#I'm also never publishing the fic ever for any reason so there were are

[ladyelainehilfur]

Jun but make it like how I wrote him in a fanfiction I never actually published

[covetyou]

tool time

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: cock worship, self imposed denial, blue balls for all, that tool belt, pet names (darlin', baby), mentions of oral sex and p in v, very brief mention of alcohol, no/pre-outbreak TLOU, no use of y/n. word count: 3k summary: He was always there to pull you both back from the brink, though you weren't sure there was any saving you this time. And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

A/N: it has been one year to the day (and almost to the minute) since I published sleepless in 2023. happy anniversary to the fic that started it all. thanks to all of you for sticking with me, and thanks to Joel Miller for always being That Man.

thank you to @sp00kymulderr and a conversation months ago at this point that inspired this fic 💛

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"Y'Starin'?"

You were. From the moment he walked in, actually.

Then, from the moment he slung that thing low around his hips this morning, you knew you were done for. Four weeks of pain and struggle, all for nothing.

The best laid plans, you guess, as you grunt back at him with a shrug.

It was on you, really. You were probably setting yourself up for failure the moment you had your first grownup sleepover with one Joel Miller. Sensible people don't do that to themselves. Not when they have rules to keep to. They may have been your own rules, but that was besides the point. Rules were rules, and you never did like breaking them.

Watching Joel move and shift, his bulge in his denim framed neatly by the leather of his work belt, you had a feeling breaking this particular rule wouldn't upset you for long.

Six weeks. That was the rule. Just two painful weeks away. Six weeks, and then you'd be free from this forced celibacy you'd put yourself into. It was a test for yourself more than anything - always too eager to throw yourself into intimacy with people who didn't care and, if you were being honest, with people who you didn't care about either. You figured if you wanted different, you'd have to make it different.

You just didn't account for the first man in your life after a months long dry spell to be Joel Miller.

From the day you said those words into his mouth - six weeks, give me six weeks and I'm all yours - he'd been all in. He told you he could wait as long as you needed, and from the moment he said it you believed him. The problem was, from the moment he said it, you also wanted to fuck him about it.

But you couldn't, because that was exactly the rule you were trying to keep to. No sex for six fucking weeks.

You weren't even sure why you picked six weeks in the first place. The exact whys of it all went out of your head the moment Joel committed to your stupid, self-imposed rule without question. Those reasons why grew further from you each and every week he calmly stopped your dates from going too far with a gruff don't wanna break your rules, baby.

Even when you were forced to stay the night after one too many drinks, or when a make-out session got too heated, there he was to pull you both back from the brink.

Though, you weren't sure there was any saving you this time.

And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

You'd seen him in it before. It wasn't new. It was quite old, and worn, actually. Usually you'd simply see him throw it into the back seat of his truck, or onto his counter, or over his shoulder. On one occasion you'd caught him on his knees, belt strapped around his hips as he fixed up a broken cabinet in his garage.

It did the same to you then as it did now, but this time it was staying on and not being hastily discarded with an oh shit, I'm runnin' late.

Now, he stands and shifts his hips, legs crossed at the ankle, the bulge in his denim so perfectly framed you're sure the sight will be burned into your vision for ever.

"You're doing that on purpose."

Your eyes are looking through him. Fuck knows you can't look at him. Not right now, not when two billion reasons not to break your one rule couldn't hold you back from just doing it.

"Doin' what?" he asks in a voice so innocent you almost believe him. Until he shifts once again, hips rocking in your direction, the denim bunching between his legs over his soft bulge.

"Stop it, Joel."

"Stop doin' what?"

Maybe he doesn't have a clue what he's doing to you - what he's been doing to you every day for weeks. Maybe he's oblivious, or too innocent and pure and good to know just how ravenous you're feeling for him right this moment, or maybe he's hoping he isn't seeing the way you're looking at him, ready to devour him in one, so he stands some chance of getting to work on time.

Yes, you could be strong and ignore the way his hand engulfs the coffee mug he's drinking from - strong but delicate in a way you know it to be by how he lets his fingertips dance up and down your side in the dead of the night. You could look past how his eyes flick down your body, stood stiff and still as far away from him as you can get in your tiny little kitchen. You could even ignore the way he licks the dregs of coffee from his lips, swiping his hand across his chin as his cup clinks down on the counter.

But then, those strong, delicate hands find purchase on his belt, hooking through a loop you saw him tuck a hammer into that day in his garage, and - as though you hadn't decided from the moment he put the belt on his hips - the last crumbling ruins of your resolve crash to the ground.

"Fuck it."

"Darlin', you -"

You cut him off with a kiss - striding across the kitchen to grab him by the shirt before he could even realize what was happening.

"Shut up," you breath into his mouth, silencing him more with the pressure of your lips on his than with the words on your tongue.

Joel, still trying to be a gentleman, keeps his one hand planted on the counter, the other on his belt, white knuckle gripping as he tries to keep up with your frantic kisses. You bite and nip at his lips, the fire in your belly not letting up even though you're well aware neither of you have time for this. And, though his hands are still, he kisses back with a fire to match, setting the ruins of your rules ablaze right there on the kitchen floor.

But then you're gone, and he's chasing a mouth that's no longer there.

His eyes snap open just as you slip down his body, your hands releasing from his shirt to slide down the length of his torso as you descend.

"Darlin', I -"

"Shut up, Joel," you growl again as your knees collide with the kitchen tile. It's not comfortable, and it's certainly not romantic, but it's what you need, so you'll take it.

"Your rule, baby, I don't wanna -"

"Fuck my rule, Joel."

Your eyes drop from his to the belt in front of you, then lower still to the soft lump in worn denim. You'd only been this close in your dreams - and there had been a lot of them lately. Waking up wet and sticky between your legs after a Joel sleepover was something you were now well accustomed to. While the you of your dreams could make the man come in two seconds flat some nights, the real you - the one on their knees in their kitchen - didn't have a clue what got his blood pumping and his heart racing.

You press a lingering kiss to the front of his jeans anyway. Just to see, really. Then, by the way his eyes widen, pupils blowing black in his warm eyes, and his breath hitches, you have a feeling you won't have much trouble at all finding out what makes Joel Miller tick.

You chain together another kiss, and then another, and then another, pressing your soft lips to the rough denim as you listen to his ragged breaths.

"I -"

"Shut up."

You don't want him to speak. You don't want him to be sensible, or to stop you, not when you've already waited so long. Not when his cock is right in front of you, separated by nothing but a zipper and some fabric.

You press a firmer kiss to him, breathing deeply and letting your eyes slip closed as you inhale. He always smells so clean in the mornings, but this time it's mixed with something else. The soft scent of his laundry detergent is still there, but there's the earthy smell of his leather belt, just a few inches away from your face. It smells of wood and dust and metal - the fixtures and undoubtedly a few errant screws and nails dumped into the pockets and pouches accounting for the latter. Then there's something else too, as you take another breath, groaning against the denim that you nuzzle your face into, feeling him twitch beneath your cheek.

He likes this. If the stiffening lump beneath your lips, pressed against your nose, rubbed against your cheek is anything to go by, he likes this a lot. Who could blame the man, really. He'd waited as long as you had. Four weeks for you had been four weeks for him. Four weeks of you trying to break through his resolve, to crack him so he was to blame for your broken rule and not you. Four weeks of you edging closer and closer to his waistband each time you kissed on the couch. Four weeks of your hips shifting back into his crotch every night you went to sleep.

"You smell so good, Joel," you groan into his crotch, letting your head rest against his thigh as you sink lower on your knees. Your head feels floaty on your shoulders, and you wonder if he can feel the hot warmth of your breath against his cock through his jeans.

His thighs tense beneath your palms as you steady yourself on him. You should probably slow down, you think, but no sooner is the thought in your head when your fingers are already creeping up and up to stroke across the soft leather of his belt.

You want to pull it off and pull his jeans down and finally taste him. You want to leave it on, slung around his hips as it is, holding onto it to anchor yourself to him as he slides into you. You want to feel it slapping against your ass as he fucks you, face down into the mattress screaming his name.

Instead you pull, tugging his hips closer to your face. He grunts above you, shifting his own hips again as his cock swells in his pants, undoubtedly uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. You want to take it out - you could take it out. You could see it for the first time right now, right here. You could taste it if you wanted to. You'd imagined it enough.

But you don't.

Even through your desperation, there were things you still wanted for that first time with Joel Miller. Fantasies of the belt, and the need you had for him right now couldn't sway you from that, at least.

You'd have him stripped bare, and you would be too. Hands and mouths and tongues would explore first. And then, when the desperation got too much to bear, he'd slip into you like he'd always belonged there, sliding down to the root and burrowing himself in you.

"I don't want you to do anything you'll regret, baby," he whispers, holding your hand against his thigh, stilling you for just a second.

You could sob at how good he is, even now as you try to ruin him on your knees.

"How could I regret this," you murmur, white hot heat radiating off his cock as it throbs right beneath your chin. "Please, Joel. Fuck my rule. I don't care. I just want you."

You watch as his resolve begins to crack, shattering first in his eyes as he spares a heated glance down at you between his legs.

"Fuck."

You begin in earnest then. Your hands that were stilled go back to kneading, pawing at his thighs, reaching round to grab a handful of his ass as you press kiss after kiss to his cock, dampening the fabric of his jeans with your saliva.

"Wanted it for so long," you breath. "Need it. Fuck, Joel."

You're babbling into his crotch. You know you are. You don't care. All you care is about the wet heat between your legs and the cock in front of you, swollen and desperate as you are wet and dripping. In this moment you're made for each other, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing, as he throbs, pulsating with each kiss you press to him.

He gasps suddenly and you're pulled out of your trance, looking up at him as a wet patch blooms on the front of his jeans.

"Baby, you can't -"

"Don't you want to?" you ask breathlessly. "Don't you want to know what it's like?"

"I do - jesus fuck - I do, we just don't got the time."

You groan into his crotch. He's right. Of course he is. Still, you don't stop. He can feel your breath hot on him through the denim, you're sure of it. You want - need - him to know how much you want him. You need him to carry it with him all damn day until he's aching and desperate and ready to fuck you the moment he sees you.

He's not looking down at you the next time you cast your eyes up. Instead his head is titled skyward and his jaw is open in a soft moan you can barely hear from the blood pumping in your ears. The hand that was on his belt has joined the other, gripping the counter, twitching as if itching to grab at you when you run your teeth over the now solid mass in his pants.

"I want you," you whisper. "Wanted you for weeks."

You let your hands take over, cascading up and down his strong thighs, scraping nails down and dragging delicate finger tips up. With one more kiss to the heavy weight at the front of his jeans, you bring your hand up to cup him, palming the heat between his legs and gasping at the feel of it.

He feels so heavy, and warm, and perfect in your hand.

"Fuck," you hiss, squeezing gently at his covered cock. "Joel."

"Unngh."

He's wrecked. If his breathing and the way he can't look down at you is anything to go by, he may be past the point of no return. It sends a thrill through you, ruining your clean panties even more as the realization strikes you.

You could make him come like this.

And you shouldn't. The sensible part of you knows that. You know he doesn't have anything else to change into, and you know that time is rapidly ticking away by the ache gradually throbbing in your knees.

But, you could - and that just makes to too hard to resist.

So, you continue on, pressing kisses to his cock, wishing desperately you could cradle the heft of his balls in your hand as you took his head into your mouth. Your teeth nip at his thighs, scrape gently across the sides of his bulge. And then, your tongue slips out from between your swollen lips, and you lick gently at the precum seeping through his jeans.

You moan. Whine, really. Whimper, if you were being really honest with yourself. The rough fabric on your tongue and the bitter salt of his precum on your tongue almost have you coming right there on the kitchen floor. You quiver instead, holding it back as you spread your legs, desperate for relief that you don't have time for.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me -"

The vibration of his phone in his pocket, twinned with a harsh beep, startles both of you. You look around, confused for a moment, before Joel scrambles for his back pocket.

"Tommy, hey," he says, clearing his throat. Tommy's voice booms back down the receiver. He's outside. Sorry I'm late, he says, and you could laugh if you weren't so painfully turned on and wrecked from the few minutes you'd spent on your knees acquanting yourself with Joel's cock.

"Yep. Uh-huh. Be out in a sec. Sure."

There's nothing but silence and the sound of your breathing when he hangs up. You can't bring yourself to get up any more than he can bring himself to walk away.

"We gotta get goin'," Joel finally says, hearing an impatient beep of a car horn outside.

"Tonight," you say with certainty, still on your knees. "You're fucking me tonight, Joel."

He helps you up, fingers twitching as they hold your waist. You don't have time for what you both want. Even a kiss could turn into something neither of you could pull back from now. You move to the door, together and desperate and messy in ways neither of you can say out loud, because the clock is ticking.

"Joel," you say, holding back a smile as you walk to your car. "Might wanna check the front of your pants."

He looks down, his cock still hard and uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. He'd hoped the short walk to the door would releave some of the pressure, but it doesn't. And then he sees it - the dark bloom of wet denim, evidence of the twin effort between you and his cock to ruin his day in the best possible way.

Joel shifts his tool belt, letting it sit lopsided on his hips. You can see by the look in his eye that he wants to push you up against your car and kiss you like he means it. You can see by the way his fingers grip that loop in his tool belt once more, holding onto it for dear life, biting at his inner cheek.

"Tonight," he growls, when he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, before stalking away to the waiting shadow of Tommy's truck.

You watch the leather of his belt slap against the full meat of his ass with every step, and you smile. Just one more day - ten more hours - and the denial would be over, the belt would be off and you'd finally, finally, get what you so desperately wanted.

Fuck your rule.

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[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Prologue

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst, miscommunication, ghosting? maybe, some cursing, mentions of OC having nephews (gross), being broken up with over a text, allusions to anxiety, my oc being argumentative and avoidant (she's me), and nico also being avoidant and a poor communicator (he's a man) (he's also a capricorn) (sorry capricorns)

Summary: Poppy Jensen’s job with the New Jersey Devils was supposed to be her first big step into adulthood - a way to prove to herself and her overbearing parents that she could make her own way in life. She was never supposed to become involved with any of the players. Becoming best friends with their captain was stupid. Getting her heart broken by him was tragic. Getting knocked up with his child was just plain messy.

Series Masterlist

A/N: is a 13k prologue excessive? probably. is the mixture of tenses in this part going to grind your gears? most definitely. am I going to do anything about it? no.

I've never actually published any writing before so go easy on the girl. if I need to tag any warnings just let me know. if you like the fic let me know. if you don't like the fic I beg you I'm having a bad month spare meeeeee.

TW for british english spellings because shock horror I am unfortunately british, get used to u's and s's where you least expect them, I will change my spell check settings for no one!! nico's facebook aunt shenanigans have lit a fire within me today and I was writing a later chapter for this fic and thinking if I don't actually put this out into the world I never will so here we are hi my name is maggie I hope you enjoy

Poppy

New Years has always been Poppy Jensen’s favourite holiday. The dwindling aftermath of Christmas - lights and decorations still hung throughout the city, everyone decked in the hats, scarves and ugly sweaters gifted by distant relatives over the Christmas period, and the six days of limbo usually spent drinking and eating copious amounts of leftovers before the new year, new me resolutions kick in - and experiencing it all in her hometown surrounded by the people she loves the most, there is no other time like it.

This year, she feels like the festive period has been one, long, strung-out horror show. 

Self-inflicted, of course, like all the other tragedies of her life, she does know she only has herself to blame for how pathetic it has turned out.

She had prepared herself for Christmas to be a dud. The one time of the year that she and her family put aside their differences, and this year she had opted out - or, so her mother had dramatically concluded; she actually just had work commitments. But, this would be her first spent alone due to the fact her parents had decided to go and visit her older brother, Oliver, and his family in San Francisco.

They didn’t have to fly across the country - Oliver has more than enough money to book his clan on a flight back to his home state, but obviously as the golden child, the Jensen’s must bend to his every whim. Of course, Poppy had been invited. Her relationship with her brother wasn’t mutually acrimonious, but the aforementioned work commitments got her out of that bore-fest. 

She does love her brother. Sometimes. Christmas, especially - he’s a great and expensive gift-giver. And she loves his wife, Kimberley, and their two sons - her nephews, James and Lucas - but spending the holidays with them would have been a lot. Her family is hard work on the best of days, and the only reason Christmas is ever bearable is because her mother hires help, and it’s impossible for the stress train to leave the station if Priscilla Jensen is given enough wine early enough in the day to dull her usual wicked demeanour. 

Kimberley, God bless her soul, maintains a sober house, and Poppy, as much as she respects this, would not go anywhere near that train wreck if you paid her a million dollars.

There’s also the fact that the holidays were invented to unwind, and Poppy somehow always gets lumped on nephew duty. She had long grown out of her boys are gross phase, but lord, do those two try everything in their power to bring it back. She has lost count of the amount of their bodily fluids she has had wiped all over her best clothes over the years. If she had agreed to fly out, she no doubt would have ended up being the one to watch the kids while everyone else had their version of a good time, and so she’d successfully managed to avoid all that with a half-assed promise of visiting at Easter, instead.

Her brother hadn’t been too upset - one less place setting at the table for him to worry about - but her mother had been livid, and there was no chance Poppy would live it down without owing her.

God forbid she, as an adult, actually got to choose how to spend her time.

She hadn’t actually been completely alone on Christmas, not all day, at least. Her best friend Nia had invited her to eat with her and her dad, but they were hardly putting her in the festive spirit with their constant snipes at each other, and so she’d given herself stomach ache stuffing herself full of corn bread and roasted carrots and dipped out to make it home for the Giants game - because there’s no better tradition than watching your team lose on Christmas Day. At least she wasn’t there to watch her dad and brother yell at the TV and get all grumpy for hours after the fact. 

She’d watched Love Actually with mulled wine in hand and fallen asleep on the couch - waking up in the middle of the night to the muffled sound of her neighbours screaming at each other through the walls. 

Poppy had the 26th off, and spent the day preparing her apartment for New Years, knowing she wouldn’t have any other opportunity to get her big clean done. She’d cleared out half her wardrobe - done several loads of laundry so that she could donate clean clothes to the women’s shelter a few blocks over - rid her kitchen of all the outdated tinned foods in the backs of her cupboards, dusted every surface, vacuumed every floor, colour-coded her bookshelf to look more aesthetically pleasing and then within an hour put it back in alphabetical order - all in a day’s work. 

By the time the 27th rolled around, and she had to return to work, she had tired herself out completely. She had been drained, and the worst part of it all, she didn’t even actually need to be there.

Sure, December was a crazy time to work in the NHL, their schedule unrelenting when the season got into full-swing, and the holiday events that Poppy’s team had to organise seemed never ending, but she had technically been given limbo-week off. Not that her mother had to know.

The Youth Foundation team had all wrapped up work for the year on the 23rd, and if Poppy was a truly good daughter/sibling/aunt, she would have booked herself on a red-eye after the home win that evening, but the second the opportunity to accept an actual real excuse not to change her plans arose, she took it with open arms. Her guilt of lying to her family diminished, along with her will to live at the fact she had - self-inflicted, as always - put herself down to work her favourite time of the year.

Her career with the New Jersey Devils had started with an internship in her final year of college. She had worked with the digital content department for her first year, quickly being sniped by the Foundation in the middle of her second year and working her way past content creation to helping co-ordinate and run some of the community events.

When her friend Jessica had approached Poppy and begged for her to cover her spot in the department they had started out together in for limbo-week, spending it with the team at their games, she had jumped at the bit. She knew no one else would agree to work last minute after having their time off approved, and was pleased to relay to her mom that she had to prove herself as a team player if she wanted more responsibility at work. It was all in the name of bumping up her performance and getting her name out there, and definitely not avoiding her family and that whole shit-show.

Poppy loves her job, and is more than happy with her career, but she could sing about it until the cows come home and her parents could not care less. They rarely ever acknowledged her successes because her life didn’t fit the mould they had set out for her - another reason she hadn’t wanted to spend this Christmas hounded with questions of why don’t you come work for your dad? Or why didn’t you accept the interview Ollie so kindly got for you? She doesn’t want a non-sensical, nothing job made up to keep her under her family’s influence. She has forged her own path, one that many dream of in one of the biggest industries in the country, and no matter how much she disappointed her parents in comparison to her lackey brother, she is content with where she is.

She had completely forgotten, however, that the devils played away on the 29th and 30th, and if she was going to be tagging along with the bare-bones limbo week media crew, there was no way in hell she was getting out of joining the team’s New Years celebrations. 

She had done her fair share of dodging team events already this year, and despite the fact she could appease most of her friends within the organisation, there was one person who would not let her off so easy.

This year is Jack Hughes’ first year hosting the big Devils New Years party - he’d, in her opinion, stupidly volunteered pretty much last minute after the venue the team had booked flooded in November and cancelled their reservation - and he would not let Poppy get out of coming, even if that meant scuppering her own annual tradition of getting shit-faced with her girls in their perfectly planned New Jersey bar crawl.

She’d done her best work to convince him - had almost sold him on the dream - she and her best friend, Nia, always start at the bar below Nia’s apartment in Hoboken, and then dot to the bars closest to their other friends apartments until they end up by Poppy’s, which has the perfect little rooftop set up where they get to watch all the fireworks across the Hudson. It’s how she’s spent the holiday every year since she and all her girls turned 21, and it was her favourite day, her favourite way to ring in a new year with her best friends in her favourite place in the world. 

Jack’s argument was that he also had a great view across the Hudson from his Jersey City apartment, and that she was less likely to catch hypothermia this year because his view came through floor to ceiling windows and the luxury of central heating.

She’d tried to argue that she had all intentions of meeting her future husband on her adventures through New Jersey, and he gave the quick rebuttal that he had plenty of single friends she was yet to meet. 

There was no excuse she could give that he couldn’t counteract, and so she’d eventually given up with the resolution that when he is 3 drinks deep, Jack Hughes can barely remember his own name, let alone keep tabs on where Poppy is, or if she ever showed up in the first place. She can always just say she’s running late until he stops asking.

And then she’d somehow gotten roped into helping him set up. 

Jack had cornered her on their flight home from Boston, where they had just lost to the Bruins and, all of a sudden, no one was in any kind of mood to party.

“I swear,” he had said, throwing himself down into the vacant seat beside her as she attempted to clear her inbox on the short journey, swiping away messages and storing others to review when work started back up in the next week, “If I mess up this party, and my name goes down in Devils history tied to the biggest depression session this team have ever seen, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“How the hell would that be my fault?” She had scoffed, kicking at his feet when he had tried to man-spread next to her and they had quite abruptly knocked knees. The staff seats toward the front of the plane weren’t quite as spacious as the player seats further back.

“You brought some serious negative energy with you on this trip,” he shrugged, reaching for the bag of skittles she had stashed in the pocket on the seat in front of her and stealing a handful, “And I can’t blame you for us losing, so I’m gonna blame you for constantly trying to abandon my event and making me feel so insecure about it that it turned into a complete bore-fest because I didn’t have my literal professional event planner friend to help me set it all up.”

Jack Hughes had joined the New Jersey Devils at the same time Poppy had started her internship. There had been some corny ice breaker session for everyone new to the organisation that season, and they’d bonded over their shared love for country music. He’d become dependent on her as a local to the area for recommendations for everything - food, sports bars, coffee, grocery shopping, running routes - and they’d quickly developed a friendship that had lasted them thus far. No fallouts, no drama, no issues. Being friends with Jack is easy. 

Poppy is older by near enough 18 months, and considers him as close to a little brother as she will ever find - annoying, teasing, loud and somewhat of a know-it-all, but he cares deeply, and he’s loyal, honest and open with her, and she loves him for it.

“I’ve done my part even helping you plan the thing,” she had to snatch the bag back from him before he finished the skittles off, needing the sugar to keep her awake for the quick drive home when they landed. Jack had been on her back about this party since he had first put his name in the hat to host, and she had been gracious, helping him arrange food, drinks, decorations and DJ equipment in the hopes it would lessen the blow that she didn’t want to attend. “I didn’t bring negative energy.”

“Do I have to kidnap you when we deplane or are you gonna come around tomorrow morning and help me?”

“Kidnap me?” she couldn’t help but laugh, casting a quick measured glance over his figure. “Real cute, Jack, you’re nothing without your stick.”

“I could take you.” He attempted to throw a skittle up into the air and catch it in his mouth, not accounting for the fact they were on a moving, somewhat turbulent plane, and he barely had enough finesse to pull that off on the ground. The candy landed and bounced off his cheekbone, and he watched it fall to the floor with a child-like pout. 

“It’s fighting talk like that that would lose you another tooth, Hughesy,” she had threatened in jest. 

“I’m a middle child, I don’t start fights I can’t finish, Popcorn.” He also has a track record of giving Poppy the worst nicknames she has ever heard in her entire 24 years on this Earth. “Luke’s already said he’ll help me on the kidnapping front, we have a plan.”

“Your plan is nothing without incentive, Jack. You come at me with weak threats when you could just offer me something in return.”

“Like what?” His eyes narrowed toward her, shuffling in the seat until he was facing her fully. 

“I want to bring Nia.” If she was going to be subjected to this, she was bringing back up - and she had thought this would be a good trade, knowing how protective the boys were of their private events, especially those thrown in their own homes.

Poppy hadn’t liked the way his lips curved up immediately, like she had fallen straight into his trap. “Done.” She should have known better. He stood up, edging back into the aisle and sending her a wink. “I’ll text you details on when and where I need you. Your hot friend is more than welcome to offer a hand, too.”

And that is how Poppy has ended up spending the day of New Years Eve, her favourite day of the year, rushing to set up Jack Hughes’ apartment. 

Her first task had been to go round to Jack’s and accept the deliveries that came while he and Luke were out picking up the decks for the DJ. Drinks arrived by the crateful, the boxes of paper plates, cups and other table wears took her several trips up and down from Jack’s apartment to the building lobby until she broke out in a sweat, and she had done her best to hang all the decorations, her last call being to pick up the bigger decoration delivery from downstairs.  

Poppy, with the help of Lionel, the building’s concierge, loads the elevator full of decor, ranging from golden helium balloons that spell out ‘Happy New Year’ and ‘2024’, a large roll that should hopefully unravel to reveal a backdrop for a makeshift photo-booth, as well as a deconstructed balloon arch that gave her PTSD from the amount of events at the Rock she’d had to put them together.

Lionel offers to come up with her to help unload everything upstairs, but the thought of cramming another person in there with all the stuff makes her feel claustrophobic, so she politely declines - though, when the elevator doors open and she bumps face first into a firm chest, her nose smushing against a khaki t-shirt she wishes she had someone else with her to buffer the tension that stiffens her spine. 

A large, calloused hand wraps around her upper arm to steady her, and another reaches out to keep the doors of the elevator from closing in on where she stands. She looks up into eyes swirled with the colour of warm, melted chocolate, and her throat feels just the slightest bit drier than it had 5 seconds ago.

“Hey,” Nico Hischier’s voice is deep, scratchy like he’s just woken up - he probably has given how late the team got in last night - and trickles down in static currents from her ears to the base of Poppy’s back. 

She takes a short, startled step back, and gulps down the dryness in her throat before she gives a quick, “Hey,” in response. “Sorry, I’ll just take a second to unload all of this then the elevator is yours.”

“I’ll help,” Nico doesn’t phrase it as a question, as if knowing she would immediately decline. Not, let me help, or do you need help? He’ll just do it. “You get everything out and I’ll take it inside?”

She nods, despite the voice in the back of her head telling her that he’s only helping to get the job done quicker, and be able to get downstairs. She makes a conscious mental effort to drown it out while the two of them work in a silent tandem, her lifting the decorations into the hallway and him towing them down and into Jack’s apartment. 

She makes another conscious effort not to watch when he lifts things, the flex of his arms, the rippling muscles of his shoulders.

“Is that the last of it?” He asks, gesturing to the rolled up backdrop leaning on the side of the elevator and propping it open. 

“Yeah, but I got it,” Poppy gives a tight smile, lifting the roll but staying in place so the doors don’t close behind her and she doesn’t get stuck any longer in Nico’s presence on her own. “Thanks for helping.”

There used to be a time she couldn’t get enough of being around Nico, but those days are long gone.There is a permanent frigidity between them now - it’s been there since the summer just gone - and she’s overstimulated enough having spent her morning being Jack’s lackey while he no doubt slacks off with his brother grabbing brunch out. Her patience is beyond wearing thin, and so the last thing she needs is prolonged contact with the Devils captain where she will no doubt end up blowing up and making everything worse.

No one wants to ring in the new year with an almighty fallout.

She can’t help the frown that befalls her features when he makes no effort to occupy the elevator. He makes no effort to do anything, only looking at Poppy with a pensive pout. “Jack said I should come help you out.”

Of course he did, she thinks.

For the past four months, Jack Hughes has been acting like it’s his greater purpose in life to bring Nico and Poppy back together - like the demise of their friendship was the greatest personal inconvenience he has ever faced in his life. 

He has orchestrated one too many ‘accidental’ run-ins just like this one, and Poppy isn’t going to entertain his childish games any longer.

Nico doesn’t want to be her friend - she knows this for a fact - so Jack’s schemes are becoming a waste of everyone’s time.

“I’m alright, Nia’s on her way, you don’t have to hang around.”

Nia was due at Jack’s apartment two hours ago, but is no doubt still asleep after she was out last night for her pre-New Years celebrations. She’ll come over soon enough, though, and so Poppy doesn’t feel entirely deflated to turn down help she actually might currently need.

“I don’t mind waiting until she gets here.” Nico shrugs, again not giving her a natural opportunity to say no. He nods towards the apartment, gesturing for Poppy to start making her way over. “We both know she won’t take the stairs.”

Something about the way he so casually recalls information about her best friend plucks at her nerves, just a little, reflective of the part of their lives they had once shared with each other like it was nothing, but she shrugs it off, beginning to head towards the apartment with the roll tucked under her arm.

“I thought New Years was your favourite holiday?” He asks once they’re both inside, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him and somewhat trapping her in his presence echoing throughout the room. He doesn’t allow for any kind of prolonged silence between the two of them. If Nico Hischier is good at anything, it’s getting people to talk to him.

It’s not entirely that she doesn’t want to talk to him.

She does.

She’s wanted to talk to him every day for the past 4 months that they hadn’t talked - has been craving even mundane, casual conversation about the weather or traffic on the way into work, but now, as he yet again indifferently recollects such personal details about her as if they have remained close, she begins to feel uneasy.

“It is,” she gives a half-hearted, dismissive response. 

“Then why are you all grumpy?”

“I’m not.” She frowns, eyebrows furrowing and arms crossing as she turns to face him, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.  

She’s not trying to be difficult. Or maybe she is. She is in a particularly bad mood, but she had thought she’d done a good job at masking it. He’d been around her all of 2 minutes and saw right through her. 

“Jack said you’ve been off all morning.”

Like he cares, she thinks, her mood souring further at the fact he doesn’t see through her or even care at all, he’s here at the request of someone else. Following up on his duties as a captain and fulfilling a favour for one of his actual friends.

Embarrassment floods the pit of her stomach, and rears its ugly head in the form of her biting tone when she replies, “Jack’s been out all morning, how would he know?”

“He left you to do all this on your own?” Nico frowns, gesturing around to the half-way set up apartment. All that’s left to do aside from put up the decorations she’s just lugged up is set up the food and drinks, and Poppy figured she could leave that task to Jack so that it all remained fresher for longer. 

“I do this kind of thing for a living, remember?”

She cringes inwardly at the venom in her voice, turning away from him with a huff and missing the way his posture deflates. 

“You run events, Poppy, you’re not an assistant.” She can hear his heavy footsteps follow as she moves to set up the photo-booth area. “If I’d known he had you running after him all morning, I’d have-,”

“Called someone else to come help me so you could carry on avoiding me?”

She really is wound up now. Jack bailing on her to do God-knows what while she sets up his party had been one thing - there was a rational part of her brain that would tell her there would no doubt be hiccups in trying to source a bunch of DJ equipment in New Jersey on New Years Eve and he hadn’t actually bailed - and she could write off Nia’s disappearance due to the fact Poppy had sprung the plans on her last minute when she got home and called her last night, and she was bound to show up at some point. But Nico implying she is letting Jack walk all over her and needs anyone’s help to get through setting up a basic party is downright offensive. At least, in her stressed out state, it is - and so she can’t find it within herself to bite her tongue about their situation any longer.

If it drives him away and brings back her solitude to finish setting up without him occupying any precious mind space, so be it.

She almost forgets a key fact about the man before her. He doesn’t give up so easily.

“I’m not avoiding you.” He bites back, stepping into her space and helping her lift the backdrop roll to fit into the brackets she had set up earlier when the structure for the booth had arrived. “I would have come to help you, myself, Poppy.”

She wishes he would stop saying her name. 

4 months of radio silence and he’s thrown it at her like a dagger twice in the span of 30 seconds, the way his it rolls of his tongue in a low, smooth rasp scratching an itch she didn’t know she had, and now she can’t shake it. 

“I’m fine,” she huffs, reaching as far as she can and pressing until she hears the brackets click into place. At the brief noise, Nico catches on to what he needs to do at his side and manages to click it into place, barely lifting his arms. She moves into the middle of the structure, pulling at the velcro tab holding the roll together until it cascades to the floor and unveils the backdrop in its entirety. 

“What else needs doing?” He asks, his tone gentler this time.

“Nothing,” she mutters, winding the velcro in between her fingers to occupy them, before moving to pass him and make her way to the next task on her list. It’s only small things now. Arranging the balloons, setting up the arch, clearing table space for the equipment when Jack finally arrives home. “You can go, I’ve got it.”

“Mohn,” Nico sighs lowly, warm hand clasping around her forearm as she attempts to pass, holding her in place beside him. 

She really wishes he wouldn’t call her that.

If Jack is the prince of childish monikers that make her insides curl, Nico is the king of making her melt.

The nickname takes her straight back to the days before the waves of the summer break washed their friendship away. The times where he’d give her a ride home from the Prudential Center after work, whispering a, “Goodnight, Mohn,” in her ear as they hugged goodbye over the centre console in the front of his car. The times she’d meet up with the team to celebrate a win at their favourite bar, and he’d throw a never-casual, “Looking good, Mohn,” her way with an appreciative once-over. 

And it takes her even further back to when they had met, and she’d first offered her name.

“I’ll be interning with the content team, my name is Poppy,” she had offered a bright smile, reaching her hand out for him to shake, and making sure to keep a firm grip, just like her father had taught her, when he places his hand in hers. As she had done since she was a child, it was instinctual to follow up with, “Like the flower.”

“Mohnblume,” he had uttered, a smile so deep his cheeks dimpled into deep valleys.

“Huh?” She had been only a little bit caught out by the way his eyes shone, forgetting her manners as her head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Poppy flower, that’s what it is in my language.”

“Oh,” she had exclaimed, furrowed brows raising, a soft flush warming her cheeks, “Pretty!”

“Very.”

She had convinced herself for a long time that it was just his way of remembering - an aid in blurring the lines between the two languages that, especially back then, he often found himself mixed up in. And then, after a while, using it seemed to bring a protected familiarity between them - like an inside joke - and he’d use it less in front of others and more in the times it was just the two of them.

Years down the line from hearing it for the first time, and months down the line from hearing it for the last, her heart still thumps the same erratic beat at the sound.

Nico’s eyes still shine the same way when he looks down at her, and she fights every fibre of her being not to think too much about it. Or not to think about the touch of his hand on her arm, still holding her in place, the two of them closer than they have been in a long time, now.

It’s painfully easy to forget the months of distance after only seconds in his immediate company - to wipe from her memory the reason for her reticence and to push down the stubborn desire to push him away.

Her lips part to speak, and she doesn’t know if she’s about to turn him down or take him in, because another voice fills the apartment before any words get the chance to spill out.

“I come bearing gifts!” A sing-song lull breaks the silence as her best friend makes her presence known, entering the apartment with a drinks carrier in one hand, and a to-go back over the other wrist. 

Poppy steps away, shaking Nico’s grip from her arm, and turns to give Nia her full attention, hoping that she is either too hungover or too focused on herself to see or care about the obvious tension between her and the captain. She manages to bite her tongue from letting a Thank God slip out, and makes her way over to retrieve a much needed drink.

“They were out of chai so I got you an iced tea,” Nia holds out the drink to Poppy, and then the to go bag, “And half a cinnamon roll.”

“Half?”

“What? I was hungry too.” Nia scoffs, turning her attention to the brooding presence on the other side of the room. “Sorry, Nico, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Would you have only eaten a third if you did?” He trials a joke, and when Poppy sneaks a peak back toward him, he looks apprehensive - scratching at the nape of his neck as if anticipating a bad reaction to his attempt at lighthearted humour.

“I’m sure Poppy doesn’t mind sharing if you’re starving,” Nia makes her way to the bar set up by the kitchen, placing her own cup down and shrugging off her purse beside it. 

“I wouldn’t dream of depriving her of half a cinnamon roll.” While his words are directed to her best friend, Nico looks at Poppy with a wistful smile, and she can practically see the memory of an old shared routine wash over his eyes. 

A weekly ritual of meeting by the PATH station close to both of their apartments on a free morning for a run, and then catching breakfast to go and grab a juice or a smoothie for the walk home - abandoned just like all the other little traditions they once had together.

Nico and Poppy had been close, before. Closer than she is to Jack, now - closer than she’s been to anyone else on the team, ever. So close that Nico knows her best friend enough to joke around with a familiar ease; so close that they’d even hung out as a three before, back when the girls shared an apartment in Poppy’s first year with the Devils, and he had been the only person that Nia had ever been happy to share her childhood friend with. 

And now, Poppy stands between them in a silence so uncomfortable she feels like the room is shaking.

She hasn’t talked to Nico in months, and hasn’t talked about him in just as long, but she knows Nia can read her like a book. 

The girls had grown up together - been through everything side by side, pinky fingers intertwined with an eternal promise of friendship and understanding. The demise of relationships, friendship group implosions, familial hardships, Nia’s goth phase, the time Poppy wrecked her hair dying it a vibrant cherry-red because her high school crush said Ariana Grande was hot - she still shudders thinking of how her hair glowed red in any direct light for years in the aftermath. Through middle school, high school, college, and all the way up until now, the pair know each other inside out.

So Poppy knows that Nia knows something happened.

Nia knows that Poppy hadn’t been able to go a day without bringing up the Swiss Captain before the summer, and then all of a sudden, she didn’t mention him at all. But she also knows her friend well enough and loves her too much not to have pressed on an open wound.

“It looks insane in here, Pop,” Nia gawks at the set up around her, every corner of the open plan layout of Jack’s large apartment decked out with decor and party amenities. “Do you guys go this hard every year?”

“Depends who’s hosting,” Nico shrugs, knowing when it had been his turn the year before, his event had been much more lowkey. Poppy had seen the pictures, had been sent an abundance of wish you were here snapchats around midnight from the Captain himself. Jack has a thing about his reputation that won’t let him even consider doing anything lowkey. “I forgot this would be your first year coming.”

“Oh, we’re not coming.” Poppy covers her mouth as she speaks around a bite of her food, unable to wait until she’d finished her mouthful due to the immediate urge to shut him down once again.

“You’re not?” He almost sounds disappointed. She doesn’t dare check for the furrow of his thick eyebrows or the pout of his lips. “Jack said he’d convinced you.”

A flash of anxiety shoots across her chest at the thought of him considering her attendance. Had he asked Jack? Had he mentioned her specifically - pushed him to convince her? Or had Jack just brought it up in an offhanded comment?

“I just agreed to get him off my back about it.” Her choice of words is only slightly intended to hurt. She and Nico were no longer friends - she hadn’t been the one to make that decision. Despite that fact, she tries to suppress the guilt clawing at the base of her throat at the wash of understanding that passes over his features. A solemn nod, gaze bouncing to the floor, lips pressed together. “We have plans with our friends.”

“Actually,” Nia’s voice captures both their attention swiftly - Poppy’s head whipping around in subtle alarm and Nico’s in anticipation. “Blake’s flight back from Arizona got cancelled, and Kelsey bailed on me last night because she got Covid of all things over Christmas.”

“What about Emma?” Poppy asks, hoping and praying their hermit friend has all of a sudden grown some stellar social skills and agreed to carry on their tradition for the sake of Poppy’s sanity.

“She double booked with her boyfriend, and he’s a huge drip I don’t really wanna hang out with those two all night.” God damn Emma and her tool of a boyfriend, Poppy thinks. “At least if we come here, we’re still close enough to your place we can make it back for fireworks on the roof.”

“We get a great view of them from this building,” Nico makes his presence known again, attempting to offer a solution. “If you didn’t want to walk back home so late.”

“See, Pop,” Nia claps her hands together with a grin, “We get to come to a cool party, don’t have to worry about creeps following us around all night, and still get to hold on to tradition. Win, win, win if you ask me!”

“Right,” Poppy sighs, knowing now that Nia has her heart set on the plan, there’s nothing she can do about it. Any persistence on her part would be too obvious. “Fine.”

“Awesome! What’s left to do?”

Poppy eyes Nico, knowing she’d told him only a few minutes ago that there was nothing left. “Just need to clear a table for the equipment Jack’s getting,”

“Which one?” Nia asks, making her way over with her iced tea in hand once Poppy points toward the table in the corner by the wall-to-wall window. “Are you helping or just standing around looking pretty?” 

Nico’s cheeks flush, a subtle warmth arising to his skin, and he gives a bashful chuckle.

Poppy feels a little nauseous, and it’s not from the sickly sweet half of a pastry she’s just forced down.

Nia’s eyes flicker between the two of them like she’s at a grand slam, and her lips twist to hide a smile.

“I actually need to head out,” he says, gaze darting quickly to Poppy before turning to her best friend, “I have some things I need to do before tonight. It was good to see you, though, Nia.”

Nia hums around the straw of her drink, giving a dismissive wave. “You too, see you later!”

Nico begins towards the door to the apartment, and just before he passes Poppy, he stops. He doesn’t reach for her this time, doesn’t step too close, but she can feel his presence regardless. And every hair on her body stands to attention like she’s been shocked by static when he says, lowly, “I’ll see you tonight, Mohn.”

She can only nod in response, not trusting her voice to speak, not trusting her eyes to look into his and be able to look away. 

After he departs, there are a few minutes of an ear-piercing silence. Poppy can hear every movement Nia makes, from the slurp of her drink, to the manner in which she throws things around with little care for where they end up. And louder than anything, she hears the violent thud of her heartbeat in her own ears.

“So,” Nia drags out when Poppy joins her at the almost empty table. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” Poppy and Nia have known each other fifteen years, she doesn’t know why she hopelessly thought that would work.

“Don’t play dumb,” Nia scoffs, “You and Captain Sexy,”

“There is no me and Nico,”

“But you know who I’m asking about,” she scoffs like she’s caught her best friend out, and then adds, with a suggestive wiggle of her brows, “So you do think he’s sexy?”

“What are you, twelve?” Poppy rolls her eyes, “He’s the only captain we’ve been in a room with, pretty obvious who you were referring to.”

“Admit it, Poppy, I saw the two of you when I came in, you totally wanna jump his bones, you have for as long as you’ve known him.”

“We’re not having this conversation, Ni.”

“The hell we aren’t!” Nia grabs her best friend by the shoulders, “I’ve bitten my tongue for months, Pop, watching you mope around and get all glum whenever work is brought up. I couldn’t get you to shut up about the guy before, what the hell happened between you two?”

“Nothing happened!”

“It totally did!” Nia can spy the aversion Poppy is attempting from miles off. “Don’t tell me you two finally hooked up and you didn’t fill me in,”

“He has a girlfriend, Nia.”

The way Poppy says it is like a period to a sentence. End of conversation. End of speculation. It doesn’t matter what they had been before, or what they are now. It doesn’t matter what she feels. There is no her and Nico because he is someone else’s. That’s the crux of it.

“Since when?” Nia frowns. 

“Since the summer just gone.”

And there it is. Understanding washes over the face of her best friend, and Poppy has to force herself to look away. 

He’d maybe been with her before that, too, but Poppy doesn’t actually know the entire timeline of it.

All she does know is that he’d come back from Switzerland with a drop dead gorgeous model hanging off of his arm, and he no longer had a use for Poppy in his life.

She knows other little bits, that she’d sourced from parts of conversations with others, or potential social media sleuthing that she will never admit to even with a gun to her head.

Talia, a model from somewhere close to home back in Europe, and Nico had hit it off at some festival when he’d gone back to Switzerland for his break. He’d very quickly and very clearly become smitten with her. Poppy had seen as much with her plastered all over his private stories and even posted on his private instagram feed.

By the time he came back to New Jersey for pre-season training camp, she was tagging along to team gatherings, he’d take her on his morning runs, grabbing breakfast together, he’d pick her up every day after work so he could no longer drive Poppy home, not that he’d ever attempted to explain any of that to her. She was at every home game, was his plus one to every event, and Poppy and Nico’s friendship had fizzled out so much that she sometimes feels like the whole thing had been a fantasy, or a figment of her imagination. Something she’d misunderstood, miscalculating every interaction they had ever shared and assuming they meant the same to him as they did to her.

They didn’t.

She doesn’t think any of it would have hurt her so much if he’d have let her down easy. A sorry for bailing on you the first time she’d text him if he wanted to meet up for their weekly run and he’d left her on read would have lessened the blow. He could have been straight up with an I just want to focus on my relationship right now. That would have been the decent thing to do, but he’d just dropped her, instead. Didn’t come around her office for lunch, didn’t text her after training when one of the guys said something stupid and he thought it might make her laugh. He’d cut her off from the intimate parts of his life - ghosted her, even - and all she could find it in herself to do anymore was miss him.

She’d made attempts to bring him around, at first. Tried speaking to him at work, tried texting, but after a few weeks of staring at the delivered sign at the bottom of their message thread, she had given up. It still taunts her every time she opens it up to delete the entire thing and move on like he clearly has - erasing all the inside jokes and times they had confided in one another like they meant ever meant anything in the first place.

She can count on her hand the amount of times they had spoken since the summer. Work related, entirely. A good game here and a have you seen whoever? there. Today is the first indication in months that they had ever been anything more than two people who worked in the same organisation. Friends of friends, co-workers, barely acquaintances.

Not people who know each other’s favourite holidays and are chummy with each other’s friends.

“I’m sorry, Poppy,” Nia frowns, “I didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs, attempting nonchalance despite the stinging in the back of her throat. “Let’s finish here so we can go get ready.”

Nico

Nico Hischier isn’t the biggest fan of New Years Eve. He isn’t really a fan of the festive period, at all. He isn’t a scrooge by any means. He can appreciate the coming together of people and the celebration of the year just gone, and the one starting fresh - but ever since he moved from Switzerland and started his career in the NHL, the holiday period has felt unnecessarily long.

His schedule is jam packed - games up until the 23rd, starting again after Christmas on the 27th, and again after New Years on the 3rd - and there aren’t enough consecutive days together to celebrate in the way others get to do this time of year. 

He knows he has to make do with the fact - a small price to pay for living his dream - and his teammates help, all sharing in their sacrifices and trying to make the best out of a bad deal. But he can’t help but feel a lack. A lack of tradition, a lack of family being around, a lack of normalcy.

He remembers the holidays as a child, spending time at home with his parents and his siblings, having two weeks at home for his winter break and getting to spend his days doing whatever he pleased. As someone who moved overseas at such a young age, he looks back on those times fondly. 

But now, living at least 8 hours away from the rest of his family, this time of year only serves to remind him of the isolation that creeps up on him like a bad cold.

It starts at the beginning of the month, the sniffly nose period of the bug, when chatter starts around who’s doing what for Christmas. Decorations go up, parties are planned, names are passed around in a hat for Secret Santa, and discussions begin around who is managing to go where. 

Next comes the tickle in his throat - the last game before Christmas, where the team all depart and separate with temporary goodbyes as those who have family nearby all get to go home - their parents arranging home cooked extravaganza meals, reuniting with their siblings, exchanging gifts - and Nico, for the 5th year running, feels like a bit part in someone else’s festivities as he and a few of the other European guys all bustle into the dining room of whoever is willing to accommodate them for the day. 

Then comes the rest, the sneezing, the coughing, the lethargy, in the period between Christmas and New Years, when everyone is reeling off the back of their celebrations and looking forward to ringing in the next year with a big party. 

Nico had thought this year might have been better. He had been in a relationship, there were parts of the holidays he could tweak and adopt into his circumstances - exchanging gifts with a loved one, bringing her along to Christmas dinner at Jesper and Nicole’s place, and not having to feel like a third wheel or like he had to shrink to fit at the kiddie’s table. 

He’d even tried to start his own holiday traditions with Talia, his girlfriend. He’d booked an overnight stay at a fancy hotel on the Upper East Side in the middle in the month on one of the rare occasions he’d had two consecutive days with no game or other commitments - despite how hectic his schedule had been. He’d taken her Christmas shopping down Fifth Avenue like she’d talked so much about how she’d wanted to do ever since she came out to New Jersey with him after the summer. He’d taken her ice skating, away from the Rock so that it didn’t feel like work, they had bought and decorated the tree in his apartment together, he’d brought her along to every team holiday event.

And on the day of their home game against Anaheim on the 17th, just a few days after their trip into Manhattan, in the middle of the third period, she had unceremoniously dumped him with an I’m just not feeling this anymore. Over text. As she was already at the airport preparing to fly back to Munich to spend the holidays with her family. He had slumped into his locker after their brutal 5-1 defeat and couldn’t believe what he was reading.

Nico wanted to be angry. As he read the text, he could picture any other person throwing and smashing things. Calling her up and demanding an explanation - because it was clear she hadn’t been feeling it for longer than she let on, considering she was about to board a no doubt fully booked flight across the Atlantic in the eleventh hour. 

But there was too large of a part of him that just felt relieved.

Talia was great.

He had met her properly in the summer when he had gone home to Switzerland, but they’d had mutual friends long before. He’d liked a couple of her instagram pictures here, she had responded to a few of his stories there, and then they had been formally introduced at a friend’s party.

Things with her were easy, at first. Nico wasn’t looking for anything serious, and she had ticked all of the right boxes. She was good company, always down to do whatever he was doing with whoever he wanted to do it with. She recognised that summer was the only time of the year he truly had to himself, and she let him take the reins on how he wanted to spend it.

She would go on hikes with him, would lounge around in the sun if wanted, go to parties, go to festivals, join him on little weekend trips to Ibiza or Mallorca. And she was a great release when his training had picked up. She would work around his schedule. He’d invite her round to his apartment and he had enjoyed spending time doing nothing with her after a long day at the gym or at the rink.

She had slotted so perfectly into that version of his life that he gave very little thought into inviting her into the rest of it. 

She was beautiful, sociable, charismatic - and then she became hard work.

When summer was over, and he invited her to spend some time back in New Jersey, she didn’t quite grasp how much things would need to change. She constantly wanted to have plans. Wanted to go to parties, wanted to go out, be around other people, take little trips - and he had tried to accommodate her the best he could, but he didn’t have the time for himself, let alone for another person, to be doing things all the time. He had tried to tell her as much, and she said she was okay with it, said as long as he was present with her, she could settle for not doing the things they had in the summer, but she expected too much from him. 

She wanted Nico’s attention at all hours of the day, weaving herself into every aspect of his routine. He wanted to run? She would go with him, could really use the fresh air. He wanted to do some solo training at the gym? She had been meaning to work on her lifting. He couldn’t go to the grocery store - could barely even go to work without her wanting to be there. His phone would blow up whenever they were apart, and if he didn’t text her back straight away, she’d become cold - making him feel guilty and grovel for her forgiveness.

Talia was fun, until she wasn’t. Until she was exhausting, and Nico couldn’t keep up with her any longer. 

She didn’t give him the grace to have an off day. He was tired, he was struggling, and when the season kicked into full swing, and the team’s schedule was packed, he became unable to juggle it all.

His work was suffering, his star was dimming, his body ached and his performance dipped - both in his professional and personal life. 

And so, after the detonation of their relationship, a break up text felt a little like a wake up call.

Talia had contributed so much to the deterioration of normalcy in his life, that Nico was still trying to piece back together his routine 2 weeks later. 

His holiday period this year had been spent in a haze - and it wasn’t for the reason everyone thought. He had caught the pitiful glances sent his way over the dinner table at Christmas, had seen the way the couples in the room tried to spare him of their PDA whenever he was around, and he could have told them it was okay. He was okay. But there was a large part of him that was trying to figure that out, still.

He had known he wasn’t heartbroken. He wasn’t shooting off texts to Talia and begging for her to come back. He’d already boxed up what little belongings she had left behind and was going to ship them internationally after the New Year had passed. He had deleted, not archived, all their photos on his private socials, and had even deleted most of them from his phone. He wasn’t in pieces over the fact she had ended things.

But he knew something still wasn’t right.

At first, he had thought it was work related. Their worst week of the season had happened just before Christmas - 3 losses at home in the span of 5 days - and he thought that could be the reason for his slump. Then, they won against Detroit and he still felt off.

Then, he thought he had been anxious about Christmas - about showing up on his own, having to explain his breakup to everyone not quite caught up on the news yet, and he would have to wallow in that same old feeling of watching everyone else enjoy the holidays. But Jesper and Nicole had thrown together a pretty nice day for the guys. The food was great, the company was great, and he’d gone back to his apartment that night with a feeling of relief - like he’d been dreading something for so long only for him to have genuinely enjoyed himself.

And finally, as if being thrust into a freezing cold ice bath, realisation had washed over him on the morning of the team’s final home game of the year against Columbus. 

He had been walking through the back offices of the Prudential Centre when he had stumbled upon a conversation, and had heard Poppy Jensen’s voice for the first time in what felt like forever.

“I’m just kinda beat, to be honest, J,” she had said in response to a question Nico hadn’t caught. He had thought no one would be around, most of the Foundation staff having the week off, and hadn’t expected to come across anyone on his venture to the best vending machine in the building. The Foundation offices were often frequented by kids, and had an assortment of candies throughout their machines instead of the protein bars or rice cakes elsewhere in the staff areas. At the sound of her voice, he had come to an immediate halt, peaking around the corner where he could see into her office. She was moving some things into a box on her desk and Jack Hughes was reclining in the chair in front of it that once had been claimed by Nico as his own. “I’m all social interaction-ed out, the holidays have kinda beat me to a pulp, I don’t think I could keep up with you guys, I’m sorry.”

Nico watches as she swats at his feet when he tries to kick them up onto her desk, and can’t quite see the crease between her brows as she frowns at their mutual friend, but can remember how it used to form all the same. “You’re such a bullshitter,” Jack had scoffed, clearly pre-empting the stapler Poppy would throw at him, managing to catch it with ease. 

“You can’t call me a bullshitter in my own office,” she gawked, “You don’t see me marching out onto the ice and calling you an attention whore.”

Jack had thrown the stapler straight back. She caught it all the same, and dropped it into the box.

“You haven’t hung out with us in forever!”

“We hung out at the Toy Drive like 2 weeks ago!” There had been two toy drive events organised by the Foundation in different parts of town, and, as he had long become accustomed to, Nico had been put on the one separate to the event Poppy was working. It had been fun, but when he’d checked the social posts the next day and seen the pictures posted of the other team - all smiles between them, a slightly blurry Poppy in the near background of all of Jack’s pictures to indicate how close they had been throughout the event - he had felt like he’d missed out on something.

“That was work, it doesn’t count, Popsicle.” Nico could hear the roll of Jack’s eyes.

“Yeah, well some of us don’t consider helping underprivileged children and spreading Christmas spirit ‘work’, Jack.” Poppy had used air quotes to emphasise her sarcasm, and a fond warmth had spread throughout Nico’s chest at hearing her hold her own against someone as brazenly wise as Jack Hughes. “I thought we were hanging out, having fun, improving our community together. You should really check your ego!”

“I sh-,” Jack had managed to cut himself off, no doubt realising how loud he had gotten. “You’re the one who’s been avoiding the whole team all year, ‘cause you’re hung up on-,”

The door to Poppy’s office had slammed closed before Nico had a chance to hear the end of his teammate’s sentence. Their voices had been muffled after that, and shame had started to creep up on Nico at the fact he’d been eavesdropping on a private conversation.

He’d foregone the snacks he originally snuck off in search of, and returned back to the locker room to get ready for his practice skate. 

For the first time in a long time, when Jack arrived and threw himself down on the bench beside him, Nico had wanted him to bring her up.

In the months prior, he would freeze up at the mention of Poppy Jensen, not wanting to face the reality of his dwindling connection to someone who had once been such a huge part of his life. He had other focuses - namely, Talia - and reflecting on what had once been between the two of them did not serve any kind of good purpose. It opened him up to uncomfortable conversations that he wasn’t willing to have, uncomfortable realisations he couldn’t quite come to terms with, and he had been too comfortable avoiding any kind of confrontation around it.

But in the short time between witnessing the conversation between Jack and Poppy, and getting ready for the team’s morning practice, too many questions had been swirling around his mind, and he needed answers.

Why was Poppy packing up her desk?

Why was she avoiding hanging out with the team?

What was she so hung up on? Had something happened?

He’d spent so long avoiding even thinking about her, that he all of a sudden felt like he’d missed everything.

Luckily for him, Jack Hughes needed little to no prompting for his blabbermouth nature to prevail.

“You know, for someone who’s literal job it is to lead us as a Captain, you’ve done terribly at warning me just how stressful this whole New Years thing is,” Jack had huffed as he began changing into his practice gear.

“I did nothing but warn you,” Nico responded, “You called me Mr Grumpy Pants and told me I was just afraid your party was gonna be better than mine.”

“Yeah, well, you should have insisted, it’s stressing me out.”

“You’ll be fine,” Nico scoffed, running a hand through the mess of his hair and leaning back into his locker. He watched Jack’s jittery movements as he shrugged on his pads, and felt the need to reassure his friend. “Everyone’s looking forward to it. As long as there’s plenty to drink and decent music, people will have a good time.”

“Not everyone,” Jack grumbled, “I can’t even get Poppy to come and she loves parties.”

So that’s what they had been talking about. 

Poppy did love parties, but Nico couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her at one. 

“Poppy has a New Years ritual, she didn’t come to mine, either, I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Nico shrugged, despite the wave of a memory that washed over him of him doing exactly that when she hadn’t showed up last year. He’d had to restrain himself from leaving his own party - spent the night texting her updates on what everyone had been doing, snap-chatting her pictures in the hopes it would entice her the few blocks over from her apartment building. He’d only been consoled by the text he’d received just after the clock had struck midnight, settling for the pride in knowing he had been one of the first to get a Happy New Years message from her - knowing it wasn’t just a mass text she would have copy-and-pasted to everyone else, and had been personalised to him with a bunch of perfectly curated emojis and exclamation marks after his name.

Nico didn’t see Jack’s stiffened posture at the way he had so nonchalantly mentioned her for the first time in forever. Didn’t see the side eye, or the pensive twist of his mouth as he carefully considered his next words like he was about to step through a minefield.

“I’m gonna keep trying,” he had sat back down on the bench beside Nico to put on his skates, “I’m definitely her favourite, she’s been helping me organise the whole thing, I don’t think it will take much to convince her.”

Nico tried not to show any kind of reaction to Jack being Poppy’s favourite, or at the thought of how much time they must be spending together to organise such an event. A part of him knew he was only saying it to rattle him. “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you? New Years is in a couple days, and the guys from the Foundation aren’t even around this week, are they?”

“She’s covering someone on content until January, I said I’d drive her home after the game and me and Lukey can double down on it. And if we can’t get it done tonight, she’s coming on the road with us at the end of the week. I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Oh,” Nico was thankful for how Jack had leaned over to tie his skates up, because he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been able to mask whatever had flooded over him at the revelation that his teammate would be driving Poppy home.

That was his thing. He was pretty sure his passenger seat was still positioned to her liking despite how long it had been since she’d sat in it. He was still working his way through the stash of smiley face air fresheners she had stashed in his glove compartment. He still felt like he was forgetting something every time he left the parking lot and she wasn’t sat beside him, chatting his ear off about some of the kids she had worked with in the day.

“Maybe you should ask her?”

Nico’s eyes shot over to meet Jack’s in alarm. “Me?”

“Yeah, the more people that ask, the more she might feel like she’s missing out. Flash her those cute dimples, how could she possibly say no?”

“I think I’m the last person that’s gonna convince Poppy to come, Jack.” Nico had tried to be nonchalant about it, but he had come across so painfully uncomfortable that he could feel the hair on his arms stand, not liking the ache that spread through his chest at the statement. 

There was once upon a time that cheering Poppy Jensen up had been a large part of his routine. Even small acts, like bringing her a coffee on a busy day, where he knew she wouldn’t take a break to go get one herself, and knew how much she disliked the stuff from the pot in her office. Sending her texts from across the room when there were big organisation meetings and he could see her chewing at her fingernails at the vast amounts of information being spewed about. Tagging her in cute animal videos he’d come across on TikTok when he was across the country on a roadie and on a different timezone - she’d wake up to them sometimes, and he’d wake up to her response.

“Right, I forgot you two aren’t friends anymore.”

“Is that what she said?” Nico had swallowed down the hurt at the thought of her coming to that conclusion - vocalising it to someone and finalising the decision before he had any chance to do anything about it.

He couldn’t really blame her, though - he’d had plenty of chances.

Nico could feel himself beginning to spiral, words swirling around his head like a tornado of realisation and guilt. 

Aren’t friends anymore.

Avoiding the whole team all year.

Jack is driving her home.

He’s her favourite.

Aren’t friends anymore.

Shit.

He didn’t even take in Jack’s response to his question. As much as he wanted to know the answer, he couldn’t bear to hear it. 

Nico couldn’t face up to what he had truly lost.

It wasn’t his girlfriend of five months, who had dumped him over text during the most wonderful time of the year. It wasn’t a few games, that, sure, it had sucked that they had been beat, but in retrospect, the team had had a pretty decent start to the season, and shouldn’t have had his back up that much. 

Nico had lost someone who had, at one point, been the most important person in his life. 

The person he would usually have gone to to help him through the other stuff - the breakups, the losses, the stress, the anxiety - the crushing weight that had been pressing down on his chest since he had left for Switzerland at the beginning of summer. 

Nico and Poppy used to work around each other like a beautifully choreographed, well-rehearsed dance. She always knew when he was overwhelmed or exhausted, he always knew when she was stressed or upset, and they both knew how to pick the other back up. 

They hadn’t even fallen out of sync when they’d stopped talking to each other, only this time, they were moving around each other. If Nico entered a room, Poppy would leave. If she knew he was going to be at a team party, she’d make up an excuse not to go. If someone mentioned Poppy in casual conversation, Nico would quickly change the subject. All of it had been subconscious, on his part, at least.

It had been so easy after such a prolonged distance between the two of them to move when she pushed, to watch when she ran, like he had grown into his part in their relationship akin to repelling magnets, always moving away from one another.

It had been so easy that he hadn’t even really realised what was happening - lost and handicapped by a thick fog clouding his thoughts and his judgement. He’d let their once blooming friendship wither and die, and for what?

As he had watched Jack waddle out of the locker room for their practice session, muttering a dismissive, “Whatever, I’ll figure it out,” to his Captain, it was like he had been awakened into full consciousness. 

Nico had thought that his turmoil had started with the holiday period. Had thought the ache of homesickness had swirled in with the grief that came with the loss of his relationship, and the shame his poor performances on the ice had thrown upon him. But it had started long before that. He hadn’t been himself since he’d returned from his summer break. Before that, even.

Without realising that he had lost her, Nico had spent the last few months subconsciously mourning his friendship with Poppy - the crushing weight of that grief consuming him to a point that he felt lost with no way out, and had expressed it in a bunch of misguided ways.

He reached into his bag to retrieve where he had stashed his cellphone, scrolling through his Messages app until he stumbled across Poppy’s name. The last text had been sent in September, by her, and he had never responded - had never even opened it, the blue dot to the left of their message thread taunting him with chirps of how awful he had been to ignore it.

Poppy: Hey, can we talk? I miss you.

How late is too late to reply to a text like that? He could only hope she still felt the same way.

Turns out, 4 months might be too late.

Nico has drafted an embarrassing amount of messages to Poppy over the days since that conversation in the locker room.

His notes app has a whole folder dedicated to her. Bullet pointed lists, random memories that made him think of her, structured essays that laid out a timeline of their friendship, and all the mistakes he would need to beg for her forgiveness for. 

He’d tried sending a message when he had got back to his apartment after the game against Columbus, feeling a rush of confidence from the adrenaline of their OT win, his high had soon dwindled when he was alone. He sat staring at all the different iterations of an apology he could offer, and had even chickened out of the final draft of a very simple but hopefully effective, ‘Hey.’

He knew he was overthinking it. A conversation starter would at the very least open the door for the apology, and all he needed to do was talk to her in some way - but that turned out to be easier said than done.

She wasn’t in her office when he’d gone to seek her out at work the next day, and when he realised she was probably in the content and media offices, he felt like he would be cornering her if he sought her out in front of anyone else. When the weight of how far removed they now were from each other’s lives dawned on him, a text felt too informal, and so the paragraphs sat untouched in his notes. The weather hadn’t been too great, so he couldn’t try and intercept her on the running route he knew all too well, and even attempting to orchestrate a seemingly random encounter outside of work seemed too creepy so stopping by the cafe around the corner from her apartment in the hopes she’d be there grabbing a latte was off the cards. 

He’d seen her on the plane to Ottawa, having to pass her seat to get to the team section at the back, but he had a few people boarding behind him, and she had her eyes cast toward her cell, headphones on and typing intently to somebody, he couldn’t even offer her a friendly smile to try and warm her up to the possibility of a conversation.

Between their win against the Senators, and their loss against the Bruins the next day, there wasn’t much time, or energy, really, to seek her out, and so he’d had to press the breaks, but as they flew back to New Jersey from Boston, a panic had started to swirl within his chest.

Nico knew he couldn’t enter a new year without clearing the air, and so time was well and truly running out. He again had seen her on the plane, and when he had plucked up the courage to get up and go sit with her, Jack had beaten him to it. When the plane had landed, and the team bus had driven them all back to the Rock, the Hughes brothers had both walked her to her car to see her off for the evening. 

For someone who had been not-so-subtly trying to initiate a reunion between Nico and Poppy for so long, Jack Hughes sure knew how to get in the way. But, he was easy to forgive - especially when Nico had woken up to his texts late this morning.

Jack: need ur help

Jack: urgently

Jack: wake up dude

Nico: I’m not driving anywhere for you

Jack: not asking u to

Jack: u will like this I promise 😌

Nico: what do you want?

Jack: need u to keep Poppy company

Jack: she’s in my apartment and she seemed off when she got here

Jack: been on her own for a few hours

Jack: so she’s grumpy 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻 👹👹

Nico: doubt I can change the grumpy part

Nico: especially if you’ve left her alone for hours

Jack: don’t need to

Jack: ur a grump too

Jack: will cancel each other out 👍🏻👍🏻😇😇

Jack: u going down or no?

Nico: fine

Jack: I’ll be back in 1 hr :)

Jack: love u cap 😚

Nico: 🙄

And that was how Nico had found himself trudging down to Jack’s apartment, hopeful at the dream of a bridged gap between him and Poppy, and quickly disappointed by the reality.

She had been cold, rightfully so, and had made it clear as day she didn’t want anything to do with him. She had shrunk into herself, backing away from him any time he got too close,  defecting to a state of avoidance - gaze dropping to the floor, declining his offers to help her, making assumptions she was in his way, as if the thought of him seeking her out had become an entirely alien concept.

He couldn’t blame her for how she was being with him. It had been his fault things had collapsed between them - he’d come to that conclusion with the vast amounts of evidence piled up in his phone storage the past couple of days, but it didn’t make it hurt any less to see her like this - or to feel an actual, tangible resistance when he had tried to insist on being around. She didn’t want him around, that much was obvious, and it was starting to feel like it was to late to fix what he had so royally screwed up between the two of them. 

The once well-oiled machine that was their friendship was now clunky, clattering, dying a slow death with parts that were now obsolete.

But that didn’t change how much he wanted it to work. His parents had once told him when he was growing up that nothing was beyond repair, and if he wanted something fixed enough, he would figure out a way.

They had been talking about a model train he, his father and his brother had made when he was very young. The company that made the sets had gone bust, and they no longer sold the individual parts anymore - so when his sister had stumbled over something in the garage back home, knocked a box, and the once pristine collectable train had tumbled out and ended up cracked and chipped, he had been heartbroken. He and Nina had filled in the chips with wood filler, and touched it up with her nail polish, and it wasn’t the same but in a way it was better - a new sentiment attached with a memory of bonding with his sibling. 

The same thing could apply to his friendship with Poppy. Maybe they couldn’t go back to what they were - maybe they could be better.

And, when Poppy had made one too many attempts to push him away - when he had taken a hold of her after she had tried to move past him, dismissing him and his desire to help her, once again - a fire reignited within him. A spark of hope flickered at the familiarity that had flashed across her face as he referred to her in an endearment he hadn’t let himself use in so long.

In that moment - hand wrapped around her arm, just above her elbow, the skin soft and warm, close enough to smell the all too familiar cloud of vanilla-coconut scent that followed her, and her eyes locked on his - he had seen a crack in her armour.

He had seen an element of want - wanting to reconcile, wanting to fix things, wanting him in her life in the way he had been those months ago - and in a mirror of his own emotions, he had seen trepidation.

They wanted the same things, had the same fears, had the same end goal.

And when the unforeseen interruption of her best friend arriving startled her back into her withdrawn persona, he had realised something else.

Nia’s contrasting attitude toward Nico - open, friendly, familiar - had opened his eyes to the fact that Poppy hadn’t told her best friend about the demise of her friendship with Nico. 

And that, as much as it needed unpacking entirely, was Nico’s backdoor entry into the high security vault of Poppy’s good graces. 

Thankfully for him, Nia’s obliviousness to their tension had worked entirely in his favour. He tried not to look too much into Poppy’s attempted avoidance of spending the evening in his presence, despite her other plans falling apart. Tried to shoulder the blows of her sly digs at them not being friends anymore. Tried to ignore the pang in his heart at Poppy’s best friend being the one to throw flirty jibes his way, and not her. 

A determination had begun to brew within him - swirling, bubbling, steaming - and it was going to push him to finally bridge the gap he had forced between them.

His first success was her agreeing to come to the party, and he could easily build on that momentum.

Nico and Poppy were going to be friends again by midnight, he would figure out a way.

> Chapter One

[agoldenblackbird]

i'm gonna be a ranty bitch for a minute.

tbh i'm turned off even reading new buddie fic despite being a multishipper and have unfollowed a bunch of buddie accounts because i'm sick of the smug attitudes. one ask that i am otherwise not going to publish or respond to ended with 'sorry you don't understand media literacy bestie :)' fuck off. listen INFANT, i have been writing fanfic and original fic AND watching, reading and analyzing queer media since before you were born, i understand how character and story development works, and i know the difference between 'storyline i personally disliked' and 'bad writing.' this was BOTH, and it also was marketed to us as 'carefully crafted bi rep' and 'queer love story that is not about a bunch of pain and conflict FOR ONCE' so we have every right to be upset at the bait-and-switch.

the fact that i'm seeing the same exact posts - 'bt bones buddie CANON' that i saw three seasons ago after the bucktaylor breakup, or every time they thought buck and taylor MIGHT break up - says something. the fact that so many fans seem genuinely convinced (STILL!) that buddie is inevitable because there have been so many 'signs,' and then they rattle off a convoluted theory that would make the most hardcore taylor swift stan say 'wow, that's a bit of a reach,' honestly weirded me out a little when i first joined the 911 fandom. i have never been in a fandom where so many fans are insistent that their ship will be - not might be or could be, but WILL be - canon. i am skeptical both from past experience with other shows mishandling queer storylines or ship-baiting, and tim minnear's proven track record with this one of not really knowing what to do with buck's LI's. but i didn't want to yuck anybody's yum, so i let them have their theories and squee in peace, and unfollowed or blocked certain tags if i was seeing too much of it and getting annoyed. it's too out there for me, but i'm glad they're having fun!

yet they can't give us the same courtesy. they deride us as delusional for thinking that a canon pairing that was presented to us both in promo and the show itself as different and important (eg the bobby approval convo and 'buck getting off the hamster wheel') might last, and we're stupid to have ever liked tommy or lou or be disappointed at how the breakup was written, and if we point out the biphobia it's just sour grapes.

the bucktommy breakup is not the first time 911 has started out strong with an interesting storyline and fumbled it in the 4th quarter either because the writers got bored or in the name of needless drama/a 'gotcha' sudden twist. amir & bobby, eddie's fight club arc, the sperm donor SL, hen vs councilwoman ortiz, whatever the hell is going on with harry, the whole mess with shannon/kim, just to name a few. and especially the past couple of seasons, for me since 6b, the pacing has been off. they seem to have too much happening at once and many of the storylines don't have enough room to breathe to be narratively satisfying, or they get resolved in ways that feel lackluster.

if the toxic buddie stans who have been attacking lou on sm and sending death threats (wtf!) actually get what they want, which i admit is possible, but it's certainly not guaranteed….i don't know why they think the writers won't fumble that just as badly. it's not going to happen precisely the way they want it to because it is impossible to please everybody, that's what fanfic is for. but at this point i have zero faith that it would even be well done at all, and zero trust in the writers not to just sabotage or regress a character for funsies, and that's an excellent reason to stop watching the show. in most of my other fandoms i regard canon as a jumping-off point or a blurry outline at best, and i can have just as much fun in the 911 sandbox without any further input from canon at all, once i'm less angry.

[gorchards]

Love Lines - Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

word count: 4,118

a/n: Hi there! This is the first fic I've ever published so go easy on me lmao. Y/N is (very loosely) inspired by Rika because I love their dynamic and I'm a sucker for the childhood friends trope. I don't think the reader is specifically gendered but bc of this they may be fem-coded. Fic under the cut! Hope you all enjoy!

You and Yuta Okkotsu had a long, long, history. When you were in elementary school, you had proposed to him. Of course, you didn’t fully know what you were doing when you did- you were so young at the time. Then again, neither did he, when he wholeheartedly accepted. And for a long time, you two had been inseparable. During high school, the two of you had realized that perhaps there was something to that proposal you had originally made, and had begun dating. 

In some ways, it was better than what you could have ever dreamed. He was sweet, comforting, and always there for you. Just as he had always been, of course! But somehow even more than before. He was braver with you, and would come along on whatever random excursion you thought up. And he had changed you, too. His greater involvement in your life added a sparkle to it that you hadn’t experienced before. He made you feel stronger. He grounded you when you felt like you were going to fly off the  handle, and soothed you when you were spiraling. 

But… You were also more involved in his problems than ever before. The reverse was true of course. But he always had to take time to mull them over, and all that time he spent made you so anxious for him. You were so involved in his problems now, that it was starting to take a toll on your own mental health. You expressed this to him, and he tried his best to ease your fears- assuring you that things would all work out.

 That was a turbulent period of life for the both of you. So many things were changing in your individual lives. And during that change in your relationship with him, you began to realize there were a great deal of challenges that he had never let you in on before. It became overwhelming for you to see, and have him refuse your repeated attempts to help. He was so worried that you would eventually feel like he was a burden to you, but in doing so, he had unintentionally pushed you away. You couldn’t take it- and it made you feel that if he could have been hiding the fact that he was being bullied from you, what else was he hiding? Did you even know the real Yuta Okkotsu? Thoughts such as that plagued your mind toward the end... and it would eventually become too much for you.

Though it wasn’t that simple, that was ultimately the reason you had broken it off. Mounting pressures in your own life made it feel impossible to keep up with how much healing you realized he needed. Yuta had attempted to mend things- checking in with you often, trying to at least remain friends. He still cared about you, of course. He had assured you that he was still just a call away if you needed him. But even that became suffocating to you with time. In the end, you sent him a long, painful message about how you just couldn’t remain friends with him. And then, you blocked him. 

Since then, a mere four years after your breakup with Yuta, you had completely thrown yourself into your college work. Of course, along with spending any excess time you had with your family and your other friends. But it seemed to do little about the fact that he never really left your mind. At least once a day, a thought like this crossed your mind: “Oh, Yuta would love this!” Or, alternatively, “I wonder what he’s doing right now…?” You would still find yourself looking at the photos you had taken him, or of the two of you together. For a moment in time, you could pretend that nothing had changed between you and Yuta.

But then, cold hard reality would set in and crush your heart. You had not spoken in many years…and with how you left things, you might never again. Were you not used to the weight by now, perhaps you would have reached out. But apologizing now? After the state you left him in? You were sure that would make you cruel. 

Occasionally you would sit and imagine how he may have moved on from you. With how little he posted on social media, you weren’t sure exactly what he was up to, no matter how many times you refreshed his instagram. But even after all this time you still felt like you knew him inside and out. And so, you were completely certain that someone else must have been taken by his sincere smile, unkempt hair, and gentle eyes that you once admired daily. If looks weren’t enough, you couldn’t think of one person who wasn’t looking for a devoted and sweet boy like him. 

Maybe it was even that upperclassman who was in his class that you were often jealous of. They had grown very close over his senior year because being with you had made him more sociable. You could imagine Maki being the kind of girl who wouldn’t hesitate once she found out he was single. Unlike you, who had stalled for as long as possible in an effort to keep things from changing between you and him. And in the long run, you couldn’t seem to do that, either.

You yourself had tried to move on already. You had waited what you deemed a respectable amount of time before trying your luck with romance again. But in every person that you had dated, you never found Yuta. You would compare them all to him. You quickly found yourself growing dissatisfied and restless before ultimately breaking up with the string of suitors that followed him. So you had sworn it off for the time being, shifting almost all of your focus to your educational goals. You wanted to start working as soon as possible, and trying to find someone while agonizing over the Yuta-shaped hole in your heart was only going to slow you down.

One fateful day though, you strode into a local coffee shop near your campus. Nothing different than any other study sessions before. All signs pointed to it being a normal day, if a bit more productive than usual. That alone was enough to put a little spring in your step. You stood in line looking over the menu, puzzling over what you would get. A vanilla chai, perhaps? Or would a matcha latte be what you were craving… You hoped you would be able to decide before you reached the cash register.

The time to order came all too fast. “Good afternoon, what can I get for you?” The barista asked, slightly more terse than she usually was. You imagined the cause for this was due to the line of customers behind you that had slowly mounted since you had gotten in it. 

You were able to make a split-second compromise with yourself, out of courtesy for your noticeably antsy barista. “Good afternoon! Could I.. uh… Could I get a matcha latte, with a little vanilla?” You paused for a moment, feeling your stomach growl just a tad. “Oh! And one of your muffins, please!” Hopefully, this would satisfy you for a solid cramming session.

You gave the barista your name, sitting down near the counter patiently as you waited for your little snack to be called out. You began to scroll through your music, hoping to find a playlist that would get you in a focused mood. You were about to select one of your many playlists, when you heard your name being called. 

“Latte for Y/N?” You could just hear the barista’s voice over the mounting chatter. So, you jumped up from your seat and scurried over to pick up your little study session snack. You thanked the barista, and moved to return to your table when you heard your name again.

“Y/N?”

You knew that voice. And you knew it wasn’t the barista calling you back for your wallet. The whole world came to a standstill for you, as you tried to decide whether or not you should turn around. It’s like all of the many programs in your brain had suddenly crashed at the sound of Yuta Okkotsu’s voice.

“How?” was your first thought. How was it possible that you had ended up at the same restaurant, on the same day, at the same time? You hadn’t physically seen him in years. You hadn’t talked, or called, or texted since your last conversation. Just when you were getting good at forcing yourself to suppress your thoughts of him- why would the universe put him here, and why would it do so now?

Say you did turn around. What would that even do? Surely it would just bring up painful memories for the both of you. And you really didn’t want to make him cry again. You feared that if you turned around he would look exactly the same as the day you broke up with him. 

Maybe it wasn’t him. After all, your mind could be playing tricks on you. If you didn’t turn around to face this hypothetical Yuta, you would never have to truly face your feelings about him, either. And even if he was there, you could just pretend that you didn’t hear! Then he would just move on, and you still wouldn’t have to think too hard about how leaving him had affected both of your hearts.

You felt a hesitant hand tap your shoulder, resuming the activities going on around you. Ah. You had waited way too long thinking it over. And you felt it would be so mean of you to speed walk away now, after he had worked up all that courage to approach you. So, slowly, you turned yourself to face him.

There stood Yuta Okkotsu, a half-full cup of iced coffee in his off-hand. But he looked noticeably different than you last saw him. His hair was styled in an uncharacteristically stiff fashion; It was gelled down and parted slightly to his right. Starkly different from the wilder hair you remembered him having. He was a bit taller, too. His clothing leaned more toward “smart” casual, rather than the comfortable styles you recalled him wearing.  And his face looked…  mostly the same, aside from the bags beneath his eyes, which seemed smaller than you remembered.

“It’s… It’s you.” He spoke, a bit short of breath. Like he couldn’t believe that you were standing in front of him. He looked a bit tense, as he had feared the worst. 

If it wasn’t you, he would have embarrassed the hell out of himself. He would have gotten over it, but it would only prove how hopeless he was at getting over you. Imagining you in public like that might have made him hole himself up in his dorm until his friends inevitably dragged him out and convinced him he wasn’t clinically insane. 

Conversely, if it had been you, he feared that you would have a viscerally negative reaction to his presence- that over the years you had stopped caring about him, and even grown to hate him. He knew that was ridiculous- you were passionate and reactive, but you were always polite. Still, the fear gnawed at him, perhaps more at the notion that you had grown to loathe him rather than that you would rebuke him.

But there you stood. Eyes widened in shock, and surprisingly still. But he didn’t see any hate in your expression. Still, he braced his heart for disappointment when you opened your mouth.

“... Yu ... ta?” It came out as more of a question than you had intended. You felt like you were in a trance, but did your best to shake yourself out of it. “What… What are you doing here?’

He accidentally let out a chuckle in response, and then motioned his cup to his little set-up in the corner of the coffee shop. “Studying… for my, uh, finals. And getting coffee. What are you doing here?” 

You motioned over to your laptop bag that you had yet to open. “Same as you, actually! What a coincidence!” You said with a little laugh, and just a hint of awkwardness in your tone.

The both of you remained silent for a moment before he decided to break it. “... Would you like to sit with me? It’s getting crowded in here.”

Oh.

His breaking the silence had surprised you even more than you already were. He didn’t typically do that, even when you were together. He was comfortable with it with you- and besides, he much preferred to look into your eyes. Again you were stunned into silence. What would be the right thing to do here? 

You knew what you wanted to do. You wanted to sit down and have lunch with him. You wanted to talk endlessly about what you had missed in the last four years. You wanted to give him your new socials, your new number, your new address. You had dreamed for years that you would run into him again like this.

But on the other hand, you also wanted to do what was right.  What made sense. And it didn’t make any sense to let him back in your life after all this time. You weren’t sure you could handle it even if it did. There was just so much history, and so much baggage between the two of you. You didn’t want to mess anything up further- for him, or for yourself. That wouldn’t be right at all.

His voice cut through your thoughts. 

“... I’m sorry I… I can see you’re uncomfortable. I’ll… I’ll go.”

Shit. That’s not what you wanted. That little sad look in his eyes.

“What?” You replied. A reaction of pure panic. Pure desperation. 

He turned back to you, averting his gaze slightly. “... I shouldn’t have asked… I just thought…” He looked right at you. “I thought… It would be nice to have coffee.”

“... It would.” You said, trying to soften your tone. Just coffee, you told yourself. It didn’t necessarily mean anything to have coffee with an old friend.

If he weren’t listening so intently to every word, he might not have heard you over all the noise. Now, it was his turn to be stunned. “It would? You think?” He asked, his eyes meeting yours again.

“... Yeah, it would.”

~

And so you sat down at his table. Suddenly, you felt very aware of yourself. The way you were sitting in your chair, the way your hands gripped your coffee cup, the sweat pooling from every gland you had… The sheer anxiety that built in you every moment that ticked by without a word.

“So uhm… Did you end up applying to TMTC?” He asked.

Tokyo Metropolitan Technical College. Your dream school. He…remembered?

“I did but…Well, I didn’t…I’m going to TMU. But I do have a few friends there.” You said, staring into your latte. “Ah, their sister school! That’s even better!” He replied, smiling a tad awkwardly. “That makes sense. You’ve always been really smart.”

“And where do you go?” You asked. It felt weird to you that you didn’t already know.

“Ah… well… I went to a community college at first��� And one of my professors also works at TMC so I…” He trailed off.

“... You’re going there?” You looked up at him, your brow raised. A clear suspicion was evident in your expression.

“...Not… Not because I thought you’d be there.” He said, swallowing nervously.

Your heart twinged a little.

He continued, being unable to make eye contact with you. “Not- Not that I didn’t think you would! And not that I- I just… I would have been a fool to give up a chance like that. And our majors were far enough apart that if… If I did run into you… And you didn’t want to see me… Then you wouldn’t have to. Not that I didn’t want to see you I just-”

You laughed a little, causing him to stop his rambling. He didn’t act any differently than the boy you remembered. And even after all this time, you knew him like the back of your hand. He was still your Yuta.

“...Something funny?” He asked, throat still painfully dry. He took a sip of his drink.

You shook your head. “No… Nothing. I see why you did it. I’m just a tad jealous is all.”

“Do you… Like it at TMU?” Swiftly, he tried to change the subject.

You looked back up at him. “I do.”

The truth was, you felt a little lonely there. You had your friends, and you adored them. You got really lucky, and hadn’t yet had a mean professor. Your dorm was always cozy. The campus was beautiful. It would have been perfect if… He was there. 

Yuta. He was once your best friend, your companion…he was your home. Not a day could go by without you thinking of him. Something about his absence made days feel more monotonous. You felt like when you sat down here with him, you had been snapped out of a trance that you hadn’t been able to get out of for four long years. 

Yuta blinked when you failed to say more, and tried to coax something more out of you. “What do you like about it?”

“I see you’ve gotten nosier than ever, Yuu.” You teased.

Yuta’s face paled. “I’m sorry! That’s not what I-”

“Relax. I’m joking.” You had to laugh again. He was always so reactive to your teasing. Always took everything so seriously. That still hadn’t changed.  “Tokyo is gorgeous. I mean- I’m sure you can tell. You’re here too after all. But especially the campus! I don’t always have time to enjoy it with all the work my professors give me but…I really like going there. When I have time to go out with my friends we always have a ton of things to pick from. Makes it pretty hard to choose just one!”

Yuta smiled softly, leaning on the table as he listened to you earnestly.

You missed that fond expression of his.

“What is it, Yuta?”

“Huh…?” He froze, before sitting up and straightening himself out. “Oh- I just…Well you sound- IT sounds so pretty over there. I haven’t had the chance to go yet. I think I have a friend who goes there…” He said, tapping his chin.

“Who? Maybe I know them!” You said, leaning forward on the table.

“Her name’s Mai. Or- I think we’re friends. She’s Maki’s sister actually, you remember her? She sometimes joins our study group when we go to their house.”

Your eyes widened. “Mai Zenin?”

“Oh, yes! Do you know her?”

Knew wouldn’t be quite the correct word. You weren’t close at all, but you had worked on a few projects together. She was rather tight lipped about her personal life, and wasn’t much for conversation. But she was smart, and always did her part.

Despite the last name, you hadn’t connected the dots.

“Oh, not really. Our majors are close, so we have a few classes together.” You said quietly, looking into your cup.

Yuta did not fail to notice your change in demeanor.

“... Was she… rude to you?” He asked.

You looked back up at him. “Oh, nothing like that! I just… I had no idea.”

To think. You were two connections away from seeing him again almost this entire time. 

You weren’t sure how that made you feel.

“I didn’t either.” He chuckled. “I know she can be a bit…well, I’m sure you know.”

You found yourself smiling again. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But we always get a good grade when we work…. together, separately. She’s just…”

“A little intense?”

“Ohhhh yeah. You could say that again.” You said with a snicker. “Runs in the family I guess.”

Talking like this again… you found yourself so happy. This joy was something that you were only able to capture when you were with him. You felt a little nostalgic for your life before- Your life with him. It almost made you want to turn back the hands of time, or at the very least, let him back in again.

But that would clearly be selfish. Even from what little you had discussed, you could tell. Something was different. He had friends- plural. Likely new ones… maybe even a girlfriend.

He was happy.

Happy without you.

Not that you weren’t happy on your own, per se. But without him, the monotony of life had become so heavy. You felt as though everything was about your classes, your degree, your future job. Every moment you had, you spent working toward some distant future plan.

Yuta had always slowed you down and kept you in the moment. He put a colorful tint on your life when he was in it. 

In high school he was shy and awkward around other people…everyone except you, that was. You couldn’t help but wonder how that might have changed in three years. Maybe he…

“Y/N?” Again, he snapped you from your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“...You’re doing that thing you do.” 

That thing you always did when you thought too much. That far-off look you got when he couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t bear to let you go there again.

He couldn’t bear to let you go at all.

You shook your head, but you knew exactly what he meant. “Just… just thinking is all, Yuta.”

“... Well, I have an ear if you need to talk it out.” He replied softly. His hand twitched slightly, out of instinct. He wanted to take your hand and squeeze it, but… He realized how awkward that could make you feel.

He still… he still cared? Really, and sincerely? After all this time?

You shook your head. It wouldn’t be right.

“That’s sweet Yuta, but… but I should be going. I really have to study.” You abruptly stood up and started gathering your things.

“What?” He stood up, eyes widened in a panic that he was trying to hide. “But we hardly-”

“My finals are soon, and I’m sure yours are too.”

“Y/N-.”

“Yuta I… I enjoyed this little chat with you but… Well I’m happy you’re doing well and I hope that you do well in your studies but I have to-”

“Y/N.” He grabbed ahold of your hand, and you froze. 

 Yuta took a deep breath. “...Sorry, I just…Y/N, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. If you never want to see me again I’d…I’d understand. And…” 

He had to take another deep breath, and you could see tears beginning to brim in his eyes. “But you… you mean so much to me. After all this time you… I still miss you. So much. You’re..”

The love of his life?

“...My best friend. Maybe that’s… weird of me to say. But it’s true. Even though we didn’t have that much time together today I… I’m really happy to hear from you. And I want to see you again.” He looked right into your eyes.

Into your soul.

You could see how desperate he looked right now. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You knew that if you were still together, he would have immediately taken you in his arms and kissed them away. But when you looked at him you saw how much he was holding back in order to avoid driving you away again.

It was then that you realized just how much you had been holding back yourself. Everything you had been feeling, and trying to hold deep inside with all the willpower you had left was about to burst out. You missed him so much.

“Yuu…ta…”

You swallowed harshly, stepping back. Yuta hung his head as you began to put your things into your bag.

Then, he felt you tap his shoulder. He attempted to subtly wipe the tears from his eyes before he locked eyes with you again.

You took his hand and placed a scrap of paper in it. 

“What’s this…?” He asked.

“...My new number. I…I would like to see you again too.” You whispered.

“You…you couldn’t have told me that first?” He chuckled, drying his face with a little smile.

You felt your lips curl up. “Sorry. I know you hate surprises.” You squeezed his hand, before letting it go.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean it looked…for a moment I thought-”

“I’m one hundred percent sure.” Well, now you were. “I’ll see you soon Yuta.”

“I’ll see you soon Y/N."

✧ Start (You are here!) ✧ Next ✧

✧ Masterlist ✧

[kykyonthemoon]

hi, kỳ kỳ!! i hope you're doing well 🤲❤

i just wanted to ask about how rafayel would react and comfort reader who is very insecure about their eyes because it's obviously asymmetrical and can be seen clearly in pictures? thank you so much in advance!!

also, you have a very pretty name 🤲❤

Dear Anon-san,

Thank you so much for the request, and your compliments <3 As a person who isn't so confident with my look, I do feel related so much to the reader/MC here in this fic.

I hope you like this piece too, and sorry it took a while to be published ^^

To anyone who are reading this, remember that you are always beautiful <3

In His Eyes

In his eyes, you are the most flawless creature.

ಇ. Rafayel x Reader/MC

ಇ. Tags: soft fluff, no established relationship yet, comfort, self-esteem issues

ಇ. Word count: 1k1

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. A big thanks to Tram Hoang for the cute Rafayel pic. Other pics are from X

You had never felt beautiful.

You had never looked in the mirror for more than three minutes.

You had never kept photos of yourself on the phone.

Since you were never confident with your appearance.

Everything about you was ordinary; which meant, you were not as hideous as a monster, yet not deemed lovely. The most dreadful thing on your body was, tragically, the most visible: your eyes.

They were asymmetrical. One of your eyes was smaller than the other, and it seemed as if the eyelid was dropping. Looking from the side, perhaps no one would notice it, but when facing you directly, they surely could not overlook your unequal eyes. That was also the reason you never dared to look anyone right in the eye.

For they would see how ugly you were.

You also avoided taking photos as much as possible. Looking at other people preserving their bright and happy moments, you only felt sorry for yourself. If only you could be a little more confident, enough to see yourself as beautiful.

That happened before you met him. Rafayel was the most flawless person you'd ever known. Everything about him seemed ethereal and exquisite. His hair, his face, his physique. His eyes. It's almost as if he strolled right out of a painting. And you could spend hours lost in those eyes, when he was not paying attention to you.

That day, as Rafayel and you were in his studio, you noticed a little clicking sound. Rafayel stood in a corner of the room, camera in hand.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

"I am taking a photograph of you. May I?" Rafayel tilted his head behind the lens and smiled pleasantly at you.

Your heart dropped a beat. You felt both nervous and scared.

“Why do you want to take a photo of me?”

“Because you are very beautiful.”

You never believed what he had just said.

"You're just saying that out of politeness." You shook your head, attempting to dispel any notion that someone as perfect as him would find you charming.

“If it was just out of politeness, I would compliment you by saying, “This shirt really suits you,” or “You look cute with that hairstyle.” When I declare that someone is beautiful, I truly mean it. Just the person, not anything else.”

Your cheeks heated up, contending for the color red with the bouquet of roses in your hands. You acted awkwardly as you placed them on the table. Rafayel had requested you to get some flowers for his new project. You unexpectedly became his reluctant model.

“So? May I take photos of you?”

Rafayel asked sincerely. After a moment of awkwardness, you nodded in agreement. He asked you to hold the bouquet and pose around the studio for him. But, out of habit, you did not dare to stare directly at him.

“Don't constantly turn your head to one side like that. I'm right here.” Rafayel approached as you sat in the chair. His hand raised your chin, forcing you to gaze directly into his eyes. But you lowered your eyes again.

“Um… I don't really like taking pictures…”

“Wait until you see the pictures I took of you. You will definitely think differently.”

You doubted that, but still agreed to let Rafayel take a few more shots of you in front.

Since then, it appeared that he enjoyed photographing you at any time and anywhere. Rafayel consistently stated you were lovely. You merely smiled out of politeness in response. You still lacked the courage to look at the photographs he shot. Every time you were around him, you felt pity within. He was perfect, and you were everything not.

You were hideous. You had low self-esteem. You did not dare to look at him in the way he anticipated. But, like a withered flower suddenly nurtured with sweet words of encouragement every day, you began to think that he saw something blooming in you, and it was beautiful.

"You don't have to lower your head every time you go out with me."

"Hey, you don't need to stand so far away from me. Otherwise, how will you protect me?"

"Look at me. I'm trying to capture your beauty through the lens.”

Day by day, he made you feel like you were the most beautiful creature in his eyes.

He hung all the photos he had taken of you on the corner of the wall in his studio. The photographs were also organized based on the shape of your portrait. You almost fainted with amazement. No one had ever done anything like that for you. No one had ever made you look at your own photos and realize, I'm so pretty!

“I know you don't like your eyes.” Rafayel's voice burst out immediately behind you as he approached. "But I really do."

"Why?…" You spoke as if choking up. You couldn't breathe after what Rafayel had done for you. “They are asymmetrical… They're ugly… My eyes are not perfect…”

Rafayel placed a palm on his chin, seeming puzzled. He looked to the photographs and said:

“What do you see when you look at these? For me, I don't see anything imperfect. I just see a very beautiful girl whose eyes always light up when she's close to me. Here…” His fingers ran over each frame. “This moment was when she arranged flowers for me while singing to herself. This was when she was so focused on her work that she didn't notice that I covertly took a snapshot. And this was taken when she laughed so hard because of the joke I told... I adore staring into her eyes, because I find my reflection in them. Her eyes always reveal her true feelings to me. I wish she would look at me a little longer.”

Rafayel halted. You had tears in the corners of your eyes. You felt you whole body shaking while attempting to suppress your feelings.

“I wish I could show her how amazing she is through my eyes.”

Rafayel's fingertips left the photographs, then delicately stroked your cheek. He drew a soft line below the eye, which you always thought was unattractive. You were about to burst into tears, but still did your best to convey these sincere words:

“Thank you… Thank you so much, Rafayel…”

He pulled you into his arms as your tears began to fall. Tears of happiness. He had helped you find your beauty, helped you love yourself more. Maybe the self-depreciation would not go away right away, but you resolved that from this point on, anytime you felt like resenting something about your body, you would remember every warm word he had for you.

[tossawary]

Is it ever mentioned or alluded how old was Airplane when he died?

EDIT: I have been corrected on the numbers below! I misremembered some details! Airplane Bro WAS updating 10,000 words daily with bursts of 25,000 words. We do also know that he went to university at some point. Please check out the comments added to this post for more accurate details!

Original post:

As far as I know, we never really get a fixed number. We do know that Airplane was living on his own, supporting himself, no longer supported by his divorced parents. I can't remember if we actually know whether or not he went to college, but he wasn't in college when he transmigrated, I think, which suggests that he had already finished college or had dropped out by then.

Thanks to Shen Yuan, we do know that Proud Immortal Demon Way was at least 20 million words long and that Airplane Bro was notable for his speed of writing as well as how much he wrote. Shen Yuan at one point says that Airplane Bro was capable of occasionally doing multi-day 10,000 words updates, which I take to mean that Airplane Bro was overall averaging far less than 10,000 words per day, because that update schedule is nuts. The 10,000 words daily bursts were rare and remarkable.

But, if we decide to assume that Airplane Bro was really writing and posting 10,000 words a day nonstop, then that's 3,650,000 words a year. It would take him about 5.5 years to write 20,000,000 words. Let's assume that his writing schedule was slightly less nuts than that and say that he was writing about 5,000 words per day, which would mean that PIDW took him 11 years to write, which sounds a little more reasonable when I'm pretty sure that PIDW wasn't his only project. It's just the one that took off as a smash hit.

I generally headcanon Airplane starting to write novels in his mid to late teenage years, which gives him a little time to explore other projects, before maybe starting PIDW in his college years for fun at first, before he has to change his original plans in order to make money to support himself. He would be in his late twenties at the youngest, probably, unless his writing speed and update schedule really was that nuts. (Shen Yuan makes some comments about the author of PIDW having the writing skills of a child. It is admittedly funny to consider Airplane Bro maybe being a young teenager when he started writing PIDW, like 13 or 14-ish, though I don't hold it as headcanon. It's a fun fic idea.) It is way more likely that he was in his thirties when he transmigrated, especially if he only started publishing PIDW after college.

It's hard to know how old Airplane actually feels when he had to live a childhood over again in a brand new world. We don't actually get any confirmation on how old Mobei-Jun is either, but it is funny to think about Shang Qinghua potentially having 30+ years of another life on MBJ, when an age difference is, like, the least of Moshang's problems and it takes them 25+ years (however old Binghe is at the bare minimum because I'm pretty sure that they met before he was born) to actually hook up.

I still want to write at least a one-shot of Airplane Bro transmigrating in as himself (I had a tag for this, I need to go find it). He still manages to become a cultivator, maybe through author knowledge cheats, but he looks like a totally average man in his forties or fifties. Because he is not that young! And younger man Mobei-Jun, I think, especially with all of his father-related and uncle-related issues, would be so embarrassingly into this.

[elliesbelle]

Since reading ncty literally NO OTHER FIC COMPARES TO IT! I love it so much but now my standards are really high :´)

Belle sweetie I think you already suggested some other fits buuuut…do you know any other series (need something long) that’s also Ellie or Abby x reader that you liked and would suggest? Trusting only you with recs

haha well, i'm gonna plug the works of my mutuals again then!

@lonelyfooryouonly has PLENTY of amazing ellie series that are long and got a lot to read! (can't even choose a fave between them honestly)

@seattlesellie's not about love will have you crying and screaming and screaming with the s all at the same time! i still go back to it every now and again.

i'm not kidding when i say that @carmellie's see you next summer is everything to me. one time, carm released a chapter while i was at work, and i legit excused myself to the bathroom and didn't leave until i finished reading it!!!!

my wonderful love @totheblood has several series as well, superposition being one of my all-time faves (literally was already obsessed with the series before i even started publishing on here and before star and i were even friends)!

@callmelola111 has a bunch of ellie series, one of my faves is color me purple! i love flirty tension ugh

@s-4pphics has a BUNCH of ellie and abby series, literally just go through my sal love's page and you'll find so much content fr

@spaceshipellie's we were never just friends had me screaming and crying on the bus ride home, it was so so SO good

@glowstickfracture doesn't have a whole abby series perse, BUT they have so much amazing and sexy firefighter/fire medic!abby content that it's basically its own series!

sorority secrets by @cinnnamongrl was just so bellisimo chef's kiss, i did naught want it to end

my babes @phantombriide has a shit ton of smaus that are so immersive and they feel like reading a full blown series fr (and she has a new one coming out soon that i helped with so 😘)

@elliespeach's the air that i breathe isn't done yet, but it's everything to me and i'm at the edge of my seat waiting for the next chapter!

my love my life @cherriesxinthespring's seattle grace hospital is the reason i breathe, rose hasn't finished it yet but idc cause it's just so good

@coeurify's perfect girl is one of the very first elie fics i ever read and rinie is such a talented writer that you should just read everything they've written regardless

this isn't a complete list and i need to get back to what i'm doing skldfjdskls (i'm compiling this during a break from cleaning my apartment), but that's a start!

you can also check out the other list of fave ellie fics i made of my mutual's works too here.

[valyrfia]

I get your concern but ignoring it is the best solution, there's no need to panic at the second your ears hear the word lestappen coming from them. First of all lestappen is not gonna have a "fallout" because they're not friends to begin with so what fallout exactly can they have lol, they already knew the existence of the word lestappen because it's been there for years, and the RBR account for sure makes use of it. And also, didn't Max received an MTV couple award with Checo a few months ago and the sky remained the same? Cant get weirder than that. Or it can idk, I feel like an scenario where any ship name remains in only one single space it's not only impossible, but it's never going to happen, in an ideal word sure, it would be just a dirty secret that no one knows about but stressing out about it it's gonna only be bad for y'all.. But also, if his friend made that comment and pisses Max off very much, or makes him feel weird I'm sure he's gonna be like "don't ever do that again" or something. For what I've seen everyone had your reaction in the chat so I'm sure they got the message that it's a forbidden word

These two back to back in my inbox are first of all. A LITTLE funny.

Secondly, to the first anon, it’s hardly Max and Charles I really worry about, it’s how people can forget themselves when they think that rpf is suddenly “mainstream”. It’s usually a tiny tiny majority who ruin it for the rest of us but do forgive those of us who were around for great rpf fallouts for being a little paranoid. Second anon, you and I are of the same opinion. RPF is fun when it’s contained but when people start to bring explicit RPF content to more public platforms (and ironically, it’s usually content that’s the original author has published on a closed platform, ie. tumblr or ao3). Class A disaster is the jumpy paranoid side of both of us talking but I unfortunately agree.

Also I think it’s good to remind everyone generally. RPF is a weird thing, it’s inherently weird. These are not fictional characters, we’re superimposing our narratives on top of real people’s lives while they’re still around to see it. We all love it and partake in it, but it’s not something that would constitute casual conversation or would be talked about walking down the street. RPF is super fun but be aware it cannot function like a normal fictional ship because these are not fictional characters.

Chestappen vs. Lestappen is a weird one because Chestappen can be waved off as a joke a lot easier (teammates = marriage) and also I get the feeling that it is generally a lot more of a joke. Unfortunately when I see Lestappen stuff not on here or ao3 it seems a lot less jokey. People also seem comfier discussing fic (?!) on tiktok and twitter with Lestappen, which to me IS a cardinal sin. I think a lot of people misunderstand me when I say don’t talk about RPF outside of designated spaces, I’m not saying the shipname is a dirty word that must NEVER be used, or that those who make fun edits on tiktok are evil and should die. I simply mean, people need to not be letting on that there’s anything deeper to the ship aside from a joke. I’ve seen a lot of people scoffing at me and people who have adopted a similar hard stance as me and all I have to say is: humour us because we’ve probably got very good reasons to be wary.

[louciferish]

I got an interesting comment this morning on one of my old Yuri!!! On Ice fics, By Chance One Turns, and realized as I thought about it that I wanted to share it with others.

So, here's the comment:

First of all, let me say that I really appreciate this comment. I've re-read parts of By Chance since it was published as new comments came in, but I never re-read this particular chapter, and the name was used in such a passing reference (to the movie Ghost Cat, of all things) that I certainly didn't remember it was there.

I also really appreciate that the reader here took a moment to think, looked at the date of publication of the fic, checked to see when Elliot Page came out, and assumed the reference here was of its time and not made out of malice or bigotry. Hell yeah.

So, this left me with the question of what to do. My immediate thought was to edit the chapter, but then I reconsidered. By Chance is explicitly set in 2016, with events in the fic that took place in that real-world year. That's four years before Elliot Page came out, making the reference anachronistic if I changed it.

(But since when have I cared about that in media, right? Oluwande wears Crocs.)

Leaning towards leaving it as-is, with a note, I then started to think from a different angle. As folks reading this may or may not know, I go by Lou IRL. This was a change from my birth name, which was nothing like Lou, and while I'm private about this stuff I'll say that change was made in part for Gender Reasons.

Not everyone feels this vehemently about their old names, but I detest mine. I wish I could wipe it from references. I wish I could erase it from the memories of those who knew me before I changed it, so no one would ever call me that -- deliberately, or by accident -- again.

Of course, I can't do that. But, if I were in Elliot Page's shoes, I'd want references to my old name erased as much as possible. And while I can't erase my own old name from history, and while Elliot is never going to know about my fanfic in any form (please), it is in my power to change this one instance of someone's old name being used.

So, I have.

[otrtbs]

Hiya, i'm pretty sure you were the one who didn't like tiktok for what they say about ahb? (Correct me if i'm wrong, i'm not sure whether i'm mixing it up)) but i came across this today and Idk i just wanted to share it with you maybe you'll appreciate it. <3

"I'm convinced that if you changed the names in art heist baby and it was published it would be considered one of the greatest (and most tragic) love stories of all time. It would go down in history as one of the most beautiful, transcendent, exquisite, spell binding pieces of work to ever have existed. In years to come it would be considered a classical piece of literature, there would be films made about it. It would be considered a piece of cultural significance that students must study. Also I think this is very fitting for the story and would make Regulus happy as he wanted to leave his mark on the world in such an extraordinary way. There are not enough words in any language to explain how this fic is pure perfection."

It was in a tiktok by r.a.b.supremacy in case anyone wants to know. I know you get criticism (again correct me if i'm mixing that up) but i just wanted to let you know that there are a lot of people out there who appreciate your fics sososo much, me included :)

i don’t like fandom tiktok for a myriad of reasons 🤧 i mean, some of it has to do with ahb i won’t lie ,,, it’s never fun to see ur fic or name come up in a video or comment section where people are being rude ,, but a lot of it is just ~general~ negativity. if it’s not my fic, it’s a friends fic, or it’s tearing down fan art , or putting people down who are trying to have fun 😭 it’s a little too drama-focused for me

but this is very sweet!!! it is always so nice to know that there are some real sweethearts out there 🥹🩷

thank you for sharing <33

[jay-wasreblogging]

No idea what the ettiquette is for things like this but I adore your brain esp with Sherlock and Mycroft. pLEASE share any of your thoughts/hopes/expectations for s&c Mycroft (and his + Sherlock’s dynamic) 🙏

I swearrrr all of yous in the Sh&Co fandom are so sweet!! 🥹

As for my thoughts/hopes/expectations, It usually comes up randomly in my head but I would say...

Thoughts:

Mycroft hasn't been mentioned (except by the writer's that there isn't a voice actor for him yet) and this fits in with the surprise John and the audience will get when he is introduced. I'm excited for that but tbh I don't have any other thoughts, when he does appear DW I'll tag you in my post of thoughts :))

My hopes/expectations is that:

Mycroft is not slim. LISTENNNN LISTENNNN OKAYY, often hes portrayed as slim due to medical/mental issues which I still love btw (the approach to his character with these are some of the most powerful fics I have ever read) I just want a Mycroft that is a big boy and I hope he is.

Mycroft doesn't worry about Sherlock that often due to seeing him online with John now, he also follows the podcast, twitter account and is definitely on their patreon. That's why we haven't heard of him so far because there's no need for him to contact Sherlock. He's going to make a comment about the podcast and the detective career when he's introduced though.

Lestrade and Mycroft actually keep in touch quite often- not just due to Sherlock but cause of Lestrade being the DI and Mycroft being the government would mean they would cross paths more often than not. Especially true in hostage negotiations and/or terrorists attacks!! Lestrade would have to be present as it's all hands on deck and Mycroft may just be needed for 'cleanup' afterwards. They both could be introduced at the same time or within episode of each other. If not, they will know each other soon!!

Mycroft and Sherlock will do their iconic back and forth deduction but with both Mariana and John present. 👀

Mycroft doesn't drink alcohol nor consumes anything that wasn't made then tested - can't risk being intoxicated or poisoned when he could be called up at any moment, there's no time for resting. He does throw caution to the wind when he eats at Sherlock's though, hoping for a scene where they are having dinner together.

John will have direct contact with Mycroft just like Lestrade after they meet, this allows Mycroft to be a reoccurring character (FINGERS CROSSED MY GUYS!).

Mycroft is going to have a one on one conversation with John off the record about the case of The Greek Interpreter and John will definitely record it and then later plans to delete/censor it but Sherlock says not to and just publish it raw because why not. It be funny lol.

Further head-canons (some are also hoped or expected) because now I'm lost in the sauce and can't stop:

Mycroft has never worried about himself too much outside of work reasons, he was too busy taking care of Sherlock + the estate and handling incompetent politicians and global political leaders to ever care.

Sherlock was and is a danger to everything alive or objects - including himself!! This especially when he was a child doing any sort of experiment because often touch and tasting is the first thing done, so Mycroft aged like 20 years when Sherlock was a child in his 'i must grab and put this foreign thing in my mouth' phase. One time he wanted to touch and taste the insides of his bee plushie - it was just cotton tho (and a heart attack for Mycroft).

He is the reason Sherlock has expensive tastes and was unable to lean him off it due to having the exact palette as well. He's the reason Sherlock is spoiled about his groceries but don't say that to Mycroft because he did his best...not really but he likes his branded sweets okay.

Mycroft (as he is a big boy) needed suits that were custom made for him and up to his impeccable standards so he got them commissioned and had the designer he found to also create sensory friendly clothing for Sherlock. 🥹

Mycroft likes John Watson and Mariana a lot, they both love his brother and that's the only thing he could ask for.

Mycroft is a tank!! He is more than capable of neutralising someone if needed - whether hand to hand or by weapon/s - but just like how he isn't a detective, he isn't his own bodyguard nor hitman because he's lazy and that's why you have employees.

Mycroft thought that Sherlock and John are more than friends but gets even more confused when Mariana is there? Then decides it's none of his business really, he needs to focus on easing tensions between the King and the Prime Minister.

Mycroft and Sherlock not only had deduce-offs but also regularly fought one on one hand to hand combat for fun. Mycroft was scared asf tho when Sherlock started to have intense interests in swords, no thank you.

Mycroft unlike his behaviour at work being that of an ice man whose looks could kill, is awkward and shy when it comes to Sherlock. There's not much to talk about when you're siblings whose work requires the utmost confidentiality, can easily deduce what the other did and with one's work famously being published and the other's influence clear in every political news!!

Now that's all I have, I'm sure my brain will come up with some more stuff later on and i'll be sure to tag you in them from now on!!

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

#2, #7, #16, #20

Hi! Thanks for the ask!

#2 a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

Oh my gosh. I am so sorry for this answer.

Um, I'm kind of copping out on this one because I....I really have no knowledge of sex beyond the basics or the reasons/complexities of topping and bottoming, so I can't make a compelling argument for either. 🙈😭

I will read smut fics if I like the author, but, like.... I don't know, I just come here to read. 😆

(Also, my fave is Helen Magnus and I generally think she would be more than happy doing either/or depending on partner and desire.)

#7 what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

Daniel Jackson from Stargate SG-1, 100%.

The fandom acts like he's the most precious, pure, uwu-baby to ever walk the earth and I just can't take it. I can't. He wasn't my fave before I was exposed to how the fandom acts towards him, but it amped up to hate because of it.

When I civilly explained why some of us do not view this character that way, someone came in and berated me for it because "It was the early seasons, it doesn't count, you just hate him".

This man is not a precious diamond with rainbows and sunshine pouring out him and I have come to loathe that attitude towards him and his character because of it.

#16 you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Hmmmm.

I would have to say that the characterization of John being abusive to Helen in so many fics.

There was never any canon incidents where he was physically abusive to her (Haunted doesn't really count, in my opinion, when he kicked her in the ribs) and I hate that it's mostly used as a way to neatly tie up why she gets together with Nikola. Or anyone, for that matter.

John was the Ripper, yes, but we were never shown or told that he was abusive to Helen. Helen never acts like or says that he abused her.

But he is often characterized as being a horribly violent, selfish, jealous abuser and that really rubs me the wrong way and I don't get it.

In general, it really breaks down to, in both fics and published books and such, I don't understand why people love making one love interest, who could be a very interesting and complex character, into an abuser to justify the choice of the other love interest.

#20 part of canon you found tedious or boring

Pulling out Once Upon a Time for this one. XD

David and Snow's "I'll find you! I will always find you!" It was cute at first. But it was brought up so damn much. It got very tedious very, very fast.

I just got to the point where it was like 'yeah, yeah you always find each other, can we please focus on something else or say you love each other some other way?'.

So tedious I feel like so much time was wasted on that for no good reason.

[eyesontheskyline]

oooh talking about that scene in 3x02 i think that kickstarted their whole relationship, but im curious to know what was the moment in cm or maybe what season when you felt like something shifted between them? for me, season 5 after foyet’s attack is for sureee a turning point. In my head, the recovery from 9 stabs in a month would’ve been an absolute bitch. And considering that hotch had no family bc they were in witsec, how did that man manage to change his dressings, take care of his wounds etc etc?! Getting that glimpse of rossi telling morgan that Prentiss is driving hotch to and from work kinda connects the dots that she was probably the one that spent the most tine with him and helping out. Bc no matter how hardheaded that man is, he was fucking stabbed, there’s no way he was able to do shit on his own # just a thought

Yes! So okay in between writing my S7 fix-it, I'm also (oh god I just looked at the word count) like 23,000 words into writing a ficlet / chapter for each episode from S2E15 onward, and they deal with Emily and her friendships with the whole team but tend more Hotchniss as they go on. So I've been thinking a lot about where those little shifts are.

I think she sees a different side to him in the burn ward in S2E19, when he sits with the dying woman for no reason other than not wanting her to die alone. And he tells an against-protocol lie that's just kind.

I think the shift to him trusting her as a person is definitely S3E02, and then once she has that trust it's absolute - I think there were moments before that where he liked her, but this is a different thing. They have this intense, life-in-hands trust in each other from this point on that becomes the foundation for everything.

It feels to me like they get gradually closer and more in tune with each other from that point and I could ramble forever about that but if I ever want to actually publish that fic I probably shouldn't.

S4E02 where his eardrum does its thing in the cemetery and she follows him and touches him while he is vulnerable feels like a Thing to me. And then the next ep is Minimal Loss where he's listening to her being beaten up and looking tortured, and then we see her hug Reid and Hotch just staring at her. So that also feels like a Thing. Like I'm suuure he drove her home or showed up at her place or something after that.

And then by the time Foyet gets him, she's already the one who's like 'where's Hotch?' and can't relax because it feels like something's off with him. Sits with him in the hospital. And I think you're right - I think she would be the one to show up to give him any practical help he needed, because that's the clue we get from her driving him to work after and him just accepting that.

So yeah, I became a shipper the first time I watched S4E03 Minimal Loss, but watching it back I can see something developing between them before that. I think they both just know how to care for each other quietly, in this quiet, understated way that never feels like too much.

But one of the things I really enjoy about them as a ship is that there are multiple different plausible starting points - some other ships for me feel like they hit a point in canon where they've missed their chance, and I never get that from Hotchniss. I think you can start something right after he signs his divorce papers, or after he's left the show (my first Hotchniss thing after a long break was set in S13), or more or less any point in between.

[originalcollectionartistry]

Part 3: No More Waiting

Here is the requested part 3 to Guess I Waited too long. Honestly I just wrote that fic to process my own emotions about episode 13 and did not think I'd get any notice on those fics. I'm so sorry for the long wait! I finally had some reprieve to edit and post but I promise I have been working on it since part 2.

Also that season finale was NOT OKAY!! I cried for a full day so I definitely had to finish this to give myself and others comfort and lots of therapy. After this, I will write quite a few fix it fics if anyone requests them cause that was not on.

I've never really published anything I've written but I would hope this 3 part series gave my fellow Tech lovers a little therapy.

My stories are 18+. Minors begone.

I honestly don't know the word count so enjoy the numberless paragraphs of sex.

Warnings: Sex. Lots of sex. PiV sex, unprotected, NSFW, explicit PiV, crude language, aftercare, fingering (fem receiving), oral (both receiving), just filth. Pure filth

Also Cid is not a backstabbing asshole in this cause she shouldn't have done that to the boys or Omega

Part 1 Part 2

Enjoy you horny bastards!

____________________________________________________________

You had returned to Pabu over 40 rotations ago and you and Tech had been... less than affectionate. Honestly, you didn't mind. Tech was still quite new to the whole relationship thing and you certainly did not want to push him. You loved the man and would be as patient as possible. But Maker were you horny! Why did he have to be so damned attractive? Everything he did just made you think about how he'd feel against you, inside you. He really did not realise how much you needed him.

Phee had returned shortly after you and the boys, successfully clearing yours and their name. Cid was callous and harsh but she could be understanding when she wanted to be. Besides, the Batch were her best assets. She wasn't going to risk severing ties. Apparently the whole reason she'd left them stranded was the Empire had finally made its way to Ord Mantell. She needed time and a way to keep the boys out of the Empire's sight. Easiest way was keeping them away. Course she had to act all threatening; she couldn't risk anyone think she'd gone soft.

"So... it's safe to come back?" Omega asked.

"Only if ya want. If you're happy on where you are, I'll just send stuff your way. It's how I keep Phee invested." Cid shrugged. Maybe she had changed after all. Or Omega crawled her way into Cid's cold heart.

You looked over at Tech, meeting his eyes. You nodded your head over towards the Marauder, wanting to talk to him. He nodded back and followed you quietly to the ship. You were pacing, which confused him. You hadn't mentioned any upset or anger since the mission so to see you anxious worried him.

"Mesh'la? Is something wrong?"

You looked at your man, your handsome sexy man. "Nothing you can't fix my love... I miss you."

Tech cocked his head to the side. "I'm right here. Why would you miss me?"

You sighed and tapped your lips, a small signal to him that you wanted a kiss. "I miss feeling you darling. We've been busy lately. We haven't had any time together.... alone."

Tech smiled, understanding what you wanted. He approached you, hands finding their place on your hips. Touching his forehead to yours, it was a moment of pure love and intimacy. Neither of you could believe how lucky you were to be together and hoped nothing would ever come between you.

"Well cyare, how do you propose we rectify this? Surely the ship is not a place for such intimate affairs?"

You smiled, knowing he was genuinely curious as to how you'd find time. You weren't worried though; Tech was a man of curiosity. You knew he'd do whatever you wanted him to to make sure you were fully satisfied.

“No but that’s definitely something I’d like to do eventually. We shouldn’t rush it so how about we have dinner tomorrow and just see where the night takes us!”

Tech nodded, giving you a kiss. “Sounds good my darling. Now how about we get back before Wrecker comes looking?”

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

Dinner was quiet but sweet. Plus the food was perfect; you and Tech had some sort of connection where you two working in tandem in the kitchen was second nature. This caused every new recipe to be perfect and well done!

Cuddling on the couch in your borrowed home, you felt more than content. You really couldn't be happier. After so much drama, it was nice to have a space your own and settle down. You weren't 100% sure what Tech's thoughts were but you knew him and his brothers had been talking about moving permanently to Pabu and honestly? After the shit you dealt with on Ord Mantell, settling down in a bungalow on an island paradise with the man you love was more than what you'd ever ask for.

Tech pressed his lips to your temple, allowing you to let out a small sigh of happiness. It wasn’t often you two had quiet moments like this. You were either helping around town or tech was working on the ship.

You turned your head upward, wanting a kiss, which Tech happily gave. It was clear you two were pent up however as the chaste kiss soon turned heated, tongues battling for dominance. You were quick to straddle your beau’s waist, slowly grinding down on his crotch. Tech let out a groan of lust at your ministrations, wanting more. He went to push his goggles up over his head but you stopped him.

“Keep them on,” you whispered in his ear. “I want you to see me clearly.” You ground down harder, making Tech cry out in pleasure. “Plus I like you with your goggles on.”

Tech nodded quickly. “Of course mesh’la! Whatever you’d like tonight, it’s yours!” His hand came to your chest, gently palming your sensitive breasts. He wasted no time in gently pulling at the buttons, wanting to see more.

It was a beautiful thing, you thought. That you of all people could make the intelligent clone desperate and inarticulate. It made you swell with pride; giving you the confidence to slowly move off his waist and onto the floor. Unbuckling Tech's belt was a task and a half. You always knew it would be cause dear god that man had ALL the pockets strapped to his waist. Buckle after buckle, you eventually became frustrated enough where you sat back and started pouting.

Tech chuckled, leaning forwards, he took your chin in his hand. "Something wrong, cyare?"

You glared at him and then his pants. "You know damn well what's wrong! YOU HAVE TOO MANY POCKETS!!"

He laughed softly before taking over removing his bottoms. As he removed his jeans he laughed again. "My darling, you must work on your patience. Plus my pockets can hold many things... like remotes to certain toys?"

You gawked, never having considered that. Tech could and probably would make you writhe in constant pleasure while no one would be wise to the situation. The mere idea made you feel your undies become soaked. This was definitely something you’d have to discuss later. Who would’ve known that Tech would be kinky! You loved it and absolutely wanted to explore more scenarios with your love. But right now...

“Just help me undress you, smart-ass!”

Tech laughed before continuing to remove his clothing for you. He knew you had patience but the more desperate you became, the less patience you’d be. He pulled you back up onto his waist, bringing you in for another passionate kiss. Your frustration at his clothing disappearing into his soft lips.

You pulled away and knelt back onto the floor, pulling his cock out of its confines. Your mouth started to water, the tip glistening with pre cum. You gave an experimental lick from the base to the frenulum. You heard Tech suck in a breath, gaining courage to take all of him in your mouth. Eventually finding a rhythm, you bobbed your head, making sure to pay attention to his tip. Tech was gasping, the feeling of your warm mouth overwhelming him. His hands found purchase at the back of your head, gripping your hair at its roots. The slight pressure on your scalp caused you to release a low moan, sending vibrations down Tech’s cock.

“Kark cyare! You’re perfect! It's like your mouth was made for me!”

You smiled, giving him a little suck at his tip as a thank you. You felt him start to buck into your mouth and you knew he was getting close.

“Mesh’la, please! If you keep going like that I’m going to cum. I’d rather do that inside you!” he whimpered.

You pulled off with a pop, smiling gently up at him. “Of course my love. Anything you’d like.”

Now it was your turn to completely undress. Tech had already taken care of your top, leaving you in your bra and pants. You wanted to tease him so you slinked away from your love’s lap, standing before him. You started to sway your hips in a figure 8 motion while feeling yourself up and down. You smirked when you saw Tech lean back and palm himself, obviously liking what he was seeing. Reaching back, you unclipped your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders. You chuckled a little at Tech’s expression.

His mouth was pressed into a line, and he was looking up at you desperate for you to do something other than dance. He wanted, no NEEDED, you to touch him. He was stiff, trying not to melt into a puddle of submission to your will. While he loved when you took charge, he really wanted to be in control tonight.

You shimmied out of your pants, pulling your underwear with them. Straddling Tech’s waist again, you started suckling at his neck again, leaving as many marks as possible.

“Darling, as much as I love this, I think we need to move to the bedroom. I would hate for someone to catch us in a state of undress,” Tech panted. He stood, gripping your thighs to keep you where you were. You squealed at the sudden change of position, wrapping your legs tighter round his waist.

“I couldn’t agree more, my love.”

He gently place you on the bed, hovering over your body. His kisses made you breathless but you couldn't muster a care. His lips were too soft, too sweet. Oxygen was overrated anyway, you thought as his lips left yours to trail down your neck again. Leaving little hickies and bruises all over, Tech continued his mission lower, kissing over your breasts, your belly, until he reached his destination. Kissing up your thighs, teasing you, he decided to leave more spots, hickies only he would know about and would remind you who you belong to.

"Teeeccchh!" you whined, "Stop teasing!" You bucked your hips towards his face, wanting to feel his mouth on you.

He smirked, pushing his goggles up his nose. "And who am I to deny such a pretty thing?" One lick from your entrance to your clit had you crying out in pleasure and relief. Finally!

He ate you out like a man dying of thirst, suckling your little button like his life depended on it. You were certain you'd lose your voice before the main event at how much Tech had you crying out and moaning.

"Kriff! Kark Tech! How did you get so good at this?" you cried out.

He only answered in a moan against your clit, sending vibrations down your whole lower half. He may not have had much relationship experience but he did read up and research every single erogenous zone a woman of your species could have. Thankfully, humans were quite easy to research as male and females had similar erogenous zones. Tech paid special attention to your vulva and clit, stimulating it in every way possible.

Once he thought you were sufficiently lubricated, he started probing your entrance with one finger, before sinking inside. You screamed, not expecting it but welcoming the intrusion. His fingers were long and reached that perfect spongy spot just inside. Curling his fingers in a come hither, he added a second and eventually a third.

You felt so incredibly full, becoming more and more overstimulated with each pump of Tech's fingers. You were so close, that knot in the pit of your stomach becoming more and more tight. Tech could feel your clenching around his fingers, knowing you were close to your finish.

"Come on cyare. Cum for me. It's okay," he murmured against your clit.

It didn't take too long for you to reach that precipice. You fell over that edge, every muscle in your body freezing as you saw stars behind your eyes. It took you a moment to catch your breath, Tech gently kissing your thighs as you came down from your high.

"Karking hells... that was amazing love!" you moaned out.

Tech crawled back up your body, kissing every piece of skin he could reach. "Don't pass out on me yet cyar'ika. We're not done yet."

You smiled, pulling him in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on your tongue and it made you whimper against him. Tech pulled away and smiled softly as he lined himself with your dripping cunt. Just the feeling of his tip against you made you buck your hips, wanting more.

"You ready darling?"

"Tech, I swear if you don't fuck me, I'll find someone who will!"

Tech laughed, knowing you were all talk. You didn't make yourself suffer through hurt and jealousy just to walk away when he teased. Slowly entering your warm walls, it took every bit of Tech's willpower not to bottom out instantly. You felt so good! So warm, so tight and inviting.

You used your legs to pull Tech deeper, not caring about slow anymore. You needed more! Your movements caused Tech to lose balance and hilt himself inside, making him curse something you never thought you'd hear.

"FUCK darling!! You're going to be the death of me if you keep doing that."

You giggled, rolling your eyes like the brat you were. Tech started to move, slowly in and out, allowing you to become accustomed to his size. You closed your eyes, biting your lip in ecstacy. Thank the Maker for Jango Fett's DNA cause you knew every clone would be well endowed but Tech was genetically enhanced so you knew his intelligence came with other perks as well.

Tech started to move faster, his hips snapping against yours deliciously. His pelvic bone gently hit your clit with every thrust, it did not take very long for your orgasm to approach quickly again. Why did he have to be so good at this? He'd give you so much pleasure you'd be unable to walk. Tech was perfect in every way, shape and form.

Wanting to prolong, you used all your strength to flip Tech over so you'd be on top.

"Taking control are we, cyare?"

In response you ground down, loving the hiss of pleasure he drew. Grinding down gently, you teased him. Tech bucked up into you, letting you know it wasn't fair to tease.

"Darling please! You know I don't last long in this position! The angle in which I enter you is quite possibly the most pleasurable and if i continue at this pace I won't last and be able to give you the pleasure you deserve."

You smiled, loving it when he started to go on a tangent. Knowing this particular one was because of you was delicious to say the least. So, you tortured him a little longer. You continued to ride him, bracing yourself on his chest. Tech's hands flew to your hips, forcing you down even more onto his cock with each thrust. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving little crescent marks on his pecs. You could feel him start to stutter his hips and while you loved the feeling of it, you did not want the fun to end yet. This was the man you loved and you were going to give him whatever he wanted at this point. So you flipped back over, letting him be back on top.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. You heart was bursting and you once again felt that little knot becoming tighter and tighter. This time, you did not want to tease. Tech thrusted harder and faster, feeling your cunt pulse and grip him like a vice. His hips stuttered a bit and you both knew neither would last much longer.

"Darling, where?"

You moaned loudly, loving the feelings you had. "Inside me my love! Fill me up with your cum!"

A few thrusts later, you felt warmth spreading through your lower half and felt Tech release inside you. You fell off your precipice, seeing the galaxy behind your eyelids. Muscles tensed and relaxed, riding your orgasm out.

You felt Tech collapse against you, nuzzling into your neck and leaving little kisses. You relaxed your legs from around his waist and he turned you both onto your sides, cuddling into you further.

"You feeling okay?" you rasped, running your fingers through his hair.

"Mmm" he moaned. Tech lifted his head and adjusted his goggles. "More than okay cyare. I'm spent."

You laughed a little at that, feeling the exact same. Tech got out of bed, leaving you a little shiver at the lack of his body heat, but promptly returned with two canteens and a wet cloth. Spreading your legs, he gently wiped away any cum that was left on your skin. He gently encouraged you to go pee because "urination helps with clearing out any disease or sperm that may be left" but you scoffed.

"I'll pee later! Just come cuddle me please? I need a nap after that."

Nodding, Tech crawled back in next to you, wrapping his arms around your form. Snuggling in, you inhaled a breath of his scent, loving the man. You felt your heart rates calm down and slow as you cuddled. You were essentially fucked out and loved Tech for knowing your body so well.

"You're thinking very loudly mesh'la."

You smiled and curled into his chest more. "I'm sorry love. Just thinking about how much I love you."

"I love you too my darling. Now try and get some sleep. I have set tomorrow aside for us and I plan to use it well."

You smiled, blushing hard. You didn't know what Tech had in mind but you were excited for it. A whole uninterrupted day with the man you love? A certain yes please.

You slipped Tech's goggles off his head and set them on the nightstand. No indents for this clone. As you looked over you felt a rush of emotion run through you.

No more waiting you thought. You both had waited long enough to be together. Blast the Empire, the rebellion, the crime lords and everything horrible in the galaxy. You had everything you needed right there next to you.

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Hopefully it's what you all hoped for! As always criticism is always welcome as long as its kind and constructive. Thank you for all the love in the last month or so. If anyone wants anymore please feel free to reach out with requests!

Tag list:

@burningfieldof-clover

@lilyevans1

@eternalwaffle

[torterrachampion]

Writer Interview Game

Thanks for the tag @localvampirebitch I had fun answering!

When did you start writing?

I've always liked creative writing even when I was a kid but the first time I started consistently writing was probably in ~2016 when I started writing fanfiction. I did nuke all my oldest fanfics though so they're lost to time.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

For published fiction I really like science fiction but I find it very difficult to write and don't really enjoy writing it myself. And as for fanfics I read I really love multichapter fics but I almost exclusively write oneshots. I'd like to get better about writing longer stories eventually and get back to writing more original fiction, even just short stories since I used to write those every now and then. I mostly write fanfiction right now since it's easier.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I don't think I've ever been compared to anyone specifically but I have a lot of fondness for the sort of prose in things written by Ursula le Guin for example. And I wish I were half as funny as Douglas Adams. And I do admire Mochijun's writing a lot obviously.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I'll either sit at my desk with my laptop or type things fully on my phone. It depends how serious I am about something.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I don't really do anything special. Writing is just a bit of fun to me so I only do it if I feel like it.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I feel like I write about loneliness a lot. I really like gloomy women. But I also have a strong penchant for violence. I just think it's really fun to write regardless of how good I am at it. I have martial arts experience so I think I get a kick out of writing fights. And I think gore is frustratingly fun because I can never make it graphic enough.

What is your reason for writing?

It's just a bit of fun really. To some degree it's also about writing things I want to read. If I feel like no one else is going to do it I'll take it upon myself.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I've been complimented on my ability to characterise and differentiate individual characters a few times. So I think I'll believe what other people have said and say I'm good at characterisation.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I simultaneously have a God complex and hate everything I've ever written.

If any of you guys want to participate but no pressure @grassbreads @grelleswife @arcaneoddity