#I promise this is not a hockey blog | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chewingcyanide · 10 months ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secretly pining over someone is never fun—even less so when they’re your childhood best friend, and dating someone else.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —all the angst, jealousy, thoughts of inferiority, cursing, big sadness from reader over here, not proofread i got better things to do

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x fem!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — my valentine’s day jhughes special (albeit a day late ☹️), as promised! sorry it took me so long. couldn’t figure out how to end it. this is unapologetically self-indulgent. also not a wip, but i HAD to do it to em. i’m sorry if your name is brooke or bianca. i love you. promise. maybe we’ll make a part two, if yall like it enough!

₊⊹ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — @dancerbailey3, @bellstwd, @kashee-h, @crazycat-ladys-blog, @brucewaynegfreal, @love4dlr, @jackhughesily, @leavethemonsteralive, @loveforaugust, @43hughes, @nathandoe, @choppedlamphandscowboy, @bunting58, @angelayse, @ru-kru, @sleepretreat, @nonsensical-nonsence, @maih23 (if your name is white, i couldn’t tag you!)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Everyone knows the saying you never know what you have until you lose it. Truth was, you knew exactly what you had—you’d just never imagined you’d lose it.

You never imagined you’d lose him.

A shared childhood and mothers’ who found friendship with each other had brought you and Jack Hughes together, kept you glued even as skin stretched and futures diverged—where he’d gone on to be a star hockey player, you’d quietly came into adulthood, trekking through the difficulties of college.

In your younger years, Jack had always been there. Life of the party, a mirrorball everyone gravitated to for its decadent shine—you, contrastingly, felt like a sore thumb at parties, attending them only to see the smile on Jack’s face. Differing personalities and life routes aside, Jack was your person. The first person you called whenever you were sad, or happy, or bored. The one who knew all of your test scores first, who took hours long flights just to visit you during breaks in the season.

Distance nor time had left a lasting mark on your friendship, kept together by constant phone calls and texts. Whilst you remained imbedded in the hustle of Toronto, Jack was trapped in New Jersey—a gap that you closed every summer, when mutual desire to see one another (as well as his brothers) brought you and him to Michigan for a few months.

From childhood, to high school, to now—it had always been you two. Jokes passed in the years, swirling around with assumptions of the two of you ending up together, finally realizing it after years of proclaimed friendship. For Jack, it’d never been romantic. Loving and caring, a relationship he’d never trade for the world, but the intimacy ended there. Memories of him outwardly flirting with girls in front of you at bars or parties flashed in your mind any time you figured maybe; he’d never given any indicator that you were or would ever be more to him than his best friend.

For you? It was an embarrassingly different story.

College had stolen much of your time—left none for a love life. But truthfully, that didn’t much phase you.

Hookups, flings, boyfriends—all of them paled in comparison to Jack. A childhood crush perpetuated by maturation without loss of contact, Jack had just… always been there. Always a best friend, never a lover; the hanging axe of rejection was too dire a outcome for you to ever consider telling him. Killing a friendship you’d grown with would kill you. And maybe he felt the same way, maybe the kisses he reserved for the crown of your head and the guiding hand he kept on the small of your back meant something, but you couldn’t continue existing if they didn’t.

So, a dutiful friend, you kept quiet, spared the connection and suffered in unrequited love.

And it hadn’t really changed until Jack had gotten a girlfriend. In all your years of knowing him, he’d had a few—though they rarely lasted more than a handful of months, and a selfish and bitter part of you liked that. Sometimes they overstepped, viewed themselves above you in the ranking of Jack’s life; he made painfully clear they never would be.

And it felt good, to be that cherished. But then you remembered he didn’t actually love you and it felt a whole lot less impactful.

Not Brooke.

Brooke, a box-dye blonde with a less-than-stellar reaction to your friendship with her boyfriend, was unarguably beautiful—unapproachably so, someone you’d picture whenever thinking of the girl Jack would end up with. You knew it would never be you, but you hated that it was her, hated that it was finally cemented, the coffin wheeled out.

A friendship you’d cherished for years had been weathered down by the abrasive actions of his girlfriend. It left a bitter taste in your mouth; Jack never seemed privy to Brooke’s nonverbal dislike of you, and you never made comment of it. If Jack was happy, what did it matter? If you said anything, all you’d appear to be was a child throwing a tantrum, the attention torn from them. You refused to jeopardize Jack’s happiness, even if it meant shredding your own.

Brooke tolerated you; that was the best word you could think of. There was surely no excess of love, but you didn’t think she flat out despised you, either. Passive aggressive to the point of just being aggressive, snide looks whenever she didn’t think you could see, intentionally separating you from Jack whenever the two of you were talking—it all made you hate being around her, and by extension, him.

So when he’d invited you to dinner with him—and some of his teammates, a monthly ritual at his house—the knee jerk reaction had been to decline, lie, run while you were still free from the piercing glare of Brooke; because you knew she’d be there, clung to his side, as if you had any intention of taking him away.

… Well, you’d did have the intention. Never the will, so then again maybe she was right to hate you. Feelings you’d never act on, words you’d never say—none of it mattered. She had him. Not you. Never you.

You should’ve said no.

Pouting eyes and pleading lips caved you. As soon as you’d agreed, you’d regretted it—knew in your bones it would only serve to wedge the knife in your heart deeper, solidify the loss of a what you thought would be a lifelong partnership. Your platonic soulmate, twin flame pinched out by hateful fingers.

Getting ready for the dinner felt like preparing for a cage fight, where all night you’d have do endure blow after blow—them kissing, them touching, him loving her in a way you wished he’d love you.

Night blanketed the sky by the time you’d arrived to Jack’s home, shadows slipping by the window, shapes of people telling you that you were likely late—the stone in your stomach had slowed you monumentally. The torture was self-inflicted, you knew. There would be no pity when your heart finally gave out.

She did this to herself, they’d say. Hearts can only endure so much before they break.

Voices coalesced into one as you pushed open the door, welcomed by the familiar atmosphere of friendship and loud laughter. You’d completely forgotten to text Jack that you’d gotten here—and for some reason, as you crossed the threshold into the gaping space of his living room, you felt like an outsider. Sudden eyes landed on you like bullets, and all you saw was Jack—his side taken dutifully by Brooke, always beautiful, striking in a way you didn’t think you’d ever been.

Looking at her, it made sense why she was the one Jack chose. Why you hadn’t been. A best friend. Childhood acquaintance. Faded t-shirt he’d strung along for too many years, even as the design weathered away and the fabric weakened. He’d gotten a shiny new one, the novelty still in tact, yet he hadn’t let you go.

Some part of you, deep in the caves of your wounded heart, wished Brooke would ban him from your presence. Maybe then your hurt would lessen. You knew you’d never be able to let go on your own.

Jack’s eyes caught you, stood awkwardly in the mouth of the hallway. He attempted to stand, only for Brooke to tug him down by his t-shirt—the shirt you’d bought him for his birthday last year, impressed with two hearts holding hands. She said something to him, something low and hissed between clenched teeth. Before you could see his reaction, Nico was invading your space, arms winding around you.

“There she is!” he announced, the ground leaving your feet as he lifted you playfully. “We were waiting on you to eat. Sure do like to take your time.”

Residual bitterness faded at Nico’s words—Jack may have been your best friend, but years of being attached to him introduced you to his teammates; they were always kind, if a little overbearing. A big brother that toed the line of overprotective and well-wishing.

Grateful for the attention distractor, you allowed your shoulders to relax and lungs to decompress. The first cut at seeing Jack, still happily in love with Brooke, was already dealt; you just needed to get through the dinner, and not look like a hostage while doing so.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, shoving Nico’s shoulder as he brought you towards where the others were gathered in the living room. “Make fun of me for driving like a grandma all you want, at least I’m safe.”

Not looking at Jack took more self control than you’d care to admit. Blurring in your peripheral, a mess of colors stacked atop one another, you knew if you glanced—saw the claim Brooke was staking for all to see—it would only make you want to leave. So you didn’t.

Luke was next to greet you, offering a pity-imbued smile. Despite never mentioning your affections for his older brother, you knew he knew; saw it in the way he would look at you, the frowns offered. In times when Brooke inadvertently talked you down, it was Luke who told her off, put balm on the wound.

A side hug and a soft smile—you barely were able to muster one yourself. “How have classes been?”

You graced Luke with an exasperated groan. “Terrible, thanks for reminding me. Economics is kicking my ass.”

Luke sat. You remained standing. A loose thread peeking from your sweatshirt seemed far more intriguing than eyes you were trying desperately not to meet.

“Tough luck,” remarked Luke, conversations reviving after the novelty of your arrival wore off. You recognized a couple of faces around you—Dawson, Jesper, Alexander, and John. Faces you’d become acquainted with in your years of being Jack’s friend.

The title felt a bitter reminder of your ceiling, never surpassing Jack’s best friend. Loved and cherished, a desired presence, just not how you wanted. Who were you to complain? It was better to be his friend than nothing at all; to have a little piece of him, proof that at one point, you’d mattered enough to get it.

You just weren’t sure if you did anymore.

Where once Jack’s name was a regular occurrence, flashing on your phone screen—texts, calls, FaceTimes, they all faded once Brooke came into his life. Movie nights on his couch, reruns of old films that you could quote down to the last line, stopped. You knew Jack cared enough to extend invites, but at this point, you figured it was more out of pity and shame than actual want of your company.

Beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

Eventually, everyone made their way into the dining room. Chairs lined a large wooden table, one chosen and haphazardly assembled by you and Jack when he’d first bought this house. Scratches imbedded in the finish sent flashes of dropped hammers and clumsy feet into your mind, memories that felt too far to touch.

Mind far afield, you sat down—somewhere between Luke and Nico, far enough from Jack to be inconspicuous but close enough to feel the sharp burn of his eyes. It was petty, you knew, to have still not greeted him. Not that Brooke would’ve likely even let you. A sadistic part of you wanted him to feel even a modicum of the agony that rattled you whenever you were forced to watch him and Brooke, wanted to wonder and question why you were so cold.

Then again, maybe he didn’t care.

Body detached from your mind, the last thing you expected was to be spoken to—least of all by Brooke. But there her grating voice was, verging on overuse, but you knew that was just how she talked. Chafing and annoying and awful—

“Still no boyfriend?” A venomous smile curled her lips; friendly to the untrained eye. You knew better.

Your fingers twitched. The food in front of you spoiled, appetite evaporated. Of course she asked that—both a jab and a reassurance; if you had a boyfriend, her relationship with Jack would be safe. Not that it wasn’t, regardless.

You wished you could scream at her, leap across the table and force her to hear your words: you’d never have Jack. Want him, yes. Spend years pining over a boy who looked to you like the sister he never had, absolutely. But actually have him, feel his love in every touch and kiss? No. That wasn’t on the cards for you; you’d folded long ago.

“Nope,” you drawled. The pressure of Jack’s stare caved you—you caught his eyes, eyebrows creased, the wrinkle of his forehead that made itself prominent whenever he was annoyed.

What did he possibly have to be annoyed about?

Catching Luke’s gaze only irked you further, alit the urge to push out of your chair and flee Jack’s home. Pity swelled in his eyes, the beginnings of a frown quirking down his lips. You didn’t want pity; didn’t want to feel like the entire world was in on some inside joke you’d never understand. Everyone saw it, your love for Jack. Saw the lovestruck comedy that was your life—girl loves boy, boy isn’t even aware of it, hilarity ensues.

Everyone but Jack. And honestly, that was for the best.

You didn’t think you’d be able to handle the frown when he found out. Jack Hughes, always kind, never malignant, searching for a way to politely turn down his best friend without taking an axe to the connection. Really, there would be no bloodless way to let it die—so you lived in moments between, where nothing felt impactful or important or real.

When Jack was without Brooke, you could almost imagine he was your Jack—the one who turned down every girl so that he’d be free to go to prom with you, the one who got banned from a restaurant for life for pouring a drink over your cheating ex-boyfriend’s head. The Jack who always protected you, always cared, even when all of his friends couldn’t understand it.

That Jack who currently hand his arm around the back of Brooke’s chair, shoulders touching—a casual thing, something you’d done with countless strangers, yet it felt impactful enough to make bile swim in your throat.

“Probably for the best,” Luke interjected after the conversation—if it even was that—between you and Brooke came to an awkward stalemate. “Guys are dicks.”

A tension somehow always existed whenever you were in a room with Brooke. One you never wanted, never fed into. Like a shadow, the morning mist, it hung thick as smog. Choking you, nearly forcing you from the room.

“You’re a guy,” you laughed weakly, offering Luke a pointed look.

“No one at college, then?” Nico piped up. You felt bad for not looking at him, but he was too close to Jack and Brooke—you didn’t want to see them.

Cozy, warm in a way you thought only you’d ever be with Jack. Familiar, united. Their relationship didn’t seem as superficial as his past ones had, woven together under the pretense of good sex and no real connection. Watching Jack love his new, perfect girlfriend made you physically ill; and maybe that was dramatic, maybe it made you a backwards person with failing morals—you couldn’t care anymore.

Years of hiding your love, months of watching his own be poured into a girl that wanted you out of his life—it wore you down to your bones, dangerously close to burning to ash.

“Most of them are… strange, to say the least,” you responded with a wince. And that was true; your major seemed to just attract men whose one quality was making women uncomfortable. “Plus, having a boyfriend would just distract me. Finals are coming up and I’m already worried about how I’m going to do on them.”

Luke scoffed. “Hookups exist.”

A wince followed Luke’s words. Eyes fell to where Jessica was rubbing her hand—Jack apologized, albeit half-heartedly. Confusion overcame you; had he squeezed her hand too tightly?

In the past, you’d had boyfriends. Not that they lasted very long. Somehow, there was always something wrong with them—something only Jack could see; he’d endlessly nitpick, nag, explain why your newest boyfriend wasn’t good enough for you.

They were too old, too uptight, not nice enough. Always something. And without fail, Jack was right—scarcely did they make it past the first date before some measly excuse fell from their lips. But maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was you. So, with an aching heart refusing to connect with any other but Jack’s, you gave up. Delved headfirst into college work and stayed below the waves, even as they began to drown you.

All you offered in response to Luke was a shrug.

Conversation picked up then, thankfully fell away from you. Limelight sufficiently dimmed, you allowed yourself to watch Jack; a habit you’d never quite shaken, even in the embarrassing moments when he caught your peering gaze.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen in love with Jack—just that you had, and now you couldn’t touch the bottom of him. Water filled your lungs, suffocated you, but if drowning meant being near him, you’d happily do it. Dying in his platonic embrace seemed better than dying all alone.

Ruffled brown hair, the sort of charm that every boy-next-door seemed to possess, and clear blue eyes that shone every emotion like a transparent window to his soul—all of it made Jack Jack, the boy you loved, would admire even in moments he didn’t think he deserved reverence.

You’d seen it all: the self-deprecation after his failure of a rookie year, dwindling confidence, tears imbued with hurt and disappointment, frustration of someone who knew they were better. It was you who’d been by his side, proved an anchor to a person you couldn’t live without.

Yet he’d still chosen Brooke.

For most people, that would be the last step off the cliff, boneless body breaking against the canyon. Not you—so full of hope and dreams, undeterred by every sign the universe gave you. You weren’t his only, but at least you were one.

Jack’s lips parted into a smile, one you could tell was real—his kissed Brooke’s temple, pinched her on the side. An intimate moment in a crowded room. You felt almost as if you were trespassing, a stranger watching two people in love. Part of you didn’t even associate that boy as Jack, because you couldn’t understand how he could love someone so averse to you, so… mean. But then again, it wasn’t about you.

It was about him. Accommodations had been made for years—leaving parties early because you were uncomfortable, blowing off his guy friends to comfort you after a bad date, scrapping his wants and his plans because of something to do with you.

He was probably sick of it. Sick of you, dictating what he could and couldn’t do. Who he could and couldn’t date. Because who cared if Brooke hated you; Jack loved her, despite it all. And that was what made dread swirl into a storm in your heart, ribs nearly cracking under the rate it was thundering at.

Abruptly, you stood. Felt the chair nearly topple. Eyes came to you—Jack’s friends. Yours, yes, but Jack’s foremost. You were just intruding, butting into a life that no longer fit you. Time had passed, the wishful minds of children grown into adulthood. He didn’t owe you anything anymore, especially when all you were was a storm cloud over his parade.

Just as soon as you had, Jack stood, concern clear in his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Your tongue felt like lead. “Nothing—nothing, sorry. I’m—I need to use the restroom.”

You didn’t wait much longer before leaving the room.

Air felt scarce, lungs punctured and deflating quicker than you could patch the holes. Clumsily, you pushed open the door to the bathroom, steadied your shaking hands on the edge of the sink. Looking at yourself, reflection marred by the onset of tears, all you could do was compare—compare to Brooke, to every girl Jack had ever wanted, ever liked, ever loved.

Was it their features, doughy lips that worshipped him in a way you didn’t? Was it their bodies, womanly and free in a way you didn’t like to be? Or was it deeper, were their souls crafted from the same light, in a way you’d always thought your own had been with Jack’s?

Idiot, fool, dreamer—you were all of it. Like a lap dog, bird in its teeth, you always returned, remained dutifully at Jack’s side for the moment he might open the screen door and finally let you in.

Brooke had every right to hate you. Perceptive in a way Jack wasn’t, she saw what everyone else did—the lovesick eyes, foolish faith chaining you to him, an unrealized desire that would never be acted on. Had you been in Brooke’s place, you would’ve hated yourself as well.

Water poured from the faucet, gathered in your cupped palms. Attempting to desecrate any evidence of tears, you gently splashed the water in your face—went to dry it when you heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Bee.”

Cold crept up your spine. Eavesdropping was wrong—you knew that, yet still found yourself leaning against the bathroom door to catch Brooke’s words.

“What’s going on?” came the response, likely the voice of Bianca, Brooke’s best friend. You’d met her once at a game (met was a loose word; she’d given you a snide look and taken to ignoring you the entire time).

Brooke’s voice lowered to the point where you were forced to strain to hear her speak. “You know Jack’s little pet?”

A lapse. Your heart seized, taken by some concoction of shame and surprise.

“No.”

“Yes!” responded Brooke. “She’s fucking everywhere. I asked Jack not to invite her tonight, and lo and behold—”

“Wait, I thought you talked to Jack?”

“I did.” Vexation laced every letter. “I told him it made me uncomfortable how close they were, how she was always around, blah blah. He got defensive, but he said he’d talk to her.”

“Clearly not,” Bianca muttered. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re childhood friends, yeah? He probably feels like he has to stay her friend, or something. I mean, Jack’s a good guy, he wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone; if he dropped her, he’d look like a douche. I’m sure she’ll get the hint eventually.”

Footsteps began, voices fading along with them. “I fucking hope. It’s honestly pathetic.”

Blood roared in your ears, drowned out the sound of your beating heart—if it was even beating anymore. Something bitter and hot invaded your airways, lashed like whips against your flesh. It was no secret Brooke disliked you, disliked the closeness of you and Jack, but to hear it, the vicious way it fell from her lips—it made your gut twist and constrict, pushing bile towards your throat.

Pathetic. They thought you were pathetic, hopelessly waiting, like a dead plant praying for flowers that would never come. Lovelorn, seeking affection that only came by way of friendship and never more; they were right, and it became evident with a strike of lightning to your body.

Is that truly how Jack felt? Was he waiting for you to give up, so to spare you the hurt of being let down? Had you become baggage? Chained to him, the memory of childhood the only thing keeping you relevant, when times were less impactful and his life didn’t center around being a professional athlete. The stain of youth, remaining only for its joyful memory; that’s all you were now—a memory.

Just like your love, it seemed everyone saw Jack’s hints but you. Rose-colored lenses blurred everything but what you wished to see; of course you missed them, ignored them so your narrative remained intact.

God, you were an idiot. A fucking idiot.

Head pounding, the squeeze of an oncoming migraine rattling your brain, you opened the bathroom door. Felt like a trapped bird all the way back to the table—you just had to get through dinner, only an hour or two, so as to not raise any suspicion, and then you could fade from Jack’s life.

Not that he’d notice. He hadn’t even spoken to you tonight, though no fault of his own; Brooke kept her claws deep, and it was clear he didn’t want to risk an argument. Not that you could blame him—she was his girlfriend. Her. Not you. He didn’t owe you anything.

Conversations filled your ears, ostracized you—every time you had opened your mouth before, it had felt wrong, the scratch on a vinyl everyone skipped over. You saw him first—noticeably tense, chair a bit further away from Brooke that it had been earlier. Tensed forehead, hands balled on the table; you longed to ask what was wrong, as you were used to doing. But you imagined talking to him, and it somehow felt wrong, a peasant addressing a king.

Then, your eyes fell to your seat.

No longer empty, occupied now by Bianca, who was talking casually with Brooke, as if her actions hadn’t changed your entire perception of the situation. There were no more seats. No more room. The metaphor wasn’t lost on you, hit with the same sting of antiseptic on a wound—there wasn’t any more room for you at the table, just as there was no room for you in Jack’s life.

Maybe this was always meant to happen. Childhood didn’t remain forever, and it seemed, neither was your friendship. You’d always wondered why Jack had chosen you, someone so dissimilar to himself and his friends. Eventually, you made peace with it. His friendship was a balm to everything negative. Now… here you were again, more ostracized than ever.

What were you supposed to do? The long haul wasn’t meant to have an end.

Everyone was looking at you now. Stage fright, you lost your speech, thousands of eyes from a crowd looking at you, spotlight centered on your face, and you couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

Blue eyes found you, stood stonily at the entrance of the dining room. Jack’s eyebrows knitted, confused as to why you were still stood. When he saw Bianca, his lip curled. Frustration sparked, bemusement painted over. Once more that protective streak flared, something you were so used to—it had once felt the greatest trophy, proof that the Jack Hughes cared enough to stand up for you. It felt a sore consolation now, a reminder that, as always, you’d be the meek girl from his childhood he was forced to drag along, defend, shield from his new life that he fit into perfectly, that you spilled out from.

“Get up.”

Then, the attention went to him.

Brooke glanced at her boyfriend, annoyance flashing on her face. Their conversation paused. “What?”

Jack nodded towards Bianca. “She took her seat,” he explained in a clipped voice. “Get up.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Jack, it’s not a big—”

“It is,” he interrupted. Tension sparked in the air like a misfired firework. “She needs to sit and Bianca took her place, so—”

“It’s fine!” The words spilled out before you could second guess them. They came out raw and pained and everything you didn’t want to appear as; pity pooled from everyone, that sort of second-hand pity you saw on strangers faces when you’d lose your footing and fall.

It was too much. Pins dug into your skin, all of a sudden too tight. You needed to leave. Now, before your bones crumbled and heart gave out and finally everything burst.

“I—um, I should probably get going, anyway,” you said, nodding as if trying to be convincing. “With finals comin’ up I should get in as much studying as I can.”

Determination was something you’d always admired about Jack; it only irked you now. He stood, shrugged off Brooke’s outstretched hand and came to stand before you, and God—it was a disservice to not admire him, even as annoyance creased his eyes and drew inwards his lips. Beauty, in such a raw form, it startled you. Growing up, he’d always been the center of everyones attention. The hockey prodigy, the first overall draft pick, the franchise player for the Devils.

You? You’d been nothing special. Yet he’d still chosen you. And here he was, apparently doing it again—but why? Why when he had a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life and fun friends did he always come back, when clearly you were no more than a burden?

You tried not to seem spiteful. You did. But it was so hard to hide your wounds and ignore their pain. He may not have seen them, but they were unfortunately still there. And it seemed they always would be.

“You can’t,” he said, searched your gaze—he’d always been able to see straight through you, with such simplicity it frightened you. You tried to shuttered your expression, hide your pain. It wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have. “Dinner’s just started—”

“Really, J, it’s fine.” Heat bored into your face where you knew Brooke was staring, daring you to express any deeper connection with Jack past the sheltered friendliness you were currently forcing.

You weren’t going to budge. Jack saw that, and so he sighed and glanced out the window. “I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, God. Nothing was ever easy. Pushing and pushing and pushing until you weren’t sure you even wanted to get up anymore, to even try. Every time you did, right back down you went, encapsulated by everything Jack.

Freedom felt a forgotten thing. You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t love Jack, when he wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, main star of the play.

And honestly, you were tired. Tired of wishing for something that would never happen. Tired of being viewed as the shackle around Jack’s wrist. Just tired.

“No need,” you muttered noncommittally, saw the way Jack’s face twisted with concern and confusion and everything you didn’t want to see. “It’s your dinner, J. With my grandma driving, I’ll get home safe.”

The attempt at a joke didn’t land. Smile didn’t even begin to twitch his lips. “It’s dark outside,” he stated, an obvious fact that held no weight for anyone but you and him. “I always drive you when it’s dark.”

That was true enough; your inability to see properly at night meant Jack became your chauffeur, not that he ever complained—even still, it was another thing he did for you, time sacrificed to accommodate you. Prepared to leave his own dinner, his own girlfriend, just to make sure you didn’t have to do something you were uncomfortable with. Conceptually, it was sweet, a sort of gesture that would’ve normally made your heart soar. Now? It made you feel like a burden, an incapable little girl still hiding in the shadow of her protector, afraid of the sting of daylight.

No more.

“I’m going to be fine,” you reassured. Jack didn’t appear convinced—he never was satisfied when it came to you, to your safety, unless he was directly involved. “Stay and have fun.”

“What if—”

“Let her go, babe.”

Brooke’s voice proved the nail in the coffin; a part of you heard the undertone of excitement shot through her words, the possibility of your leave alleviating any annoyance your presence had brought. Without you, Jack’s attention would be fully on her. Without you, he wouldn’t have to concern himself on whether you were having fun and if you were okay.

You. You. You.

You’d considered yourself Jack’s anchor, the grounding of his mind—unfortunately, you’d forgotten an anchor also keeps a thing in place, forcing inactivity.

Let her go.

It rang like a death knell, struck sharp as a poisoned dart, invisible but so unmistakably fatal.

Gathering what remained of your dignity, you grabbed your purse off of your—Bianca’s—chair, caught the commiseration shining in Luke’s eyes like a tarnished trophy. It only stung, reminded you that you needed pity.

Before you could flee the room like a scolded dog, Jack caught your wrist. Heat bloomed, a fever rushing to your head—his simple touch made you sick with want and need and something deeper that would never be realized or fostered. Something you had to let die.

“Text me when you’re home,” he said softly. Fingers gently squeezed your wrist. Where once you’d feel comforted, you just felt trapped. “Please.”

Not trusting your words, all you did was nod.

Honestly, you’d expected some dark cloud to cover you when finally you decided to move on. A procession of funeral goers flocking like crows, unable to understand why you’d abandoned a years-long friendship over something insignificant. Over words spewed from hateful lips.

But it wasn’t what you’d overheard. Deeper, a more sharp knowledge that even if Jack loved you, held you closer than anyone in his circle of friends, he’d never want you in the way you desired. And for a while, that was okay. Because he existed separate of everything—and then came Brooke, and it all crumbled.

You could handle him not loving you. You couldn’t, however, handle him loving someone else so openly.

Street lights blurred behind tears, a mess of streaky lights like a watercolor canvas. Flashes of nights when Jack would drive you home, insisting on taking the wheel so that you didn’t have to toe out of your comfort zone, they haunted you like a inescapable film reel on repeat in your mind. Memories fogged by lost youth, angry words from Jack’s lips as he’d stand up for you—never a party person, denounced for draining the fun. Jack never let those insults slip lip before he was barking at whoever said it.

A responsibility. A burden. The lines had become blurred in recent years.

The latter seemed more fitting.

Through a barrier of tears, you were able to send Jack a text as your car rolled to a stop in the parking lot.

at my dorm

j :)

ok good. u ok? u seemed off @ dinner

Fingers hovered over your screen. Make movements to draft a text. Nothing seemed sufficient.

You let the text stale. Sit stagnant on your phone. Jack would likely worry, eventually call—you just wanted to fall into a void and never return. Not after the mess you’d made of dinner.

The mess you’d made of your life.

Making a ghost of yourself was far more difficult than you’d thought it would be.

Incessantly, Jack had texted you, called you—you didn’t answer any of them. Silence felt a balm to your shame. Selfish, you knew, to just ghost Jack without offering any explanation, but nothing would be sufficient, not without souring the connection you were hoping would die without pain.

Cowardice, craven, pathetic—you knew you were all of it. To you, you were giving Jack a chance to pull back, to fizzle the friendship of his own accord. Maybe then it would’ve stung less, if the desire of its end was reciprocated, mutual. As it were, it was not.

Even with your withdrawal, Jack still tried. Shot texts, called and punctuated them with voicemails, sent you TikToks and Snaps and everything he would normally do if everything was fine; but it wasn’t. And you knew he knew, could sense the urgency in his attempts at communication.

You felt dirty, filthy with shame and guilt.

Despite your best efforts, you didn’t appear as unaffected as you hoped. While your insides were shredding themselves, you tried valiantly to paint over your visage with the normal happy-go-lucky smile you always wore. Most people, if they noticed, didn’t comment on it.

Unfortunately, Kaylen did notice.

Since your freshman year of college, Kaylen had been your roommate—low maintenance, intelligent to the point of making you stupid without even trying. As such, she was far more perceptive than you gave her credit for.

There’d been times you confided in her about your feeling for Jack, sought out advice that never seemed good enough. Because no one but yourself could fix the valley that had split between Jack and you. You could seek outward help all you wanted, but nothing would change unless you did something—and, really, you weren’t sure that was even a good idea anymore.

Two days of moping resulted in Kaylen’s intervention.

“Get up.”

Sunlight bled through your shut eyes, forced a wince. Hands rolled you onto your back, the somewhat stiff mattress of your bed providing a measly cushion. Sleep intruded on, your hands extended, attempted to push away the figure you knew what trying to rile you.

“Go away,” you grunted, throat thickened by sleep and other terrible emotions.

“No,” Kaylen hissed. When finally you opened your eyes, her squinted expression invaded your vision. “Look, I’ve let you be miserable for two days, but it’s getting ridiculous. What the hell happened with you and loverboy?”

A jolt nearly paused your heart mid-beat. Thinking about Jack stung in a way you didn’t like to admit, mainly due to the fact that it was painfully embarrassing that he had such a control over you.

“Don’t call him that,” you muttered, bit your tongue to stop anything else from spilling out.

Kaylen’s eyebrows quirked. “So it is about him?”

Nails scraped your lungs. “No—yes—fuck,” you moaned, sitting up and balancing your forehead on bent knees. “It’s… all fucked up, K. I don’t know what to do.”

A sigh left her lips. You felt the bed dip as she climbed beside you. “I can help if you tell me.”

And so you did, started at the beginning of dinner to the end, as you left like a dog defeating in a cage match, heart crying blood. Comforting circles were rubbed into your thigh, but all they did was remind you how Jack used to trace shapes onto your leg, or arm, or back—how he touched you, just to know you were there, with him. He said it placated him.

It was shameful, how bile teased your throat even imagining it.

Rationally, you knew everything was your doing. Loving Jack, torturing yourself by being in his presence whilst he focused his attention on his girlfriend. Expecting any semblance of affection or intimacy even as another held his heart, branded her name over your own. It was always going to happen—knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

When finally you finished, the conclusion of your mournful, self-pitying tale followed by the sting of unwanted tears, Kaylen’s thoughtful silence waned. Her lips pursed, fingers twitching. You expected her to berate you; what had you expected, stupid girl? He has a girlfriend!

Instead, Kaylen hugged you. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulled back with that pitiful smile you’d seen one too many times—one you’d be fine with if you never saw again. “He cares about you—”

“Not how I care about him, though,” you finished, and Kaylen gave a weak nod.

“I mean, if you told him what Brooke and her little bitch of a friend said, I’m sure he’d leave her. He’s done more for less.” That much was true. Regardless of whose lips it came from, Jack didn’t tolerate disrespect towards you—cut long time friends off for assuming they had any authority to speak poorly of you.

And you knew—knew with the same certainty that you knew your own name—that Jack would break up with Brooke if he knew how she’d spoken of you.

That should’ve made you giddy. Bursted bright light in your chest at the prospect of having Jack to yourself once more. Instead, it made you feel heavy, sand packed into your bones. Who were you to invade his happiness? If he’d chosen Brooke, so be it.

Sure, she’d disparaged you, but Jack’s life wasn’t yours to dictate anymore. If he wanted Brooke, he’d have her, until he decided to leave—not because you decided for him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eyelids heavy, the residue of late-night tears remaining on the skin, you felt the fight leave you. Kaylen frowned. “I just want it all to be over.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Seriously? You’re giving up on an eight year friendship because of something some dickface said about you? I thought Jack meant more to you than that.”

Kaylen’s words stung. Made you defensive, because she was right—you were giving up and you did care about Jack, but the pain had become too much. “It’s not—it’s harder to explain than that. He’s outgrown me, K. Everyone can see it but him. I’m an obligation, a burden, and yeah, maybe he loves me as a friend and maybe he wants me around, but his friends never have—his fucking girlfriend doesn’t. And at this point, I just want it to end, I want him to be happy without the conditions of making me happy.”

Silence followed. Contemplation showed clear on Kaylen’s face. You could tell, even without her words, that she didn’t agree—but, she didn’t comment on that. Rather, she placed a hand on your leg and squeezed.

Just like Jack always did.

“It’s your life, babe,” she conceded. “And if you want to do this, I’m not going to stop you—but you have to be content with it.” She gestured to you, the nest of blankets and red-rimmed eyes. “Because this? This isn’t happiness over a good choice. You’re miserable without him, and it’s been barely two days. Think about what you’re doing before it’s irreversible.”

With that, Kaylen got up and went to her own bed, and neither of you made comment of it for the rest of the day.

Her words came again and again like a fractured turntable. Of course you were miserable—Jack had been a constant in your life for eight years, consistently preserving your peace, including you when you’d never felt more like an outsider. Happiness was synonymous with Jack, his smile, his presence, him.

Did you regret your decision? Yes, and no. You regretted the way you’d gone about it. The petty silence, ignoring a person who’d made your younger years bearable. Your friendship deserved a better death than that, a reason rather than just… fading from existence, as if it never mattered in the first place.

That wasn’t the message you wanted conveyed, and so with fingers unsteadied by aftershocks, you texted Jack.

You weren’t sure how you’d explain, if you could tiptoe around the actual reason. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe that was okay.

i’m so sorry for everything. i’ll explain in person. can we meet up?

Your response came half a second later. As if he were waiting. That selfish part of you prayed he had been.

j :)

ofc. my place tn?

yeah. that’s good. brooke won’t be upset?

Asking after her made you want to puke, but you knew it was necessary—she didn’t like Jack even breathing near you, having an entire sit down conversation with him was certainly out of the question.

Thrice, the little text bubble appeared and disappeared on your phone screen. You could sense the apprehension without any background knowledge.

j :)

not a problem. we broke up.

It was shameful, the backwards type of pleasure that brought you.

Maybe you were a terrible person. A terrible friend. You tried to reason that it wasn’t wrong to love someone, to wish they were yours.

shit j. i’m sorry

j :)

i’m not. i’ll see u tn. 7:30 work? have dinner w the guys.

yeah, that’s fine. see you soon, j.

j :)

be safe. i’ll text you when i’m home.

The hard part wasn’t even over, and your heart was already breaking in two.

Sweat beaded at your palms, the cold claws of apprehension raking down your spine. Countless times you’d been stood here, facing the lifeless beige of Jack’s apartment door. This time, however, you stood here knowing it was the last time. A silent farewell to familiarity, the ties finally cut. Jack would fight, you would cry, and maybe he’d be able to change your mind—it seemed such an unlikely outcome that it calcified every inhale in your throat.

Shaking hands rapped the wooden door, where behind would come the execution of a friendship you’d held like a crutch for years upon years. Your childhood had died, and maybe it would’ve been better had it been left there as well, so as to spare you this heart-rending pain.

Even still, you wouldn’t have traded those years for the world—everything they taught you, through pain and happiness. It made you who you were, brought you to his doorstep with melancholy eyes and a failing heart.

Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, urgent in a way that picked up your heart rate. The next moments you imagined with brutal clarity—Jack’s hopeful gaze, blue in a way no one else’s ever had been, the soft slope of his nose you teased him for, scrunched whenever he was particularly concerned. How he’d usher you in, hear your words, plead for a moment to explain, and then admit his love for you.

That was how you dreamt it. Unsurprisingly, it was not how it went.

Instead of the door opening to reveal the man you’d love for a lifetime, the squealing hinges were followed by a face that nearly knocked you backwards. Previous indifference smeared into flat-out disdain as Brooke’s eyes caught your figure, engulfed in one of Jack’s faded hoodies and likely disheveled in a way she’d never experienced herself.

Arrows punctured your lungs, sole your breath and defaulted your barely beating heart. Brooke was here. At Jack’s apartment. After they’d supposedly broken up. Had he lied? Was he tricking you, making you the fool? He never would, you knew that, but your wounded mind spun falsities to perpetuate your pain, as if punishment for trusting him in the first place.

“What do you want?” Brooke grunted, leant against the doorframe. Lips twitched into a smirk, the smile of the victorious.

You’d never considered yourself a violent person, but the urge to punch her in the teeth itched your fists. “Is Jack here?”

Her face fell. Something dark flashed in her face—she hesitated a moment, tossed a look over her shoulder. “Yes.”

The curt response was better than nothing, you supposed. “Right, well, can you tell—”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair. Adjusted the clasp of her necklace. “We were kind of in the middle of something. Come back later?”

The axe struck down.

Gravel filled your throat. Suffocated you. If Brooke knew the affect of her words, for once it didn’t show on her face. Years of life had taught you many things, drug you through agonies you wouldn’t relive for anything, yet somehow, this was the worst pain.

To be betrayed, trust snapped by a single action, it stung. Wormed venom in your veins and contaminated your bloodstream, poisoning your heart. Realistically, Jack hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to hook up with other girls, to love them—he had, for years.

That wasn’t the issue.

No, it was the fact that he’d set a time, invited you over, and somehow forgot? Or had he set it all up, just to rub it in your face, get his lick-back for your prolonged silence towards him? Either way, it hurt, hurt like a bitch.

Made stone, all you did for a moment was blink at Brooke before a voice called from the background, “Who is it?”

Jack.

Fright found you then, broke away your shell of stone. You couldn’t let him see you, the dog wishing once more to come in from the cold. If he’d planned it, and saw you, he knew he’d won. If he hadn’t planned it, then he realized that—irrecoverably—he fucked up. Both choices felt like a criminal trial you didn’t want any part of.

“I—um—have a good night,” you rushed out, feet stumbling over themselves as you practically ran away from Jack’s door.

So much for closure.

So much for being broken up.

Maybe this was your sign. The one you needed to finally pull away.

Because Jack Hughes didn’t love you. Not past platonic soulmates—a relationship stained with past memories, ones that made both of you incapable of letting go, even as you outgrew it.

You were done being second best. Done trying to squeeze into a place you didn’t fit anymore.

If Brooke was Jack’s choice, so be it. You didn’t want any part of it anymore.

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crossbackpoke-check · 6 months ago

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sorry i’m literally never going to shut up about this

he’s pointing at the bjuck (boone jenner truck)

#i promise we will get back to the hockey soon. pinky swear. i DO have side blogs for a reason but also this is me like listen i CARE about #joe pavelski retiring and the mattmcdrai cup final and will eventually be on here for more than two minutes to function and reply to things #but i am experiencing profound joy currently & i want to share it with y’all 💕💕#also i didn’t say it on the bleachers one but I’m saving it for myself and the fact that i will likely actually work on #popstar jack #because summertime is concert and festival season but the bleachers playing around and fucking off to play an unreleased christmas song #mid set is the vibe i am conveying with the gear head interview me @ me #also i think it could be cute to give jack and the new devils something like roses are falling and because i love to throw little nods to #reality in i think if they did like a. stars of the night that could objectively be hilarious. yung gravy leftover Taco Bell moment.#liv in the replies #not making this its own post because idk it seemed less bothersome if they were connected #we will see if i leave it up in the morning but ok ily good night!!!!!

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sugrhigh · 9 months ago

Text

BOY NEXT DOOR 4 - ( c.s )

part three

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- cursing, slightly suggestive MEOW

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: PART FOUR! i promise u guys are not ready for what’s coming next 🫨 thank u to everyone who’s been reading along i love u all so very much!! my inbox is always open and i hope ur having a wonderful day (also doesn’t that first pic look so much like chris i screamed)

@cutenote @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @breeloveschris @l9vesick @bb-1s-blog @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @annamcdonalds67 @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @hearts4matty @orangeypepsi @luckistar-posts @angelworldspost @ponyosturniolo @rainyenthusiastdaze @cupidsword @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @mattswrld @yoursopretty15 @poopydroopt @latinasforchrizz @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @hearts4chris @rubyjaneaxx @reallykaz @sturnlvrs

“wow, someone looks extra hot tonight.” cassidy comments as she walks into your room, which is laughable coming from her.

she’s an angel, literally glowing in her multi-colored halter. you swear you shop at the same places, and yet she somehow always finds the gems.

“god, says you.” you joke, unable to keep a straight face as you stand up from your desk.

but you’re all done up too, dressed in a red tube top and some black jeans that flare out a little, hugging your hips just right. and yeah, you’re a bit smug knowing that you’re going to chris’s party looking extra great, but you embrace the post-pregame confidence.

“are you sure you want to go? we really don’t have to.” cass asks as you pass by her into the upstairs hallway.

“i mean, why not? i can never turn down free alcohol.” you shrug, and it’s part of the truth.

paying for yourself at the bar is never as fun, and the chances of somebody buying your drinks is usually slim. plus it’s on shithead’s tab tonight, which makes it that much sweeter.

“i totally agree. i just…” her smile falters a little, and she sighs, “i just don’t want you to get hurt or anything.”

it makes you pause, hearing her say that. you’d ended up talking to both of your roommates after chris came knocking on your bedroom door, and they’d been rightfully wary of his excuse.

but her words kind of confirm your worries; that chris is someone to be feared, someone to keep at a distance. like you won’t be able to resist the charm.

like you’ll fall.

“he can’t hurt me if i don’t let him.” you reply, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince her or yourself.

“okay, i won’t push it. i know you’re tough, but i can’t help but check in.” cass nods at you before you head down the stairs.

“i appreciate it, but i’m good, so let’s go get bombed.” you’re grinning again, still buzzing from the two drinks you’d finished while doing your makeup.

ramona is already downstairs, bopping along to the beat of the music she has playing on the tv. she’s midway through a shot of tequila as you round the corner to the kitchen, swallowing so she can bite down on a slice of lime with her free hand.

you and cassidy both chuckle at the grimace that passes over her face.

“you ready party animal?” cass teases.

“always.” she replies once she’s calm, placing the tiny glass into the sink before screwing the cap back onto the bottle of alcohol.

each of you shove your old beat up shoes onto your feet, and mona turns off the television seconds after. you can still feel the bass vibrating, but you know it’s coming from the house beside you, which makes your heart jump into your throat.

you walk out the door, one behind the other like a row of ducks as you trample through the thin layer of snow from a few days prior.

tonight, you can tell chris has his own mix on, because you recognize the yeat song that’s currently playing. you’ve always liked his taste more than the others.

you’ll never admit that to him, though.

it’s way louder now that you’re up close, and you can literally feel the party raging. ramona leads the pack, stepping inside and swinging the door open for the rest of you.

the darkness swallows you once you step inside, but your eyes adjust quickly. you recognize some people as you shift through the crowd, regulars who are usually here and a couple of guys on the team.

you try not to look for chris, instead choosing to focus on the back of ramona’s head while you guys shuffle to the kitchen for drinks. there’s a few people chatting as you step through the archway, one of them being ben. his sandy blonde hair is pushed away from his face, and he smiles at your arrival.

“hey there neighbors!” he greets each of you guys with a side hug, clearly already drunk even though it’s only eleven.

you just thank god he set his cup down, because you know he would have spilled it all over.

“benjamin, always a pleasure.” cassidy laughs at his slightly sloppy demeanor.

“chris is gonna be really happy.” ben shoots a smirk your direction, and you roll your eyes, opting to move to the bottles of cheap vodka on the counter.

“i really don’t care.” you snark, pouring a hefty bit of alcohol into your cup before setting the handle back down.

“feisty tonight, woah!” he holds his hands up in surrender.

your friends follow close behind, making their own drinks and pouring them equally as strong.

“where’s your girl, benny? haven’t seen her around in a minute.” ramona asks with a small smile, clearly trying to change the subject.

“she’s out at the bar. girls night or something.” ben shrugs as you add some sprite to your drink and take a sip.

it’s extremely bitter even with the mixer, but you choke it down and deal with the burn. you’re still not tipsy enough, so you’re playing catch-up to try and reach the level you want to be at.

mona nods at this as she slides back up next to you, cassidy joining moments later when she’s done making her drink.

“well, tell her to come around soon, i miss her.” she requests.

“i miss her too, i’ll pass the message along.” ben points a finger at her like he’s locking in a promise, loopy grin morphing his features.

“alright, we’re going to dance, but i’m sure we’ll see you later.” cass waves her free hand goodbye before you all make your way back into the masses, shoving your way into the living room.

it’s pretty packed tonight, as usual, and a sheen layer of sweat already covers your skin. you run a hand through your hair while cassidy meshes into the crowd, making enough room for you guys to move around.

bodies bump against yours as you all dance to the music together, sipping your drinks and laughing at each other’s silly moves. you swear you’ve seen connor now too, and yet you still haven’t spotted chris.

you suppose this is a good thing, because the sensation of being inebriated is only just beginning to wash over your body, and you don’t want to deal with him sober.

so you dance, and drink, and dance and drink some more, letting the hazy lights illuminate you as you bop around with your friends.

you’re knocking back the last of your fifth beverage of the night when you feel someone come up behind you, hand snaking to hold your waist gently. your first assumption is chris, and your heart leaps into your throat, but you’re wrong.

it’s a guy you don’t recognize. his black tapered hair is a mess on his head as he gazes at you hungrily.

“dance with me?” he asks over the music.

cassidy and ramona are seconds away from stepping in, but you shake your head at them to indicate you’re fine. for once, you don’t really mind being hit on, especially because he’s kind of cute and you’re definitely drunk.

it’s not like it means anything anyways.

so you back up slightly, his front flush against your spine as you move your hips, rolling them into his own.

your friends grin devilishly as the two of you sway together, so close it almost feels like you’re one person. his hand presses flat against your stomach, holding you so he can feel the friction of your ass grinding against him.

you swear it’s only been a second before the crowd parts slightly, revealing a pissed-off looking chris as he barrels his way past the other people in the living room. his eyes are ablaze, and he yanks you away from the mystery man the second he’s close enough.

“get lost, jamie.” he snaps at the boy you were with, whose eyes are wide in fear now.

he must be an underclassman then, because he scurries away instantly, too scared to stand his ground against the captain of the team and the host of the party.

“what the fuck, chris? i was having fun.” you cross your arms over your chest, slurring ever so slightly as you glare at him.

he doesn’t respond to this; instead, his chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, and his dark gaze trails up and down your body. he grabs your wrist and tugs you toward the staircase without a reply.

your friends watch in awe as he drags you away, though neither of them bother to interfere. they’re swallowed by the swarm moments later, and your stomach flips at the fact that they’re gone.

it’s just you and him now.

the foyer blurs by as you reach the stairs, and you nearly stumble trying to keep up with his pace. you’ve only just made it to the privacy of the upstairs hall when chris drops your arm, whirling around to face you.

“what is wrong with you?”

your mouth falls open slightly at his tone, at how animalistic he looks standing before you, blocking you against the wall. his white shirt is unbuttoned slightly, and you can smell that fucking dior on him.

“what the hell does that mean?” you retaliate, already flushed in anger.

“i didn’t even know you could dance like that, let alone with my teammate.” chris snarls.

“everyone can dance, and i had no idea he was on the team. it’s not like you were talking to me anyways.” you stand your ground, meeting his judgmental gaze head on.

“did you want me to?”

“i mean, you’re the one who invited me to this stupid party, so i kind of expected to at least see you.” you tell him truthfully, and you know it’s the alcohol talking now.

“one second you hate me and the next you’re angry i’m not giving you attention. i can’t figure you out, and it drives me fucking crazy.” he continues to stare down at you in frustration, glancing between your eyes and your lips.

you hate how fast your heart is slamming against your ribcage. every time he’s this close to you it’s like the air is sucked out of the room. you can’t even breathe.

“why did you really pull me away, chris?” you ask quietly.

you already know the answer, but you want to hear him say it out loud for once.

“because you should only be moving that pretty ass of yours against me.” his voice is low, and he takes a step forward.

you cancel out his movement, completely backed up against the wall now. he can’t help but let his eyes roam down to your chest, to your exposed cleavage.

you’ve been taunting him all night, though you weren’t even aware. chris has just been watching you in your element, staying to himself and letting you do your thing with your friends for a bit.

after his last conversation with you he felt like maybe he should back off, but then seeing you with somebody else was even worse. it shouldn’t be this way, he shouldn’t be so fucking obsessed so soon.

but you’re looking at him with those wide eyes, soft lips parted, and there’s no way to resist. one hand travels to the back of your neck and the other grabs at your waist, pulling you into his own hips as he smashes his mouth to yours.

it’s somehow even more passionate than the first time, messy and rough, how you both like it most. chris bites down on your bottom lip as he pulls away a minute later, kissing your cheek and jaw, then down your neck.

his cold fingers make their way underneath the hem of your shirt as you feel his teeth close down on the sensitive skin. a strangled moan escapes your mouth before you can bite it back.

“i like that sound a lot, princess.” he says into your ear before his lips focus on that hollow sweet spot you love so much.

you know he’s going to leave a mark, but it feels so good you don’t care. yet you choke down the whimper you feel crawling up, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing how much you like it.

“c’mon, i know you want to.” he mumbles against your throat, and you can literally feel him smirking.

arrogant bastard. two can play at this game.

you put your hands on his chest so you can drive him backwards into the opposite wall. he’s surprised by you taking the lead, and you press your body flat against his, connecting your mouths roughly once more.

chris’s hands roam to grip your ass, a delicious pressure that you shouldn’t enjoy so much. your fingers nimbly travel to the waist of his jeans, and you feel his body tense under your touch.

you can’t help but grin into his lips as you move your hand lower, underneath the band of his boxers, grazing the warm skin of his hip tantalizingly slow.

you shift your focus to his own neck, sucking harshly and running your tongue over his skin until you finally hear him groan, a noise that you relish. his fingers dig into your flesh harder, and you can feel him grind against your thigh.

but you already got what you wanted, so you break away and take a step backwards. the shock on chris’s face after your abrupt departure is clear, his lips raw and hair tousled.

“and you had the nerve to imply that i’m the one who wanted this.” you smile and shake your head, making a move toward the stairs.

“you’re seriously just going to leave?” he asks in disbelief, which makes you turn.

“what did you think was going to happen, chris?” you smirk, tucking a stray hair behind your ear before swiping your thumb along your bottom lip.

his own mouth slowly turns up as he stares at you with a certain kind of ferocity in his eyes, adjusting his shirt and running a hand through his messy hair.

“nothing, i guess. but whatever we didn’t get to will happen eventually, you know.”

“no, it won’t.” you reply, a bit too quickly to be convincing.

“i think it will. who knows, maybe next time you’ll let me use my mouth somewhere else.” chris says lowly, hand ghosting across your hip as he passes by you, looking over his shoulder at you with an expression of self-satisfaction.

then he heads back down the stairs, vanishing around the corner like nothing had even happened.

days ago you were swearing up and down that you’d never kiss him again, that nothing would happen. and now you’re standing alone in his house while the music thumps, knees weak and breathing heavy with a hickey on your neck.

the scariest part of all is that you’re still craving more, even though you don’t want to.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #hockey!chris #hockey au #neighbor au #new series #fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets smut

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hsficrecommendation · 1 year ago

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Hello everyone! This is masterlist #4, #5 and #6 (Cont. Of June, then Sept, and Oct 2023!) for all the fics I have reblogged on this side blog I hold super close to me. Remember to leave feedback and reblog all the writings below!

Also, a huge thank you to all the writers mentioned, I adore you so very much and I hope you keep writing for yourselves <3

••• JUNE (Part 2!) •••

Stablehand!Harry x Princess!Y/n | Part 2 | Part 3 | Harry loathes Y/N and she's just a little tease. - @angelsanddaisies

Poetry In Your Mailbox | Part 2 | Part 3 | Y/N and the rest of her nosy neighborhood friends ogle at the man who just moved in next door — a man of mystery, silence, and someone who seemingly doesn’t want anything to do with his neighbors… until Y/N begins to receive anonymous mail. - @episkystyles

Changes | ♡♡ Harry returns home. Based on- Changes by Cam. - @hes-writer

Prince!Harry x Princess!Y/n | Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is insufferable. - @novelistrry

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes | Every Rose has its Thorns | Petals and Prompts | Harry’s a prince looking for his princess… but perhaps she isn’t inside the ball. Includes: flowers and gossip and promises and true love’s kiss. - @jarofstyles

Out by the Docks | Underneath the Stars | ♡ A story of clandestine meetings, conspiracies, and stolen glances by the sea. (Princess!Y/n x Spy!Harry) - @fishnets-fingers

Dentist The Bad Boi | ♡ Harry’s a med-student and Y/N’s an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant – he mighty looses it. - @muffindaddystyles

The Empowering Hearts | ♡♡ In which you're a lonely model until you meet a baker. - @havethetimeofyourstyles

••• SEPTEMBER •••

Say It | in which a new relationship sparks up in the restaurant. - @havethetimeofyourstyles

The Joker and The Queen | In which Harry is a florist, has a crush on the baker next door and dreads his Birthday. - @harrysonlylover

Breaking the Ice | It's no secret that as a figure skater, you're fed up with the local hockey team being treated like royalty... and your ex's status as a player isn't helping much either. - @purplekiwis

Harry is a young professor and Y/N has never felt this kind of attraction before - @novelistrry

••• OCTOBER •••

Stop Thinking so Much | In which Harry teaches english and some poetry is hard to pick apart. - @meetevieinthehallway

Dog Days are Over | ♡ In which Y/n and Harry walk their dogs in the same park. Though, over the course of time, buying each other coffee turns into something more. - @nationalharryleague

The Witching Hour | ♡ Despite Harry being the witch in this situation, maybe his crush on gemma's new friend was going to be the most bewitching thing he ever encountered. - @moonchildstyles

Nest | Harry is y/n's best friend. He also happens to be an alpha. Spending a week at his place has her brain doing weird things. - @moonchildstyles

Pebbles and The Scarecrow | ♡ In which Harry doesn’t like Halloween until a certain pair of trick or treaters knock on his door. - @havethetimeofyourstyles

Banana Pancakes | Nanny!Harry falls in love with his little girl, and the mother of his little girl. - @ill-be-your-honey-bri

Golden | In which Y/n's life is dark but the Harry, The Fae King, sees she's golden. - @angelisverba

Better man - Harry and Y/n are famous and dating. Now, Harry is attending a party just 'cause he knows that Y/n would surely be there, and Y/n seems to be escaping her date so hard that she meets Harry outside the bathrooms. - @bopbopstyles

Masterlist for more recs! My Writing account - @0oolookitsme

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles fluff

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allied-mastercuntputer · 9 months ago

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unexpected.

after your planned date with tim takes an unexpected turn, you show him just how full of surprises you are…

word count: <500

warnings: not proof read…i kinda raw dogged this :p no use of y/n

notes: omg first thing of writing on here…im an autobiographical writer, haven’t touched fanfic since i was like 10. with that being said if i proof read it i won’t have the guts to post it. there will be better writing on my blog i promise. also super late for valentine’s day but it rained when i love the day of and no other day of the week n i thought it was funny.

“You told me you checked the weather Tim.”

You had called your boyfriend to let him know that a picnic wasn’t going to work. As soon as you woke up, the noise of rain pattered on your apartment’s roof, hitting you with the reality that being outside wasn’t an option.

“I did! Today is the first time this month it’s rained! But uhhhh should we do the Mary’s?” He tried to remedy the situation with the Italian restaurant in your university neighborhood.

“We go there all the time, can we do something special since it’s Valentine’s Day baby?” You smiled into the phone receiver. You knew he melted into man pudding when you called him baby and used that tone.

“Oh uhh-“ evidence of your work, “Anything you want. Maybe the rink and then hot chocolate after?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled, perfect time to show Tim what he didn’t know about you on the ice.

❅ ❅ ❅

Tim came to pick you up, you made sure to put on a raincoat. Not only to protect yourself from getting soaked, but also to reveal your outfit to your boyfriend in the car.

“Oh look at you, expecting to get some laps in?” He joked at the expense of your lululemon attire

“I like my pink define jacket, thank you very much”

“Hey! I like it too, definitely…tight. Hugs the right pla-“ You slap him on the shoulder, “Ow! Do you even know how to skate babe?”

This was your moment. Should you lie and wow him? Or should you tell the truth and loose your novelty? You lie.

“No actually, you’ll have to teach me.”

“That’s great actually, then you can’t let go of me-“ he smiled like an idiot before you interrupted him

“Don’t push it”

“Yes ma’am”

❅ ❅ ❅

You try not to be suspicious. ‘Act like you’re nervous, get shaky the first few minutes-‘

“Hey babe, need help with your skates?” Tim is an angel. As much as he likes to talk dirty, he genuinely cares and you always know it.

“Oh uhm, yes please”

“No problem.” he got on his knees and laced your skates up, “They need to be super tight, but not so tight you can’t bend your knees beyond a certain point.” Nobody could wipe the smile he had off his face. He was just happy to be teaching his girlfriend how to skate on Valentine’s Day.

“Thank you Tim. I feel like Cinderella, only my shoe has a sharp blade on it and my prince charming doesn’t know how to check the weather.” You giggle at his expense

“Im sure I’m a much better prince charming than whatever that guy had going on. Now stand up and see if it’s comfortable.”

“Perfect! Oh! I mean uhhh-“ You can’t let the jig be up, “Ouch super tight but I’ll be okay!”

Tim looks at you funny, but thought nothing if it, “Alright let’s go.”

❅ ❅ ❅

You can’t even stand it. You’ve been pretending to be awful at skating for almost 30 minutes. The real truth? You were on a figure skating scholarship just like how Tim was on a hockey one. You’d been skating since middle school and it had become a sport you loved deeply. You and Tim had been together for eight months, but the topic never really came up due to you thinking there were far more important things to your character.

“Can I try by myself?” your posture was awful, but it as about to be perfect in about 5 seconds

“Remember what I taught you about falling on your butt and not your face?”

It took so much not to roll your eyes, “Ill try not to fall because you like both of those things about me. think I’m okay.”

“Great! Let’s see you do 5 feet ahead. Go at any pace you want.”

You nodded, kissing him on the cheek. You immediately shifted into better posture, stopped shaking , and started skating at the pace you wanted, like he said. You begin with fluid crossovers, transitioning into quick footwork. With a push, you launch into a simple jump, landing with precision. You could feel the air whipping past your face as you gained speed. Your body twists and turns effortlessly, soon you’re skating circles around your boyfriend, who couldn’t do anything but look at you in shock. You stop right next to him.

“Was that okay?”

“Was that okay?? What are you doing studying here! People get injured all the time at the olympics I’m sure you could fill in and it would make no difference” He laughed in complete shock, “How long have you been skating for?

“More than 10 years”

“We should definitely take this to my place. You’ve won my heart. Not that you didn’t before I just- let’s go babe.”

“No I’m actually having so much fun!”

#matthew lillard #tim laflour x reader #tim laflour #tim laflour x you #tim laflour fluff #senseless 1998 #tim laflour fic

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fairyhaos · 1 year ago

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how seventeen let their s/o win a game

requested by anon: omg i loved the scenario of letting svt win at a game!!! it made my day - and your blog overall gives off warm and cozy vibes :)! if you don’t mind, what would be the ways you think svt would let their s/o win at a game/succeed at something they (y/n) are normally not good at?

notes: counterpart to this post

masterlist

seungcheol

he's not letting you win under any circumstances. you've been losing to him less terribly these days, anyway, and during the last air hockey match you played he only won by five points. he's 100% certain that you will eventually be able to win against him, and he wants that to happen on its own, because of your own merit, rather than because he went easy on you and let you have a victory.

jeonghan

so, so weak for you. literally he could be a master at that game but when you tell him you've never won before, he's immediately toning down his play and letting you win. honestly he never really gets competitive against you because he gets the most joy out of seeing you happy after a victory

joshua

do aegyo for him and then he promises that he will let you win. no no no, you can't say no, you have to do the aegyo and then he'll consider what to do. makes you do three cute poses, one song, one dance, before eventually laughing and kissing your head and saying yeah okay he'll let you win rock paper scissors for doing the dishes

junhui

you wanna win??? ofc!! you gotta still work for it tho, he's not gonna let you win immediately. ends up playing with you for ages, partly because he really does enjoy playing games and partly because he likes seeing you whine when you struggle. still lets you win in the end tho, asks if you're up for a rematch and pouts when you say no

hoshi

teases you endlessly about how terrible you are at playing this one card game against him. he's teasing you so much that you don't even realise you're winning until the game is over and he's grinning cheekily and wiggling his eyebrows before he laughs as you throw yourself into his arm in thanks because this is the first time ever that you've managed to win against him

wonwoo

goes "oh no, i lost" in a completely flat voice as he smiles at you. made an effort to not make it ridiculously easy while you're playing, but at the last moment he backed down a little to let you take the victory, and honestly even though he might have been able to make a new record if he didn't back down, seeing you whoop and kiss his cheek happily makes him the happiest

woozi

no, you're not winning against him. he's good at ball games like this, okay, and if you wanna be good too then you gotta play properly, baby. coaches you through it while you play, and even though you don't manage to win you still manage to play better than before, and he grins and asks if you wanna play again

minghao

thinks that you're honestly rather adorable when you pout and sulk over having lost to him in a game but, one day, he decides to take pity on you and lets you win instead, and the radiant smile that lights up your face has him wondering why he didn't let you have an easy win way, way sooner

mingyu

i dunno, i think that if you're bad at this game then he's probably bad at it too, so there's always a 50/50 chance that either of you win. even if he intentionally goes easy on you, it's not gonna help that much bc you're both so terrible at playing that the game still ends up going on for another hour before someone emerges the winner

dokyeom

is terrible at feigning innocence, makes it incredibly obvious that he's letting you win. still stubbornly keeps up the act, even when you tell him that you know what he's doing. acts the most surprised when you win, making you laugh because he's just so insistent that you won entirely by yourself

seungkwan

you're gonna have to beg this man to let you win because he's not doing it himself. what can he say, he has a competitive streak, but if you ask him enough times then his resolve will eventually crumble. didn't make the rest of the game easy for you tho, because an easy victory is the same as a loss in his books

vernon

this man is always letting you win against him, no matter what game you're playing. he'll put in the effort, definitely, but especially when it comes to games that you're not particularly good at, then he's coaching you during the game play or making moves that put him at a disadvantage because he really adores seeing you happy when you win

chan

tells you he's gonna go so hard on you and make it impossible for you to win, and then he ends up doing the exact opposite. his grin gradually gets wider as you gain the upper hand, and by the end of the game he looks even happier than you by the fact that you've managed to beat him

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reactions tags: @jeonginssa @magicaltonaru @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @turningcarat @zarara @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @iheartyujin @summery-bat @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @ejspencer14 @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @saythename-chess @yonabutnotyuna @youthoughtiwasfeelingyou @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @sunshinekyeom-sang @ocyeanicc @zozojella @thesmellofcoffeeandrain @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @nananacomeonnnn @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @hansolaria @gam3bo1z @marisblogg @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt

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malk1ns · 4 months ago

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Seeing people talk about how there’s “no good hockey RPF anymore” and “I guess there are some fics but nobody is posting or active” is really kind of insulting? There are lots of good fics being posted every day, and really good active sidgeno writers…just because it’s not who used to be super active doesn’t mean there’s nothing going on or nobody worth reading, following, and getting to know?

I don’t know it’s kind of hurtful to see people say that like…we’re right here! If you don’t read what’s getting posted and you don’t follow the links back to our blogs you won’t know I guess, but we’re here, I promise! And I think we’re pretty good!

#I need to get my rec blog back up and running #recs are a LOT of work and I’ve had so much personal upheaval recently that it was hard and I needed a break #but if multiple people really think that fandom is dead…I mean that makes me sad. so I want to fix it #this is why reblogs are important btw! just liking a fic posted here doesn’t help it go anywhere #and that’s how communities die #don’t just like; reblog!#hockey rpf

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moregraceful · 2 months ago

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the thing is this blog and the cuda blog go far and wide in terms on interest but i am at all times one hurtful interview from having a meltdown about mario ferraro...he was so excited to be here...BRENT BURBS WAS HIS MENTOR...slowly everyone he loved or was mentored by got traded...then he had to do it alone while cooch was gone!!! um with mikael granlund and luke kunin. but he was alone!! today ouagh "we owe them better after the last five years" MARIO YOU HAVE ONLY BEEN HERE FIVE YEARS!! DOES IT HURT TO BE THE ONE WHO WAS CHOSEN TO BEAR WITNESS TO THE END OF ONE DYNASTY AND THE HUMBLE BEGINNINGS OF AN NEW AGE!! all these damn ass prospects and young guys talking about how excited they are, how they've never felt this way about the beginning of a season how they're gonna do it for the city the fans they're gonna bring back hockey to san jose.....mario do you feel that same sense of wonder and promise!! mario is there somewhere within you the echo of the young kid who took his best friend to the top of a mountain in marin on a off day during the covid season to say look at the bay area: it's ours......????

#if they don't give him the c after cooch i'm rioting #also if grier trades him. even thinking about that makes me want to throw up #also i briefly thought i was having a panic attack bc my chest felt tight and i was like am i for real abt to throw up over mario ferraro #then realized i tied my dog's baby bjorn too tight to my chest so i can't. breathe #i love him so much 😭😭😭😭#mario not my dog #i mean i love my dog too but his elbow is currently jammed into my ribcage and he won't move it even when i try #i wouldn't put mario in a baby bjorn he is too big #''damn ass prospects'' we are heading into season 4 of the william eklund experiment if you count the 9 games he played in 2021 #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #hockey for ts #san jose sharks /

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nerdraging4point0 · 7 months ago

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Power Play // Chapter Eight // Hockey-Omens AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @curse-bearing-hips @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx @darkmxgician @sammyjoeee @malerieee @embracethereaper42 @nerdywitch20 @graveatspeople @sacredthefran @dominuslunae @skulliecadaver-blog @anameunmusical @thatchickwiththecamera @missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @lilrubles @iknownothingpeople @talialovesmiw @deathofpeaceofmiiind @shaydayhere @wild-child-7747

As I shuffle from foot to foot, waiting impatiently, the massive sphere looms over me, slowly turning to showcase the etched lettering that reads Universal Studios. The brilliant water show happening just behind me provides a melodic backdrop, but does little to soothe my growing unease. Across the way, crowds of excited guests pour through the front gates, many already wearing silly souvenir hats or clutching stuffed animals they bought. Their joyful shrieks echo from inside the park. But here I remain, alone, checking my phone again for any word from Noah who is now 15 minutes late. It would have been easier to carpool but I was so adamant on it only being casual I thought a car ride together would push the boundaries-what was I thinking? I crane my neck, scanning the constant stream of park-goers for any sign of them. Meanwhile, just down the palm-tree lined streets, casual shoppers laugh and chat as they drift in and out of kitschy gift shops and overpriced restaurants.

I stand conflicted, torn between listening to the voice in my head urging me to leave and salvage my pride or staying to enjoy the sunny day alone in the park. My mind races, replaying our last conversation where he promised to meet me here, yet now I wait aimlessly for a text explaining his absence. I shift my weight between feet, denim shorts swishing against my bare thighs as I kick at the sidewalk in frustration. Arms crossed, I glance around, taking in the groups laughing together on the grass while I wait solitary by the lot. With a huff, I turn to leave, chucks scuffing the pavement with each reluctant step. I make it only a short distance before pausing, a glimmer of hope making me pivot back. I fish my phone from my pocket, refreshing my notifications despite knowing the empty screen awaiting me.

Noah: Hey, traffic was terrible. Got our tickets online meet me at the front gates.

The text came in two minutes ago. When I was standing around contemplating my life choices, I feel like an idiot. Had he seen me stomping away? I take a deep breath walking down the red painted walk to the front gates. I spot him before he spots me, leaning on one shoulder against a palm tree closest to the ticket booth.

His casual look is simple but it’s making my insides swim and spin in circles. The shorts are a classic neutral that matches anything, hitting just above his knees to show off muscular, tattooed calves. His socks and shoes are bright white, like he just stopped by the store to get them specifically for today. On top stands out a bold red hoodie with the hockey team's logo plastered boldly on the front, impossible to miss in a sea of people. His focus is downwards at his phone, hand absentmindedly brushing over short brown hair, drawing my eyes to the fresh cut he got just this morning. The ends are crisp and clean, neatly trimmed in a way that shapes his head, sharpening his look.

“Hey,” he says as I close the distance between us looking up at me from behind his shades, “Sorry traffic was a killer, sometimes I am afraid my old ‘09 car is gonna crap out on the freeway.”

"No worries," I say self-consciously, as I begin tugging at the hem of my shorts and shirt in a futile attempt to cover more of the bare skin I had purposely chosen to flaunt just moments before. I'm not sure why I suddenly feel so exposed and vulnerable, wishing I had worn something more modest, but his intense gaze is making me painfully aware of just how little clothing I have on. As if sensing my unease, he reaches for my hand, gently interlacing our fingers together and giving me a reassuring squeeze. With a warm smile, he leads us towards the mobile ticket booth at the park's entrance. I watch as he smoothly pulls up the e-tickets on his phone, which the attendant scans before snapping bright yellow paper wristbands onto each of our wrists.

"Have fun!" she chirps cheerfully, waving us through the turnstile into the park. Still holding my hand securely, he guides me into the bustling crowd of families and thrill-seekers.

We scatter around the amusement park, darting from ride to ride but never fully committing to more than one at a time. Most of our time is spent waiting in the snaking queues, chattering away about anything and everything to pass the time. We debate our favorite movies - the epic adventures we could watch over and over and the cheesy romcoms we secretly love. We groan about the overhyped blockbusters that left us bored and disappointed.

The line stretches on endlessly, filled with eager witches and wizards of all ages clad in Hogwarts robes and brandishing imitation wands they had purchased at the souvenir shops. They jostle against each other, craning their necks to see how much longer the wait will be, too caught up in their anticipation to pay heed to personal space. I pull in on myself, trying to avoid the constant bumps and shoves from the overly enthusiastic crowd. Mumbling half-hearted apologies, they repeat the same motions over and over as they surge forward whenever the line moves an inch. Their reckless abandon grates on me, fraying my nerves until I'm overwhelmed by the suffocating press of bodies. Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, I feel Noah's hands encase my shoulders before he pulls me back against his chest. He crosses his arms around me, enveloping my tiny frame within the safe harbor of his embrace. Sheltered there with his chin resting atop my head, the chaotic crowd no longer seems so oppressive.

The hours fly by in each other's company. I walk slowly as I munch on the Minon Cafe nachos I purchased trying to get a generous amount of cheese, onions and barbeque on one chip. The savory blend of flavors bursts across my tongue with each crunchy bite. Noah stands next to me watching me munch on my food, his lips occasionally curving into a soft smile as he finds amusement in my puffed out chipmunk cheeks struggling to contain the mouthfuls of nachos. I return the expression with my own cheeks puffed out to maximum capacity, my mouth so full of the delicious tex-mex treat that I can barely chew let alone speak. The boys rush up to us without warning, their sneakers scuffing along the pavement. Two gangly teen boys with all the awkward acne and scattered facial hair that comes with puberty stand before us, the shortest one flashing a braces-filled smile as he and his lanky friend try to catch their breath after jogging to catch up with us.

"Hey man," the shorter one greets Noah, a slight lisp detectable as he speaks, "Love the hoodie. We're big Rooks fans." His eyes light up with admiration as they fixate on the sports team logo emblazoned across Noah's chest.

"Oh thanks," Noah replies, his smile broadening as he briefly glances down at the jacket he is wearing despite the intense heat, acting as though he had no idea he was sporting the coveted team merch.

"Whose your favorite player?" the other kid asks eagerly, practically bouncing on his toes. Noah shakes his head and I swear I see a little blush rise in his cheeks, his modest nature taking over. He reaches up and slowly removes the sunglasses from his face. As his identity is revealed, I turn back to look at the boys and see their starstruck expressions morph into sudden realization of who it is they are actually talking to.

The boys ask Noah for photos and autographs. He happily obliges, flashing his pearly white smile for selfies and signing various items. After a few minutes, the boys scamper off, thrilled with their interactions. Noah slides his sunglasses back on and turns to me with a grin stretching ear to ear.

"You seem to be a popular player," I joke as I toss my trash and brush the chip crumbs from my hands.

"It's not often I'm stopped without the team around," he admits with a casual shrug. "Puck bunnies usually," he adds. I involuntarily cringe at the mention of that term, memories of my reckless youth flooding back. I was quite the rebel in my teen years, making a string of poor choices with some of the players on my dad's college team. While I was never in it for the money or fame like those so-called "puck bunnies," I'd still made decisions I wasn't proud of, motivated by little more than teenage hormones and lust.

"You would think," Noah continues, "Being here there would be more popular celebrities to see than me." He shrugs off the comment trying to lighten the mood. I shake off whatever it is that bothers me and force a smile.

"Maybe they are all hiding," I say pointing to the studio tour ride. Just below the theme park are the studios where they often are filming - it's entirely possible celebrities of all types lurk below us without us knowing. Noah's face brightens at my suggestion and his eyebrows raise behind his sunglasses. His excitement is palpable as he takes my hand and drags me across the park to the escalators, paying the extra toll for the ride. I can't help but grin, caught up in his enthusiasm. We hurry onto the trolley, Noah helping me into the far back seat.

We're squeezed into the very back seat, thighs touching, the tour guide going on about the studio and celebrities we might see roaming around. I'm not even listening. I’m too focused on Noah’s arm draped behind me. His fingers drift lightly over my arm, barely making contact, but it's enough to make my heart race.

As the trolley trundles along through the winds and curves, I turn my head to gaze out the large open sides of the tram, feigning distraction while my mind races. I'm scanning the scenery with unseeing eyes, lost in a vivid daydream. In my fantasy, we sneak away from the crowds flocking through the park and slip into one of its shadowy alcoves, hidden from view. He presses me against the rough brick wall, his strong body pinning mine as his hands roam my curves. Our breaths grow ragged with anticipation and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he drives himself into me, right there out in the open where anyone could happen by. My heart pounds at the illicit thrill even as my inner muscles clench around him. Just then, his deep voice breaks through my scandalous reverie.

"You hungry?" As I turn back, our noses brush in sudden proximity and instinctively I recoil. But his arm around my shoulders tightens, holding me close so that our lips nearly meet. I swallow hard, nodding my head dropping my eyes down to stop myself from staring at my own reflection in his black sunglasses.

“Here or downtown?” His free hand comes between us, his index finger tapping my nose before dropping down to cup my chin and tilt my head up to look at him again. I see myself staring back from his dark sunglasses, the faint sight of his eyes behind them, and I know I'm done for.

Noah’s POV

“Mmm, fuck, you’re so good to me, aren’t you little fox?” The subtle music from the shops of studio city provided the backdrop as we found a secluded corner shielded by palm trees and trash bins. My hands gripped her hips tightly, bracing her against the brick wall as I moved rhythmically, struggling to keep my shorts from falling. Her body pressed hard into the wall with each thrust as I hit that sensitive spot inside her, eliciting muffled moans from behind her hand clasped firmly over her mouth. Her nails dug sharply into my shoulder, urging me on as my tempo increased. We were lost in the moment, oblivious to anything but each other and the risky thrill. The distant chatter was drowned out by her gasps of pleasure, spurring me to quicken the pace.

“Fuck, I’m almost there baby.” I brought her down on my cock she rotates her hips to meet me with each thrust. Fuck. I can't get enough of this girl, she has me absolutely addicted in every way. From the moment I wake up, she is the first thought that crosses my mind. I find myself constantly daydreaming about her throughout the day, picturing her smile, her laugh, the way her nose crinkles when she's focused. I can't go five minutes without needing to touch her, to feel her soft skin under my fingertips. Her presence soothes me, excites me, consumes me. I want to talk to her all the time, hear her voice, her thoughts, her dreams. I've caught myself staring at her apartment balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, longing to see that cute, sleepy look she gets when she's just waking up. I'm not proud to admit it, but I'm utterly infatuated. When we're together, it's electric - the sex is mind blowing, earth shattering, unlike anything I've ever experienced. I can't get enough of her body, the way she feels, tastes, smells. She has me completely intoxicated, addicted, obsessed.

“fuck me, please.” The rhythmic panting in my ear spurs me on, driving my movements with an intoxicating urgency. Lost in the moment, I'm only dimly aware of footsteps approaching in the distance. But I cannot bring myself to stop, not when we’re so close.

Her skin is flush against mine, damp with perspiration from the sweltering summer air. As our foreheads meet, her face contorts in ecstasy, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ while her eyes roll back. She tightens around me, her body quivering. I wish I could freeze this instant, to imprint the exquisite sight of her unraveling in my mind. I come with one last thrust and we stand there, muscles shaking, breath heaving.

I catch my breath quickly waiting for her thighs to stop shaking before I am setting her down slowly, shielding her as she steadies on her feet, trying to bend at the waist and lift a shaky leg through her denim shorts.

Her delicate hand feels light in mine as I gently pull her out to the shopping center, people glance our way and I see her cheeks turn red. People have no idea what we just did, but I do and seeing her shy like this, I find it cute. I spot the burger joint and we slip inside and find a cozy booth by the window. The waiter takes our order - a juicy burger and fries for her, just a cold beer for me. As we wait, she becomes utterly engrossed in the football game blaring on the massive flatscreen above the bar. I watch her eyes light up whenever her team makes a big play. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself getting drawn into the game too.

In the back of my mind, I can't help thinking about my own team - how in just a couple days I'll be back on the ice with them, immersed in the sweat and adrenaline of competition. Part of me itches to be cleared for practice again, to feel the smooth feeling of the ice beneath my skates, to hear the swish of the net as I sink a perfect shot. But a larger part of me knows I'd rather be right here, in this moment, with her. For now, the game on TV is just background noise. The thing that has my full attention is the way she smiles at me from across our little booth, eyes shining, cheeks still flushed. This is where I'm meant to be.

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