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bratbarzal · 4 months ago

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On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Four

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

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

WC: 10k

18+ MDNI!!

Chapter Warnings: (rushed) smuT!! with the hardest possible T on the end. (finally!!) as if it isn't only chapter four but also this is an accidental pregnancy fic so whatever fingering, oral (both receiving just not simultaneously lmao), heavy petting, (unprotected) p in v (like protection isn't even thought about or mentioned pls I beg be more responsible than this lmao), some admirable displays of endurance honestly, there's a random joke about jumping in front of a car sorry idek how else to write that warning, aaaaaand nico being... an idiot perhaps? he's a man after all, poor decisions are written into the very core structure of his chromosomes unfortunately

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

Previous Part (Chapter Three)

A/N: I'll just let yous crack on this time no yapping on my end hope you like it lmao (but I must say, as always, never proofread)

if you do wanna yap, if you have any feedback you wanna share or criticisms or whatever, my inbox is always open!! 💓

Poppy

Nia: !!!

Nia: 🚨CODE BLACK 🚨

Nia: !!!

Poppy wouldn’t usually be the type to sit on her phone at the table in a restaurant, but desperate times had called for desperate measures, and she would say being made to wait 10 minutes with no response to any messages on what was supposed to be a first date counted as desperate times.

She had been flicking through instagram stories, hoping to catch a sneaky glimpse at the guy she wanted to be the cause of her cell’s incessant vibrations, but to no avail so far.

She had been picking at bread rolls and sipping at her water, tapping on her screen every 30 seconds to check when fifteen minutes had passed, and she would have been able to up and leave without feeling bad about it. Would have been able to tell her mom that she had at least made an effort, unlike Mr Evidently Not-So-Perfect Tucker Lyon.

But who needs fifteen courteous minutes when you have a best friend like Nia Auden.

Nia, who had introduced the Code Black protocol to their friend group when they were teenagers, and who had stressed the severity of it to everyone. Never to be abused, always to be used for the ultimate good.

When they were younger, the two of them specifically had abused it a couple times - to get out of presentations in class, bad dates, or dinners with overbearing parents.

Nia had once sent Poppy a Code Black text when her dad had thrown some boring party in the family home, and there usually would have been nothing in the world that would have gotten Poppy out of it - but a text from her best friend, who’s parents were out of town, and who desperately needed someone to drive her to the emergency room after she sliced her finger opening a tuna can, had Mr Jensen agreeing in seconds. His heartstrings had been thoroughly plucked by the story of the fake injury and the thought of that poor girl sitting in Norwood Emergency Care on her own with half a finger left. Poppy had only just managed to convince him he didn’t need to help, and the two of them spent the evening binge watching Gilmore Girls in Nia’s basement, concocting a plan for Nia to wear a finger bandage for the next few weeks if she was coming over.

The contingency had been entirely pointless, obviously, because Poppy’s dad was hardly ever around enough to notice such a small detail, back then. And, despite her mother having the perception levels of a hawk, Mrs Jensen cared too little about Nia to notice, either.

In instances like that, the use of the code was mostly pre-planned. The girls would complain about whatever it is they wanted to get out of until one of them suggested it, and it was always a case of waiting for the incoming text without seeming too obvious. But her and Nia hadn’t agreed to this. Not this time.

Sure, she’d droned on earlier in the day about how much she didn’t want to go on the date, but Nia wouldn’t usually go rogue - especially not with a Code Black. This kind of thing takes preparation and a pre-warning.

Poppy: what’s up?

Poppy: you okay???

She had remembered Nia’s plans for the evening - taking a potential client out for drinks, showing them the wonders of the better side of the Hudson River, and hoping that she can charm them into signing with her agency - trying to work her way up the ranks of podcast production until she can hopefully get a job in television or film.

Nia: I’ve just witnessed the saddest sight I’ve ever seen in all my 25 years.

Nia: need to share out the misery before I let it consume me 😢

Attached to her messages was a pixelated picture, taken from across whatever bar she had found herself in. It was blurry, and bad quality, taken in poor lighting and zoomed in the whole way but Poppy was still able to make out who it was. All too reminiscent of the pictures Jack had sent her a week prior.

Nico, sat alone at a bar, chin in the palm of one hand and a drink in the other.

Nia: he’s about as subtle as a smack to the face, Pop.

Nia: moping and brooding for all of NJ to see

Poppy: this is your code black?

Poppy: six exclamation points and two blaring alarms for nico moping again?

Nia: this doesn’t look like an emergency to you?

Nia: you’ve broken the poor guy

Poppy: why is it always my fault? 😢

Poppy: you told me to make him sweat??

Nia: he looks like he’s one drink away from throwing himself in front of oncoming traffic

Poppy: wow dramatic much?

Nia: you haven’t seen him in person

Nia: in fact I think I just saw him wipe away an actual tear

Nia: how sad ☹️

Poppy: nico doesn’t cry in public

Poppy: only in private to movies about dogs

Nia: your date is clearly going well for you to be replying so quick

Poppy: he didn’t turn up

Nia: stfu

Nia: how rude!!

Poppy: it’s whatever

Poppy: can you tell nico I’m omw so he stops sulking?

Nia: no but I can bully him until you get here 🥰

Poppy: go easy on him pls 🙏

Nia: 🤷🏽‍♀️

—

Nia was right. Nico is about as subtle as a smack to the face. The kind where the sound of it silences the rest of a room, and the imprint of closed fingers comes out almost immediately into the recipient’s skin surrounded by a hot, burning redness that lingers long after it’s done.

It’s something Poppy had realised as soon as she saw him when she got to the bar, as soon as he saw her, and he couldn’t wait to get to her - leaving Pally with his mouth wide open, mid sentence as Nico ejected himself from whatever one-sided conversation his teammate was having to seek her out.

She’d realised it when they were alone, and he practically had to cuff his hands behind his back to stop himself from touching her, unintentionally making a show of his attempt at restraint. Or when he’d pressed the stiff outline of his evident arousal into her hip, making a show of the complete opposite.

And when Timo had interrupted the two of them, the sharp clench of Nico’s jaw and the whitening of his knuckles by his sides.

Subtlety is far from Nico’s strong suit.

Not when he’s burning holes into the back of his teammate and long-time friend’s head when Timo returns to the group, not when he’s initially giving tight-lipped smiles whenever anyone asks if he’s alright, or mentions that he seems a little out of sorts.

Not when his hand takes up permanent residence on the small of Poppy’s back, and he absentmindedly rubs random shapes into her flesh as the two of them converse with the team. Although, she doesn’t entirely mind that aspect.

Not when she had initially thought he might act the opposite - might keep his distance, pretend their back of the bar rendezvous hadn’t happened and refuse to get too close out of a fear someone might notice something between them.

He hasn’t left her side for almost two hours now, and she quite likes the quietly possessive stance he has taken up beside her.

She quite likes a lot about how he has been tonight.

Likes the attention and affections he gives her, likes the way he clues her in on conversations she otherwise would have no business being involved in, likes the way he lets her see little parts of himself she hadn’t got to really see before - not this fully, at least.

Like how he leads his team with gentle authority, wanting to make sure they’re having fun, looking after themselves, not letting their loss from the previous night dampen the joy from the win the night before that. Not caring that they are in fact supposed to be out celebrating him, and knowing that with a short break until their next game, they all deserve to let loose a little. He checks in on everyone, recalls little details she doesn’t know how he juggles in his mind with everything else he has going on, and she can’t help but lack subtlety herself in the way she admires how he deals with Jack.

Nico, who is soft spoken, but assertive, seemingly shy, but comfortingly confident, handles the younger boy with such care it makes Poppy’s heart thud rampantly in her chest.

Jack had suffered a knock to his shoulder in their game against Chicago on the Friday - had missed the game against the Canucks, missed the game against his brother, the whole Hughes-Bowl extravaganza - and is now stressing over missing his first time co-captaining a team during the All-Star weekend at the end of the month.

And Nico somehow manages to calm him down - taking his time to let Jack air out his grievances and coming back on every worry to diminish it with words of affirmation and encouragement.

Nico is reassuring, gentle, understanding of his frustrations, and as they sit across from Jack in a darkened booth, a couple hours after their encounter in the hallway, a few drinks deep into the evening, she starts to think she’s never been this attracted to another person in her life.

With their legs pressed together under the table and his hand, the one that lays free when he uses his other to gesture as he talks, rubbing gently into the flesh just above her closest knee, she’s starting to lose her mind just a little.

She hadn’t been able to stop herself in the empty hallway before from launching herself at him, but 4 days of no contact with Nico had her entire body buzzing with anticipation.

Anticipation of his feelings, of her own feelings, even, and what they could lead to if she just let them take the reins.

Twice they had kissed now - twice her whole world had been rocked off it’s axis with just the press of his lips to hers, and as she’s been pressed to him for the better part of two hours, has watched the indent of his dimples form into his cheek, watched his dark eyes gleam under the poor lighting in the bar, watching him laugh and smile and be his charming, charismatic self, she starts to feel a pressure rise within her. It’s like she’s a shaken up bottle of soda, and one more touch, one more glance, is going to twist the cap straight off of her until she fizzes all over the place.

And when Jack dismisses himself to get another drink, his mood seemingly lifted, able to crack a smile, at least, she leans into Nico, hand on his lap as she cranes her neck to speak into his ear. “I think I’m good to get out of here, now.”

She only just manages to jut her chin away when his head turns to look at her, tongue darting out to wet his lips, dark eyes dashing down to survey her own tucked between her teeth. “Oh yeah?” His voice is a lot lower than it had been when he spoke to Jack, huskier, breathier, and the deep hum of it rings all the way from her ears to the pit of her stomach. “You want me to take you home?”

She nods, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to kiss him again, in the middle of the crowded bar, surrounded by all their friends - especially with the way he’s looking at her, his darkened gaze pooling with pure unadulterated lust.

“Let me grab my jacket and we can go.”

“I’m gonna say bye to Nia.”

He squeezes lightly at her thigh as a confirmation before edging out of the booth and lending her a hand to help her out. “I’ll come find you.”

Nia isn’t too hard for Poppy to find, having joined the group in their private section, bringing her hopeful clients along with her and introducing them to the team. She’s stood with John Marino and Nate Bastian when Poppy comes over, and her best friend looks at her with the smuggest grin she’s ever seen in her life.

“Finally broke free of Captain Sexy’s clutches, huh?”

Poppy wishes, not for the first time, she would stop calling him that, especially in front of other people.

“Nico’s gonna make sure I get home okay,” Poppy tells her best friend, immediately cringing at the hollers that break out beside her.

“Ooh, I bet he is,” John scoffs, nudging Bass in the side, the two of them grinning almost as wide as Nia.

Nate wolf-whistles, before singing, “Poppy and Nico, sitting in a tree-,”

“Whatever word you’re thinking about spelling out,” she hooks a finger pointedly at John, cutting the two of them off before they can carry on whatever childish rhyme they could come up with between them, “Save it before I spare the world of any future mini-Marinos.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes, “A little early to be heading out though, isn’t it, Poppy?”

“Some of us have work tomorrow,” she smiles, regardless of the fact that she doesn’t have to go to work until she has a meeting in the afternoon - but these two don’t need to know the semantics, “I’m just borrowing Nia for a sec.”

She drags her friend a safe distance away so the two of them can’t eavesdrop, and tries to ignore her lack of subtlety when she sings, “F-u-c-k-i-n-g.”

“Don’t stoop to their level, Ni,” she sighs, rolling her eyes despite the stuttering of her heart, and holds her hand out to retrieve the purse she had left with her when she’d first come into the bar. “You’re better than that.”

“What? It’s catchy,” Nia shrugs, hazel eyes slowly assessing Poppy as if trying to read her like a book. “And you’re so trying to get laid tonight. Don’t think I don’t know what the two of you were up to when you disappeared into the back, before."

“Whatever.”

“Hey, do me a favour?” Nia asks, reaching into Poppy’s purse for her phone and holding down the side buttons until the device powers down. “Don’t turn that back on until tomorrow.”

Poppy doesn’t even have to ask. She has a sixth sense for her mother’s interference, and she just knows she’s been blowing up her phone all night with questions. Nia is right, she doesn’t need to dedicate any precious mind space to that tonight.

Tonight is for her and Nico, whatever may happen.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Poppy lets out an uneasy laugh, allowing for Nia to zip the cell back into her bag before stepping away ever so slightly. “I’ll text you as soon as it’s back on, though.”

“Damn right you will.” Nia scoffs, leaning in to give Poppy a quick hug, “I want every last detail, Jensen.”

“Sure thing, Auden.”

“Have fun, Poppy, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The two friends part with a quick peck to the cheek, and Poppy retreats in search of Nico, who she finds by the bar, eyes meeting from across the room as if he had been waiting for her to finish.

Once she had made her way over to him, he holds his jacket out to drape over her shoulders, and she tucks herself under his arm as he leads them out of the bar into the cold of the night, wrapping her arms around his middle in an attempt to distribute some of the warmth she has stolen from him by borrowing his coat.

“I’ve got us an Uber,” he says, pulling her into him as they wait by the side of the building. “It should be here in a minute.”

“You don’t wanna walk me home?” They’re in Jersey City, maybe a fifteen minute walk from her apartment, and they could easily warm up if they made pace. The sky is clear, and she wouldn’t mind getting to walk somewhere and hold his hand.

“I’m not piggy-backing you all that way, Poppy,” he scoffs, knowing her better than she knows herself - the mention of a piggyback bringing forth an ache in the soles of her feet. Not a chance of walking fifteen minutes. “We can get the car to stop a block from your place, and I promise I’ll carry you around the corner.”

“If we’re going to my place we should get the Uber straight there, you won’t ride in my elevator and I need to be carried the last two flights of stairs at least.”

“Your elevator is a rickety death trap,” he hums into her skin, nose tucking into the open collar of his jacket draped over her shoulders, nudging at the curve of her neck. “And I don’t feel like dying tonight.”

“Oh, do you have big plans for the rest of your evening?”

“I have a very pretty girl in front of me and a lot of time to make up for.” The last time he had mentioned making up for lost time, it had made her feel uneasy - this time couldn’t be any further from that. She feels anticipation, excitement, exhilaration - knowing the time he’s referencing goes so far beyond those months apart.

“My place, then, the whole way,” she confirms, “And I’ll just have to figure out a way to distract you in the elevator so you don’t think about dying.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard for you to distract me.”

She tries not to overthink the meaning behind that - tries not to let her mind wander down paths it shouldn’t go down, where she pictures him thinking about her when he shouldn’t - when he’s with other people, in other places, away from her.

And, just in time to save her from an embarrassing display of public affection, a black Suburban pulls up to the curb in front of them, and Nico nudges her toward it.

They sit together in the back, his arm around her, thighs pressed together, her right hand holding the hand attached to the arm slung over her shoulder and the left fiddling with the fingers of his other in her lap.

The two of them make very brief small talk with the driver, and the drive takes maybe 5 minutes before they both stumble out right in front of Poppy’s building, Nico quick to send the driver off with a tip while Poppy unlocks the main door.

The elevator is already on the bottom floor, and she tries her best to do all the work in getting it to go up. Nico had been mostly accurate to call it a rickety death trap - the type with doors you have to close manually and lights that flicker and hum like something straight out of a horror movie.

The only surefire way to distract him is to kiss him, and she doesn’t have to use up any brainpower to convince herself to do so.

She pulls him in with soft hands placed on either side of his neck, and he falls immediately into the flow of it - large hands gripping at her hips, pushing her gently into the far wall as the elevator begins its ascent. They don’t part until the elevator stops, and even then, they only do so so that Poppy can yank the door open and pull him out with her, immediately attaching herself back to his lips and kissing him with fervour.

They shuffle down the hall until they’re outside her apartment, and she blindly, one-handedly fumbles around in her purse for her key, manages to slot it into the keyhole after a few tries, and twists until she can hear the lock turn.

Once the door is unlocked, the two of them stumble into Poppy’s apartment, the thick heels of her boots thudding against the hardwood floor with each clumsy step, and in the very back of her mind she hopes Jesse downstairs can’t hear it too loud.

The thought is fleeting, though, because Nico’s hands press firmly into the base of her spine, causing her hips to jut forward and practically thrust straight into his, his tongue taking immediate advantage of the gasp she lets out and prodding into her open mouth.

He guides them backwards, tangled limbs interlocking until their bodies careen toward the kitchen, he throws his jacket somewhere on the way, and he manages to blindly reach a hand out to stop her colliding with the island counter.

He slowly lets her fall back into it, hand curved over the sharp edges, mouths still pressed together in a sloppy, messy kiss and his body follows suit, aligning to her every curve and indentation.

She wonders briefly if it would have been easier to just break apart - to allow the dim lighting emanating from her kitchen to guide the way to safety instead of relying on Nico’s hasty memorisation of the layout of her apartment, but as she feels the soft muscle of his stomach roll into her torso, feels the flicker of his tongue against hers, she realises it all adds to the exhilaration.

Adrenaline is pumping through her very core, and she doesn’t want to break apart, even for a second.

She’d had a dream about him, once. In the very early stages of their friendship, before the somewhat rational and entirely brutal part of her brain stomped down on her attraction. It went something like this, wandering hands, frantic movements, she doesn't remember exact details but she does remember waking up in a cold sweat.

Regardless, nothing she could ever dream of lives up to the real thing.

To the way his stubble scratches at her skin, the way his hands dig into every part of her they choose to touch, grabbing and clawing with desperation and determination, the way his thick thighs nudge hers apart with subtle dominance so his leg can slot between hers as they both lean into the counter.

The real thing is something else, entirely.

He manages to lift her onto the counter, somehow communicating through touch exactly where he wants her, because as soon as his thick fingers press into her hips, she knows to leverage her hands on the surface behind her and assist him with picking her up, their lips locked the entire time.

Every move is frantic, but intentional, and she is teetering on the edge of rushing this and savouring every moment - and it seems like he is too when he pulls back, their lips parting with a wet smack and his slightly sticky forehead pressing into hers.

The rise and fall of her chest is scattered, while he tries to level out his breathing, trying the in through the nose out through the mouth technique to seemingly calm himself down.

All she can do is watch. Admire the way his eyes drop closed, thick eyelashes fanning out as he scrunches his face, even thicker brows furrowing as he battles whatever internal dialogue is taking place - one she doesn’t want to interrupt or intervene with.

“Are you too drunk for this?” He asks, a surprising croak to his usually level voice, his dark eyes opening to gauge the honesty of her response.

“No,” she pants, still a little out of breath, not so used to being able to pull herself back together as quick as he is. “Are you?”

“No.”

He sounds a little more certain than she did, although he had been out longer tonight, and had definitely had more to drink. She supposed he has the constitution for it. But she knows she isn’t too drunk - knows she would consent if she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all night. She had been ready to jump his bones in that dingy back corridor of the bar, and had been fully sober at the time.

He flexes his fingers at the sides of her thighs on the countertop, itching to touch as if he’s holding back until he gets the right answer. “Do you want this?”

She nods, gaze flickering between his rich, dark chocolate eyes as if trying to read his mind.

In what world would she not want this?

“Tell me, Mohn,” he commands, knuckles whitening as he clenches his hands into fists.

“I want this.” She breathes out, pressing her forehead back to his, eyes fluttering closed as if too heavy to keep open, and allowing for her other senses to heighten. “I want you.”

She blinks her eyes open to see relief visibly flood through him in a rushed wave, and watches as it washes over his entire being - realising just how much her previous rejection, if she would even call it that, had weighed on him the past few days.

Her hands fall onto his atop the counter, rubbing soothingly until his fists flatten out, and all the tension in them disappears. Her fingers fold over his, lifting and guiding them until his palms lay flat where the bottom of her dress meets the soft skin of her thighs. She can feel how hot she is before she starts to push at his hands, taking a shuddered breath as he takes enough initiative to curl his grip around the curve of the flesh there, and she guides his hands slowly upward, the skirt bunching up as they go.

She watches as his gaze follows the movement, staring intently as more of her skin is revealed, until he looks up to meet her eyes, seeking permission in a heated glance.

She feels like she can read his mind when he looks at her like that. Feels like he’s laying out his every intention on a storyboard, visual aids and all, sees it branch off into two potential paths, just like the two she had been weighing up in her own mind.

One where they both take their time, tension building to a euphoric crescendo, where his hands get to memorise every curve and hers get to do the same, where they uncover every unheard sound, every unpracticed touch.

And another where he rips off her clothes and takes her for the first time on the kitchen counter, where she claws at the skin of his back, and he uses his lips to scatter purple bruises across her chest.

He seems to be able to find a middle ground when he starts to help her undress, and keeps one hand slowly caressing the slight dip of her waist as they both push the dress up her body and tug the fabric over her head, with him discarding it off to the side when they’re done.

He flicks teasingly at the strap of her bra until it falls down her arm, gathering and draping just above her elbow, and leaving him free rein to lean down and press his swollen lips to the space where her shoulder meets her collarbone, just about able to feel the subtle echo of her pulse as it travels down her neck.

Her head dips back, granting him full access to her upper body, all the way up her throat and to her jawline, and one of her hands raises of its own accord to the neck of his sweatshirt, fingers tangling in the chain she had gifted him until her nails are tickling and scratching at the skin beneath it. He makes quick work of unzipping her boots, again pulling them off and throwing them away with a heavy thunk.

The moan she lets out is breathy, sparse, but it appears to fulfil something inside him all the same, awakens something greedy as his large palms cup at the sides of her hips and tug her forward, grasping the waistband of her panties and having enough leverage as she slides across the surface to bring them down. She hops slightly so he can pull them over the roundness of her ass, and he steps back a touch from between her legs so that he can dispose of them, flinging them to God-knows where to lay with her dress on the ground.

She’ll worry about it another time.

He maintains his position, fingers wrapping around her calf to push it to the side, parting her legs until he can see what beauty rests between them.

He gazes upon her with unabashed hunger, goosebumps rising on every inch of her skin as she takes in the heat behind his eyes. She has never felt so exposed to another person, so admired, so adored.

Her kitchen is illuminated only by the under-cabinet lighting strips behind them, but she can see the way his irises glisten and sparkle with desire. He makes slow, deliberate movements - painstakingly displaying his intention as he steps forward into her space, leaning with a hand down on the counter beside her thigh, and the other remaining on her opposite leg. When he starts to bend, she stops him with a shaky hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” she whispers, losing her breath when he breaks his gaze from between her thighs to look up at her. “Could you take your shirt off?”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward, a single brow arching in a teasing question.

“Please?” She thinks she almost sounds pathetic, but has little space in her brain right now that she can dedicate to caring about it. “I need to touch you.”

He wordlessly follows her command, straightening up and reaching back to pull the sweatshirt from his body. It drops straight from his grasp to the floor, and the t-shirt he layered underneath follows suit. “Better?” He asks, biting back a smug grin as he watches her eyes trail down his torso, lingering on the faint dark patch of hair just below his bellybutton.

“Kiss me, again.” She requests with a shaky breath, and he fulfils her command, lifting a hand to cup at her jaw and pulling her face into his. Her fingers tickle at the nape of his neck when their lips press back together, immediately parting them until their tongues collide in the middle. She brings her other hand to his chest, his skin warm beneath her touch as she drags it painstakingly slowly down his torso, savouring the feeling, stopping at the button of his jeans and skilfully popping it open without the need for them to part.

Nico releases a cautioning hum into her mouth, pulling away with a slight pop and taking her hand into his to stop her as her fingertips start tickling at the elasticated waist of his underwear.

“Me first.” He huffs, selfishly, swatting her hand away and bending until he can press a kiss to the inside of her knee, pulling her legs apart with a hand clasped around her ankle and lifting until he can swing it over his shoulder.

She gasps when his nose bumps at her thigh, trailing up at a dizzying pace as all she can do is fall back onto her hands placed atop the counter and wait for him to reach his target. He does so with his tongue first, licking a slow, long stripe upward, culminating with his lips pursed around her clit until he can apply mind-numbing pressure to the bundle of nerves.

A hand soon finds purchase in his hair, scratching easily at his scalp and gently tugging when he introduces a finger into the mix, then another, prodding at the wetness that has gathered at her entrance and easily sliding his middle and index fingers up to the bottom knuckles.

There’s nothing she can do to contain the sounds that tumble out from parted lips, gasps, moans, squeaks, all spurring him on where she cannot mask the pleasure he elicits within her.

He adds another finger, she lets out another elongated whine, hips thrusting forward of their own volition into his face, and he doesn’t even seem perturbed. His mouth maintains the same pressure on the bundle of nerves, tongue flicking, lips pursing, and the noise of it all is downright filthy.

His fingers bend and prod and pulse within her until a knot builds deep in the pit of her belly, and ineligible sounds fall from her mouth, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

So much better than anything she had dreamt.

“You’re trembling, Mohn,” he chuckles darkly once he pulls away for a quick breath, pupils blown when he looks up and meets her eyes from between her legs. “Are you gonna come for me?”

He presses his thumb where his mouth had just taken up residence on her clit, rubbing random little shapes into it as he lifts his head, angling his body to press his forehead to hers.

The pressure swirling in her stomach is almost too much to bear, and she can’t help the tremors in her thighs as he holds her in place, her mind tumultuously cloudy and the interlink between her brain and her mouth cut off with a staticky disconnect.

Her hand lands upon his arm, nails digging in with a marking pressure until crescent shapes form into his skin as his digits work at her masterfully, that knot within her growing and unfurling into something beyond words.

The sensation rips through every fibre of her being, head thrown back, mouth dropping open, stomach clenching and the entirety of her legs trembling, from the tips of her toes to the apex of her thighs, as her orgasm hits like a tsunami, walls clenching around Nico’s skilful fingers and pulsing into a vice-like grip.

He presses his forehead to her chest, both of their skin slightly clammy with a light sheen of sweat, lips seeking out the flesh of her breasts spilling over the cups of her bra, and with his free hand, he reaches around to unclasp it until they fall free of the fabric, just for the sake of it.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a minute of her catching her breath, smirking into her skin as he presses light kisses around her nipple, avoiding the sensitive area in an attempt to tease, watching as it hardens in anticipation of his lips. She feels the shivers wrack all the way down her spine and shoot straight to the nerve endings there.

“I think I,” she babbles out incoherently, and he chuckles deeply into the valley between her breasts. “Yeah.”

She’s thankful for the moment of reprieve, rolling her shoulders and lifting her head back up to look down at him. She feels dizzy - the cartoon kind of dizzy, where stars whirl around her head and her vision mimics the wavy lines of tv static.

He seems mesmerised by something, too, and when she follows his gaze, she can see the staccato rhythm of her heartbeat bouncing visibly from under her breast, and he’s watching it as if trying to memorise the staggered, spiky flow.

She lifts a hand to run her fingers through his hair, using the clamminess of her palms to push the strands away from his forehead, clearing a path for his heated stare to find hers before he pushes himself the rest of the way up and presses his lips back into her own.

“That was crazy,” she mutters into his mouth, teeth clashing ever so slightly as he chuckles in response.

“Crazy?” He asks, his own teeth tugging a little at her bottom lip, “Not mind-blowing? Incredible?”

“How would you describe it?”

“Perfekt. Herrlich.” His accent is thick with the words spoken into her skin.

“What does the second one mean?”

“You can look it up when I’m done with you,” he bumps at her nose with his own before pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, teasingly.

“I’ll be sure to do that if I can remember my own name by then,”

“Magnificent.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, hands travelling to grip at her hips and sliding her to the edge of the counter until her body presses fully back into his. He lifts her enough for her to drop unsteadily onto her feet, and holds her until she can stand up straight on shaky legs. Her hands immediately drop to the open waistband of his jeans, pushing them until they fall down his legs and he can kick them off with his sneakers.

“Is it my turn now?” She asks, plucking at the elastic of his briefs with a hooked finger before she takes his hand in hers.

“Whatever you want, Mohn.”

Nico

When Nico had started his evening, never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined where it would end up. When he had been dragging his feet about the party - had taken too long getting ready, had lied about his Ubers cancelling on him when he turned up late, had moped around his friends until he was exiled to getting his own drinks at the bar - he could not have pictured himself finishing his night in Poppy’s presence. And even in the back of the bar, when the two of them had kissed - despite how heated things had gotten, and despite asking her if she wanted to leave with him - he wouldn’t have thought he would be currently attempting to coax a fourth orgasm from her.

He’d asked with the intention of spending the night, sure, but his mind hadn’t let itself wander this far. It had envisioned a night cuddled up on her couch, maybe making out, maybe relieving the tension between them by grinding into her like some love-struck horny teenager who didn’t know how to control his libido.

He’d given her her first sat atop the kitchen counter, leg thrown over his shoulder, the other bent up and resting on the side to give him full access to the heaven between her thighs, where he’d gotten his first taste of the wetness that had been gathering there all night. His fingers had mapped out the path his cock would take, rubbing in and out, bending, curling, pressing at her spongy walls until she came apart in front of his very eyes - her entire body trembling in euphoria.

The second had come after he’d moved her over to the couch, had sat her on his lap while they kissed a little more, and she’d worked her nimble fingers at taking him out of his briefs, had wrapped them around the base of his cock and worked up and down with a mind-numbing pressure while he struggled to kick his underwear fully off. Before he knew it, she was leaving a wet patch on his thigh, his hands were moving of their own accord to lift her hips and he was easing her down on his length until she was fully seated upon it.

He’d given her some semblance of control at first - let her work at her torturously slow pace while she got accustomed to his size, and he pressed delicate kisses to whatever skin he could reach. Her breasts, her chest, her neck, her jaw - leaving light but memorable marks to evidence his occupation of her body. When he felt her ease up, when she started lifting herself to bounce on him a little, his hands stopped listening to the little voice in his head telling them to be gentle with her, and they grasped at her waist, leveraging her up and down into the perfect rhythm until she was begging, “Nico, don’t stop.”

The sounds she let out, the moans, the whines, the cries, he thinks he’ll be playing back for a long time to come, and the feeling of her walls clenching around him as she came for the second time is a one he never wants to forget.

How he had managed to hold himself back, he’ll never know. How he lasted long enough for her to pull herself off of him, swing her leg over and lean down beside him until she could take him in her mouth, he thinks it’s commendable - especially considering there was a point earlier in the night he had pictured himself coming just in his pants.

Her eyes had met his as she licked him from base to tip, swirled her tongue around the head of his cock before slowly taking him into her mouth inch by inch. He’d held her by her ponytail, gripping tighter the further she took him, watched as her pretty eyes rolled back and her mouth grew sloppier. Her tongue pressed against him, suctioning to his length as she worked up and down with varying pressure and a hand cupping at his balls, and he quickly found himself tugging at her hair to let her know, “Poppy, I’m gonna come,” but she just gripped at his thigh to keep herself in place until he released down her throat.

He watched intently as she had lifted her mouth from his length with a pop, brought herself level onto her knees next to him on the couch and his eyes followed the bob of her throat as she swallowed - she had even licked her lips to make sure nothing had gone to waste - and the sight of it all contributed to the pulsing feeling that shot straight back to his cock, where he honestly couldn’t remember it even going down after his release.

He’s never been one for kissing a girl straight after she’s gone down on him, always thought there was something a little weird about it - but there was something about tasting himself on Poppy’s tongue that he couldn’t let go amiss, and so he had grasped at her chin, pulled her toward his open mouth and wasted no time in swiping his tongue against hers.

The making out on the couch plan had ended up coming to fruition after all - way less clothing involved, of course. He’d laid her back, cupped her face with one hand and her hip with his other, bodies slotting together as she bent a leg to accommodate him, and kissed her until they both got worked up again, grinding and writhing against each other until it became impossible to restrain themselves.

“Do we ever make it to my bed in your big plans for the evening?”

Her fingertips had been scratching up and down his back, from the base of his skull to the dip above his ass, some indentations deeper than others, some movements more soothing, but he could feel that he had been marked up - not that he minded.

“You’re so desperate for me to carry you somewhere, huh?”

“Well, if you’re offering, I wouldn’t decline.”

He had snuck another kiss from her before working himself up onto his feet, offering her a hand to help her stand before he had picked her up, her legs wrapping around his middle section and his hands encompassing the backs of her thighs.

She had kissed him while he carried her, stumbling blindly toward the other side of her apartment, freeing a hand to guide himself until he found the door to her bedroom. He clumsily edged into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and stepping forward until he felt the edge of her bed and could let her down onto the thick comforter, her body falling back into it and splaying out like a dream.

“You might wanna cover the rabbit’s eyes,” Nico smirked when he noticed the stuffed animal tucked in between the pillows behind her, “She won’t be able to look at you the same after tonight.”

“Bunny’s seen me do a lot over the years,” Poppy chuckled, reaching back for it and stroking over it’s head with tender eyes, turning it toward Nico as she held it’s ears back and waved it in front of him, “Plus, you’re a teddy bear, you wouldn’t defile me in front of my sweet little bunny would you?”

In a surge of possessiveness at the thought of that damn rabbit seeing Poppy do anything with anyone else, he quickly grabbed it from her hand and tossed it across the room, lunging forward to pin her down and capturing any protest she would give between his lips.

He could hear her sweet laugh, feel the shaking of her chest beneath him, and he felt warm all over - felt like in all the years of knowing Poppy, this is where he had longed to be - soaking up her joy, sharing her space, clothing entirely optional, completely wrapped up in her everything.

The third orgasm had come from slow, sensual movements - slipping into her heat as he kissed her with intent, swallowing her moans and savouring them as he moved on top of her, his hands holding his upper body just above hers, her arms curling under his, clawing at his shoulders as the two of them press completely into each other with burning intensity. Her legs had trembled again, the telltale sign of bliss wracking through her, and had wrapped themselves around his hips as he chased his own pleasure.

And in chasing his second, he wants to give her a fourth, which is how he has found himself holding her legs up, thighs pressing back into the mattress to open her up completely for him, and he gets to look down and watch himself disappear into the heaven between her angled up hips.

“Nico, please,” she whines as his pace quickens, pressing himself deeper and harder into her with dizzying pressure. “I can’t,”

“You can give me one more,” he knows she can, can feel it in the way her walls clench around him, squeezing tighter and tighter, “You’re so good, Mohn, such a good girl.”

If he wasn’t so astute to her every reaction, he might have missed the way her back arched, and her eyes clenched a little more shut at the affirmation. But now that he knows she likes it, he can’t stop himself, leaning down to nip at her ear and keep whispering his every dirty thought until she comes again.

“My good girl taking my cock so well,” he groans, his own climax approaching quicker than he can control, “My pretty flower, just one more, you can do it, you’re so wet for me, yeah?”

The response she gives is a stuttered mess, and he thinks he could get used to making her speechless like this.

“All for me, you’re all mine,” he breathes into her sticky neck, and he doesn’t even need her to confirm it, not with the way her fingers clutch at his back and her body arches into his like the perfect puzzle piece.

She is his.

The 3 prior orgasms prove it. The jewellery adorned on her wrist proves it. The pictures scattered throughout her apartment prove it. The years of shared lives, shared jokes, shared meals, shared friends, shared rides, shared routines - they all prove it.

The way her first thought after being stood up by someone else was to come to him, to kiss him, to spend her evening pinned by his side and her night underneath him, it’s all the proof he needs.

She is his, and he is hers.

They come together - him with a guttural groan into her skin followed by mutterings of profanities in his native tongue, and her with a pleasured cry, and he all but collapses on top of her as the two of them come down with deep, laboured breaths and shaky limbs.

It takes a good few minutes for their breathing to even out, her rubbing soothingly at his back as he softens inside her, eventually pulling out and causing the both of them to wince at the sensation. Nico rolls to the side, off the top of her, but stays so that he can get a proper look at her in the afterglow.

And glow, she does - despite the mess of her hair, the swelling of her lips, the blooming bruises littered across her chest and neck - she looks like something out of a dream. Especially with the soft smile that erupts when she looks up at him, eyes sparkling like they always do when they are cast in his direction.

He reaches over to swipe a stray wisp of hair out of her face, long enough to tuck behind her ear and he’s able to cup the side of her face, leaning into her for another kiss, still unable to get enough.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she utters once they’ve parted again, pressing a hand lightly to his chest, “Could you get me a glass of water from the kitchen?”

“Of course,” he pushes himself up before offering her hand, and he can’t help but watch as she stumbles toward her en-suite with a proud chuckle.

His bare feet pad across the hardwood until he gets to Poppy’s kitchen, and he quickly rounds up some essentials while he’s away from the bedroom. He slips into his briefs for comfort, picks up the t-shirt he had worn that he wants Poppy to wear while she sleeps, gathers his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans and then gets Poppy her water, taking a large gulp of it himself before topping it all the way back up.

Poppy is still in her bathroom when he returns, and he decides to join her, throwing the t-shirt over to her when he enters. She’s cleaned her face in his absence, and her hair is down now, the comb she had used to detangle it laid beside her sink.

She takes the top from him with a muttered thank you, and shrugs into it before pulling her hair out. Once she’s adorned in his clothing, he gets a good eyeful of her ass again when she bends to the cabinet beneath her sink and throws a small package at him.

It’s a toothbrush, red, compared to her lilac that she’s just retrieved from a holder on the sink top, and once he’s unwrapped it, she holds out the tube of toothpaste for him.

It hits him that he’s never really shared this part of his routine with anyone, before. Never stood side by side, catching each other’s eye in the mirror, holding back smiles every time they do - he’s usually coming back to his previous partners already in bed, getting in late from a roadie, or having to slip out before them in the morning to get to training. He’s never had time like this, doing the little things, having something so usually mundane and established make him feel sparks in the pit of his stomach.

He can see flashes of other routine things he could do with Poppy. Things like grocery shopping - pushing the cart as she checks items off a list on her notes app - cooking together - him in charge of cutting the ingredients because he doesn’t trust her not to get too cocky with a knife, and her mixing everything together, lifting a spoon to his lips for him to try whatever delicious concoction she had put together - doing the chores - she would vacuum because she knows he hates it, and he’d do all the chemical based stuff, because she doesn’t like when her hands get dry but also doesn’t like them getting sweaty in gloves.

All things he’s never given anyone else the time for, before, he’ll give it to Poppy.

He’ll give her anything.

He puts the toothbrush in the holder beside hers when they’re finished, and he doesn’t miss the little smile she gives when he does.

For next time, he thinks.

And even though they’ve barely caught their breaths from the first time, he craves the next with every fibre of his being, especially when Poppy leads him back her bed, and they settle in under the thick duvet, tangling up in one another - limbs interlocked, stomachs pressed together, her hands stroking at his hair and his pushing his t-shirt higher up her thighs.

“Do you think you still remember your name?” He asks.

“Just about,” she hums, “Not sure about yours, though. Nick, was it?”

“Still good enough to crack bad jokes, I see.”

“Hey, I don’t ever crack bad jokes, take that back,” she pouts, adorably, swatting at his bare chest.

“Say my name, and I’ll take it back.” He can’t help but be possessive when it comes to her - even the thought of her saying a made up name as a joke in her bed has his fingers itching to hold on tighter to her. His. Not Nick’s. Nico’s. “C’mon, you’ve moaned it enough tonight, Mohn.”

“Stop,” she whines with a bashful smile, swatting at him again. “You’re the one who’s not funny.”

“Say my name, Poppy,” he commands with a playful pinch at her ass.

“Nico!” She squeals, her leg twitching until she lifts it to rest over his.

“Good girl,” he hums deeply, rubbing soothingly over where he had just nipped at her flesh. She nuzzles into him, and he can’t help the smug smile that breaks out as she once again reacts to the brief utterance of praise he had given her. “Sweet dreams,” he mutters into her hair, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and committing it to memory.

This is where he wants to be every night, the last thing he sees before he falls asleep being Poppy, her pretty eyes drifting closed, her soft lips parting as her breathing evens out.

And as his own tell-tale signs of beckoning slumber appear, he lets the realisation wash over him that he hasn’t felt this content in a really long time - and it’s that thought that soothes him into a deep sleep, the kind in which he hasn’t been able to have for the longest time, either.

—

Nico wakes to the uncomfortable feeling of a full bladder and a gentle buzz on the nightstand beside him.

The vibrations continue as he tries to adjust to the darkness of the room, the sun still not having risen yet, and when he reaches back to retrieve his phone, he cranes his neck to make sure he can read the time without bringing it too close to Poppy.

05:12am.

He doesn’t have morning skate today, so he knows there shouldn’t be an alarm on there, but his Face ID isn’t picking up his features from this angle to be able to read whatever notifications had interrupted his sleep, so he carefully untangles himself from the peacefully resting girl beside him and tiptoes over to the bathroom.

He flicks the light on and closes the door to, just enough that it doesn’t disturb Poppy, and pads sleepily over to the toilet to relieve himself.

His phone buzzes again in his hand - the continuous kind of buzz, as if someone’s calling him - and, as if by second nature, he presses to the bottom right of the screen to accept the call, lifting the device to his ear and muttering out a quiet, croaky, “Hello?”

“You’re awake, thank God,” the voice that responds is female, the words uttered in German, and it takes Nico a good few seconds for his brain to connect the dots as to who is currently speaking to him.

“Talia?” He asks, a sudden shot of panic seeping into his previously calm demeanour, his heart rate picking up and pins and needles rushing through his hands.

“I need to speak with you, it’s urgent.”

“It’s 5am.” He sighs, rushing over to close the bathroom door so he can flush the toilet without running the risk of waking Poppy with the sound. “Can’t this wait?”

“No, it can’t. Why are you whispering, is someone there?”

“I’m not whispering,” he tries not to, but again, he doesn’t want to make too much noise.

“Whatever, I need to come over, are you at home?”

“Yeah,” he responds before he can think, knowing any other answer was a sure fire route into an argument. Any other time, any other place, he would have told her the truth, but 5am in Poppy’s bathroom doesn’t seem like the prime spot to be bickering with his ex girlfriend over the phone. “What do you mean, come over, aren’t you in Germany?”

“No, I just landed in Newark. I told you, it’s urgent.” She does sound panicked to give her credit - and why else would she fly back to the States if she didn’t need to talk about something serious. “Can I come straight over?”

Poppy’s apartment is within walking distance to his own, only a few blocks away. If Talia is leaving Newark now, he should be able to make it back before she gets there. They can talk about whatever it is, then she can delete his number and leave him alone, and he can move on with his life.

“Talia,” he huffs, partly ready to reject her as soon as he remembers where he is, remembers who he has yearned for so long to wake up next to, and who would be really upset to find out he had ditched her to go meet up with an ex.

“Please?” She sounds like she’s crying, and if there’s one thing Nico can’t do, it’s say no to a girl in tears. Even if it’s a girl who, not even a month ago, dumped him via text message.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“Thank you. I can let myself up, I still have the key, I’ll see you soon.”

He mutters out a quick goodbye before hanging up, quickly washing his hands, and making his way back into Poppy’s bedroom.

She’s on her back now, arm laid out beside her as if ready to take him back in, and he feels a pang in his chest at the thought of disappointing her.

He knows that he should wake her - should tell her that he doesn’t want to leave her to wake up alone, but that he has to. That he wants to be back - he will be back. But that would all cause her to ask questions, and he’s not sure that she’ll like the only answer he can give right now.

Poppy is understanding, but this has already caused a wedge between the two of them - caused her to doubt herself far beyond what Nico can comprehend, or what she’s been able to share with him.

He can explain things to her as soon as Talia is gone. As soon as she’s said what she needs to say, has given him back the keys to his building and apartment, and has closed the door on them ever interacting again.

Hell, if it’s quick, maybe he can come back with breakfast from the place around the corner Poppy likes so much, and she’ll never have to know where he had disappeared to, or who he had seen while he was gone.

He presses a brisk, soft kiss to her cheek, quickly surveying the floor of her bedroom before he leaves to retrieve her bunny, slotting the soft toy into her open arm so she can cuddle it in his absence.

He briefly considers leaving her a note as he dresses himself in her kitchen, checking around for something to write it with, but the realisation quickly dawns on him again that he can’t be certain if or when he’ll be back.

He just has to hope that if she wakes up before he is back, she isn’t too upset, and that he has enough persuasive power to get her to forgive him just one more time if he doesn’t make it.

He leaves her apartment with the soft click of the automatic lock behind him, and the sound echoes in his head until he makes it back to his own apartment, the ever-growing weight of dread filling his empty stomach as he waits for his ex girlfriend to arrive.

Next Chapter

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

#nico hischier #nico Hischier imagine #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier smut #nhl fanfiction #nico hischier fanfiction #*oys #*writing #I need to not go on in these tags cos these chapters aren't showing up in the actual tags lmao #was she silent or was she siLENCED?!?!?!?!?!?!?!#10k words we did it Joe!!!!!#alexa play juno by sabrina carpenter alexa play the music from the sims when you woohoo and make a baby

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