lxnceclercs

[lxnceclercs]

[lxnceclercs]

[lxnceclercs]

Charlos iceberg lore rated by how insane it makes me

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i love finding them in quotes, and this is the most beautiful fit.

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hate what hockey culture does to me. like violence in sports is terrible! anyways you need to beat the shit out of that guy.

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me remembering i have a name and body and people know me:

[lxnceclercs]

the way i rarely ever get cramps when i’m on my period EXCEPT for today WHEN I’M FUCKING AT WORK

[lxnceclercs]

pizza party | red dirt roads

a/n... here it is... the long awaited chapter! i’m already working on the next chapter, and it’s going to be a long one!

warnings: none

The bricks lining the walls were uneven, chipping away after decades of being there. The restaurant remained unchanged since it had opened when her aunts and uncles were kids. 

Calla remembers her aunt Ginger telling her the story of how this was the place where she met her now husband, Calla’s uncle Chris. Ginger had just moved to Plymouth, the next town over. She had driven around, looking for spots she might like when she found the hole in the wall pizza place. Inside, there was a group of friends looking toward her, waving her over to come sit with them. 

Three months later, Chris and Ginger started dating. High School Sweethearts. Calla had always dreamed of having a high school sweetheart, but she wasn’t so sure that would happen anymore. Nobody from her high school had interested her that much. 

The one person she was in ‘love’ with had broken her heart at the beginning of the summer. She hated the fact she had to see his face in homeroom and English class everyday. 

Shay snaps her out of her head, repeatedly poking her best friend’s body. “Calla, She points at the waitress who’s taking everyone’s orders. 

“Sorry,” She sends an apologetic look the waitress’s way. “I’ll have a diet coke please, with a lime on the side.” She turns her apologetic look into a smile. 

“Diet coke with a lime?” Ryan contorts his face in disgust. He’s trying to get under her skin, and by the scowl spreading on her face, it’s working. 

“It’s good,” She sends him a glare, beginning to white knuckle the knife she was about to cut her bread with. “I wouldn’t expect you to like it though. Your taste isn’t good enough.”

“Calla,” Annie gently rests her hand on the blonde's shoulder, a silent way of telling her to be civil. “Have you thought about what you’re going to order?” She tries to change the subject.

“I’m thinking I want Margarita pizza. What about you? The usual with garlic knots?” Calla rests her chin on Annie’s shoulder, eyes drifting next to Annie where Ryan is. 

Her face sours again. Ryan wouldn’t even be here had Shay not extended an invite after their game. She couldn’t be mad at Shay and her good intentions. All the girl wanted to do was include everyone. 

Once again, Annie snaps her out of her head. “You know me so well.” 

This had been the trio of friends' favorite spot since the first day of sixth grade. Calla had grown up loving it, and Annie had loved it since she came with the Davis’s for dinner one night. Shay had loved it since sixth grade, when the two girls had invited her to get dinner with them after school. Calla had barely known Shay back then, but she was forever grateful she moved to Northville and sat next to Calla in English class.

“You guys will love this place,” Shay looks at Ryan and Jimmy on the other side of the booth. “It’s even better than Chicago style pizza.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Jimmy jokes. 

“I swear she’s telling the truth.” Calla smiles. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Sounds of chatter filled the space in between bites of pizza. “You were right about the pizza,” The words come out slightly incoherent with the mouthful of pizza. He swallows it, then continues talking. “It’s better than any I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some really good pizza in my life.” 

That makes everyone laugh, including Calla, to everyone’s surprise. Ryan tilts his head to the side, but Calla doesn’t meet his eyes. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made her laugh. 

“So, what’s hockey like for you guys at this level? Do you travel all the time?” Annie breaks the awkward silence. 

“Yeah, a decent amount,” Jimmy answers. “Won’t play a game in Michigan again until December.” 

“Two months?” Shay’s voice is filled with disbelief. 

“Comes with playing at this level.” Jimmy says, in between bites of pizza. 

“Oh! We should make a trip to one of the games if it's close enough.” Shay’s entire face lights up as she shares the idea. 

Annie nods. She’s always down for a trip.

“Calla, pull out your cross country schedule. Jimmy, show us your hockey schedule. Let’s figure out a date.” 

Calla sighs, knowing there’s no getting out of this. Once her two best friends put their mind to something, there was no getting out of it.

[lxnceclercs]

snow days | ryan chesley

event masterlist

warnings: none

a/n - sorta went with a whole backstory for this… i think i like that!

Growing up in Southern California, you had never gotten the opportunity to see snow in person.

You absolutely loved California and your life there. It was all you knew, and you were incredibly grateful to live in such a beautiful place.

When you had started looking at options for college, your parents had begged you to stay nearby. They said that they wanted to be close enough in case anything happened, or you needed them.

You understood what they wanted, but you craved a freedom that you didn’t get if you chose to stay in California. You needed to explore, to see what life was like outside of the bubble you had grown up in.

You did you research, and the University of Minnesota was your top choice. When the acceptance letter came, it was time to come clean to your parents about what you really wanted.

That was three years ago, and your relationship had changed with them to your dismay.

You don’t regret the decision. The friends you had made were the best, and you chose to live with them in the summer and sophomore year.

Three months into the school year, you started dating Ryan Chesley. The two of you met in a biology class, sitting next to each other.

He made the first move, asking if you wanted to go grab lunch after class. You agreed and it had become a weekly routine, the two of you getting to know each other more and more.

Saying yes to that lunch was one of the best decisions you had made.

Which leads you to your current conversation. You had been going on almost two years together, and he had a free weekend. He wanted to spend quality time with you, as hockey didn’t always allow him to do so.

Snagging a fry from his plate, you grin at him. “What’s a fun winter activity we can do?”

“I was gonna ask you what you wanted to do.”

“Ry, you’re the expert on anything snow related.”

“Hm?”

Your mouth slightly drops. He knew you grew up in California. You had always assumed he knew that meant you’ve never seen snow in person, at least until you came to Minnesota.

You told him exactly that, and watched his face fall. “Never before? Have you been skiing? Or built a snowman? Or went sledding?”

“Well, no.”

“I know exactly what we’re doing, and the perfect place for it.” He smirks, getting up and clearing the table.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

An hour and a half later, you and Ryan are getting out of the car after parking.

Thanks to his sister's snow pants, Ryan said you were able to do what he had planned.

“Sledding.” He smiles wide, pulling the sleds out of the backseats.

He grabs the tube, putting it down on the edge and sitting on it. He pats his lap, smirking. You listen, and his arms snake around your waist as he pushes off the side.

The hill is so big and you’re speeding down it, Ryan’s laughter filling your ears. Your hands are white knuckling the handles of the tube, doing everything you could not to fall off.

The tube slows to a stop, and you turn around to look at Ryan. You flip over, pressing your lips to his “That was so fun.” You mumble against his mouth as he chases another kiss.

“You still have to go down on your stomach, baby. That’s next.”

The walk back up feels like it takes forever, but you eventually get back up to the top.

“All you’re gonna do is lay down flat on your stomach, and hold the handles, okay? I’ll be right next to you on the other one.”

He shows you how to position yourself, and you take off at the same time as he does.

You’re speeding yet again, this time hitting a bump and catching air.

It only lasts a few seconds, and you’re coming crashing back down on the snow and flipping face down.

Ryan’s rushing to you, getting your face out of the snow as you go into a fit of laughter.

“That was so much fun, oh my gosh. I'm so glad you took me here.”

“We’ll have to do it again. I still have more snow related things to do with you.”

“I love Minnesota, I love snow, and I love you.” You burst into his arms, pressing your lips to his.

His hands snake around your waist. “I love you more.”

“Not possible, Ry.”

[lxnceclercs]

MEET ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE | Drew Fortescue

event masterlist

warnings: none

Drew had invited you to be his plus one to the hockey team’s christmas formal, and you had gladly accepted. You weren’t one to pass up the opportunity for a party.

Drew and you weren’t dating, but you were exclusive. You had wanted to take it slow, scared of opening your heart to another person after your last relationship. Drew was more than willing to take it slowly, to show that he really cared about you.

Your roommate/best friend had essentially forced you to let her pick out your outfit and do your hair. You drew the line at her doing your makeup, having a specific way you always did it.

Drew was waiting outside your apartment, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “These are for you,” He smiled, handing them over. “You look absolutely beautiful Y/N.”

“Thank you,” A blush spreads over your cheeks. “Let me put these flowers in a vase and then we can head out.” You open the door, motioning for him to come in.

Quickly, you fill the vase up with water and put the flowers in the center of the table.

The walk to the party is quick, and Drew’s hand rests against your back as you walk up the front steps. Like the gentleman he is, he opens the door for you and gives you the biggest smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You elect to stick to Drew’s side, not knowing any of his teammates or anyone at the party.

“Hey, Drew?” You look up at him.

“Yes?”

“Where’s the restroom?”

“C’mon, I’ll show you.” He reaches for your hand, and sparks fly as he holds yours.

He leads you under the doorway into the kitchen before being interrupted.

“Yo, Forts!” A voice calls out. “You walked under the mistletoe. Rules are rules.”

Your face goes bright red, as does Drew’s. You didn’t want your first kiss with him to be in front of everyone.

“Shut up Lenny,” Drew rolls his eyes, continuing to walk toward the restroom. “Here we are.” He smiles.

“Wait, one second.” You rush off to the kitchen, grabbing the mistletoe from the door.

The hallway the bathroom is in is a secluded area, and you know you’re ready to kiss him. You stick it to the top of the door, giving him a nod.

He bends down, and the same sparks that were there before shoot through your veins as soon as his lips were on yours. His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer.

You kiss until you’re gasping for breath, coming apart and staring up at him. His pupils are blown wide and there’s a slight giddy smile on his face.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long Y/N.”

A certain wave of courage comes over you. “Now you just have to ask me to be your girlfriend.

“Soon, believe me.” He kisses you again, this time getting various hoots and hollers from his teammates. He sticks his middle finger out, shooing them away from the hallway.

[lxnceclercs]

WRAPPED UP IN LIGHTS | Jimmy Snuggerud

event masterlist

warnings: none

“Jimmy, can you help reach the box of decorations?” You stand on your tiptoes, trying to jump to get the first box down.

He slides behind you, one of his hands holding your waist as he pulls the box down with ease. It’s your first Christmas together as a couple, just missing Christmas last year as boyfriend and girlfriend by four days.

You wanted it to be special.

Queuing up your Christmas playlist, you simultaneously turned on the tv and opened youtube.

You might’ve not had a fireplace, but the yule log video on tv would do just fine.

Jimmy was in charge of untangling the bunches of lights while you went through the box of decorations and made sure none were broken.

You look up after finishing, seeing your boyfriend with Christmas lights wrapped around his arms and torso. “Jim?”

“I don’t know how this happened babe. I was trying to untangle them, I swear.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then you break out into a fit of laughter. You're bent over, hand clutching your stomach. Tears of laughter are nearly pouring out of your eyes at the sight. “How the hell.”

“A little help here?” He cracks a smile.

Before answering, you take out your phone and snap a photo.

“Of course,” You begin untangling the lights, placing them in a pile on the floor for later. “You think you can handle putting the lights on the tree? Or should I do it myself.” You joke, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Very funny,” He deadpans, but kissing your cheek in return. “We’ll do it together.”

“Perfect,” You grin, grabbing the lights to start wrapping them around. “You stand in front of the tree, and I’ll pass them to you from around back so it’s easier.”

The lights are done quickly, and now it’s time for your favorite part. “Babe, I got a little something special for the tree. I wanted to wait until Christmas, but I think it should go on the tree now.”

He reaches into the pocket of his pajama pants, pulling out the ornament. You lean into his side, looking down at it and then up at him.

“Oh Jim, it’s perfect. I want it front and center.” You smile wide and it reaches your eyes.

He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder as you hang up the ornament.

“Let’s finish this tree.” He leans in for a kiss on your lips this time, melting into your body.

“Happily.” You smile into the kiss, mumbling against his lips.

You take your time, figuring out the perfect place for each ornament so the tree looks good. “Jim, that bulb can’t go there. It’s too similar to the one below it.” You instruct him to move it elsewhere.

You have Jimmy put the star on the top of the tree, taking a moment to look at it in all its glory.

By the time you’re finished it’s nearly midnight, and your bed is calling your name as Jimmy leads you down the hall.

“Wait, we have to take a picture, Jimmy,” You let go of his hand, quickly taking out your phone and snapping a number of pictures. “Perfect.” You smile, going back down the hallway and holding his hand once again.

[lxnceclercs]

CHRISTMAS TREE FARM | Adam Fantilli

event masterlist

banner by @bernardsbendystraws

warnings - none!

a/n… this one is super short… more like a blurb

You wanted this Christmas to be perfect, and for you, that started with getting the perfect tree.

All you had to do was convince Adam. Last year, he had gotten a fake tree and you had let that slide. This year, he wanted the same, but you were not about to let that happen again. Growing up, your family had went all out for Christmas, and you wanted to keep that tradition.

“Adam, we’re going to a Christmas tree farm and we’re picking out a real tree.” You stared up at him, determined look in your eyes.

“Babe, that’s so much work,” The words fall from his lips in a whine. “The tree needles are gonna be everywhere and a pain to pick up.”

“Adam,” your voice softens. “I miss home, and all I want to do is get a good tree. It’s part of what we did at home every year and-“

“Baby,” He interrupts you, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “We can get a christmas tree. If you had told me how you were feeling, I wouldn’t have argued.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden. You’re coming back from an injury and focused on hockey.”

“Let’s go get our christmas tree.” He holds his hand out and you take it, smiling at him.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

You’re tugging Adam along into the rows and rows of christmas trees, determined to find the perfect one. “I want a really tall one, babe. We have a high ceiling, so it’s possible.”

Adam nearly crashes into you, seeing that you have stopped and are staring at one. “This is the one Adam. It’s perfect.” You’re looking at him with the biggest smile and brightest eyes.

His heart melts at the sight, and he’s immediately calling over one of the workers. “We’ll take this one.”

The worker nods, beginning to cut the tree and following you to where Adam’s car is parked. “Oh I’m so excited to decorate!” You’re practically skipping down the path, already envisioning where particular ornaments would go on the tree.

Before getting in the car, you’re quick to throw your arms around Adam. Pressing a quick kiss on his lips, he chases another one from you. “Thank you A, I love you.”

[lxnceclercs]

snuggerudism’s 12 days of christmas event

hey y’all! starting december 12th i’m going to be doing a 12 days of christmas event! i’ll have twelve christmas related fic prompts, one each day! send in which player you’d like to see for one! i want a mix of nhl and college hockey players! first come first serve! i chose day four!

day 1: picking out a christmas tree

day 2: baking christmas desserts

day 3: seeing christmas lights

day 4: decorating the tree with jimmy snuggerud

day 5: first snowfall of the year

day 6: under the mistletoe

day 7: wrapping presents

day 8: ice skating with mat barzal

day 9: decorating a gingerbread house

day 10: sledding

day 11: christmas movie marathon + christmas pajamas

day 12: exchanging presents

tagging a few of my fav blogs to share (don’t feel obligated) @lxnceclercs @winterbarnesblog @itsnotgray @slafkovskys @simp4hughes @barzygirl13 @hughschiers @olliebjorkstrand

[lxnceclercs]

death, taxes, and my brother giving me edibles on thanksgiving

[lxnceclercs]

how different is a heated scowl from a delirious kiss, really; or maybe I’m just focusing too religiously on your mouth.

ax72 x reader: he’s the worst until he isn’t.

(warnings: lots of plot in addition to blasphemous filth (really...i got carried away), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling (hello, old friend), choking (hello, older friend), biting (i can’t write him without it), praise, all my usual stuff (you guys know what i’m about), just be warned.  don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.) gif is not mine.)

(a/n: what's up, favorites? i'm excited to give you back some ax72. this fictional ax72 in particular - something special about people who are nice to your siblings. please note that i don't write what hockey games are actually like, i write what helps move my plot forward (so, yes, he can mouth words to you from the penalty box). it's been so weird reading these back again, especially the earlier ones. how do i say this - i'm just not as horny anymore? like i haven't written smut in a really long time, and i feel no general obligation or desire to. honestly, some of the smut i've written is so funny to me because i don't even understand how it came from my brain. anyways, i'm happy that you guys seem to enjoy it, regardless. i'm glad that you guys can be horny enough for the both of us. love you and your snakes so, so much. miss you and respect you and hope you're doing well. go canucks (i feel like i'm out of touch with the hockey narratives...what storylines should i be following?). until next time, all my love).

you’d been driving your younger brother to and from hockey practice for the last three years, since he first started playing, when his helmet was far too big for his head, so much so that you thought if he leaned forward he would topple over entirely.

and in all those years, he had never come out of the rink like this, posture slouched, face empty, dragging his feet.  his bag of equipment looked like it weighed a million pounds, full of bricks.  his rosy, round face, usually so joyful on the way out of those doors, so eager to tell you about practice, looked positively exhausted, done, physically and emotionally.

you rolled down the window as he walked up.  “what’s wrong, bug?” you asked, tried to make your voice strong-willed so as not to upset him further.

he shrugged, lugged his stuff into the trunk.  “tough practice,” he said, sounding like an adult, which you hated.  the effort with which he spoke settled in your stomach, plumed into volcanic anger.  “new coach.”

you furrowed your brows as he shut the trunk and climbed into the front seat.  “new coach?  i liked your old coach.”

“he’s still there,” he said, “but we have a new assistant.  he’s a little-” he took a breath, again making him look older than he was.  “tough.”

you searched his eyes for some kind of meaning, found only the resigned bitterness you so despised whenever you saw it in yourself.  without another thought, you drove to the nearest open spot and put the car in park.  

“why are we parked?”

you made to get out of the car.  “you look tired, bug.  just going to go get you a gatorade, okay?”  something lighter flashed across his eyes, making you smile.  little by little, you would do what you could to undo whatever this coach had done, unload this burden he had so carelessly thrown onto the shoulders of your brother.  “don’t open the door for anyone, yeah?  i’ll be right back.”

you locked the car behind you and made your way into the rink for the first time this season, found it practically identical to how you remembered it.  you scanned the ice for the older man you knew, then locked eyes with him and waved him over with a smile, one you didn’t have to force.  this coach had always been kind to you as well as your brother.

“hey, kiddo!” he said fondly as he approached.  

“hi, coach,” you replied, the chill in the air tinting your cheeks.

“your boy should be out already, yeah?  practice ended about fifteen minutes ago,” he said, looking at his watch.  

you nodded.  “he’s in the car.  i just need to talk to this new assistant he was telling me about.”

understanding flashed across the older man’s eyes.  “right, xhekaj,  he’s helping us out during the rest of his off season.  part of this program his club set up.”  he turned in the opposite direction.  “xhekaj! want you to meet someone,” he called out.

the man across the ice turned from where he had been collecting pucks, set them on the bench, and skated over.  as he got closer, you observed how he was impressively graceful for what may have been the most physically imposing man you had ever seen.

he was tall, almost menacingly so on skates, and so broad that you had to remind yourself not to cower back.  his dark hair, which looked so soft, curled at the ends is a just barely feminine way.  you told yourself that you did not notice the way his sweatpants strained over his legs, or how massive his hands were, or how sharp his jawline was.

you were here for your brother.  you would not be intimidated.  nor, you amended, would you be distracted.

he glided to an effortless stop in front of you, a motion that looked as simple as breathing.  

“this is our new assistant coach, arber xhekaj,” the head coach said, gesturing to the wall of a man next to him.  “xhekaj, this is sixteen’s sister.  i’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of her this season, if you behave,” he said with a lighthearted smile that lit up his weathered face.  

you forced your gaze to meet arber’s for the first time, found his eyes running over your frame, making your exhale come out short and choppy.  you crossed your arms as his eyes finally locked on yours, something like shameless mirth shimmering over his face.  his lazy smirk shook you off balance and set a slow-burning fuse aflame in your stomach.  you cut your gaze back to the older coach.

“i’ll leave you to it.  good to see you, kid.”  the familiar man said as he skated off with a nod.

when you turned back to face arber, his eyes were already on you.  maybe they hadn’t left.  “what can i do for you, darling?” he asked, that slow smirk playing on his full mouth.  you suffocated the sparks his address ignited, instead funneled them into your anger, letting it simmer and grow.

“you could start by telling me why my little brother looks like he’s been kicked in the stomach,” you offered.

any playfulness was gone from his eyes in a moment.  “there’s always one, eh?” he asked no one in particular.  

“what?” you snapped.

he crossed his arms across his expanse of a chest.  “there’s always one.  parent, or sister, or whatever, who can’t handle their kid actually being pushed in practice.”  he said, sounding bored.  he looked you up and down, again.  you didn’t find it any less unnerving.  “least i know who it is.”

“i can handle him being pushed!” you bit out.  

“yeah?” he asked, tilting his head.  “this is you, handling it?”  he gave a look of false understanding.  “the picture of calm and poise, truly.”

you pursed your lips.  “hockey is supposed to be fun first.  and he did not have fun today.”  you did not back down, nor let your posture falter.  “so next practice, i expect to see him smiling when he walks out.”

you could have punched that smirk off his face.  “yeah?  or what, darling?”

“or you’ll be seeing a lot more of me than you’d like,” you said.

“promise?” he asked, his voice overripe with teasing.

you turned to leave, beginning the walk back.

“so you came in here just to whine at me?” that deep voice called from behind you.  you could feel his eyes burning into you.  “don’t waste your time.  i’ve got lots of pretty girls asking around for me, darling.”

“oh, don’t flatter yourself.  you just happened to be here,” you called back.  “i only came in to get a gatorade.”

you smiled at his lack of response before grabbing two yellow gatorades from the snack bar and getting back into the car.

“that was long,” your brother said, barely looking up from the game on his phone.  

“sorry, bug,” you said, placing the bottles in the cupholders before pulling away onto the road.  “line like you wouldn’t believe.”

luckily, he seemed to be in much better spirits.  

still, later that night, as you tried to fall asleep, you couldn’t help but look up the name “arber xhekaj.”  it was so you could familiarize yourself with your opponent.  that’s how you rationalized it.

and of course his stats were impressive, if not especially physical.  but even if he was a professional hockey player, he had messed with the wrong family.  you refused to let him forget that.

so, the next day, when your brother came out of the rink again looking defeated, you could have growled.  

“bug,” you said, parking the car, “i need to talk to your coach, okay?  do you want to wait here?”

“i’ll wait here,” he said.

you located arber immediately, your gaze fixed to him almost magnetically.  but he found you quickly, too, without any signal, that smirk materializing as he skated over to you.  

“let me guess,” he said, sliding to a stop and leaning on the side of his stick, almost comically long.  “baby brother didn’t think practice was as fun as disney land?”  he gave a theatrically dramatic pout, drawing attention to his lips.  your attention, that is.  “listen, darling, i’m not making eight-year-olds fight to the death.  they’ve got a coach for the fun stuff.  i’m here so they actually get better.”

that actually made sense.  you licked your lips.  “i’m all for getting better,” you said, trying a more gentle approach.

“that’s great to hear,” he said monotonously, anticipating a “but.”

“but there doesn’t need to be a good-coach bad-coach dynamic.  you can push them and still be nice.  be positive and fun.”

he gave a low laugh before turning away, obviously done with this conversation.  “maybe some people can, darling, but not me.  that’s not me.”

you felt his laugh like a seismic wave, throwing you off balance.  again.  “and who’s this ‘you’ you mean?” you asked, growing heated at his dismissal of your simple request.  “the blank scoresheet except for penalty minutes?  the pretty boy who can’t play?”

his laugh this time came from deep in his chest.  you hated how it made your stomach turn. 

“aw, darling,” he cooed, voice deep and lazy.  “you really think i’m pretty?”

you huffed before turning to walk out of the rink, unsuccessful.  it irked you how he could make you so uneasy, but you couldn’t do the same to him.  

“try not to get too hot and bothered when you watch my highlights tonight!” he called out after you.

you clenched your teeth at the obvious joy your anger evoked in him, and vowed that you would not engage with him again for the rest of the season.  it didn’t get you anywhere, and if you were as kind as you could be to your brother, maybe you could help prepare him to stand up for himself instead of trying to fight his battles for him.

so, for the two weeks, you didn’t go into the rink.  you stuck to your routine of dropping off and picking up, no funny business, no extracurriculars with certain assistant coaches.  

“make your own fun today, okay, bug?” you told him before he got out of the car.  

and slowly, he stopped dragging his feet on the way to your car.  his smile came quicker, easier, lighting up the round, rosy cheeks that you so loved.  and so the image of those quicksand brown eyes faded to the back of your mind.

until one afternoon, when the very figure you were trying to forget was carrying your brother’s hockey bag, walking right behind him.  you rolled down the window after your brother had gotten into the front seat and arber had easily swung the bag into the trunk.  

he then walked around and leaned on the side of the car, his forearms resting on the open window.  

“say thanks, bug,” you nudged your brother.

“thanks, coach,” he said, a but of a smile in his voice.  

arber waved a hand as if to dismiss it.  “no problem,” he said, his hand resting on the window again.  your eyes widened momentarily at the sheer size of his hand, of him.  when you tore your eyes up to meet his, he was smirking.

“distracted, darling?” he asked, false innocence drenching his gaze.

you rolled your eyes, but you felt yourself blush.  “i’m glad to see everyone in good spirits,” you said, hoping he would catch onto the meaning.  “really.”

“well,” he drawled.  “i think i might have to start being especially tough.”

“what?” you said, all business in tone.  “why?”

“because i can’t have you staying out here in the car, darling,” he said, tilting his head.  “and you only visit me when you’re mad.”

you shook your head, felt your blush deepen.  “i do not visit you, arber,” you said.

his face lit up at the sound of his name on your lips.  “right, you just ask around about me and read my stats to help you sleep.” he said through a cocky grin.  “you’ll be at family skate, yeah?”

you bit your lip, noticed how his eyes followed the movement, stopped immediately.  

“you’re always at family skate,” your brother observed, not looking up from his phone.  you slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

“then i’ll see you there,” arber said, handing two yellow gatorades to your brother.  he slapped the side of the car twice before pulling back, his smile that of a school boy who charmed his way into extra dessert at lunch.  

you put the car in drive so he wouldn’t see your face, completely vulnerable, completely touched.  “i’m still mad at you,” you called out the window as a last resort.

“good,” he called back, running a hand through his hair.  “like you mad.”

you groaned and slapped your hand on the steering wheel as you pulled out of the parking lot, trying to stop yourself from becoming endeared.  trying.

family skate came faster than you wanted.  but, soon enough, the day was here, and there you were, in the family locker room, already cold, and failing miserably at tying your rental skates.  

“bug, how you you do this?” you asked to your right, but he had already gone out to the ice.  you huffed, reached for the laces again.

“need some help, darling?” 

you looked up to find him leaning against the doorframe, face lit up with amusement.  you didn’t have the time or patience to turn him away.

“yes, please,” you said, and watched his eyes grow dark, if only for a second.  he cleared his throat and made his way over, touching one knee to the ground in front of you.

suddenly the air felt hot, the chill completely melted away as he looked up at you.  a welcome change of pace from you always looking up at him.

“can i touch you?” he asked, looking at you through his lashes, dark and full.

you coughed.

his laugh was a grumble.  “just to tie your skates, darling, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

you felt yourself flush across your nose.  “i know,” you tried, “and it’s fine.”

he smirked at your response as he gently tugged one of your legs towards him by your calf, his grip firm and warm, so much so that you felt a loss when he took his hand off of you, used both hands to pull the laces of your skates taut and tie them up.

the silence only made things worse, heightened the heat that was growing in your stomach, the heat you were sure he could feel radiating from you.  

he finished one skate by tying a bow.  “how’s that feel?”

was he doing that on purpose?  “perfect,” you said, as confidently as you could.

he hummed in affirmation as he began to tie the second one, tugging your other calf towards him and shifting forward on his knee. 

you trained your gaze on the ceiling as he finished up.  

“something interesting up there?” he asked as he tied a bow, looking up at you.  “are they projecting my sports center feature on the ceiling?”

you rolled your eyes, actually happy that he was lightening the atmosphere, which had grown uncomfortably heavy and expecting.

he smiled at your reaction, then knocked the toes of your skates together twice.  at your inquisitive look, he pushed himself off of his knee.  “superstition,” he explained, then extended a hand to you.  “let’s go, your bug will be wondering where you are.”

you hoped he thought your flush was from the cold as his hand enveloped yours and pulled you to your feet.  

you shook off the effect he had on you as you stepped onto the ice, not necessarily a talented skater but good enough to move slowly and not hold onto the boards.  your brother found you quickly and began to skate circles around you, literally.

“alright, alright,” you said, a smile on your face.  “let’s keep in mind that you actually play hockey, and i very much do not.”

for the next half hour, you skated around with your brother, engaging in polite conversation with the parents and kids on the ice with you.  you did, however, remain crucially aware of arber’s presence, could still feel his hands on your calves, his grip on your fingers.

eventually, you decided to lean against the boards to catch your breath.  before long you felt him next to you.  “had enough?” he asked.  

you pushed yourself off the boards.  “nope,” you said, willing stability into your legs.

he grinned, easily gliding alongside you as you moved forward.  “are you sure you’re related to your brother?” he said.  “he’s such a natural skater.”

“and?” you pressed, pretending to be offended.

he laughed before spinning to face you, skating backwards in front of you, his hands in his pockets.

“show off,” you scoffed.  

“you can’t take your eyes off me, darling.  it’s okay, you can be honest with me.”

“don’t be cocky,” you said.

“like you don’t love it.”  at your reaction, his smirk only deepened.  “keep rolling those pretty eyes, darling, not foolin’ me.”

you shook your head, tried to will the blush away.  “you’re a defensemen.  it’s literally your job to skate backwards.”

“i forget you research me in your free time,” he said with a small scrunch of his nose.  you shook your head, to which he did the same.  “that’s a lie,” he added, “i think of it often, actually.”  fire blossomed between you.  “of you.”

the truth in his eyes made you stumble, falling forward, right into him.  one of his arms steadied your hip, the other reaching all the way around your back to hold you up, both of your hands flat against his chest.  you tilted your neck back to look at him, found exactly what you were afraid of.  what you were feeling, reflected back at you.

you were sure that when he let you go, there would be a scorched imprint of his hand on your hip.  

“you can let go of me, now,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper.

a meaningful pause settled between you before he replied.  “you’re right,” he said, his thumb making circles on your hip.  “i could.”

you swallowed, feeling your eyes grow drowsy, almost intoxicated with the feeling of him so close, all around you.  your gaze dropped to his mouth, slowly made its way back up to his eyes, so dark and deep.  his embrace around you tightened.  was he leaning forward?

a cough from beside you snapped you out of your trance.  you practically leapt out of his arms.  

there your brother stood, holding his helmet.  “ready to go?” he asked, looking between the two of you.  

“yup,” you croaked, clearing your throat.  “let’s go, bug.”

you sped through the process of returning your skates and getting back in the car, desperate to avoid arber.  on the drive home, you worked to come up with a plan on how to avoid him, as you knew he was a terrible idea.  a terrible, horrible idea that would only leave you hurt and unable to enter the rink ever again.

so, you decided you would give it a couple weeks, give whatever you were feeling time to fizzle out, give yourself time to forget about him, your body some time to adjust, forget this temptation.  you would park your car in a different place than usual, tell your brother to carry his own bag, that it was good for his independence.  

and, for a while, it worked, at least well enough.  but, one day, when your brother got back into the car, he said, “coach arber asked about you today.”

you tried to ignore the reaction even his name stirred up within you.  “yeah?  what did he say?”

“asked why you haven’t been in,” he said, looking out the window.

you maintained your composure.  “and what did you say?”

“just that you usually wait out in the car now.  in a different spot.”

“fuck,” you mumbled before you could stop yourself.

so, the next day, you weren’t necessarily surprised to see arber trailing behind your brother on his way out.  

you looked at your hands, gripping the steering wheel.  had it always been so hard not to stare at his lips?  when had the spark in your stomach ignited into something devastating?

you were still staring straight ahead when his laugh cut through the air.  “what’re you doing out here, darling?” he asked, leaning on the side of the window.  “watching a compilation of my fighting majors?”

you shook your head, choked out a laugh, let yourself look at him in the eyes, finally.  it felt like water after a drought.  did you sigh in relief?

he smirked at your reaction, and you knew you were gone.  “i know you’re avoiding me,” he said.

“i’m not,” you protested.

he cut you off with a look.  “you are.  and i know why.”

“yeah?” you asked, moments of his arms around you and his lips, so close, flashing across your mind.

he nodded, leaning forward, straining his forearms.  “which is why you’re going to come to my home opener this weekend.”

you scoffed.  “i’m not going to that.”

he grinned, a real one full of teeth and joy.  you melted.  “you are,” he said.  “i have a ticket for you, and a jersey.  your bug has them both.”

incredulous, you shook your head, suddenly jittery.  “arber.”  this smile could have convinced you to do terrible, terrible things.  “i’m not doing this.”

but he just slapped the side of the car twice and began to pull back.  “i can’t force you to,” he said.  “but i want you there, darling.  i want you there, for me.”

you groaned as you put the car in drive.

“please?” he said, his tone telling you that he knew he was victorious.  

“i’m not,” you called out.

he only laughed as you drove away.

and just as he expected, you found yourself at the game, early enough to see warm ups, right by the glass.  every couple of minutes you would groan internally at yourself.  what did you think you were doing here?  in a jersey with his number on your back?  

you couldn’t just say yes to everything he asked because he had a pretty smile, and because he was just so big, and because making him laugh felt like a prize you were so determined to win.  or because of the heat that so frequently now seared across his eyes when he looked at you, or because his forearms were impossible to ignore when he rested them on the window of your car.

you were lost in thought when the team finally skated out onto the ice for warmups, but lucidity found you immediately, as he was better in real life than he was in your memories, in your imagination.

you watched with admiration as he skated and shot a couple pucks, swallowed when he stretched near center ice, your eyes never straying far from his number, not expecting him to acknowledge you at all.

but as the clock counted down, after one lap around their half, he stopped, faced away, before moving backwards and hitting his back into the glass, directly in front of you.  and he wasn’t even looking at you, but you knew he was there, and you knew he knew you were, too.

you didn’t know what to do, until you knew exactly what to do.

after a moment, you reached forward and gently slapped the glass twice, like he had done to your car so many times before.  you smiled to yourself as he immediately took off, moving full speed towards the bench and down the tunnel.

a ritual that you both understood, wordlessly and perfectly.

the seat that arber had reserved for you was not with the other guests of players.  instead, you found yourself sitting directly next to the penalty box.  you breathed out a laugh as you sat down.

the game was fun to watch.  arber was breathtaking.  his size, his speed, his brutal physicality, it was all on full display, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

especially late into the third period, when one of the wingers on the other team landed a nasty hit on one of arber’s teammates.  you had a feeling you knew what was coming, but you had never seen a fight in person, never mind seen this side of arber before.

as soon as his gloves came off, your breath caught.  the other guy didn’t stand a chance.  you squeezed your legs together as he threw a hook that upended both of their helmets, winced as the other skater landed a hard blow to his jaw, bit your lip as arber grabbed the winger’s jersey and threw him to the ice.

you exhaled a deep breath as the refs skated both players off into their boxes, your eyes trained on arber’s face as he ran a hand, cracked and bleeding, through his damp hair, then stepped into the box and sat down.  

you let your gaze drip over him like a melting popsicle.  it was some kind of cruel punishment to be so close to him, only separated by a pane of glass.  partially because he was in a sort of pain, that was obvious.  his chest was heaving, his lip was split, swollen, his jaw was already beginning to bruise. 

but the heat inside of you, now too powerful to ignore, that was a different urge entirely.  an urge to sit across his lap, only further tempting when he spread his knees wide, as he was doing now.  an urge to hold his face in your hands, to kiss away his pain, to give him something else to focus on, to make him focus on you.  

how badly you wanted him to be able to focus on nothing but you.

an urge to know what his lips felt like on yours, what his hands felt like around your neck, what he felt like inside of you, that was becoming the more pressing urge.  you crossed your legs tighter.

you should probably look back at the ice, at the game.  you wouldn’t want to give yourself away.

before you could turn away though, you noticed that his mouth was forming words, but he wasn’t talking to anyone.

and that smirk had only ever been just for you.

“you’re staring, darling,” he mouthed.

you flushed, turned away abruptly, didn’t need to see his cocky grin grow wider still.  

the game ended, and you still felt like you were on fire.  if you didn’t do something about it, would this torture last forever?  would you go forever wondering?  forever, wanting?

possible outcomes flashed across your mind.  but the longer you thought about it, the more your willpower dissolved into something else, something weaker, more forgiving, until you couldn’t quite remember why you had disliked him so much when you had first met him.  until any negative consequences seemed deliciously inconsequential.

so, when he came out down the tunnel, ready to go home, you were there, and his smile was a dream.  the smile of a person who knew they had won, finally and entirely.

“darling,” he greeted as he walked up.  “glad you came.”

you nodded.  “me too,” you said, stood in front of him, practically chest to chest, looking up at him, electricity humming between you.

“yeah?” he reached out, tilted your chin up further to search your gaze.  a pause filled with meaning settled.  “you have something you want to say?”  

you bit your lip, relished in the way his next breath came out shallow, nodded.

“tell me, darling.”  you couldn’t refuse him if you wanted to.

your exhale came out shaky.  “just want you so bad, arber,” you all but mumbled.  “can’t take it.”

his eyes flashed, dangerous.  one arm came around your back and tugged you closer.  “fuck, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he rasped.  “pretty girls like you never have to wait.”

you whimpered at the sensation of him pressed into your front, felt him hard against you.

“gonna give me a kiss?” he asked, rough and low, before you pushed yourself up on your toes to meet his lips, tender and bruised.  he moaned into your mouth at the only-just painful pressure, you wrapped your arms around his neck, grasped at the hair at the nape of his neck, the soft, damp, curls you had been dreaming about since you first saw him.

you whined as one of his hands squeezed a handful of your hip, felt that burning need only intensify.  he angled his hips so you could feel what you were doing to him, which only made you whimper.

“please, please,” you breathed, “i need to feel you, arber.  need you, now.”

he smiled into your mouth, and your lips would never be the same.  “oh, pretty baby, so needy, hm?”

you nodded, twisted his curls around your fingers, long past feeling embarrassed.  

his bandaged hand enveloped yours.  “come on, then,” he said, pulling you towards the exit, through the doors.  “fuck, don’t think i can wait, either.” 

you finally reached his car, parked far from the venue, far from any other car.  every second without kissing him was a second lacking.   he opened the car door, reached an arm underneath you, and picked you up, holding you against his front as he lowered you both into the backseat.  

you immediately buried your face into his neck, letting your lips leave your mark on him like he had more permanently, less physically done to you.  he groaned, tilted his hips up into you, gripped your hips and led you in a rhythm across his lap, the friction making you devastatingly impatient.

“‘m ready for you,” you mumbled into his neck, taking one of his hands from your hip and guiding it down so that he could feel you.

he moved your clothes aside, ran his thick fingers through your folds, making you gasp.  “so wet, darling,” he rasped, “what made you so needy, hm?”

he wrapped his other hand gently around your throat, squeezed only slightly, pulled you back to look at him, the gaze between you liquid metal. 

you whimpered, which made him increase the pressure around your neck, just a bit.  “i know you want to be good for me,” he rasped.  “so, tell me.”

“you did,” you breathed out.  “seeing you.”

“yeah?  pretty baby likes it when i fight, hm?”  he let go of your neck, tugged his own clothes aside to free his cock, groaned when you spit into your hands and immediately began to stroke him.

“not just the fight,” you said, “just you, arber.  fuck, you make me like this.”  he let out a sound like a growl, grew impossibly hard and thick at your words, at your hands.

“you make me crazy, darling,” he bit out as he reached an arm under you again to lift you up.  “have been since i first saw you.  ready?”

you answered him by sinking down onto him entirely, the stretch euphoric, both of your noises even more so.  you tilted your head back, mouth falling slack.

“hm, feel so perfect,” he rasped, pushed two fingers into your open mouth, groaned when you bit down on them gently.  “good girl, so perfect for me.”

you scrunched your eyes shut and focused on his fingers in your mouth as he began to thrust up into you, making that stretch feel even deeper, like he was becoming a part of you.  “so big,” you whined, the words distorted by his hand.  “don’t know if i can, arber.”

he didn’t stop, if anything thrust harder.  “you can, pretty baby,” he cooed.  “you’re gonna make me feel so good, yeah?”

and you couldn’t help but nod, overwhelmed with the desire to do just that, to be the person to do that.  you began to fuck back into him, brought your hips back to meet him thrust for thrust.

you whined as you clenched around him, wrapped a hand around his wrist and guided his hand from your mouth down to your clit.  he immediately began to tease you, adding to the sensation.

“hm, arber, you fuck me so good,” you said roughly, snaking a hand into his hair and raking your nails down his neck.  “fuck, so good.”

he gave a thrust that was slow, deliberate, making you feel him in your teeth.  “yeah, darling?  better than how you imagined?”

you nodded before you knew what you were confessing to, couldn’t find it in yourself to care when his smirk told you that you had been found out.  you just lowered your mouth to his shoulder and bit into it to muffle your moans.  he hissed.

“‘s okay,” he said, his thrusts speeding up, his motions on your clit drawing you closer.  “you’re better than i imagined, too.”

you clenched around him at his words, felt yourself flush, grow so dangerously close.  

he moaned into your hair.  “fuck, darling, look so fucking pretty like this.”  he took his other hand from your hip to your stomach, placing pressure there so you felt him even deeper.  you winced, just there, your rhythm on top of him faltering.  “be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?”

you collapsed into his chest as you reached an angelic high, gushing around him and pushing him to his own orgasm, his moan a desperate rasp as he stilled inside of you.  his breathing was hard and hot as you caught your own breath, fisting his shirt in one of your hands as the other rested around his neck.  

he brought one arm around your back, held you to him as the other grasped the back of your neck and snaked into your hair.  the windows of the car had fogged up like a rainy day, and both of your faces were rosy with exertion and satisfaction.

you hummed as he rubbed circled into your lower neck with his thumb.  

“like my number on you,” he murmured, breaking the comfortable silence that could have been a decade.

“me too,” you agreed, a small smile playing across your mouth.  “like you on me.”

“yeah?” he asked, a lazy grin on his swollen lips.  “me too.”

and you let out a sigh, so content.  and he kissed the top of your head.  and both of you would have been happy to stay here forever, watching the fog drip from the windows like thinning honey.

fin.

[lxnceclercs]

[4.6k] as the season dwindles on and the new year approaches, luke comes to a handful of realisations. some of them were unsurprising. some of them were not. one of them leads to a very interesting interaction during his captain's new years party. (smut)

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Whoever said it was better to be self aware was a fucking liar. 

It had been a few weeks since the Hughesbowl and Luke had come to a few realisations in that time. Some epiphanies that had been tormenting him over sleepless nights as the season dragged on into December and quickly approached the end of the year. 

One: No matter how many times he had said it before, Luke still couldn’t quite grasp just how different NHL hockey was to the hockey he had been playing his whole life. And it sounded stupid to say, considering he had grown up being around NHL players and had two brothers in the league before him too. But it was tiring and rewarding and, fuck, he didn’t think he had ever been so hungry in his damn life before he joined the NHL. 

Two: Adulting in college versus adulting in real life was weird, different and not as fun as he liked to think it was when he was growing up. He felt like he spent most of his free time fighting the washing machine, wondering if groceries had always been this expensive and bribing Jack to do things for him when it got too overwhelming or confusing. Which, also wasn’t great considering his brother was just as helpless as he was, and Quinn was too far away to bother. 

Three: Despite the concerns tucked away in the back of his mind when he signed his first contract with the Devils, none of the team had made him feel like he was just Jack’s younger brother. He knew Nico had said as much at the start of the season, but experiencing it and really feeling like a part of the team brought a fuzzy warmth in his chest that he wasn’t quite ready to confess to anyone—but it was a nice feeling that followed him through the season, even after the losses. 

Four: Figuring out you were kind of in love with your friend who also offered to take your virginity was not exactly the best crisis to be having in the middle of your rookie NHL season. But he was having said crisis regardless and there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

And five: the Devils took New Years very seriously. 

As in serious enough that Jack was looking at him like he was the crazy one at this current moment.

“Did you hear what I just said?” 

Luke blinked, his spoon hovering awkwardly over his bowl of cereal as he stared at his brother across the table. “Yeah no, I heard you. I am just trying to wrap my head around why you decided to tell me at—” His eyes glanced over at the clock on the wall before returning to Jack. “Seven in the morning that I am banned from leaving the state for New Years?”

“Because you’ll make Nico sad,” Jack said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Luke put his spoon down. “Nah, you’ve still lost me.” 

Jack let out a deep sigh. “You can’t upset him like that, Luke. He’s our captain.”

“And me leaving the state in the three days off we have between games around then will upset him?” Luke deadpanned. He wasn’t even planning on leaving. He doesn't even know where he would go. But his sleepy brain almost wanted to pretend he had plans just to spite Jack right now.

“Duh,” Jack huffed. “He throws a New Years thing every year. Jonas missed it once when he had some family in town and Nico was pouty as fuck after, even if he didn’t admit it. It’s, like, a team bonding thing for him. Hockey families and real families coming together.”

Luke blinked. “It’s way too early for me to understand half the words that just left your mouth.”

“Plus we have a game on his birthday,” Jack added with a shrug. “It will probably be a double celebration.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke grumbled as he shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I’ll be there. You know I’d be there. I don’t get why you’re asking.”

Jack didn’t say anything for a moment before he spoke again, trying (and failing) to sound casual. “He doesn’t mind if you bring some guests. The more the merrier.”

Luke bit back his yawn. “Who would I even bring?” 

Jack shot him a deadpan look. “You’re so dumb.”

“Whatever,” Luke murmured, almost tempted to lay his head down on the counter and fall asleep right there. “M’not gonna miss Nico’s New Years party, don’t gotta get defensive about your boyfriend.”

Jack let out a noise that sounded vaguely close to a squeak. “He is not my boyfriend—” 

Luke zoned out after that. 

…

It wasn’t until a few days later, when Luke was sprawled on the floor in some feeble attempt of stretching his muscles after a late morning gym session, that Jack’s words made sense. 

He stared up at the gym room ceiling, listening to the various noises around the room: machines humming, metal clinking, guys talking. It was oddly soothing, almost mindful. These were noises Luke was familiar with, that he sought out to cling onto when the noises in his head were a little more irritating. It reminded him that he was actually there in the moment.

“Are you stuck down there?” 

Luke blinked as a shadow suddenly casted over him, taking a few seconds before he saw Nico staring down at him with an inquisitive look, though he seemed more amused than concerned. 

“Cardio days suck,” was all he was able to supply, his hands resting on his stomach as he made no move to sit back up or head towards the locker room to shower and change.

Nico just snorted, shaking his head in a way that almost seemed fond. “Welcome to the big league.” 

“Every league has cardio,” Luke replied, a little snottily if he was honest with himself. “And it sucks no matter what age you are.” 

Nico’s grin just widened in response.

For a moment, Luke was happy to just lay there for a few more minutes and let Nico wander off to go check on some of the other guys dotted around the gym. He knew his captain, knew he was doing his rounds and knew that he would have done them anyways, regardless of the ‘C’ on his chest because that was just the type of person Nico was. Luke was happy to let him shift that attention onto someone else.

But then Nico turned to head towards Haula and Bastian on the treadmills and a thought suddenly entered his head and Luke was opening his mouth before he even realised it.

“Hey, are you still doing your New Years thing?” 

Nico paused, his face brightening up. “Yeah, I am.” He paused, his smile faltering a little. “Why, can you not make it? I swear Jack said you could—”

“No, yeah, I am,” Luke answered quickly, scrambling to sit up a little so he would feel less exposed. He ran his fingers through his curls, wincing a little when his pinky nabbed a tangle before making his eyes meet Nico’s curious gaze. “I was just wondering if it would be okay if I brought someone.” 

Nico’s shoulders dropped in relief but his head tilted in interest. “Brought someone?” 

“A friend,” Luke supplied. 

“A friend,” Nico repeated, looking as though he was biting back his grin. “Yeah no, bring her with you. The more the merrier.”

Luke raised his brows. “How did you know it was a her?” 

Nico smiled knowingly. “Call it a captain’s hunch.”

Luke frowned. “That’s not a thing.”

Nico just shrugged in response. 

He tried not to let the question linger too much, instead finally forcing himself to finish his stretches before heading towards the locker room. The noise of his teammates blurred in the background as he reached for his phone, typing out a message before heading towards the showers.

hockey boy: u got any plans for nye?

…

“You suck.”

“I literally don’t know how else you expected me to answer the question.”

“I asked you what the dress code was and you said ‘nice’,” you scoffed, shooting the boy a look as you settled into the passenger seat of his car. “Nice isn’t a dress code. Nice doesn’t tell me if I should be wearing jeans or a dress.”

Luke tried—and failed-–to bite back his grin as he glanced over at you. “I see you went with the dress.” 

“No thanks to you,” you retorted with a small huff, but your lips were already twitching upwards. “I would rather your teammates think I am weirdly overdressed than weirdly underdressed.” 

“They won’t think you are weird,” he assured you, deciding not to point out the fact you had been around them on previous occasions and had never ran into that issue before. He didn’t think you would want him playing know-it-all. “But maybe stay away from Curtis.” 

He could hear the glee in your voice, even if he didn’t turn his head around. “Scared he will give me some ammo against you?” 

“Yes.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “My new favourite Devil.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, also deciding not to mention the small burn of jealousy that bubbled in his stomach at your obvious joke. 

“Don’t worry,” you said after a few moments of silence, playfully knocking your hand against his thigh. “I wouldn’t embarrass you in front of your people.”

Luke snorted. “My people?”

“Yeah, you athletes are all super weird about your teammates. You guys kinda seem more like a cult than a family but it’s cute,” you teased. “Does this mean I get to join the cult for the night? Special access?” 

“We aren’t a cult,” Luke scoffed, choosing to also not mention the handful of weird superstitions half of his teammates complete before every game. 

“But they are important to you,” you retorted.

Luke nodded, smiling a little softer. “Yeah. They are.” 

“Then I’ll keep the fact you thought the Titanic was a documentary a secret,” you concluded, snickering when the boy let out an exaggerated groan.

“It’s based on a real ship, okay!” 

“Yeah but Leonardo DiCaprio wasn’t on the ship back in 1912 when it went down.” 

“Whatever, there was room on that door and everyone knows it,” Luke grumbled, sniffling slightly before he turned to glance at you once again as the car came to a stop at a red light. “You’re important to me too, you know.” 

You turned your head to look at him, wiggling your eyebrows. “Working towards a midnight blowjob instead of a midnight kiss?” 

“I—no,” his cheeks burned hot and he was suddenly glad the car was too dark for you to see the full extent of how red his face must have been as memories of you on your knees—of his number on your cheeks—flashed to the front of his mind. “I mean it. You’re important to me.” 

You blinked, your smile faltering a little when you realised he was serious. “Oh.”

“Like,” Luke quickly cleared his throat. “We’re friends, right? My friends are important to me.” 

“Yeah no, of course,” you laughed, and maybe it was still a little awkward and stilted but he was glad you weren’t jumping out of the car and running off. “I didn’t realise I reached cult level though.”

Luke smiled. “Maybe just for tonight.”

“Knew it!” 

He turned his eyes back to the road for the rest of the journey to Nico’s place.

…

Luke knew he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. He knew that. He didn’t even mean to. It just kind of happened somewhere between him disappearing into Nico’s kitchen to look amongst the weird European beers and ciders until he could find two flutes of champagne for you both and walking back with said flutes in hand to overhear you talking to Jack. 

Jack, who he remembered being on the other side of the room almost on Nico’s lap, before he left to grab your drinks.

“You watch our games?” 

Luke paused, a voice in his head telling him to take that step forward, to walk back into the room, to intervene before Jack inevitably embarrassed him. The other—and louder—voice kept him put, holding onto the champagne flutes tightly as he listened. 

“Yeah, the ones I can.” 

“Really?” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“Guess I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I mean, I don’t understand a single thing that is happening.”

“Luke hasn’t explained the game to you?”

“Oh no, he has. I still don’t get it. But hey, the commentators tell me you guys are pretty good.” 

Luke listened to the way Jack laughed, noted how it sounded more like his actual laugh rather than the stilted media one.

“I’m surprised Luke had the balls to invite you.” 

Luke’s eyes widened, his cheeks growing hot again as he silently vowed to trip Jack up during their next practice for that line.

“Am I that scary?” 

Jack didn’t respond for a moment. “I don’t think it’s you he’s scared of.”

“What? He thought you guys would scare me away?” 

“We can be overwhelming.”

“You guys fight other grown men on ice for a living, I think I can survive.”

Jack laughed again. “Mom would love you, you really know how to keep a guy humble.”

“You mean keep his ego in check.”

“Professional athletes with egos? Unheard of.”

This time it was you who snorted out a laugh.

“You’re not what I expected, Cherry.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?” 

But before Jack could say anything, before he could possibly embarrass Luke any further and continue whatever weird interrogation he had going on with you, Luke quickly rounded the corner and practically shoved a champagne flute into your hand whilst shooting his brother a look.

“Shouldn’t you be bothering Nico or something?” 

Jack shot his brother a knowing look, glancing between the two of you before he took a step back. “Yeah, I guess I have a few things to tell him.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. 

“It was nice to meet you, Cherry,” Jack said earnestly, tipping his beer bottle towards you. “Maybe I’ll catch you at the house. It would be nice to see Luke around instead of running off to yours.”

You snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Luke watched the new but playful camaraderie between you and his brother. The banter and the shared laughs at his expense. He watched it as he chugged a mouthful of champagne, hoping the bubbles would drown the other fluttering feelings he was feeling in his stomach. 

…

“I’ve been looking for you.”

You snapped your head around, your smile widening a little when you found Luke standing by the door of the guest room. His sleeves were now rolled up, a few more buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his curls looked as though they had been ruffled by a drunk and very handsy Haula more than once.

“The main bathroom was occupied so Nico said I could come in and use the guest room bathroom,” you explained, nodding your head towards the other door. 

“And you decided to hide in here afterwards?” Luke asked, mostly playful and teasing but there was a hint of concern in his voice. The team could be a lot sometimes and, despite the fact you seemed more than capable of holding your own, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel uncomfortable and as though you couldn’t leave.

“I got intrigued,” you shrugged as you gestured towards the bookshelf that seemed to take over a large portion of the guest room wall. “How many languages does this guy know?”

Luke snorted as he walked deeper into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed with a small huff. “I think three?” He shrugged, leaning back against his hands. 

“That must be so cool,” you murmured, your eyes flickering over the book spines before turning back to look at Luke. “Do you know any other languages?” 

Luke shook his head.

“None?” You laughed in disbelief. “Buddy, most of your teammates down there speak English as a second language and you haven’t picked up anything?” 

“Do three words in standard German count?” Luke retorted, playful and sheepish all at once. “Jack tried learning on Duolingo for, like, two weeks to try to impress Nico during summer before realising Swiss German and standard German are different.”

You shook your head, trying to bite back your smile as you wandered closer. “F for effort on your part. I’m pretty sure Jonas taught me more in one conversation than you’ve learnt all season.”

Luke rolled his eyes, his fingers twitching against the comforter with the urge to reach out for you. “It can be my New Years resolution.” 

“Yeah? You have a list?” You questioned, watching as he spread his legs without thinking and let you into the space like it was instinctual. 

He shrugged. “I try. Achievable stuff, you know?” 

You raised your brows. “Like?”

“Eat better, workout more, start a new hobby,” he listed off, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he finally gave in, as he finally reached for your waist to tug you even closer to him. “Learn a new skill. Or improve on ones I already know.”

You hummed, your hands resting on his shoulders as your fingers skimmed the fabric of his shirt. “Hockey skills?” 

Luke glanced up at you, swallowing a little. “Not all of them.”

Your lips twitched upwards. 

His thumb smoothed over your hips, feeling the small details of your dress under his touch. “What’s on your list?” 

“I don’t have one,” you admitted with a shrug. “No point to it. If I want to do something, I’ll do it.” 

“Sounds like one of the media trained answers we are forced to give,” Luke teased, pressing his thumb a little harsher to gain your attention when your head tipped back with a laugh. “No, but really. There’s nothing new you wanna try?” 

“Are you offering?” You retorted, lighthearted and teasing. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Maybe I am.” 

Your head tilted slightly, your hand moving to lightly grasp the back of his neck. “We probably shouldn’t. I hate to break it to you, Hughes, but you’re not very quiet once you get going.” 

His cheeks burned but he didn’t tear his eyes away from you. “Who said I was the one getting off?” 

And that seemed to catch you by surprise.

“Pretty boy is feeling confident, huh?” You mused, your fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of his neck. “As hot as it is, I don’t think we have time.” 

And your words sent a spark through, soft and buzzing and persistent. A spark that he knew very well, a spark that made his grip on your waist tighten. A spark that he felt every single time he stepped onto the ice.

“Is that a challenge?” Luke asked, his voice a little lower than he intended. 

You smirked, shaking your head. “Depends what you have in mind.” 

His heart was pounding in his chest, loud and strong and overwhelming, but it didn’t stop him as he leaned his chin against your stomach. “I want to make you come.” 

Your eyes wandered over his face, at the pure determination in his eyes. “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” he nodded, his hands trailing down the side of your thighs. “That’s on my list too.” 

Your lips twitched. “Thinking of becoming a ladies man? Live up to the hockey sex god stereotype?” 

He shook his head. “No. Not other girls. Just wanna make you come.”

You didn’t have a reply for that. 

“I wanna make you come right now. In here.” There was a flicker of something else in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. 

Your brows lifted slightly.

“If you want to,” he added, his hands squeezing the back of your thighs. “Consent is sexy, you know.” 

“Show me what you’ve got, pretty boy,” you murmured, leaning down to close the distance between you as you pressed your lips against his. 

The rest of the world was a distant buzz in the back of his mind once you finally kissed him, his shoulders dropping with some unexplainable relief that only being around you seems to bring. Your fingers were already in his curls by the time his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, leaving the boy groaning and gasping into your mouth as you tugged him closer. 

You pulled back for a second, to catch your breath and appreciate the flush on his cheeks before leaning back in. But it was enough. It was enough to have his mind spiralling faster than he could even keep up with.

For a split second, you weren’t smiling down at him. For a split second, the two of you were back in his car and you were staring at him with an expression he didn’t understand, an expression that made his stomach turn nonetheless. For a split second, he was just staring helplessly at you as you doubted the words he said. 

And whilst Luke never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew it would be a monumentally stupid idea to repeat the words. He knew that if he repeated the words he said in the car, if he tried to insist on their truth, you would shut down again. 

And he didn’t want that.

Not at all.

But the overwhelming and insistent need to show you what you meant to him was bubbling inside him, swirling along with the bottled up feelings and glasses of champagne he had drank over the course of the night. 

And if he couldn’t tell you, he would show you. He would make you see that you were important to him, that this unlikely and unconventional friendship may have started with you helping him but he was in this for you too. 

That your pleasure was important to him too.

He swallowed your gasp with another kiss as he tugged you closer, as he finally broke whatever restraint the two of you had until you were finally on his lap. Or, almost on his lap. But when you tried to shift in his hold, when you tried to straddle his lap properly, Luke’s strong grip on your waist kept you locked in place.

“Stay,” he murmured, swallowing harshly as he leaned back enough to watch the confusion wash over your face. 

“I thought—” You started but he was already shaking his head.

“Like this. I want to get you off like this,” he confessed, his voice rasping as he tried to pretend like his whole body wasn’t thrumming with excitement and nerves and something else he wasn’t quite ready to name. “On my thigh.” 

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

“Fuck, Luke,” you murmured under your breath before pulling his lips back onto yours through the hold you still had on his curls. 

He sunk into the kiss as easily as he breathed, moaning softly when he felt your tongue against his own. His hands clung onto you, squeezing your waist like he needed to make sure you were actually there, like this was real and not some sex-crazed dream he would wake up from, half-hard and alone in his room. 

But the silk of your dress remained under his touch, soft and smooth and bunching in his fists as he clenched the fabric in his hold. And then his hands started wandering as you continued to kiss him senseless. 

He pushed the skirt of your dress up until it pooled at your waist, until his hands were engulfing and squeezing your thighs. His fingers continued to skin upwards, until his fingertips were brushing against the waistband of your panties, until he could hear the small gasp you let out as he lightly traced them. 

It made his head spin the way you were straddling his thigh, the way he could feel the warmth of your cunt pressed against his leg, feel it through the fabric of the dress pants he wore for the party. It made his head spin how he wished he could pull them off, how he wished he could just feel you with no boundaries between. 

His hands were pawing at you before they started to guide you, rocking you back and forth on his thigh. It was slow and deliberate, almost unnoticeable until the first choked out noise you let out between the soft kisses he was giving you. 

“C’mon,” his voice was low, rough, full of desire. “Want you to take what you want.” 

One hand remained entangled in his curls but the other shifted down to grip his shoulder, to dig your nails into the fabric of his shirt as you continued to follow the pace he set. It shouldn’t have felt so good, but it did. It felt so fucking good with his sweet words smothering the slow pace he refused to relent.

“Shit, Luke, I—” You cut yourself off, biting down on your lower lip as he continued to guide your hips, as he continued to let you grind yourself against his flexing thigh. 

“Whatever you want,” he murmured out, feeling like he was in a daze as he watched your eyes flutter shut. You were breathtaking when you let the pleasure take over, when he got to see you with no walls up and unguarded. “Just tell me.” 

“More,” you managed to mutter out, your head falling back as you continued to ride his thigh, to feel the rush of what you were doing just down the hall from his teammates wash over you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered because he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t hold the thought back even if he wanted to. “Wanna make you come more, Cherry baby, shit.”

Because he did. He wanted to do this a million more times if he could watch you like this for the rest of his life. He wanted to see you riding his thigh, unashamed and unabashed, so lost in your own pleasure—pleasure that you were receiving from him—that you had no other worries in the world.

He wanted to watch you lean your head forward against his shoulder, his name leaving your lips between soft moans and a list of curse words as your orgasm washed over you. He wanted to watch the way your body shook with the after effects, the way you clung onto him like a lineline. 

He wanted to watch the way you lifted your head, giving him a smile so soft that he felt like the rug was pulled out from underneath him. 

“I have been severely underrating hockey thighs all these years,” you muttered, your smile widening a little more when Luke let out a disbelieving laugh.

Luke couldn’t tear his eyes away from you if he tried. “What? No thank you?” 

“That’s your thing, pretty boy, not mine,” you teased before you relented, leaning forward to press a soft but lingering kiss on his cheek. It was somehow the most intimate act you shared in the last fifteen minutes. “Ten out of ten for your thighs.”

Luke swallowed harshly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good, because that won’t be the last time we are using them,” you said to him, so sure of yourself and unaware of the muddle of thoughts in his head at that moment. 

“Happy New Years, Cherry,” he managed to mutter out, not even sure if the clock had passed twelve or not. But it was the last of his concerns when you smiled at him.

“Happy New Years, Luke,” you murmured softly. 

And yet, all he could think about was how he wanted to hear those words leave your mouth every year. 

.