, “What does it feel like?”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, “It feels like someone’s wrapped really tight tape around the underneath of my shoulder…but then it feels like the only thing keeping everything in place is my skin.”

___

You were in for another shock when he’d turned around to step into the shower. You hid it better this time, managing to keep your mouth shut as your eyes trailed over the slightly paler marks on his back, and recovering your shock in time to smile back up at him when he turned back around, dipping his head under the water and letting out an audible sigh of relief as the warm water bounced off his skin.

You had to laugh at the fact that he kept his shorts on, but you understood why he did it, even if he didn’t voice it. You almost made the comment about how it wasn’t anything that you hadn’t already seen, but he was making an effort to respect the break you were both still on, even if he had pinged the elastic band and looked at you with raised brows, as if to say ‘this is your own doing’.

“Is it warm enough?” You asked, cheek leaning against the side of the glass door as you watched him step further under the water, the droplets streaming down his body, darkening his shorts.

There was a moment where you thought he hadn’t heard you over the roar of droplets from the shower, but when you looked back up at him, it was clear he’d caught you staring. You rolled your eyes, knowing you were blushing, and stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind you.

You’d opted to stick to wearing your clothes too, and the slight frown Nico had tried to hide as you stepped in with him wasn’t lost on you, but you hid your smile well when you reached for the rack in the corner, picking up the shampoo he was still using from when you bought it three weeks ago and piling a good amount onto the palm of your hands.

Nico was tall, that fact remained quite obvious, especially when he couldn’t lower his neck down to your exact height because of the shooting pain he’d get emanating from his back and shoulder, but you made it work. There wasn’t that much of a height difference between the two of you, even despite his hulking frame, so you were able to reach up fairly easily to take your time to rub the sweat and grease from his hair, your nails raking deliciously against his scalp. By the end of it, his forehead was resting in the crook of your shoulder, and if it weren’t for the way he lifted himself back up, blinking slowly in the process, you would have assumed he’d gone to sleep. His good arm was still holding his sore one, and after you reached up to rinse out his shampoo, his hair practically squeaking between your fingers, he looked just about ready to collapse.

“You know how you said if you didn’t have hockey, you’d have probably stayed in school?” You found yourself asking, desperate to keep him awake so he’d be able to sleep properly before Jack came.

He hummed, head still tipped back into the shower, exposing the veins in his neck and bob of his throat in a way that had you not really knowing where to turn your attention. You didn’t want to look at his shoulder, but you also didn’t want to get caught looking at the softened contours of his stomach, because you’d already been caught checking him out earlier…he was making it difficult, though.

You supposed the water didn’t help, either. He always looked sort of romantic when his hair was wet and droplets of water were rolling down his skin.

“What do you think you’d be doing as a career if you stayed on?”

You retracted your hands from his hair, figuring the shampoo was washed out enough, and tucked some of his hair behind his ear before you reached for the conditioner. You were drenched to the bone; the clothes you were wearing were soaked, the material clinging to your skin, and you could feel your hair frizzing up with the humidity, and although the water was warm, you could feel the cold air picking at you seeing as though you weren’t entirely under the rain of the water.

Nico’s cubicle was pretty big – a half-frosted glass cube with a rain shower and a bath attached at the end, just below a silver rack of products, both your own and his.

Nevertheless, it felt as though there wasn’t enough space between you both. Especially not when he reopened his eyes and slouched a little in your direction so you could reach to lather the conditioner into the ends of his hair.

His brows furrowed, a crease forming in the middle of his forehead as his mouth pouted slightly. His eyebrows always seemed to accentuate whatever emotion he was feeling, and usually when he was confused, or thinking hard about something, he tended to look…sad – something he was doing right now.

“I think…a teacher?” His eyes slid down to yours, almost as if searching for some form of validation in his answer, considering he’d phrased it as a question, not entirely certain of himself.

You nodded, mildly impressed. He’d suit being a teacher, he already had the authority from his Captaincy, but would he still have that same trait if ice hockey was completely out of the picture? You couldn’t possibly know.

“What subject?” You’d finished putting the conditioner in his hair, your fingers now twirling at the ends, purposefully curling his hair against his forehead and resisting the urge to smirk at the baby curls plastered there. Only, when you could tell he was getting suspicious of your repetitive motions, you turned back to the rack, taking the comb and spinning back to him.

“Maybe Literature…o-or…” he stuttered, and when you turned your attention to his direct eye line, you blushed.

Your t-shirt. It was stuck, displaying…everything. Everything being the lace bra you’d found left in your drawer, not the same colour as the grey t-shirt you were wearing.

Funny.

He was blushing too, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he awkwardly fought to look anywhere else, his eyes fixating on something behind you. Despite the unavoidable awkwardness, you found yourself smothering a smile, reaching the comb up to straighten the curls you’d created, until his hair hung in thick curtains past his eyes, his nose poking out.

You laughed softly, finding his new look amusing, “Literature or…” You trailed off, encouraging him to carry on.

Just as his chin bobbed – a sign he’d opened his mouth to resume talking – you combed his curtains sideways, having way too much fun with the whole thing than you probably should.

“Latin.” He was smiling, his cheeks a healthy rosy colour, “Are you enjoying yourself, there?”

“Thoroughly.”

There that damn dimple was again.

You pressed your lips together, sucking in one cheek to try and stop yourself from smiling, but as soon as you’d registered the dimple, you could feel your smile slowly slipping from your face. He seemed to acknowledge the fade, because his dimple disappeared again, and the creases around his eyes unwrinkled.

“I’ll just head outside,” you pointed to the door, “let you wash.”

“Wait,” his voice interjected, just as your hand touched the cool glass door, and you turned, “before you do, please could you wash my right side? I can’t with my left—”

“Sure.” In hindsight, you maybe did agree a little too quickly, but over your own ministrations of ‘how did I not think of that before?’, you didn’t particularly notice the way Nico’s brows shot up his forehead, his mouth parting slightly at your supposed eagerness.

___

Nico had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his body freshly rejuvenated and feeling significantly more comfortable than he did hours earlier. He’d initially snuggled as far down into the duvet as he possibly could, with every intention of asking you to stay with him when he slept, knowing you could use both the rest and relaxation after everything, but it had escaped his mind entirely when his eyes shut of his own accord.

He supposed he was grateful for the quick onset, because ever since he’d woken up in the early hours of the morning, head feeling like it had been used as a jackhammer for the inside of a bell, shoulder on fire and numb, his stomach rolling, and the desperate and sudden need to extract himself from the bed and make his way as quickly as he could to the bathroom in complete darkness, and his own perspective on what was up, down, left and right entirely skewed by the dizziness that caught him when he’d so much as even opened his eyes – he was feeling guilty. It had gotten to the point that every time he looked at your tired eyes or caught you looking at him in a way that had him feeling like he was going to throw up (for different reasons), he felt like he might combust with it.

Every time he looked in your direction, all he could do was picture you in his position, and imagine himself in your place: he imagined the extent of his concern, so much so that he’d probably be less able to keep his cool around you, unlike you. He’d be in a constant state of panicked frenzy, asking you questions the entire time, adjusting your pillows, repouring you a glass of fresh, cold water every five minutes so there weren’t any bubbles clinging to the inside of the glass. He’d be a complete mess.

He’d have called his brother, parents, Jack, Maisey, Oliver and anyone else he could get his hands on to ask for a second, third and fourth opinion on whether or not he should adjust the thermostat because you might get too warm when you were sleeping.

Quite simply, he wouldn’t know how to function, and he knew that although the roles were reversed currently, you were probably just as clueless as him.

You tended to have better coping mechanisms and ways of dealing with it that he wouldn’t necessarily even be aware of. That was where the two of you contrasted: he was more outgoing and vocal, tending to think out loud and not mask what he was feeling as easily as you, whereas you would gather in on yourself and just…deal.

And he hated that he knew he was the source of such stress. He didn’t want to burden his incapabilities upon you in any way, let alone confine you to his apartment (although you seemed to do that willingly) and act as his personal carer. He didn’t know why you hadn’t complained – scratch that. He did. Because he knew you’d rather make sure he’d be looked after properly than leave it in the less trusted hands of someone else.

He definitely didn’t know why you were acting as though nothing had happened before the incident. How you were able to be in such close quarters with him without feeling like your heart was getting ripped out of your chest, because he had that going for him on top of everything else. Or maybe you did, and just hid it better.

He didn’t dare voice it, and he was a little ashamed of his own wants and needs, but whenever you looked at him, the actual motion: how your eyes would slide casually over something and then they’d lock with his like some sort of magnetic force, he just wanted you to kiss him and tell him he’d be okay. Granted, you’d already done the latter, many times this morning, but he wanted you to kiss him and tell him you loved him, because when you didn’t do that – when you refused to even venture into that area of conversation – he was forced to think the complete opposite, and then he felt truly broken because he felt betrayed by his own body being so fragile, but his state of mind and brain went haywire as he was being pulled in every sort of emotional direction.

It all boiled down to confusion, though. Maybe it was the concussion, maybe it was the painkillers, but at the end of the day, Nico felt confused. Your tender actions: a hand on his back, making him breakfast, washing his hair – your damn teary smile in the shower played on a loop in his mind – he felt loved. You made him feel like he mattered, like you cared about him, but what came out of your mouth juxtaposed it so ridiculously that he felt like you didn’t love him.

He knew what he wanted from you, and what he didn’t want, and he needed to tell you before something happened, because he felt like he was constantly on the precipice of something happening – jeopardy. He feels like he’s running out of time to tell you, and that if he doesn’t let you know as soon as he can, something irreversible is going to happen, and then you’ll be gone for good and he’ll have to leave New Jersey because every street corner has some sort of memory attached to you, and he doesn’t want you to leave and he doesn’t want to leave New Jersey.

It’s a constant, crippling sense of panic that he needs to get under control before he says something and ruins it all.

But he knows you won’t listen to whatever he has to say – not for at least another couple of days – because something Oliver wrote has you thinking he can’t think properly or something. All he knows is that it has something to do with his brain and the fact that he has a pretty serious concussion, and that you’re too fucking stubborn to even jest with him about it.

That had been made pretty clear.

It was also that sense of inevitable doom that had him startling from his nap, the tensing of his entire body as he somewhat lurched in place sending an agonising stab of pain everywhere. It hurt so bad sometimes that he couldn’t decipher if he'd hurt something else; it seemed to dissipate across the rest of his body in an effort for him to cope with the level he was enduring.

He noted, however, that his head didn’t feel like it was being used as some sort of carousel. His dizziness had faded, at least for the moment.

And just as he was about to haul himself out of bed, that shot of adrenalin having woken him up, he heard the distant sound of voices filtering in through the crack under the door.

It was 11.13; Jack must be here.

Then he stopped his motions, because the voices sounded muffled, and from experience, that meant the both of you were whispering about something, and knowing he was supposedly asleep and in another room, he guessed you were talking about him. Which is why he cautiously lifted the duvet off himself, careful not to make too much of a sound as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and crept – avoiding the squeaky floorboards – to the door.

He wasn’t about to open it – not when the noise would catch your attention, but he knelt on the floor and pressed his ear to the handle.

He was curious, and in desperate need of some sort of confirmation from you because he knew Jack would at least try to coax some answers out of you, and probably embarrass him in the process by revealing how mopey he’d been in training or something.

“–don’t believe you.” It was Jack, his voice lowering at the end, playing into his statement.

“It’s not a matter of belief, it’s the truth.”

Oh. You were frustrated already.

“Do something about it, then.” Jack protested. Nico could imagine him rolling his eyes, but given the unexplained context of the situation he’d found himself listening in on, he couldn’t gauge the mood.

“No.”

“Why not? You can’t coexist, care for, and live together for what’s probably gonna be at least for a few weeks, and not talk about it.”

“I haven’t even thought that far in advance, I thought you were talking about immediately.”

Jack scoffed, and Nico could hear him splutter a small laugh, “Not immediately, no. But better sooner than later, before you both get the wrong ideas and end up hurting each other even more.”

Nico heard you sigh, and he pressed his ear closer against the metal, “Is this the part where you fulfil your duties and tell me–”

“–That he’s been moping–” there it was, “and sad for the past two weeks? I hope so. He’s been insufferable, not in the overbearing way, but he looks like a kicked puppy and he’s not been smiling at me as much, and I swear every time he gets a notification on his phone, he teleports to it or something. I’ve never seen him move faster over a News app notification before.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What?”

This time it was Jack’s turn to groan, “You’re both depressed over the entire thing, okay, and I know for a fact, that the only thing that would solve it is if you just talked about it.”

There were some words exchanged that Nico couldn’t quite make out, and before he could make his way into the bathroom to flush the toilet and make it known that he was awake, something caught his ear.

“Why did you phrase it like that? ‘He’s not been smiling at me as much’?”

Jack laughed sheepishly, and Nico grinned.

“Usually when he sees me he smiles. He’s just been doing this half-smile thing, and it’s really, like, jarring.”

He heard your laugh tinkle through the door, and something throbbed in his chest, “Oh, you poor thing.”

“Shut up.”

“But how are you going to survive not seeing him in training for at least a couple of weeks? Is it going to affect your performance? Do I need to arrange FaceTime calls so you can see his face and let yourself be inspired?” You quipped, and Nico could imagine clearly the mocking concern you had on your face, maybe even a comforting hand to Jack’s arm, fully playing into the narrative.

“You know what? FaceTime sessions seem like a good idea.”

Then there was another round of silence and mumbling. Once more, Nico made to heave himself off his knees, but he was stopped once more.

“–Kicked puppy–”

“–It’s the eyebrows!” You both chimed, and Nico rolled his eyes, this time moving himself into the bathroom, not before making a quick stop at the mirror.

He furrowed his brows. Then pouted. Then smiled, lifting his brows up.

He didn’t know what you were talking about – kicked puppy? No way.

Anyway, it seemed like the two of you had stopped talking about a subject pertaining to Nico’s own desires, and despite being a little disappointed with the lack of ‘what-are-you-thinking?’ he received from your end, he decided to flush the toilet and wash his hands, schooling his tired face in the mirror before picking up a pair of socks and wandering down the hall into the living room.

Jack was sitting at the kitchen booth, his chair spun around to face the sofa, where you were leaning across the back.

Jack grinned at him, though Nico didn’t miss the way his eye slid to the sling, but you only offered a small smile. It looked like you weren’t really in the room with him, your mind clearly occupied to some extent

“Back from the dead?” Jack stole his attention, and Nico nodded, trudging to take a place next to you on the sofa, once more feeling guilty when all he did to greet you was hand you a pair of socks he couldn’t put on without your help.

“Something like that.”

You put your mug down on the coffee table, happily taking his socks—

“No coffee.” You stated sternly, Nico’s eyes zipping straight to yours in protest.

The protest died on his lips when he saw the hardness in your face, not a single part of you budging until he’d rolled his eyes and turned to Jack; then you put his socks on for him, seemingly satisfied with his compliance, even if he was a bit bitter about it.

“You okay?” Nico found himself asking, arching a brow at Jack, who (despite his best efforts) was watching the entire exchange with a broad grin painted on his face, and as much as Nico tried to deny it, Jack looked as though he knew something he didn’t.

He saw how you shook your head out of the corner of his eye, and Jack’s smile dropped a little. Nico could still clearly read it in his eyes, though.

Something was up. He’d missed something.

Instead Jack took a deep breath, composing himself, “I think I should be asking you that.”

Nico shrugged with one shoulder, ignoring the sharp pain across the expanse of his back, aware of the fact that both you and Jack were watching him with eagle eyes, trying to deduce if any movements caused him any sort of pain. He was used to attention to some varying degree, but this length of detail and scrutiny made him want to go back to bed.

He knew it wasn’t the effect either of you desired, but to Nico, it felt like you were pitying him. Granted, he was pitying himself, but to have it come from a teammate and close friend and you was a little

overwhelming. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

“I’m fine.”

Jack raised a brow, disbelieving.

“It’s painful, but I can manage it.” He tried again, and Jack nodded, pulling a face.

“Did they say how long you’d be out for?”

“Six weeks for the shoulder and maybe up to twelve for the collarbone.” This time it was Jack’s turn to shrug, and Nico’s turn to pull a face as an unspoken, mutual agreement seemed to pass through them.

“So about seven weeks, then?” Jack asked casually.

You paused, mid-sip of coffee, your eyes darting between the two of them with an obvious confusion written on your face. You knew Nico would have been eager to get back to playing, and the twelve weeks recovery isn’t even guaranteed in the first place, but it was still quite optimistic – especially considering the extent of his injury. Shoulder and collarbone? Mad disaster.

Fucking hockey lore.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t say anything.

It was Nico swinging his head to look at you that caught your attention, and when you swivelled slightly to look at Jack, who was already awaiting some sort of answer to something. He raised his brows, and you cast an unsure look back at Nico, who swallowed nervously.

“Sorry?” You turned back to Jack, who’s smile had dipped, and you got the awful feeling you’d done something wrong. Nico had looked at you with something akin to anxiety, as though the answer to an unheard question was so important that something hung in the balance depending on what you were going to say.

Jack’s eyes slid over to Nico momentarily, “Did you see it?” He asked softly, and it briefly flashed through your mind that the reason you hadn’t heard him in the first place was because he’d asked it in such a gentle tone it sounded like a whisper of white noise.

Dread punched in your stomach, and you felt yourself stiffen slightly. You knew what he was insinuating, but you still furrowed your brows, trying to hold off from seeing the inevitable hurt that would crumble on Nico’s face when he heard the answer. Something had been hanging in the balance – you rarely missed one of Nico’s games; if you weren’t there in person, and even if you were busy with work, you’d have the game on mute in the background – something to occupy your mind with and show your support.

Dread because Nico could tell when you were lying, and because there was no way you could get around this unless you just told the truth. You wished Jack wasn’t there to witness the awkwardness that was about to envelope the entire room and dash the previous light-hearted atmosphere Jack had unintentionally created with his casual conversation.

You didn’t say anything, afraid your voice would give you away before you could actually tell the truth, so you let your brows speak for themselves, in the hopes that Jack would repeat it for a third time and once more allow you to stall for a little longer.

You wouldn’t feel so fucking guilty if Nico didn’t already look like a kicked puppy.

“The game last night, did you watch it?” He hesitated, and you could see that he’d read between the lines on your face and was already regretting asking it in the first place.

Jack was close with Nico, which also meant he was also pretty close with you. He was beginning to see the downside of that, knowing he’d asked a question that was about to tear a rift in your already rocky relationship. The way Jack could see it, you and Nico were hanging on by a rope – one that he’d just severed a few strings of, completely unintentionally – and he also knew that it would be due to some sort of misunderstanding: that Nico would just assume that the reason you weren’t watching his games was because you’d decided that you were going to leave him…something that kind of broke Jack’s heart because the two of you had just talked about it before the toilet flushed, and he knew for a fact that you didn’t have any intention to leave him.

Of course, with Nico’s recent ramblings in training, he wouldn’t exactly let himself see past your answer, and would probably spin a reality based on nothing but baseless words put together with no context at all.

You swallowed, Nico already yawning out of the corner of your eye – probably a pre-established escape tactic to excuse himself.

“No.” You paused, trying to remain steady as you held eye contact with Jack, fighting with yourself not to look in Nico’s direction, “I had to do a last-minute shop, and catch up on some work. Maisey was watching it, though, and I could hear the commentary.”

It was a slight lie. You couldn’t hear much of the commentary – just the mumble of it in the background and through the walls.

Instead, Nico nodded, as though he’d been expecting that answer, and when you looked at him, he was offering you a sad sort of smile, a crease between his brows and a dimple on his cheek. You were watching him closely, trying to decipher exactly how he felt about your admission, but he wasn’t giving you much to go on.

“It’s probably for the better.” He said weakly, yawning again.

You shared a look with Jack.

“Yeah, it was pretty rough.” Jack agreed, shrugging at you behind Nico’s back.

You nodded, feeling the need to contribute to the conversation before the awkwardness consumed the room and sucked out any chance at maintaining a normal conversation for the sake of Jack’s own comfortability, “Maisey switched it off after it happened so I couldn’t see anything. Then my phone rang.” You took a sip of coffee.

There was an unspoken kind of heaviness that settled over the room – Jack looked at the floor, and Nico’s sad smile dropped into a frown.

If you were being honest, it felt like they were both mourning something you were unaware of.

“Are you guys okay?” You asked, a little tentatively. You were definitely missing something.

“Yeah.” It was Nico who got to answering quickest, shocking you, “Just…I kind of hoped they’d never have to use the emergency contact. It’s just–It must have been–I’m sorry.” He stuttered, before yawning.

You couldn’t even tell him it was okay, whatever he was apologising for, because the next thing you knew, he was pushing himself up off the sofa and walking back to the bedroom, muttering something to Jack under his breath, to which he smiled and nodded understandingly.

You waited until the door shut behind him before you turned to Jack, pressing your lips together.

“He’s not offended.” Was all he said, and you could tell just from the tone of his voice alone that he knew something you perhaps weren’t quite aware of yourself, “It’s just in his head.”

“What is?”

“This idea that you’re gonna leave him.”

___

You waited three hours after Jack left, trying to gain the courage to go back into the bedroom, cursing yourself because you hadn’t possibly thought that Nico would have ever doubted that you loved him. You’d tried to convey that through your actions recently, but looking back on it, you didn’t entirely give as much of yourself away as you’d thought you had, so not reading the subtle signs were understandable.

And you had avoided the conversation of your relationship as much as possible, and you knew how dejected he was over it, but you were following orders. He wasn’t supposed to think about complex things for some reason, because his concussion was so severe, and you really did want to talk to him about it all.

It just scared you, but you’d face that fear head on right now if it meant that he’d stop hurting and wallowing or whatever the hell else he was doing in that room. You knew he wasn’t asleep, the TV could still be heard through the wall. Brooklyn 99. An easy watch – good.

You’d been sitting on the sofa, trying to do something with your hands to fight the urge to bite your fingers, not able to switch the TV on in the living room just in case he needed something from you. Your book was on the cushion next to you, the pages splayed out because you kept picking it up and putting it down, not able to focus on anything else.

You hadn’t felt this anxious in a long time. Your heart was thudding, and it felt like there was a hand gripping your lungs.

He was afraid you were going to leave him.

Fuck.

Jack’s words kept thudding around your mind like they were put on a spin-cycle, and you alternated between feeling slightly relieved at the fact that the thought of you leaving him scared the shit out of him, but then feeling guilty that you were the cause of that insecurity.

It had you doubting your mutual decision – emphasis on the mutual – to take a break because life was pretty much getting in the way of your relationship, and there was a void of…real comfort and love, almost, and you both felt yourselves dwindling and drifting away from each other.

Fuck.

You were going to have to do something about it before all this uncertainty consumed the entire house and left you both too scared to talk about it. If you let it fester too much it would only come back to haunt you and then it’d ruin you both to completion and past the point of no return, and that was the last thing you wanted – ever.

You loved that man, sad eyebrows and all, and if you had it your way, you’d go into the bedroom this instant and tell him that, but something was stopping you.

His injury, for one. That because he was hurting, he was vulnerable, and you hated that your mind made you think that because of that, he’d be relying on you because he just needed somebody there with him.

Ultimately, if the roles were reversed you knew you’d want him to be there for you, to look after you and provide some sense of comfort when you needed it the most.

Fuck.

Your fist pounded the end of the sofa, once, twice. And then you pushed yourself up off the cushions, not allowing yourself to freak out before you reached the door, and you twisted the handle, opening the door just a crack. He might have fallen asleep with the TV on in the background, and if that was the case, you weren’t about to wake him up for what you were about to say.

Somehow the sight before you was even worse.

You stepped through the door properly, making a beeline for the bed, trying to focus on anything other than the sound of your own heart shattering inside your chest. He was slumped down under the duvet, his free arm slung over the top of his head, but it wasn’t that that caught your attention.

It was the deep set bags under his eyes and the way he blinked like he was using all of his effort to keep himself awake. It was also the way his mouth was pulled down into a sad, crestfallen frown on his face – one that he didn’t have the chance to change when he initially looked up after you opened the door – and the tissue he had crumpled in his fist.

When he saw you, he sighed, but didn’t protest when you moved over to lay next to him, your cheek pressed into your pillow.

He’d been crying.

He didn’t make a move to show you any attention, and you were glad for that – he couldn’t see the way you blinked to prevent yourself from crying, or the way you had to fist the pillow in your hands to refrain yourself from reaching out to touch him.

“How’s your head?” You asked lightly.

He blinked, “My head’s fine. I’m fine.” He replied, somewhat grumpily, his jaw clenching.

You were unphased; he was frustrated and tired, so you didn’t take it to heart, “Do you want to do something tomorrow?”

The question seemed to pique his interest, because his jaw slackened and he tilted his head towards you, allowing you to see his red-rimmed eyes, “Like what?”

You shrugged, “A walk? Get some fresh air.”

His eyes flicked to the screen briefly, seemingly considering something, “Sure.”

Your chest contracted at what you were about to say and ask him, anticipation lingering in your tense muscles. You fought with yourself, what you were about to submit to going against all professional advice and all rational thinking on your behalf – the same kind of thinking you’d made a point of reiterating in the past twenty-four hours – shit, you couldn’t even last that long without giving in to him – and a part of you felt a little sheepish and almost embarrassed because your insistence had been heavy.

“Um…” you hesitated, blinking harshly, before turning back to his awaiting eyes, “Do you maybe want to talk tomorrow?” You pressed your lips into a line – there was absolutely no going back from this.

He swallowed, his lips parting in shock, brows furrowing slightly, “About what?” He was a little breathless, and you had the sneaking suspicion he already knew what you were talking about.

“Us–”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” His mouth twitched up slightly, accentuating his tired eyes.

You pushed yourself up with your shoulder, nodding, “Okay.”

You were unsure of where to go or what to do, so you let yourself stay in that position – watching the TV. It was one of your favourite episodes.

“Do you want to watch it?” It was Nico, hand holding out the remote.

You couldn’t read his face properly, and you hesitated, “You need to sleep.”

“I can still sleep if you want to watch it.”

“Okay.”

___

You couldn’t speak for Nico, but the fresh air on your face felt like a godsend. The stuffy air of the house – no matter how many windows you’d opened and shut because it got too cold – was no match for the way you felt infinitely fresher once you’d reached the local park. You could practically taste the air it was that refreshing, and you honestly just wanted to drink the entire thing up, because you didn’t know how long Nico would be able to last before the pain meds wore off.

He’d told you earlier that his head felt better – the dizziness had worn off, his vision was clearer, and he felt less cloudy. He just had a constant headache, and honestly, you could tell he felt better – he was more with it than he had been.

You were both sitting on a bench overlooking the giant pond, you sitting sideways with one leg on the floor and the other tucked under you, and Nico with his back straight. Neither of you had spoken much on the walk over, either too immersed in the fresh air or entirely overcome with nerves for the impending conversation, so the silence enveloping the both of you was a little uncomfortable.

“How’s Maisey?” Nico started, clearing his throat.

The question was clever, a sly way to work up to the main topic of conversation.

You smiled tightly, swallowing nervously before you answered, “She’s good, been watching every Devils match…I think there’s something going on with her and Jack, you know? She hasn’t told me much but they’ve been ‘hanging out’ quite a lot.”

Nico turned his head, the hat shielding his face somewhat, but you could tell this was the first he was hearing of it because he frowned, opening and shutting his mouth as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation, “They have?”

You nodded.

“Jack’s not mentioned it, but I guess I’ve been a bit distracted lately.” He cringed, looking down at the floor to avoid looking at you, “They’d actually fit each other well.”

“She balances out his madness–”

“A voice of reason–”

You both spoke at the same, and the synchronisation elicited a small laugh that seemed to break some of the awkwardness, lighten the atmosphere slightly.

Until Nico spoke.

“So, you haven’t been watching my games?”

It felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs. It wasn’t that you felt confronted by the question: it was one you’d been expecting since the conversation yesterday with Jack, and even with the way Nico asked it you could just tell he was as hesitant at approaching the conversation himself.

It was just a bit of a blunt transition from Maisey, and your nerves seemed to come crumbling down almost instantly – as soon as he asked that.

You shook your head, embarrassed but already knowing inklings of what he thought, “I haven’t watched every game. The highlights – I watched some of those.” You took a breath, steeling yourself to look at him. When you did, you took in the kind eyes, intent on soaking up every word you spoke, and couldn’t help but smile – albeit a little bitterly, “It just hurt seeing you.”

He nodded, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the limp sleeve of his hoodie. He looked devastated, but the nod of agreement eased you slightly.

Then Jack’s words echoed through your mind. This idea that you’re gonna leave him.

Somehow remembering that little slice of the conversation put everything in perspective. Admittedly you hadn’t really believed Jack when he said that, but when Nico wet his lips and looked directly away from you, his chest rising and falling a little faster in the material of his hoodie, only seemed to paint this heartbreaking image of him right in front of you. He didn’t look surprised by your admission, but he was on the verge of saying or doing something, and it had you wondering if he’d honestly expected you to leave him after it all.

He had been expecting it, hadn’t he? He’d been looking at you differently the last couple of days. When you left the room to fetch him something, you could always feel his burning gaze on your back watching you intently from where he was sitting – afraid of something.

And the shower?

He’d thought this entire time that you looking after him would be the last time for everything, and you felt silly not having caught onto it before.

You opened your mouth to speak, tell him your true intentions, but he moved jerkily, and you paused. The hand that was playing with his sleeve suddenly stuck up, and he produced a piece of paper. It was lined and crumpled, as though he’d balled it up one too many times before reopening it – as though he’d changed his mind. You could make out the indentations through the folded up paper on the back.

What the fuck? Did he write notes, or something?

He took in a shuddery breath, rolling his eyes at himself, and you leant forwards unintentionally, curious as to what it was. You expected him to recoil, hide it from your view, but he did the opposite. He turned a little towards you, and he must have misjudged how quickly and how close you’d suddenly placed yourself, before the rim of his hat knocked into your forehead, the cap falling onto your leg.

He stopped, eyes flicking between your blushing, retreating figure to the cap that you’d made to pick up. You took the liberty of resituating it on his head. You knew it was cruel considering where his mind was taking him, but you couldn’t help swiping some strands across his forehead.

He drunk up every single motion you made.

“I–” he cleared his throat, “I wrote something that…I don’t know how to say everything that’s going on in my head, but I wrote this a while ago, and I,” he pushed it in your direction, his eyes lingering on the lines, “I want you to read it – not out loud, but just read it, please.” He rushed it all out, blinking at you with something akin to desperation, his jaw clenching and unclenching as the side of his mouth twitched upwards unconsciously.

All you could do was nod, “I can read it.”

He sat backwards, seemingly relieved, and turned back to face the park, just as you unfolded it and looked at his familiar scrawl at the top of the page. The writing was a little shaky–

“I’m sorry if you can’t read it. My hands shook the entire time…I’m sorry.” He shrugged, swallowing, not looking at you.

You turned your eyes back to the page, and you swear your heart stopped for a millisecond. The date. The fucking date was the day after you agreed to go on a break.

“You don’t have to apologise.” He’d been doing that quite a bit lately, “Why were you shaking?” Was what came out of your mouth.

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as though he thought it was silly, but over the wind and the chirping of birds, you didn’t quite manage to catch his mumblings.

“Sorry?”

“Because I think you’re going to leave me.” He admitted, keeping a straight face and refusing to look at you.

The honesty was startling, and you knew you should have said something to alleviate his clear anxieties about the whole thing – tell him you weren’t going to – but the words caught on your tongue. You so desperately wanted to let him know, but your body couldn’t physically function the way you intended it to. You felt stuck, trapped inside your own skin – claustrophobic, even – at the weight of his words. So you swallowed nervously, turning your eyes back to the paper.

You read it four times.

The first to read it. The second to double-check your eyes weren’t deceiving you. The third to make sure you hadn’t missed anything. The fourth to commit as much of it to memory as possible.

You were oblivious to the way his fidgeting seemed to worsen the longer you continued to stare at it. You knew Nico was intelligent, and despite him not writing this in his native language, it was incredibly eloquent. He was honest, straight to the truth – and parts of what he mentioned scared you, but in a good way. A really good way. It was a short passage, not even half a page, but it said everything it needed to say and more.

Your eyes kept snagging onto the last line, and you had to fight with yourself not to cry at what he’d said.

I can’t predict what decision you’re going to make, but I want you to know that I’m always going to love you. Even if you break my heart – especially then.

You had to take a while to digest what exactly he was saying in that–

“I’m always gonna love you too.”

Your mouth moved faster than your brain, but upon immediate reflection, you didn’t think it was the wrong thing to say. You didn’t know what else you could have said. You were so overwhelmed by the mere presence of him sitting in front of you, the way your chest ached at his written words, and the way your eyes pricked when he nearly snapped his neck to look at you after you’d spoken. You’d never seen anything like it – never felt it.

You wanted to press pause on the entire thing just to dissect it, but you knew any refusal to answer his questions and figure the mess out would be crucial – and you didn't want to put him through it even more, not when you were spending an unknown stretch of time in such close quarters like you were.

You had to sort it out, and it was looking like the bench was where you’d be doing most of that.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you closely as you used your sleeve to wipe your eyes. You weren’t exactly crying, but water was slowly trailing down your cheeks, and you sniffed, taking the time to gather your thoughts.

“I don’t know what to say…” you hesitated, and he took a sharp inhale, about to say something, “but I don’t want to leave you–I’m not leaving you. I pretty much decided that the second I left.”

“You did?” He huffed a watery laugh, hurriedly swiping at his own eyes. His brows were furrowed slightly, but he was smiling shakily.

You both felt it, that release of weight that had been hanging over the both of you like a dark cloud. It was remarkable the way the pressure seemed to lift off your chest.

“Yeah.” You felt your chin wobble, and you folded and unfolded the paper in your hands. The irony in the fact that it was your hands now shaking was amusing.

There was a moment of silence, the both of you absorbing exactly what it all meant, taking in the simple complexity of the fact that you weren’t ending things with each other – very much the opposite, if his letter was anything to go by.

“I’m not leaving you either, by the way. I didn’t actually say it.”

“The letter said plenty.” You replied, resting your arm along the back of the bench, your chin sitting on your fist, “But it’s nice to hear it.”

He smiled, and unlike yesterday you took comfort in the fact that his red rimmed eyes weren’t because he was feeling down.

“So we try again?” He sniffled, angling his body so you were both sitting directly opposite each other. His positioning was awkward – his uninjured arm mirroring you by resting his head on his fist, his elbow on the back railing.

You nodded, watching as his cheeks flushed in excitement, his smile lines cracking through his demeanour. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from blushing at the sheer excitement and overwhelming sense of adoration coursing through your body. You were sure your pupils were as dilated as they possibly could be, and despite wanting to pull your attention away from Nico – a bit of breathing room – you couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. It was when he raised an eyebrow, beginning to laugh that you remembered you’d forgotten to answer his question.

He didn’t mind, though.

“Yes.” You smothered a smile by tucking your face into the crook of the elbow on the railing.

You weren’t sure you’d been this flustered around Nico since you first started dating four years ago.

“Could we take it slow?” He asked, his hand reaching out to pull the material of your hoodie away from your face.

You nodded, resurfacing again, “Counselling?”

You felt fingers brush strands of your hair out of your face, and when you looked at him, you found he was nodding, brown eyes scanning every millimetre of your face as though he was drinking you in. Other than the shower, this was the first instance you’d both freely been able to look at each other in minute detail – to the extent you both desired. Sneaking glances when the other wasn’t looking didn’t exactly count.

For example, you could see that there was a splodge of red under his bottom lip, presumably from where he’d been tugging at it between his teeth all of last night. You’d opted to sleep in the spare bedroom, sure that he’d be able to make it through the night – besides, you both knew that you needed your space if you were to have the discussion the next day.

You could also see that he was refraining from doing something, because there was a small crease between his brows – a crease that told you he wanted to do something badly. You had a feeling you knew what it was, but you’d let his need linger a little longer.

“I think counselling is the right way to go, yeah.” A beat, “I want to do things right, take it slow, talk things out more. I don’t want a repeat of…this.”

He twirled some of your hair around his fingers, his eyes marvelling the movement, until he followed the strands to your face, and you broke out into a smile – not holding much back as you let out a short, breathy laugh.

“We’ve already made that mistake.” You agreed.

He sighed, “You know in that letter?”

You hummed.

“I meant it, you know. When I said I think you’re the only thing I got right.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling smaller under his gaze, “What about hockey?”

He grinned, “Hockey doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Hockey chose me. That’s different from me choosing you.”

You narrowed your eyes, still smiling, “How?”

“Because…” he trailed off, “I had to make choices when it came to you, ones that might have ended differently if I, say, hadn’t looked in the front window of the cafe that day, or hadn’t kissed you for the first time after the third date–”

“You took way too long.” You laughed.

He smiled, denying it as he waved a hand, “I think I waited just the right amount of time. I made all the right choices when it came to you. Hockey I didn’t really have to think about; it was all laid out for me – there weren’t as many things to think about compared to when it came to you.”

You sighed, pressing your lips together momentarily, before trailing your eyes to his smiling face and red-tinted cheeks still covered in some scruff. Your hand reached up and touched his chin, then his cheek, feeling the prickle that left your fingers tingling. It was a nice contrast he’d grown into the past couple of years, one that you’d grown to love, though you missed seeing what his face looked like clean-shaven.

You still loved him the same – that never changed.

You seemed to be reminded of that fact when he tilted his head into your palm, placing a kiss there and taking your wrist in his hand and gently tugging you closer. You obliged, of course you did.

“I love you.” You said.

His smile softened as he gently slid his hand from the grip on your wrist to be clasped between you both, “What happened to taking it slow?”

You shrugged, “I just haven’t said it in a while – I wanted to let you know that hasn’t changed.”

He blinked, his smile unwavering, “I love you too.”

There was also an unspoken acknowledgement under that reminder. There was still a lot you both needed to sort through before you even ventured into the realm of dating each other again – though the material left of each other that defined ‘dating’ was limited. There was only so much you could talk about without having heard it all before.

“I was thinking,” he started, his eyes flicking up to yours to catch your reaction as you raised a brow, “you don’t have any plans tonight, do you?”

You were toying telling him you did, that maybe you’d already organised something with Maisey, just to see how he’d react, but it was a little too soon to be teasing him like that, “My plans…involve making sure the captain of the Devils is recovering nicely.”

He nodded, pulling a faux inquisitive expression, “That’s incredibly convenient for me, actually. I happen to be the captain of the Devils–”

“No way.” You laughed.

“And, as the captain of the Devils, I was wondering if you’d like to hang out later. Maybe watch a movie and have dinner?”

You tilted your head, “Like a date?”

“Your words not mine.”

“What happened to taking it slow?”

He shrugged, “We can still cuddle, right?”

“I don’t know.”

He scoffed, “It’s a yes or no.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m talking about your shoulder. Cuddling is going to be pretty fucking limited.”

He nodded, his mouth forming an ‘o’, proving he hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead, “Kissing?”

You laughed, “Out of the question.” The comment was verging on being sarcastic, and the roll of his eyes proved he got the message, but you carried on, “We’re taking it slow. You need to focus on recovering in time for the playoffs–”

“Actually,” he held up a playful finger, “when you kiss me, my body releases endorphins, and they contribute to better mental health, and also reduce pain levels in the body. Lucky me,” he gestured to his shoulder, “I’m in a good amount of pain and in need of some endorphins to reduce th–”

You reached a hand up to take off his hat in the midst of his educated rambling, and you saw he could read what you were doing because the earnest protest in his eyes dimmed, and he swiped a tongue delicately over his bottom lip, a smile growing on his face. You could hear the thoughts beginning to fall away in his mind when he followed you with his eyes, his free hand settling in your hair on the side of your head. You had to praise him for it, because he didn’t for one second falter in what he was saying, but the mischievous twinkle in his eye gave him away almost immediately.

He angled his face towards you, and you both leant forwards, connecting your lips. It was short – the kind of kiss you’d usually share after he’d win a game and you were both in public. Celebratory – happy. You barely felt the gentle scratch of his scruff on your chin or the warmth of his mouth before you were pulling away. He didn’t let you get that far, the hand entangled in your hair keeping you nose to nose with him.

You were both smiling, and you weren’t mad that the only thing you could actually see properly were his eyes, staring directly into yours. You bit your lip – half trying to stop yourself from laughing, and half-trying to keep yourself from doing it again.

As much as you didn’t want to, it was essential to keep things slow – it was the right thing to do, despite the annoyance that came with it.

“So, kissing is on the cards?” Nico joked, unwinding your hair from his fingers gently to tuck the curtain that had fallen behind your ear.

“To compensate for the lack of cuddles? I might have to think about it.” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, replacing his hat back on his head.

“Remember: the endorphins.” He smiled, though you knew he’d let you actually think about it.

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“How long are you going to think about it, though?”

#nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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