#I'm thinking a puck to the face | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuswhore · 1 year ago

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Fifteen to Forever

"I can’t not be happy when I know I have you."

PAIRING: hockeyplayer!choi seungcheol x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: Fifteen was the age you had met Choi Seungcheol at a school hockey game. Forever was the age you would find yourself spending with him.

CONTAINS: fluff, angst, smut (MINORS DNI), growing up, tears (a lot), distance, this is so emotional you will be in your feels, kissing, p in v sex (unprotected), clit stimulation, handjobs, happy endings bc we love them, i think that's it

WORD COUNT: 6k

masterlist

[AN]: thank you so much @ressonancee for birthing the idea of hockey player cheol in the first place, reading over some of the bits and helping me w some of the plot!!! ty for letting me ramble in your dms lol. hockeyplayer!cheol WILL reappear in other fics bc I'm obsessed with the idea, for now, I hope you enjoy this angsty fluffy creation <33

It wasn’t until the last echo of the slammed car door had faded that you realized, yes, mom, I do actually want you to go in with me.

But alas, as the last tresses of exhaust from her car fade into nothingness, you accept that you’d have to do this alone. Gripping the straps of your brand new backpack helps you ground yourself as the increasingly erratic breathing takes over you. It sinks in now that you’re alone.

There’s a honk, and you realize you’re still frozen in the drop-off zone, the mom in the Subaru not appreciating the 7 AM delay to drop off her own high schooler. You wonder if her kid would let her drop them off inside.

Scurrying into the entrance of the open gates, you find the courtyard full. Huddles of teens laughing and yelling despite the early morning hour, not a spare square foot on the grass. You try to find someone who looks like an adult but fail, hoping you’ll be luckier once you’re inside the building.

You do find yourself lucky as you find a line of teachers at the entrance, ready to greet the new batch of freshmen on their first day of high school. There are a few other kids who look as tense as you, but you feel better with the way the administrator pats your shoulder as she hands you your schedule, assigning you to a lanky sophomore to show you around the building that’d become your second home for the next four years.

Jeonghan tells you his name as he leads you into your homeroom, where you deposit your bag before going back out. He’s peculiar, you decide. He tells you to never walk without looking at the floor on Monday mornings to save your shoes from the occasional start-of-the-week breakfast hurl. He tells you in the cafeteria that the lasagna was horrible, but not the sloppy joes; the sloppy joes were good. He tells you in the gym that the coach would let you off if you rubbed a little eyeliner under your eyes, “he’s an empath.”

By the time he’s listing off clubs and teams, you feel a little less nervous, pushing you back into your fuller homeroom with a sign-up sheet and a goodbye. You don’t get to say thank you.

Kwon Soonyoung slips into the empty seat next to you, introducing himself a little louder than you’d anticipated, but you suppose you needed the enthusiasm. He innocently slips you his home number and hopes out loud that you’d be the best of friends.

You get in the car that afternoon, responding with a wider-than-expected smile at your mother inquiring about your day.

“It was great! I think I’ll like it here.”

You found it strange that the rink was so packed for a high school hockey game, but that was before you saw the ten-foot banner and face paint. Soonyoung sits on your right as Jiwoo places herself on your left, both donned in blue and yellow, sandwiching your uncoordinated outfit. For whatever reason, you’d thought movies exaggerated the hype around high school sports, yet the support for the boys entering the rink roars into your ears to prove you wrong.

They win, and with the way the rest of the team pats him on the back after sending in the last puck, you assume it’s all thanks to the boy with the Choi on the back of his jersey.

He removes his helmet, hair flopping into his eyes as you realize you know him. He was always in the cafeteria with Jeonghan, the boy who gave you a tour on your first day, along with many other boys from his year. It was hard not to notice them with the ruckus they were always causing, yet you found them easy to drown out with the rest of the noise.

“What’s his first name? The guy with the 08 on his back?” you ask Soonyoung.

“Oh, that’s Seungcheol. Dude’s a fucking progidy or something.”

“Prodigy,” Jiwoo corrects.

“Yeah, that. Jihoon said the only reason they got to finals last year was ‘cause of this guy.”

You watch as he drinks from his bottle from the benches, smiling at his coach and teammates as they debriefed. At least you were guessing that was happening; the only thing you were thinking about was how you could hear his laugh from where you sat. And how it was making you smile, too.

You stare at your worn shoes that glow in multicolors as the beats in the gym warp and stagger through the speaker. You’re on your third punch, finding yourself awkward without something to occupy at least one hand.

You had danced a little with Jiwoo, watched with bright eyes as Soonyoung dance off-ed yet another senior to his victory, giggled as you let another freshman, Jun, take Jiwoo away for the next dance. You now lace the edges of the party, taking a breather as you down the remnants of your punch, already trailing the memorized path to the snack table. Maybe you’ll try some of the lemonade this time.

There’s already somebody occupying the lemonade cooler when you get there, back to you as you patiently wait for him to finish up. He moves away, leaning against the table. He takes a sip from his cup, and you move forward to fill your own.

It’s Seungcheol. You recall his name as you recognize his face. He somehow looks as haphazard as you last saw him from yesterday’s hockey game.

If he had come in with a tie, it’s long gone as he has his collar popped and shirt unbuttoned the first few steps. It doesn’t end there as you note the hair that dresses his eyes, soaked in what you cannot imagine is water with the way you saw someone with a similar build typhoon across the floor with nearly as much vigor as Soonyoung has had tonight.

He’s downing the cup in haste, and you take a sip of the slightly tart drink as you debate if you should say something.

“You did really well yesterday. Congrats,” you decide to say.

He emerges from his cup to acknowledge you sipping on your own lemonade, “Oh, thanks. Were you there?”

“Oh, yeah, I was. First hockey game, went with my friends,” you let out a little chuckle, not understanding why you suddenly felt so awkward.

“Cool,” he answers plainly, mouth glistening and posture stagnant. “You’re friends with Soonyoung, right? Seen him hang around Jihoon a lot.”

“Yeah, he’s — he’s friends with everybody,” you laugh a little, and you hear him laugh with you.

“How do you handle him? He’s giving a run for everybody’s money out there,” he gestures to the dance floor with a smile.

“He mellows out after a while; he’s just excited,” you say, understanding his bewilderment.

“How’re you finding high school so far?” he asks when he runs out of things to say, yet forgets that he can easily excuse himself. But he doesn’t.

“Pretty alright. I’m having fun so far.” You don’t need to ask him the same, knowing well that the sophomore was having the time of his life.

“Good to hear, hope it stays that way for you.”

It’s another painful five seconds before you see Jiwoo waving at you from afar, pointing at something Soonyoung is doing.

“Uh, I’ll see you around, my friend’s waving me over–”

“Oh, sure, uh, I’ll see you around.”

You give him one more tight-lipped smile as you wave from waist length before retreating.

“Wait!”

You turn around at his voice.

“I never got your name.”

Seungcheol took you on your first not-date in the spring.

Not-date because neither of you had labeled it as such, but you were pushed to reconsider when both Jiwoo and Soonyoung insisted.

He had brought his car that you slipped into after school to drive to the movies, where he bought you popcorn and paid for both of your tickets. He held your hand as you walked out of the theatre, wide-eyed and all smiles as you discussed the film you had just sat through for two hours.

His palm fit in yours like it belonged there, and maybe it was your fifteen-year-old brain talking. Still, you never expected to be this comfortable with him — especially after the possible insinuation your friends had instilled.

He drove you home that night as you searched for a million excuses to stay a little longer in his car as he parked in front of your door. But alas, you open the car door at the end of the night and are surprised to find him doing the same as he walks around to where you get out.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you say in your rehearsed line.

“Me too,” he smiles. “The weather’s getting nicer, we should see the cherry blossoms next weekend. If you wanted to. We can take the car again.”

He didn’t kiss you, at least not on the lips as he hugged you at your front door and pressed his lips to your cheek.

You were quick to squeak out your goodbyes after that happened, slamming your door shut as you vaguely heard him drive off.

With a hand to your racing heart, you count to ten. Perhaps you’d reconsider that not-date after all. Besides, you had cherry blossoms to look forward to.

Choi Seungcheol kissed you, really kissed you, when he brought the team to the cup they missed out on last year, throwing himself at you as soon as you appeared before him. He was sweaty, half-dressed in his gear with his skates still on as he embraced you tighter than anyone ever had before.

He put his lips on yours the second he saw your face as you pulled away, unable to help himself despite the groans and retches of his teammates, despite the fact that an entire bleacher’s worth of people saw you both.

Not that either of you cared; you were just happy he didn’t have his mouth guard on (and that he kissed you before you couldn’t help it yourself).

It was in your junior year and Seungcheol’s senior year that you began to hear the absurdities about the strength of your relationship, that you wouldn’t make it, that high school sweethearts never do.

With shaking hands, you grip your boyfriend’s arm as he has a conflicted look in his eye.

“No,” you say. You wonder where all of this strength was coming from when you all wanted was to cry. “You’re gonna go. You will go. I won’t let you throw all of this away because of something that’s never gonna waver.”

He’s silent as he refuses to meet your gaze. The voices were getting to him, his older college friends laughing when he suggested that his relationship would last both college and the distance it would bring. He realizes he’s not so sure anymore.

He sits cross-legged in front of you on your bedroom floor, mentally prepared to walk out for the last time.

“You’re supposed to be happiest about this; I don’t understand why you insist I leave. And so far away?” he looks slightly bewildered.

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t. This isn’t about me, Cheol, it’s about everything you’ve worked for all these years—”

“Us, what about us? I’ve worked on us, too.”

“Why have you gone years without listening to a word what other people say to only listening to them now?”

“Was it just me, then? Because it feels like I’m the only one worried about our future together—”

“Choi Seungcheol, stop right there.” Your voice is brittle, and you don’t know how long you can keep the tears at bay.

“I…I don’t know what to think,” his shoulders slump even lower.

His hockey scholarship would take him so, so far away. He thought you were strong enough for this, but with every anecdote, every comment, every dejected “have it your way” to his resilience, he wonders if the both of you would be forced to fight a losing battle if he left.

There were sports universities here at home, but there was no you with his scholarship.

“I’ll tell you what to think. Will you listen to me?”

Slowly, but surely, he nods.

“You can get the scholarship you’ve always wanted, and we can stay as we are, although a little farther away.”

He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

“I believe in us. And if you don’t right now, I’m ready to believe for the both of us. We’ll get through this.”

In the end, Seungcheol believed you over everything the world told him, praying he wouldn’t let you or himself down as he laid with you on the last night he’d call his bedroom home.

Graduation was a happy endeavor, momentarily forgetting what lay ahead as he enjoyed his last hours with all his friends in one place. The heavy feeling returned as the night progressed, agreeing to spend the night with him, tucked under his covers as you listened to his heartbeat. You wonder how long it will be until you're able to do this again.

As you lay in his stripped bedroom, there’s little either of you say, an unspoken agreement to not sleep, not tonight. He has an early morning, but he doesn’t really seem to care as he continues to fiddle with your hair, kissing you at intervals like he's trying to bring back the feeling when it begins to fade.

There’s little you can talk about when you’re trying to memorize each other’s scent. You remind yourself to give him your sweater when morning comes, already noting the hoodie you need to remember to pick up, the lone one he left you in his closet.

But as the first rays of sun peeked through the blinds, sending stripes of sun into the bedroom, you tried not to feel the hard clench of your heart as the bare room came into sight. Despite the snoozing of alarms, the multiple knocks on his door, and the dawn of a new day, you let yourselves have an extra five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes.

Just you and him before it would be you, and it would be him.

Seungcheol called you more than you called him. It was everywhere, even if it was just to say a quick “I love you” before a game, to hear your voice before he went to class, to listen to you complain about an assignment before he had to do his own.

As resilient as you showed yourself to be, you’d be lying if you said there was a part of you that was afraid of how much faith Seunghceol held for the both of you, but at ease you were with the constant bugging he’d do and the bugging he seemed to appreciate back.

By Christmastime, he’d texted you his itinerary for the holidays, explaining how he couldn’t spare a second to things like thinking. Most of his list involved spending all day rotting indoors with you.

As much as Seungcheol had hoped you’d pick a college nearer to him, he was less scared when you finally announced your college decisions close to graduation. The past year had proved a lot, mostly that you both were stronger than the distance. Which is why he was the first to congratulate you when you got into the college of your choice, despite the fact that you’d be even farther away, leaving home in what felt like the opposite direction to him.

You were scared too, mostly of how Seungcheol would react, but seeing the smile break out on his face when you told him gave you all the reassurance you needed. That summer brought you the best memories of your teenage years, with Seungcheol, preparing for you both to leave. Except this time, the air was less tense, fewer tears shed, fewer solemn goodbyes at airport gates, and less desperation in both of your hearts. A surety that you’d come back to each other.

Seungcheol was offered a contract with his dream hockey team when you were on the cusp of your final year. He told you nearly two weeks after he received the first email, not believing it until he was pestered to do so by the representative.

You cried on the phone that night, the ache in your chest unbelievably present as you wished you could hug him at that moment. He denied his own tears, but you knew his glassier-than-normal eyes weren’t just through the camera lens. You told him you were proud, you told him this was only the beginning, that you needed to sit in the bleachers with his jersey on for every game he’ll ever play, that he was about to have an entire career to be proud of soon.

He let a couple tears slip.

And when he showed up to your graduation, sitting next to your family, you gave him the biggest hug you could muster from your bones. That year may have been the last you’d have to endure apart, but it was somehow the hardest.

It was in that moment, when you pulled away to look at his smiling face, that the years registered in your mind.

You’re fifteen again, seeing Seungcheol for the first time, donning the features he hadn’t grown into yet, the features you hadn’t grown into yet. You have to tiptoe to meet his lips now, see a man where there was once a boy, the deep set of maturity behind his pretty eyes.

When he drops the last of your boxes into his — your shared apartment, you’re brought to the stark realization that you're going to stay here.

It’s when you’re unpacking your toothbrush, placing it in the cup right next to his that you realize you could do whatever you wanted with each other without having to work around flight schedules. It’s when he’s hobbling around wooden planks and screws in the bedroom, putting together the brand new queen-sized bed to replace his too-small twin, that you realize that you weren’t here for the week, or for the month or for any set amount of time; you were here forever.

At least that’s what you hope as you watch him collapse the last of the cardboard boxes to recycle, shoving in the corner of the entryway, leaving that job for tomorrow.

By the time you emerge in the living room after a shower, Seungcheol has already begun to unpack the delivery food on the coffee table. It’s an array of delicious smells, slightly soggy food, and mounds of styrofoam and plastic wrap; a feast for your tired, tired bodies.

The dumplings are amazing, and the warm feeling in your chest expands as you realize you can now order them whenever you like.

Seungcheol picks out the chopped chilies from his food, migrating them onto your own plate as he talks about his next practice session without interruption.

A thought occurs to you in that moment as you watch him down his cola. “Hasn’t coach put you on a diet plan?”

“Yeah,” he says normally. You merely stare at him, not understanding how any of this junk could be any good for his form, especially when you know he’s good about abstaining when it comes to training.

He smiles at the questioning look on your face, setting down his utensils, “It’s our first meal, in our first home. I think we deserve to share this with each other.”

A smile breaks out on your face at the thought of this being your first meal, the first of many meals together in this home. Of all the meals you’ll share in every home after this, every day.

And while Seungcheol finds himself sacrificing his diet to enjoy all of this greasy grub with you, you will also find yourself occasionally sharing his awfully bland chicken breasts and salads. All to share with each other.

Walking into the bustling restaurant in your uncomfortable shoes and your arm around Seungcheol’s, you’re quick to find the group you’re looking for.

The noise is a dead giveaway, and you quickly realize they haven’t changed.

You hear Soonyoung before you see him, his distinct laugh echoing the loudest across the sea of mingling heads. A loud banner hangs at the end of the room with your high school grad year.

You detach from Seungcheol as he finds his junior friends, and you find yours, taking both Soonyoung and Jiwoo into a bone-crushing hug. It’s been a while since you last saw them. The crowd of familiar faces greets you, making small talk with everyone as they introduce you to their partners and even their children. You’ve grown; all of you have.

“Seungcheol’s here too. You guys were together in high school, right?” somebody asks you at some point during the night. “He graduated before us, though; wonder who he’s here with.”

You don’t blame them for assuming, considering both of you have been in your own circles all night. That, added to the obvious assumptions of high school sweethearts, you only laugh a little as you reply with a wider-than-usual smile.

“Oh, he’s here with me,”

You go home with a permanent smile stuck to your face, talking more animatedly than usual in the car ride home. Seuncheol mirrors your smile as he listens.

Your good mood prevails for the rest of the night, even as you slip under the covers, ready to end the night on a happier-than-usual note. Seungcheol is reading his book when you crawl under his arm, head on his chest, and your arm slung across his torso. You feel his lips on the top of your head, the faint sound of his book being placed on the bedside table.

“What’s got you so smiley?” he asks with one of his own.

You shake your head as you reply, “Nothing. I’m just happy I saw Soonyoung and Jiwoo.”

“I’m glad you saw them too. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You hum in response, suddenly remembering a conversation you had. “You know, Jess asked me who you were there with.”

“Figures,” he shrugs before laughing a little.“How much did she hesitate before asking you?”

“Looked like she was holding it in for a little bit. Don’t blame her, though. She probably thought we ended it in epic teenage fashion.”

He snorts at that, “Probably would’ve if you didn’t talk some sense into me.”

“Probably would’ve if you didn’t trust me like you did,” you crane your neck to look at him.

“Glad I wasn’t that far gone,” he whispers, a faraway look in his eyes despite looking directly at you. “Haven’t doubted us ever since.”

There’s that warm feeling that spreads throughout your body, an overwhelming feeling of contentment coming over you. There was nothing, nothing, that could convince you to be anywhere else, especially anywhere that wasn’t in his arms.

“Sometimes…well, a lot of the times, I think about us,” you start. “I thought us hitting six months was enough to tell me I’d be with you forever.”

He smiles at the thought of high school you, starry-eyed, awkward little kids. He remembers the way you blushed when he kissed you for the first time in front of the whole school, the heat that had risen to his own face at the time.

“And then we hit a year, and then two years,” you remember every surprise for every anniversary, from when you’d collect your allowance for weeks to get him something he’d like.

“And then college happened. I tried being so positive, but I had never been more scared for us. I hope we never have to go through something that hard ever again.” You almost sound like a child not wanting to go to the doctor’s office, but with the way you feel yourself tighten your grip around him, you don’t think it’s any different.

You can feel your eyes begin to well, and your voice begins to shake. It was nearly comical how quickly the smiles were turning into sentimental tears.

Seungcheol places a kiss on your lips, and you know it was meant to be reassuring, but it only wrenches open the floodgates. The tears begin to make their way down your face, sniffles muffled as you go back to burying your face in his chest, his shirt soaking the wetness. You can feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs at your state. He’s also squeezing up your sides and placing kisses in any place he can reach.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you murmur into his shirt.

“It’s okay. Today was very reflective,” he reassures, letting you stay hidden.

“I just—” you sniff. “I just wanna stay happy like this all the time.”

It’s only then that he guides your stained face away from his shirt to bring you to look at him, wiping the remnants of your tears as you try to keep the fresh ones at bay. “We’ll be happy, even when we’re sad. I can’t not be happy when I know I have you. I love you too much for that.”

“I love you,” you whisper into his lips, arms around his neck as you pull yourself to him, chest to chest. You kiss him properly, pecking him a few times to have your fill.

And then he’s pulling away, ever so slightly to bring a bare millimeter of gap between your lips. His hands burn where they rest, one on your waist, one on your thigh. He’s breathing hard. Both of you are.

“I’m gonna say something so not fit for right now,” he breathes.

You can’t help but freeze in his hold as you register his words, hesitating before you ask. “What?”

“Marry me.”

It comes out as the same whisper, directly into your lips as he utters the words. Like he was keeping a secret from the walls and the furniture, like they were only meant for you; because they were only meant for you. Your heart stops, and you vaguely wonder if you’re breathing at all.

“I—” he takes a long, shaky breath from his nose. “I was supposed to do this a little differently, but…”

You watch him reach over into his bedside drawer, the one you never touch, and bring out the smallest velvet box. Opening it reveals the prettiest, most delicate diamond you’ve ever seen, the jewel glinting and sparkling even in the dim bedroom lights.

That’s when you let out a tiny gasp, feeling the tears return, dripping down your face one after the other. “Choi Seuncheol, you bitch.”

You’re sobbing at this point, and it has him sitting up straighter, leaving the box to the side as he lurches for you when you pull away.

“Wait, fuck, sorry, I thought,” he exhales in frustration, hands trying to pull yours away from your face as you cry into your hands. He sounds desperate. “I got carried away, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“No, it’s not that,” you finally manage through hiccups.

“Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, I’m just fucking emotional.”

You hear him laugh again, no doubt out of pure relief, as he nearly doubles over at the situation.

You’re a little calmer as you continue to sniffle, watching him with a half-disgruntled, half-amused expression, “Put it on, stupid, or do I need to cry again for you to do that.”

You don’t need to tell him twice as he slips the ring on your finger, the perfect fit, the perfect jewel, the perfect ring.

Bringing him closer, you kiss him again, lips pressed hard on his as you try to communicate every last emotion into it. You’re out of words, and you hope he knows what you're feeling. You know he knows; he always knows.

He’s reciprocating with the same vigor, arms coming up to wrap around you so tight it pushes you flush against his body. He nips at your lip, running his tongue over it for good measure before letting it enter your mouth. You let him take the lead, let him guide you through every motion, every step forward.

You’re putty when he pulls off your clothes for you, feeling your heart scream in protest whenever he pulls away to get rid of the obstructions. Your emotions were in a delicate place, and you suddenly couldn’t handle not being able to feel him against you consistently.

He does well to make it quick, moving back on top of you to occupy your mouth once more. He tries to migrate lower, latching onto your neck to continue his ministrations there, but you don’t let him as you pull his face back to yours again.

“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth before latching onto his lips.

He lets out a low grunt, pulling away for breath as he whispers it back, “I love you more.”

If you won’t let his mouth move, you let his hands do whatever they wish, feeling them move lower against your sides to reach your hips. His thumbs draw circles on them as he slowly moves his hands to where you can feel the arousal grow.

His fingers hit your bare heat as he plunges them into your folds, encasing your clit between his fingers. He drags them up slowly before moving back down, all the way to your now sopping hole to brush against the opening.

You sigh against his lips as he pushes his finger in slowly, lips releasing yours as you throw your head back to feel his digit around your walls. He pushes a second one in without hesitation, and you know he’s just as desperate as you right now.

He’s only two fingers deep, and yet you feel yourself beginning to come undone. He always knew what to do when he wanted to stretch you out faster, always knew what to do when he wanted to draw the pleasure out, keep you writhing for hours.

Right now was different; it felt like he was holding himself back to the point where it was almost painful. If he wasn’t worried about the stretch, he would’ve buried himself inside you already, and yet, when he feels you clench undeniably hard around his fingers as you orgasm, he feels like he might’ve cum himself.

His low moans echo off the walls with your louder, more desperate ones, riding out your high as you feel him bring his other hand up to rub your clit in fast circles, making the pleasure last. Coming down from your high, you feel him pause for a moment as he peppers kisses on your face, down your jaw and neck, finally coming to press his lips against yours.

“You okay?”

You nod in response, already grasping at his boxers to yank them down. Despite having just orgasmed, the satisfaction is yet to come, needing to feel him inside you before you combusted entirely.

He helps as he discards himself of the final obstruction, letting you stroke his painfully hard member in your hands. The face he makes is heavenly as you watch him feel your hands wrapped around him. The impatience takes over as he finally removes your hands, instead pinning them beside your head as he guides himself to your entrance.

Seungcheol goes back to planting himself onto you entirely, knowing exactly what you wanted from him, needing to feel him against you so flush and tight. He lets you wrap your hands around his neck as he finally begins to push himself into you, letting his tip graze the beginning of your entrance.

He breathes into your neck in deep, deep exhales, trying so hard not to cum before he’s even entered you entirely. He takes his time pushing into you, focusing on your fingers as they play with his hair, your palms running down his shoulder blades in a pathway. He closes his eyes as he sheaths himself in you completely, continuing his steady breaths to not come undone before you.

He begins to move when he feels like he’s gotten a hold of his bearings, feeling you hold onto him as he starts thrusting into your cunt. The sounds you make are bliss; the feeling of every inch of your skin on his is making him lose his already lost mind.

Your arms drop when they can’t hold onto him any longer, your hands remaining on him regardless, in some way or the other. Seungcheol takes hold of your hand, emerging from the crook of your neck to bring it to his mouth. He kisses it, your palms, the back of your hand, your fingers, directly over the rock he slipped on you himself.

The tenderness of his actions makes your brain rattle against your skull, the building feeling in your abdomen coming so close to collapsing into release. You find yourself pushing yourself up on your elbows, face finding the crook of his shoulder as you push yourself back into him when pulled back in the slightest.

You’re so close now, so, so close. “Cheol,”

“I know, darling. Cum for me, baby, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

You release to the sound of his voice, the words that tumble from his desperate mouth, the feeling of his own cum shooting inside your spent walls. He continues to thrust into you as you both let out the loudest moans of the night, letting yourself get wrapped up in the feeling of each other before you lose your peak.

You register nothing as you feel him drop his weight on top of you, letting the moment pass.

Despite having had nights rougher, more lengthy than this, you somehow feel more spent than you have at the end of any of those escapades. The answer comes to you in the few minutes it takes for you both to catch your breath, Cheol being just as fatigued as you despite his athlete stamina.

You feel him continue to press his lips onto your skin, letting you do the same to him in between kisses. Neither of you speak for another few minutes, letting the heaviness of your hearts come forth in the showers of love you seem to want to give each other.

He’s grasping your left hand, toying with the ring fitted there. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

A picture of the both of you hangs on the wall in your bedroom, dim yet decipherable in the low lights. There’s a moment where you have a flash of that same photo on multiple different walls. Different shades of neutral, in different rooms in different houses. It’s the same picture.

You think of what forever might hold for the both of you, separately and together. You let the prospect of every step, every change, and every milestone wash over you in waves that keep coming, crashing back to feed into another.

Change, you rehearse. There had been lots of it, and yet you had merely scratched the surface of what life was about to throw at you. You knew that, Seungcheol knew that. But you found yourself, in that moment, convinced in entirety that change is good, whether it feels good or bad.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder; you didn't realize the meaning of the phrase until you had to live apart from the love of your life. Painful, difficult, sometimes agonizing, yet also necessary, you conclude. You wonder if your love would ever have grown this deep if you hadn’t felt life without each other.

You think of how far you’ve come, how you’ve grown with each other. There was an encompassing of gratefulness that came with every step you had taken, and with every step you would take henceforth, you knew that for certain.

Perhaps you would find yourself voicing these emotional thoughts to him, but not now. The unspoken was louder than anything you could say.

“I can’t wait to spend forever with you, too.”

taglist (strikthru could not be tagged): @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seungcheol fluff #seuncheol smut #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol x reader #seungchel angst #scoups #svt #svt smut #em.writes

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sturnioloszn · 3 months ago

Text

ICE BOUND (1) - M.S

summary; you accompany your father to his coaching session when your eyes land on his star player and captain, matt sturniolo.

warnings; smut, oral (blowjob), throat-fucking, praising, begging, dirty talk, pet names (just pretty girl lmao), think that's it?

a/n; it was a veryy close poll, but ice hockey matt won by the slightest. also, my next post will be about a taglist, and if you want to be part of it, more info will be there!

P2, P3

It was mid-december, and thick snow covered the ground. The icy winds still managed to bring me goosebumps even when I was wrapped in a large jacket, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf. The snow beneath my worn down shoes crunched with each step I took, and small snow flakes landed on the exposed areas of my face.

"Thanks for coming, y/n," my dad speaks from next to me, breaking me out of my thoughts. We were currently walking through the parking lot to reach the entrance of the local ice rink. I offered to watch one of my dad's practice sessions. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, he was down to this rink training his team of players, readying them for the tournament that was quickly arriving.

"Of course," I say, flashing a small smile. We finally enter the building, a surge of hot air hitting us. I instantly start taking my layers off, discarding them in one of the lockers. I was now much more comfortable in my baggy jumper and jeans.

I made my way to the rink, claiming my spot on one of the back row benches. Not many people came to the practice sessions, usually a parent or some friends, but that was it.

After a few moments, I saw a group of boys alongside my dad walk out of the locker room and onto the ice. My dad forced them to do three laps around the rink to warm up and then the practice actually began.

I watched them intensely, swinging their sticks and making the puck fly from one end of the rink to the other. I knew the basic rules due to the fact that my dad was literally an ice hockey coach, and I grew up around the sport.

After half an hour or so of this, I noticed one of the guys had a 'C' on his jumper. C? Captain? I never knew my dad allocated a captain already. Usually, he likes to mention random stuff like that, but I don't remember him ever talking about this.

Brown strands of hair peaked out through his helmet, and he proudly wore the number 4 and the surname 'Sturniolo' on his back. I don't even recall seeing him on the team at all. I guess the last game I came to see was about a year ago. Still though, kid managed to place captain in less than a year. He must be an ice hockey prodigy or some shit.

My focus remains on him the rest of the time. He glided smoothly on the ice, and his passes were clean. It was clear to see why he was captain. He must have felt me burning holes into the back of his head, and his eyes met mine. I instantly move to look at my shoes. Shit. That's embarrassing.

After almost two hours of practice, they begin to wrap up, and they all head towards the locker room. The last off the ice was the one and only prodigy himself. I walk down the benches as he skates off the ice and takes off his helmet, giving me a clearer view of his face. I go sit next to him on the bench as he's undoing his skates.

"That was a good game," I initiated the conversation, looking down at his red hands fiddling with the laces.

"Thanks, you watch often?" He asks, turning his head to look at me.

"Um, not really, but I know a thing or two," I say, giving a sly smile. He chuckles before looking back to his skates.

"Yeah? Who y'here for?" He asks again, probably referring to one of his teammates. He must think I'm either one of their girlfriends or one of their sisters. Well, I'm neither.

"Your coach," I reply. My answer makes his head snap to look at me; there's a look of shock played on his face. "I'm his daughter," I clarify, smiling once again.

"Oh. I was worried for a second," he breathes out. I tilt my head to look at him.

"Why would you be worried?" I question. He finally pulls his skates off his feet and replaces them with a beat-up pair of air force 1s. Sitting so close to him gives me the opportunity to really look at his face. He has a strong jawline, with defined cheekbones and a beautiful side profile. His hair was a similar shade to mine, and it was parted down the middle. But his most shocking feature was his icy blue eyes; from far away, they looked brown, but up close, they were a beautiful light, frost blue.

"Because a pretty girl like you can do much better than a man like him," he admits, turning to place his attention fully on me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I'm sure it doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"That's still my dad, watch your mouth," I say, swallowing down my butterflies. He raises his eyebrows and puts his hand up surrendering.

"You know I meant age, you can do better, age wise," he explains.

"Alright then, how old are you?" I ask boldly.

I can tell my question caught him off guard, but nevertheless, he answers, "I'm 19, you?". I tell him I'm the same age, and he just nods. I don't like his silence. It felt wrong. Hearing his voice felt... right? I quickly think of something else to ask to keep the conversation going.

"So... you haven't been here long, have you?". I'm pulling at straws, but it doesn't matter. He explains that he recently moved to Boston with his family and that he needed to find a new team to join so that he could keep up ice skating, so here he was.

I then asked him about being captain and how the hell he managed to claim that title so quickly. He said something about leadership and blah blah blah. To be completely honest, I wasn't listening; I was too busy drowning in his eyes to hear anything that was coming out of his pretty lips. His lips. They were the perfect shade of pink, and they looked so soft and plump. Fuck. He looked so kissable.

I took another look at his face, a dusty pink had settled onto his cheeks, and the beads of sweat that were previously on his forehead had dried down. Every now and again, he'd also rake his hand into his scruffy hair, trying to adjust it, and every time he did do that, I'd nearly melt. He looks edible.

"Are y'even listening?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. I'm slapped back into reality when I realised that I was, in fact, not listening.

"Um..totally...?" I reply. I didn't even convince myself, let alone him.

"What're you thinkin' about?" He asks. He doesn't even care that I wasn't listening. He cares more about what was occupying my mind instead of being pissed about what was coming out of his mouth.

That's a rare trait that many hockey players do not have. Self-awareness. That the world doesn't spin around them. But little did he know that it did spin around him because even though I wasn't paying attention to him speaking, I was only focused on him.

"..nothing," I answer, moving my eyes to the floor, unable to keep eye contact with him.

"Right... well, it was fun talking, but I gotta shower," he says, standing from the bench and looking down at me. No. I didn't want him to leave, but at the same time, the thought of hot water streaming down his soapy body was doing things to me. I feel my underwear dampen at the thought, I push my legs together, and his eyes skip down to my thighs.

He smirks before speaking again, "you know where to find me if you need," and with that, he made his way to the showers.

I went to find my dad, who was wrapping himself back up in his coat, to fight the weather. I tell him that I might actually go for a skate and that I'll make my way home soon. But in reality, I was going to go hunt down his best player.

I waved my dad goodbye and checked around the rest of the building for the rest of the team, but it seemed that they had already left. This is perfect.

I pushed the door to the showers open, and there's a running one. I slowly approach it until I'm standing behind the curtain. Holy shit. The only thing between me and his naked body was a sheet of fabric. What would happen if-

"Were you planning to just stand there quietly, or were you going to say something?" He speaks. My face instantly blushes, how the fuck did he know I'm standing here?

The water abruptly stops, and a few seconds later, the curtain is drawn back. To my disappointment, there was a white, fluffy towel wrapped around his waist. However, a pretty noticeable outline was pressed into the towel.

He spots me quite obviously staring at his groin. "Something you want?" He asks, grabbing another smaller towel and rubbing it onto his hair, drying it slightly.

At this point, my pussy is throbbing. Every word that comes out of his mouth adds another layer of wetness to my panties.

I nodded at his question before lowering myself to my knees. Now, this he didn't anticipate. I cringe at the feeling of the wet patches on my jean-covered knees.

A smirk grows on his lips, "you wouldn't be able to handle it,". Pfft, I'm yet to meet a man whose dick is bigger than their ego.

"Try me," I challenge. He gives me the nod of approval, and I tug the towel off his hips, letting it fall to the ground.

Well. I guess I've met the man whose dick is bigger than his ego now. Let's just say he has a very, very big ego.

I'm taken by surprise when his cock slings free and hits his stomach. I look up at him, and there's hints of desperation plotted on his face.

"How bad do you want me to suck it?" I speak sultry, placing my hands on his thighs, not giving him the relief he craves.

"So fucking bad," he admits, allowing his right hand to move to the back of my head, inching my face towards his tip. I then grab the base of his dick, pumping it painfully slow, watching beads of pre-cum build on his tip.

I stick my tongue out ever so slightly and go to lick up the salty beads that have accumulated. While I'm there, I place a few soft kisses on his swollen tip. By now, his head is thrown back, and his hand is tangled in my hair.

"Shit," he breathed out. I looked back up at him, and his eyes were shut and eyebrows furrowed. He looked so beautiful. I bring my mouth closer and barely take him in my mouth, sucking lightly.

I then ease more and more of himself into my mouth until my nose is almost pressed up against his pubic bone. I low groan escapes his lip. I then pull him out completely, and he shudders at the loss of contact.

"Please, just make me feel good," he pleads. God, could this man get any sexier?? I instantly comply and take him into my mouth, hollowing out my cheeks. I move my head back and forth, engulfing his cock. He fills my mouth perfectly.

I then bring the hand that's not resting on his thigh to his balls. I slightly toy and massage them, and the sound that left his lips was heavenly. I take him out of my mouth again and move lower to suck on his balls. He's lost all sense of composure at this stage.

"I n-need to cum... please, please, please," he moans while I move back to his cock. This time, I wrap my lips around him and take a hand to stroke him simultaneously. He bucks his hips forward, forcing me to take most of his length down my throat. It's not long until I feel his legs becoming weak and his moans grow in volume.

He places both his hands on either side of my head, "keep still and let me fuck your perfect throat," he grunts out, and I let him do just that. His tip hit the back of my throat over and over, making me gag on his cock, but this just encouraged him to keep going.

"F-fuck, you're doi-fuckkkk, doing so so g-good for me," he stutters. I can tell he's on the edge of euphoria and I moan around his cock to help him reach satisfaction. I feel his warm, bitter cum shoot down my throat. His hips are slowing down, and he lets go of the side of my head. I swallow his cum completely, sticking my tongue out to show him.

"You're amazing," he huffs out, helping me up from my knees.

"I know, I am pretty great," I grin. I then look down and notice the uncomfortable wet patches on my knees. He notices my discomfort and offers his spare pair of sweatpants, and I don't decline.

Once we're both dry and changed, he offers me a ride home, acknowledging the fact that everyone had already left a very long time ago. The ride home is enjoyable and not awkward at all, which was unexpected. I then realise that we did all of that but I don't even know his name, and I never told him mine.

"What's your name?" I ask, turning to look at him. He was focused on the road.

"Matt. What's your name, pretty girl?" He asks. I blush at the nickname, before responding.

"Y/n, but I prefer pretty girl," I smile. He turns his head to look at me with the same smile played on his lips.

a/n; next post is gonna be regarding a taglist, so make sure to keep updated if you want to be added to that. anywayy, thank you for reading this oneshot, love you all 💙

#★°.*sturnioloszn*.°★#sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo smut

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homestylehughes · 11 months ago

Text

wanna bet?

quinn hughes x fem!reader

summray: you make a bet with quinn, which of you will win?

wc: 2.9K

warnings: nsfw 18+ smut, unprotected sex, p in v (practice safe sex guys!), oral fem receiving, spitting, cussing, dirty talk. there's some plot but it's mostly smut.

an: OH BOYYYYYY... i'm a little nervous to post this... GULP. it's my first time writing smut, so hopefully you guys all enjoy!! it took me like 4 hours LOL! writing smut is hard guys... thank you to all of my smut writing warriors. ALSO i tried my hand at making a header for my work, i kinda like it?? i cant tell if i ate or not..LMFAO. anyways im done yapping. like and reblog if you like, as always much love as always.

happy reading <3

“We should make a bet.” I say to Quinn as we’re getting ready for a home game between the Canucks and Winnipeg Jets.

He looks at me confusingly as he finishes tying his tie in the mirror. “What kind of bet are we talking about?” he mutters back. “I don't know, something spicy and fun '' I say, as I make my way over to him to fix his crooked tie.

“Hm..i like the sound of that” quinn says, as he rests his hands on my waist pulling me closer to his body. I chuckle at his sudden change in interest, finally fixing his tie, I rake my eyes over his face.

“I have an idea,” I say as our eyes remain locked, “and what's that baby?” Quinn says, I can feel his gaze now locked on my lips.

“If you score tonight, i'll let you do whatever you want to me.'' I say, as I slowly trace my hands around his neck to play with his hair, leaning my body further into his. “if you don't score, i get to do whatever i want to you, but you can't touch.”

I can feel quinns breath hitch in his throat, as I press myself completely against his front, planting soft kisses down his neck and across his jaw. His hands moving from my waist, to my ass, griping is hard and pulling me even tighter against him.

Quinn tips his head down to try and connect our lips together, I quickly move my head to avoid his kiss. “How do those conditions sound?” I say, looking at quinns now flushed state.

“They sound really good, baby, they would sound even better if you'd let me kiss you.” he says, slowly moving our faces closer together.

I slowly shake my head no, as I pull myself apart from him. “ I have to finish getting ready, and so do you.” I say, while looking at a wide eyed, flustered quinn.

“You actually hate me, don't you?” Quinn says, looking at me, still wide eyed. “no i don't, i just like making you suffer.'' I grin back at him.

“So are we shaking on this?” Quinn says, finally collecting himself. Without a word I held my hand out to him, waiting for him to grasp it. Our eyes are locked, as Quinn pulls his arm forward, his hand finally finding mine, pulling it into a firm handshake. “you're on Hughes,” I said to him. “No you're on, I'm scoring tonight, just for you baby '' Quinn says grinning at me like a kid in a candy store.

I step forward and press a sweet kiss on his lips, pulling away before he has the chance to deepen it, “may the best man win” i say before turning away from him, to finish getting ready.

I'm nervous, not for the game, but for tonight. My nerves are getting the best of me as I sit in the stands waiting for the puck to drop. My eyes follow Quinn as they warm up on the ice.

I'm starting to think I'm a dumbass for even betting on this. Quinn is super competitive, he's not going to let me win, but damn do I want to win.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my head, I settle in my seat, gaze locked on ice as the first whistle signaling the game has begun goes off.

This is going to be a long game, a long night, I think to myself.

The Canucks win in a shutout, 5-0. I couldn't be more proud of them as they skate off the ice. Most importantly I couldn't be more proud of myself for finally winning a bet against quinn.

They played an incredible game tonight, with 5 amazing goals, not none of those coming from quinn. I couldn't help but secretly be happy that he didn't score.

I leave the stands and make my way towards the locker room, waiting for Quinn to finish up with getting ready and press interviews. Around 45 minutes later, I see Quinn make his way towards me. I open my arms to him, grasping him in a hug, “good game baby” I say to him as he pulls away, whispering a small “thank you” in my direction.

We start to make our way to the parking lot, silence surrounds us, it starts to make me nervous. “Any updates on Thatcher?” I ask, who went to the locker room during the second period, with an injury. “We don't know too much right now, hopefully we get some updates tomorrow morning on his status.'' Quinn says as he throws his bags in the back seat of the car, before sliding over to open the passenger door for me.

“Hopefully he’s okay, I'm sure he is. He's a tough guy, keep me updated when you get any information." I say to Quinn, as he's pulling out of the parking lot. “I will.” he says shortly. I frown at his shortness, in the conversation.

“Are you okay?” i ask him quietly, “yeah, im okay.” he replies back quickly. Not wanting to push, I decided that's a good enough answer, keeping my gaze locked on my lap the whole way home.

The car comes to a stop, signaling that we made home. I quickly got out of the car, wanting to escape the tension that was starting to suffocate me. Unlocking the door quickly, speeding my way upstairs to the bathroom, not even looking back to see if Quinn was behind me.

Closing the bathroom door quickly, I take a deep breath to regain my thoughts. Is Quinn mad at me? Is he upset over Demko? Upset that I won the bet? Upset that he didn't score? I don't want him to be upset with me, especially over this, this was supposed to be hot and cute and now i feel like it's blown up in my face. A bet that I don't even care about at this point.

5 minutes later, after I've calmed myself down. I see Quinn on the edge of the bed, when I open the bathroom door. Taking another deep breath, I start to make my way across our bedroom to the closet. As I'm beginning to pass the bed where Quinn sits, I feel him grab my leg, pulling me back towards him.

My nerves are rising again. I'm now in between Quinn's legs, looking down at my feet as I wait for him to say something. I feel his hands run up my thighs, gripping them with a slight pressure. Trailing them higher on my body, over the Hughes jersey that covers my upper half. Quinns hands, finding their home on my waist, for the second time today.

“Baby, look at me,” Quinn says, gently but with authority. I slowly lift my head up to lock my eyes to his. “I think we have a bet to take care of.” he says to me, my brain doesn't even register what he just said to me, before i start speaking. “are you mad at me? I feel like you're mad at me. We don't have to do this, it's just a bet it doesn't really matter to me Quinn. I thought this was a good idea earlier but now i dont think it's a good idea. I know you're definitely mad at-”

I'm quickly cut off by the feeling of quinns lips on mine. Taking me by surprise it takes my body a few seconds to respond. Once I do, my hands are instantly finding his hair, as Quinn pulls me down so I'm now straddling his lap, our kiss getting more intense by the second.

I began to grind myself on his bulge that I felt growing beneath me. Quinn begins painting beneath me, his mouth opening enough for me to slide my tongue into his mouth, pulling myself into him. Our mouths began to fight for dominance. Our bodies move against each other at a faster rate. Quinns hands pushed my waist hard against his, causing me to moan into his mouth.

Quinn pulls back suddenly, causing me to wine more. “Does it look like I'm upset with you baby?” he asks me as he starts to suck on my neck leaving kisses in his wake, causing me to arch my back closer into his mouth. Pulling away from my neck, looking at each other as we’re both panting. “I was acting like a sore loser” quinns says while rubbing slow circles on my thigh, eyes still locked with mine. “I don't like losing, and I really don't like not being able to have my way with you, not being able to touch you.” he breathes out at me. I'm struggling to find my words while he's looking at me like that.

“Quinn. I don't care about this stupid bet anymore, I want you now." I don't even wait for him to respond to me before I'm crushing our lips back together. The kiss is hot, with need and want. Our teeth and tongues clashing together.

I find the will to pull myself off Quinn, now standing in front of him. Without saying anything, I began to peel off my clothes. Pulling off the jersey, leaving me in a black lacy bra, and my jeans. Quickly moving my hands to my jeans, unbuttoning them quickly, pulling them down with my underwear, kicking them off my feet. Reaching behind me and unclasping my bra. Leaving me completely bare in front of Quinn.

“I want you naked, now.” I say to Quinn, who moves in supersonic speed pulling off his clothes and throwing them somewhere behind me.

“Fuck baby.'' Quinn says as he's pulling me into him again. “You look so hot right now, all for me too.” tracing his hands down my bare sides, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps in his wake.

Leaning forward he begins to press kisses against my stomach making his way down to my pussy, my breath begins to hitch, I'm afraid my legs are going to buckle beneath me. “Can I taste you baby? I want to taste your sweet pussy, haven't in so long.” he says, as he slowly pulls my thighs apart. I can't find it within me to stop him, I don't care about the bet anymore. I need him to do something. “Yes please” I told him. He doesn't need to be told twice.

Quinn quickly throws me down on the bed, my body making a small thud as it hits the bed. Quinn immediately pulled my thighs apart so he could rest between them.

I'm knocked out of my daze, as I feel Quinn start to press kisses on the inside of my thighs, my breath is beginning to quicken again. “Look at me baby” he says, as he lifts his head to reach my eyes.

I crane my neck to meet his gaze. Getting a good look at him, pupils blown with lust, his lips swollen and red, hair a mess, seeing him in this state turns me on even more.

“Please Quinn,” I yelled out to him, shifting my body closer to his face. I need something, anything. ‘So impatient” Quinn chuckles, as he leans in closer to my pussy, so close I can feel his breath fan on my folds, causing me to slowly moan. “Keep your eyes on mine or I will stop. Got it?” he roughly says to me, nodding my head yes quickly. “Words baby” he says, “yes, yes quinn” i say urgently.

Before I know it his face is diving into my cunt, his tongue instantly finding my clit, making arch my back into him. “Fuck” i say in a strangled moan, as my hands find their way to quinns hair, pushing his face deeper in my cunt.

His tongue is lapping me up like a grown man starving, his hands are pushing my legs so hard and so far apart it almost hurts, but I can't find it inside me to care. His pace began to quicken, pushing his tongue in and out of my cunt. “Who got you this wet baby?” he mumbles into my heart. “You! Fuck right there baby” i moan out, as quinn slowly pushes 2 fingers in.

The pressure is beginning to build in my stomach, between quinn fingering me and lapping and sucking on my clit is enough to push me over the edge. “Harder, faster, fuck quinn.'' I managed to push out, his actions now becoming faster and more aggressive than before.

Before I realize, my peak is coming. My hips grinding themselves on quinns face, desperate to cum. “That's it baby, there you go.” he says, as i begin to push myself on his fingers deep inside of me. Moving his thumb to now, rub my clit at a fast rate. “fuck quinn im coming” i push my head flat against the pillow as my body archs into him. “Fuck, don't stop. Quinn please don't stop, please please” i began to blubber out as i began to cum all over his fingers. Continuing to grind myself against him, taking anything that he’ll give me.

Quinns hands keep my thighs from closing shut and he removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue. Riding me through the last of my orgasm. My moans and pants are filling the room, my breath leaving my lungs as I finally come down from my orgasm.

Quinn slowly pulled his face away from my heat. “That was the hottest thing, ive never seen, fuck” he says before making his way on top of me, his lips finding mine.

Wrapping my arms around his neck pulling his chest to mine. Our bodies rocking together, “quinn” i say breathless, as his tongue is attacking my neck, moving his mouth lower down my body. Grasping my left nipple in his mouth, gently biting it, then releasing it into his mouth, wrapping his hot tongue around it. The action causes me to moan loudly, pushing my already close body even closer, if that's even possible.

As good as his assault on my boobs feels, I need him inside of me now. “Quinn” I say firmer this time. Pulling his face to mine, “ i need you to fuck me now, please now” i say panting in his face.

That seems to flip a switch inside of quinn, he's quickly lining up his cock, with my entrance, slowly pushing himself into me. Quinn goes as he fully enters me, our eyes locking for a quick moment before I lift my head to bring myself to his lips. This kiss is different from the others, love and passion filled, a kiss that isn't rushed. “Can I move baby?” quinn asks from above me, “yes please fuck me” i pant back into his mouth, bringing our lips back together again.

Quinns hips quickly snapping against mine, pulling out fullying before pushing himself back into me. The quick motion caused the both of us to moan loudly, “harder” I moan out to him. “You want me to fuck you harder baby?” Quinn says back to me. To answer his question I push my hips up to meet his thrusts, quinn moves one of his hands from my waist to my right leg, and pushes it above his shoulder. the new angle, hitting a depth i didn't know was even possible. Fucking me at a pace so good, that i didnt want him to stop.

The sound of groans, moans and our skin meeting and slapping together fills our room, our bodies slick with sweat. My eyes flutter open meeting quinns eyes, as he fucks me so deep and so good, my mouth is hung open but no words are coming out.

Grabbing my jaws he leans down and spits into my mouth “swallow” he orders, his eyes still locked with mine. I do as he says, swallowing every last bit.

“Fuck you’re so hot” quinn moans at me, as he continues to fuck me. “More more '' I moan loudly at him, Quinn then pushes both of my legs on his shoulders. Fucking me so deep i can feel him in my stomach.

“Im gonna cum, baby” Quinn breathes in my ear, his face dropping to my neck as he picks up his pace. I feel the familiar burn build up in my stomach again. “Don't stop, im almost there please dont stop” i wine at him urging him to go even faster.

Grabbing our headboard, using more strength to push himself harder into me. One singular snap of his hips causes me to cum. “Quinn quinn, im coming fuck fuck fuck” i moan loudly. “come for me baby fuck” quinn says as he continues to fuck me though my orgasm.

“Im cumming” he sputters out, his lips finding mine. Our bodies move together as we’re coming down from our highs.

My legs slowly come down from his shoulders, Quinn slowly pulling out of me, wincing as he does. Collapsing beside me, our chests falling and rising together, pants fill the room still. I turn my body to his hand tracing his chest and neck. Pushing his hair that's fallen in his face back. Quinns arms circled around my waist pulling me closer to him.

“So much for the bet huh?” he says while laughing, pulling me in for another kiss.

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #nhl fic #quinn hughes smut #vancover canucks #hockey smut

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sheeple · 22 days ago

Text

Puck you!

Genre(s): Modern!au / Ice hockey!au Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Ice hockey player!Mattheo Riddle x Reader Summary: You decide to go to an ice hockey game on your own and end up with a broken nose, a round trip to the ER, and a boyfriend. Warning(s): Broken nose (obvs) / kinda rushed A/n: Is it kinda inspired by a Saturday evening of mine? Who knows? [Masterlist]

It was stupid. Who goes to their very first ice hockey game all alone? Well... apparently you. You've tried to ask your friends and even your parents. But your friends were all busy and your father said, "I'm not going to spend my Saturday evening anywhere else except at home, on the couch." Spoiler alert: he and your mother went to a dinner with their friends that evening. Hypocrite.

So here you are, all alone and being very cold. You're having a great time nonetheless — even preferring ice hockey above soccer (don't tell your manager) — but even though you went with a sweater and one of your thicker winter coats, you are so damn cold! And seeing people pass by with steaming coffee you decide to get a hot beverage for yourself once the second break starts.

As soon as the buzzer sounds, you're out of your seat and off to the coffee corner. Smiling at the lady, you order a hot cocoa with whipped cream on top.

"How are you liking the game so far, dearie?", she asks with a kind smile.

Swallowing a big gulp of whipped cream, you wipe your mouth. "It's great! It's my very first one and way more brutal than I thought but it's so awesome. The cold's something I have to get used to", you laugh.

"Well then", she reaches behind the counter and pulls out a bright green beanie, "take this, love. Think of it as a welcome-to-the-sport present." She winks and you thank her profusely.

Seeing as the fifteen minutes are almost over, you quickly hurry back to your seat. But once you approach you see someone else sitting in it. No big deal, enough space. Moving further down, you spot an empty seat between two families and decide it's good enough for you.

Thanking the people who get up from their seats to let you pass, you quickly take place and put on the beanie. To your surprise the combo of beanie and hot chocolate does wonders.

The players skate back on the rink and the game starts again. Your hometown team the Green Snakes stand with 7 to 2 points before the Godrick's Lions and the crowd is electric. You know there's some age-old rivalry between the two teams — two cities really — that you never really understood. But hey, people need something to be competitive about.

For the so many-ith time, the game stops and number 86 is sent to the penalty box. Again. He's been playing rough all game, really firing his pucks at the opposite goal and knocking other players to the side. You pull up his profile on your phone to see who's behind the mask.

Number 86. Riddle, Mattheo. Hmm... he's rather handsome with his dark curly hair and, if you dare say, adorable smile. According to the Green Snakes' website, he's known for playing rough and getting up just as hard as he's knocking people down.

While you're distracted by your phone, you don't see how said player misfires a puck at the goal. It bounces off the sides before launching over the rink walls and into the stands. Straight at you.

With full speed, the black mini-missile lands right in your face. It bounces off your nose to be more precise. You feel it crack under the speed and pass out almost exactly directly.

Meanwhile, on the ice, Mattheo winces as the puck he shot hits the very cute girl straight in her face. He's been eyeing you the whole game that's also why he's getting so much time in the penalty box — to look at you but he won't admit that.

He wants to immediately rush off the ice and run over to the stands where paramedics are loading you on a stretcher. But the hand of his captain stops him and he shakes his head. "We can visit her after the game. It's only ten minutes left and then you can make sure she's fine."

Mattheo knows his captain is right but he can't focus on the game anymore. His coach switches him out for Malfoy and he sends the remainder of the time on the bench. As soon as the buzzer sounds the game is over, and he's off to the dressing room to have a quick shower before sprinting towards the medical bay.

When you came by, you were lying in a slightly warmer room than you remember. Wait... what do you remember? Hot chocolate, the beanie, 86, the puck. THE PUCK!

You shoot up and immediately regret it. The room spins around you and your head throbs. Your nose hurts like a bitch and you have an unrelenting runny nose. A nurse rushes over to you with gauze in her hands and presses it to your nose.

"Oh dear. Try to breathe slowly and through your mouth. I'm afraid your nose is broken. I've already called the doctor to set it straight for you".

"It's broken?", you say softly, not believing what you're hearing. Reaching up with a hand, you touch the tender flesh and hiss as pain flashes through your body. And now your head throbs, amazing...

As the nurse cleans up the bloody rags he turns towards you with a soft smile. "I'll tell your boyfriend that you're awake so he can come in."

"Boyfriend?", you echo perplexed.

That makes the nurse frown deeply and scribble something on the chard she's holding before exiting the room.

Since when do you have a boyfriend? You've surely hit your head pretty hard. How else could you forget a whole-ass boyfriend?

The door opens and a head with dark curls peeks around, scanning the room until his eyes fall upon you. As he closes the door behind him you recognise the guy. The one and only number 86 standing before you with a guilty look on his face. That puck for sure did a number on you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Considering I've gotten a puck against my noggin? It hurts and my nose is broken. And apparently, I've got a boyfriend in the time I was KO."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the hospital bed pretty harshly. "Yeah... Sorry about that. They wouldn't let me stay if I wasn't family or involved with you." You can see him cringe with the way he phrased that. "I'm really sorry about the whole puck incident. Coach always says I play too roughly and this just proves it..."

Before you can answer, there's a knock on the door and in walks a doctor followed by the same nurse. "Good evening Miss, how are you feeling?", asks the doctor as she shines a light into your eyes.

You throw number 86 a glance. "Despite that my nose is crooked and my head hurts, pretty okay."

The doctor hums. "So no dizziness, vagueness, or forgetfulness?"

You shake your head, slightly regretting the motion.

"Good. Good. I'll grab a colleague from ENT to put your nose back how it belongs and then you are free to go home. Sounds good?"

You nod and soon you're left alone with number 86 again. Breaking the silence, you hold out your hand and introduce your name. Even though he broke your nose, you still have manners.

He's quick to take your hand to shake it. "Matt. Is there any way to make it up to you?"

"You could let me break your nose in return?", you joke, but quickly backpaddle as Matt legitly seems to consider it. "No, you're crazy! It was a joke!"

Matt chuckles awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. "Can I take you out to drink once your nose is fine again?"

A small smile grows on your face and you nod. "Yeah... I would like that."

Around an hour later you let yourself fall on your bed; your nose bandaged and yourself still a little woozy because of the anaesthesia they gave you. You hold your phone dangerously above you as you stare at the text that has come in.

Hey! Looking forward towards our date next week! I promise you we'll stay off the ice (for now) This is Matt btw :) Goodnight

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vanteguccir · 8 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　𝗛𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗔

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is a hockey player of the Boston High-school hockey team, and during one of her games, her temper is tested by her opponent while her boyfriend, Matt, is watching.

WARNING: Physical fighting, blood, bruises.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N adjusted the straps of her helmet and took one last look around the locker room. The muffled noise of the crowd, which already filled the gym, pulsed through the walls. The tension in the air was palpable. This game wasn't just another game of the season; it was the decisive game that would define the regional champion. And for Y/N, there was an extra motivation: Matt. Her boyfriend was in the audience, and she wanted more than ever to impress him with her performance.

While sliding across the ice during warm-ups, Y/N observed the opposing team, known for its physical and aggressive play, looked more determined than ever. Among them, one player in particular stood out: Lilian. Tall, robust, and with a look that exuded competitiveness, Lilian had a reputation for being ruthless. Y/N knew she would have to pay attention to her throughout the game.

The opening whistle sounded, and the game began with frenetic intensity. Y/N moved with agility, looking for gaps in the opponent's defense. Every pass, every deflection, was meticulously calculated.

And it didn't take long for her to find an opportunity.

With a quick sprint, Y/N escaped to the right, receiving a precise pass from her teammate and, with an elegant movement of her stick, sent the puck directly into the corner of the net.

The electric sound of the puck hitting the net was followed by a roar from the crowd. Matt, who was sitting in the center bleachers, jumped to his feet, cheering and shouting her name, a huge smile taking over his face as his hands grabbed the front of his brothers' hoodies, shaking their upper bodies with euphoria.

Y/N's confidence was high, but the game was far from won. The opposing team increased the pressure, and Lilian, especially, seemed to have fixed Y/N as her main target.

In one of the most critical moves, Lilian came forward with force, bumping into Y/N with an intensity that bordered on brutality. Y/N managed to stay upright but felt the impact reverberate through her bones.

She returned Lilian's gaze with firm determination. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.

The minutes passed, and the game became increasingly fierce. Y/N was determined to score another goal. Her ears seemed to constantly search for the loud and firm comments of encouragement that escaped her boyfriend's lips, drawing strength from there. With a combination of speed and precision, she advanced towards the opponent's goal again.

But Lilian was there, and this time, she wasn't willing to allow Y/N to pass. In a split second, Lilian collided violently against Y/N, knocking her onto the ice. The impact was so strong that Y/N felt the air leave her lungs, her hands quickly letting go of the stick and gluing to her chest covered by heavy clothes, trying desperately to take a long breath.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling a penalty, but the damage was already done.

With anger boiling inside her, Y/N stood up with difficulty, breathing harshly. She felt humiliated and enraged. Without thinking twice, the girl skated towards the locker room, ignoring the screams of her teammates and her coach, who called for her, cutting through the silence that had settled in the gym after the incident.

The door closed behind her back, muffling the sound of the crowd and the frenzy of the game, echoing like a dull thud throughout the space. In the silence of the locker room, Y/N took a deep breath, trying to control the storm of emotions that was stirring inside her.

She sat down on the main bench, removing her helmet and running her hands through her sweat-damp hair. Anger burned through her veins, not just because of Lilian's aggression, but because of the frustration of feeling like she was letting down her team and, especially, Matt. He had come to watch her play, and all she wanted was to put on a spectacular show for him.

Tears began to form, but Y/N took another deep breath, refusing to let them fall. She wouldn't give in.

The girl closed her eyes tightly, trying to center herself, but as she did so, a stab of pain appeared above her eye. A wince scaped her lips as she touched the painful area, noticing something warm and wet on her fingers. Raising them to her eye level, she saw blood.

The anger, which was already intense, intensified even more. The girl felt her blood boiling as her hands shook with hatred. The sight of blood dripping from her eyebrow was the trigger that was needed for her uncontrolled fury.

Without thinking twice, Y/N put the helmet back on harshly, ignoring the pain. She wouldn't let Lilian get away with that. Y/N got out of the locker room with firm slides, determined to show that no one would take her down without consequences.

Back on the ice, Y/N felt a new surge of energy, this time fueled by anger and the need for revenge. Her eyes were fixed on Lilian, who didn't seem to expect her to return so soon. With impressive speed, Y/N skated directly towards her opponent, leaving her coach's questions behind.

When the distance between them closed, Y/N kept going, hitting her shoulder against the other girl with all the strength she had. The impact threw Lilian to the ground, who fell onto her back, surprised and in pain, a loud cry scream echoing afterward.

The referee blew his whistle frantically, but Y/N ignored his and Lilian's screams. Her focus was absolute.

She took the puck from one of the opposing players with surprising dexterity and began advancing towards the goal. Every movement was fierce, precise. She was in a state of flux, where nothing else mattered other than the next goal.

With impressive skill, Y/N scored one after another. The crowd was in a frenzy, and the energy in the gym was electric. Matt, in the bleachers, watched everything with wide eyes, his screams standing out among the crowd. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Y/N was playing like never before, in a way he himself had never witnessed.

With each goal, Y/N felt increasing satisfaction. She was showing everyone – her team, her opponents, the watchers, and especially Lilian – that she was really good. Blood was still running from her eyebrow, dripping onto her lips held by the mouth guard, the metallic taste flooding her tongue.

When the final whistle sounded, declaring her team's victory, Y/N felt a wave of relief flood her body. She dropped the stick on the ice floor and ripped off her helmet, taking her mouth guard off of her lips, finally breathing properly, her eyes darting around the gym as euphoria took over her body, adrenaline rushing through her veins like lightning.

It was at that moment that she saw Matt jump over the railing that separated the bleachers from the ice. The brunette ran towards her, slipping slightly on the ice, a consequence of his inappropriate sneakers, leaving behind the screams of his brothers who tried to dissuade him.

She felt her heart speed up even more, wetting her lips in anticipation.

When Matt finally reached Y/N, he quickly threw himself in front of her, raising his arms and cupping his girl's face with both hands firmly, his gaze filled with concern and love. His blue eyes scanned the cut on her eyebrow, trying to wipe away the blood on her skin with trembling fingers.

"Y/N, baby, are you okay? You're bleeding so much. Let me see this..."

Y/N, still breathing heavily, felt a wave of emotions wash over her. Before Matt could continue, she cut him off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her hands around his thick hoodie-covered waist and pulling him closer, the significant height that her skateboards provided her aiding her in her action.

It was a kiss full of intensity, relief, and love.

Matt sighed deeply, the hot air hitting the girl's cold face, causing the blush in the area to intensify, feeling enveloped by the passion and strength that emanated from her.

When they finally separated, Matt hugged her tightly, his body shaking slightly with the adrenaline that took his body along with his heart racing at a thousand miles per hour. His large hands hugged her head against his own right shoulder, his fingers stroking her tied hair gently.

"I'm so proud of you, Y/N. You were amazing. I've never seen anyone play like you played today. You were so strong, so brave..." Y/N smiled against his covered skin, feeling his hushed words warm her heart.

"It was all for you, babe. Every goal-"

"Y/N!" The coach shouted, approaching with quick, steady steps, his ice-appropriate sneakers keeping him upright. "What in God's name was that? This is a hockey game. What, are you trying out for the gymnastics team? If you do that again, you'll be out!"

Matt watched him with wide eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line in an attempt to hold back his laughter.

"Sorry, coach. I just did what I had to do." Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out a breathless laugh.

The coach shook his head, opening an almost imperceptible smile.

"You played with your heart today, kid. Just try to keep a little more control next time, okay? We don't want you to miss big opportunities."

"You got it, coach." Y/N nodded quickly, Matt's arms still holding her tightly, one arm grasping firmly around her waist, keeping her close.

"Now take her to the infirmary, boy." The coach approached, casting a glance toward Matt while patting her right shoulder.

"Yes, sir, I'll take care of her."

"You better."

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captain-bubble-wrap · 6 days ago

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[No warnings noted.] As the Canucks' newest rinkside reporter, Rick Tocchet's daughter prepares herself for her first day on the job and first introduction to the team's captain.

Tonight marked the start of the Canucks' 2024-25 season and your introduction to the team's organization and fanbase. This was the biggest day of your career and you couldn't be any more nervous. You had done your makeup twice before leaving your apartment, changed your clothes half a dozen times, and frantically checked your hair in every mirror at least once. You had finally been given the chance to get your feet wet in professional broadcasting and you prayed you didn't fall on your face.

You knew any expectation of your abilities were going to be high just because of the fact that your father was the head coach of the team. Aware that there would be those whispers of favoritism and unfair handouts, you had tried to prepare yourself for such rumors and just wanted to let your work speak for itself. You were a Canucks' Top Prospect graduate and last year, you had reported rinkside for the Abbotsford Canucks as an intern, following college graduation, and it had been a wonderful opportunity. Now, you would find yourself among seasoned veterans and hoped not to feel like a child with numerous babysitters.

You had arrived at the arena around the same time as some of the players, just because if you didn't, you knew you would have found reason to pick another outfit or redo your eyeliner for the third time. Your heels clicked with an echo through the parking garage, your hair swished back and forth in the high ponytail atop your head with each step. You were confident, sure, but beneath that polished exterior was equally as much anxiety and panic.

"Badge?" Demanded the security guard from his post, not familiar with the new face standing before him. You produced the lanyard that was intertwined with your keys from your purse. Once it was in his possession he checked it against a series of papers. Nervousness began to set in within your chest when he didn't give it back quickly. The way he looked at you was like a bouncer checking a fake ID outside a club.

"I don't have you on the list," he replied sharply, handing back your fresh credentials. "No one with your name in Media."

"But I'm reporting tonight," you reassured, eyebrows pulled in from worry. "I was hired back in June."

The older gentleman, portly and with deep lines etched into his face scowled, "I can't let you in. You better call who ever it was who 'hired' you, because I'm not letting in anyone just because they claim to be Rick Tocchet's daughter. Nice try."

"I can show you my driver's licen--."

"Still no one with that name on the list. Now, step aside."

Absolutely taken aback by the rudeness and unbelievable news, you turned back towards where you had walked from and briefly saw two men, dressed in nice suits pass by you. Digging around the interior of your purse for your phone you'd hear the security guard call them by their first names.

"Connor. Quinn. Have a good game tonight, boys," he said to them, far more chipper than he had been with you just moments ago. You knew both players, hell, you knew all of the names on the Canucks' roster. That had been Connor Garland and Quinn Hughes who had breezed past. Too bad they couldn't vouch for you, now you were tasked with calling in a very poorly-time favour.

"Hey princess," said the voice on the other end of the phone once the call was finally picked up. "You alright?"

"No, dad, I'm not," you said, your voice low so to not let anyone overhear your conversation. "Security won't let me in, says I'm not on some media list. Not to mention he thinks I'm lying about who I am."

Your father sighed deeply. He was the last person you wanted to call and whine about someone being mean to you, especially hours before the first puck would drop. You had a job to do, and who better to pull some strings than him? However, it was the timing that was unfortunate.

"What gate are you at?" He asked, the frustration evident in his tone.

"I don't know. I'm at the players entrance or something. Connor and Quinn just went past me."

"Alright. Let me make a call. Sit tight."

"Thanks, dad."

He mumbled a "mhm" before the call dropped, leaving you loitering, hoping the guard didn't threaten to escort you off the grounds for being unauthorized personnel. What a way to start the night, the season, and your career. It wouldn't take long however before the ringing of a phone would echo throughout the garage. It had come from the security booth and you hoped it was someone calling on your behalf. Unable to stifle your curiosity, you looked towards the direction of the booth to see the man looking at you, nodding while he said nothing. He'd motion you over with a wave of his hand and you'd waste no time seeing what it was about.

"Apparently, your name wasn't added to the active media correspondents," he said flatly, hardly that of an apology. "You can go on in."

"Thank you," you sighed, making short work of the remainder of garage that opened up into the bowels of Rogers Arena. Finally, you were where you needed to be and it was already a mad house. Equipment managers were transporting rolling carts of towels and all manner of various odds and ends through the hallways and around tight corners. You had general directions of the media hub and you were thankful you had gotten there so early, because finding that specific room was like a treasure hunt. After probably twenty minutes of navigating the behind the scenes world of the arena, you arrived at the door.

"Oh, you must be Y|N Tocchet! So good to meet you! We're glad you made it," remarked Senior Writer Chris Faber, who was going over his notes when you came in. "We heard you'd be joining the team. Welcome."

"Thank you so much, I'm eager to get started!"

"We love the eagerness," he added, always happy to have young talent involved in the sport and pioneering for younger generations to follow. "Heard you made quite the name for yourself in Abbotsford last season."

"I loved it there! It was fun watching to see who had the hints of being a big talent develop down there. It was always loud," you smiled with a nod.

"I think you'll fit right in with us here. No doubt your father is proud," Chris said, with the smile himself.

"You'd have thought I had been drafted first overall!" You remarked, remembering how he had boasted when you got the call from upper management about the reporter position being given to you. "I have a high bar to strive for. Can't make him look bad, you know?"

Chris chuckled, reassuring you that you'd have no trouble transitioning into Vancouver's content team. "I'm sure you'll make him proud. Now, you have any questions for me?"

"Actually, I do. What is my schedule for tonight?"

"You're going to interview Quinn during warmups, get his opinion and insight on how the team preformed through the pre-season and his outlook and expectations for this season. Think you can handle that?"

"Absolutely," you beamed, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. It was actually happening; you had made it.

- - -

Warmups began to an overwhelming response around the arena. You walked down the tunnel following the team and were instructed to stand at the end of the bench. Quinn had already been told you meet you along the boards following a few hot laps. Watching the players at ice level really hit home that tonight was real. Nothing could beat the opening day of a hockey season. The energy was electrifying: from the fans screaming at the top of their lungs, player's fresh reactions to playing again, and shouted messages coming from the coaches. Opening night was just another beast entirely, and it marked the official start to the season and fans were eager to begin that grind and see their team back in the playoffs.

"Good luck, sweetheart," your dad would say as you passed in front of him and the other assistant coaches, a gentle smile across his lips. You'd give him a wink before getting to where you needed to be.

Your eyes zeroed in on Quinn's number forty-three as he practically floated across the ice, edges sharp and skating so fluidly. You had watched him since his debut with the team, and he was seriously one of the most beautiful skaters in the game right now. Your cameraman went over the key points of your short interview and you would give a quick nod in agreeance.

"You're going to do great! Don't worry!" He said to hype you up, and give you the confidence boost you needed to calm your nerves.

It didn't take long for Quinn to finally make his way over to you. He didn't do an aggressive hockey stop, not that you thought him the type to do so, instead he sort of just listed to the two of you, looking eager to already have it over and done with. You had watched numerous other girls before you have the chance to interview the star captain, and each time he just came off like he wasn't comfortable doing the interview aspect of his job. You hoped you'd make it easy on him so he could get back to warming up, and so you could get your heart back to a regular speed.

The cameraman, again, would give you a nod, checking his equipment before giving you the signal to begin your conversation with Quinn. His eyes were down, gloved hand holding his stick upright like he was at attention. It would be after you greeted him that he would finally bring his eyes to your face, actually seeing you for the first time.

"Welcome to the start of the new season, Quinn," you said brightly, smile beaming.

He swallowed hard, almost like he had forgotten how to speak, "Thank you."

"You're fresh off of winning the Norris, congratulations! Do you have a plan for trying for a back-to-back award winning season, or is that not really a concern for you? Sort of a, 'if it happens it happens' type of thing?"

"Really just focused on making sure we can win as many games as possible is the main objective, right now. We're hopeful to have a repeat trip to the playoffs first. Anything extra is just that: it's extra."

Quinn dropped his eyes from you while you spoke your next question. He seemed so disinterested and you were hoping that you weren't a bumbling idiot on camera.

"How confident are you in your team following camp and how the pre-season faired?"

"I think we put everything we have into how we practice at any given time. It's nice getting together with the guys again, and feel that brotherhood reconnect even in practice. I think we're all in a good headspace at the moment."

"Finally, what can fans expect from this year's Canucks lineup?"

"I think we're a solid group of players who bring a multitude of strengths to the ice, and we're prepared to bring that night after night all season long."

"Wonderful! Thank you so much, and good luck."

Quinn nodded at your parting words. "Thanks."

As he skated off, you faced the camera for your sign off, "Tonight marks a fresh start for this Canucks' team, and fans can believe that they're in for a strong season."

Holding your smile until given the signal that the recording had ended, you'd breath a deep sigh of relief immediately after. Your palms were slick with sweat and your heart was beating in your ears, but you had done it!

"See, I knew you had it in you! That was fantastic for your first NHL interview!" Remarked your cameraman, picking up his tripod and laying it against your shoulder. "Great job!"

"I was so nervous," you laughed.

"It didn't show! Congratulations."

You smiled, and went to follow him from the bench, but before you got too far from the boards, you heard someone calling out to you from the ice. Looking over your shoulder, you'd see Quinn skating back to you.

"Good luck on your first game," he said, a warmup puck in the palm of his glove. You'd reach for it, shocked by the kind gesture that hadn't crossed your deepest daydreams.

"Aw, thank you so much," you blushed, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks. Quinn would smirk, his eyes dropping from your face yet again before he rejoined his teammates following the end of the warmup sequence. Quickly, you'd make your exit, not wanting to linger where you didn't belong for a second time today. But passing behind your father, he'd give you a quick hug at your accomplishment.

"You're a natural," he whispered. "You did so well."

"Thanks dad!" you said, heart swelling. "Good luck tonight~"

- - -

The game had come to a heartbreaking end for home fans when the Flames had managed to score a goal in overtime. A collective sigh of defeat hung over the interior of the arena which followed everyone out with disappointment and broken spirits. Everyone had hoped for more; had hoped for a win in regulation to start the season, not a participation point for losing in OT. Regardless, a single point was better than none.

You said goodbye to your new colleagues, and started to make your way back to the parking garage. Your dad would be busy going over things with the players as well as post-game interviews, so waiting for him would be a complete waste of time. All you really had to do was head back home.

It had been an exciting day, one that had both fried your nerves and catapulted your confidence. Your interview with Quinn had turned out quite smooth and polished, when you watched the playback. You found yourself looking at Quinn the entire time, noticing him stealing looks at you that you hadn't realized before when you were interviewing him. How had you missed that? His eyes blinking up at you, those gentle nods to each of your questions, the one subtle smirk he'd let slip at you telling him good luck at the end. You had blushed watching it, like you had when he gave you the puck souvenir to mark the start of your career within the organization. You couldn't understand what was wrong with you. It had just been a puck; your father likely would have done the same thing if Quinn hadn't beaten him to it.

The question would plague your mind the entire drive home.

Even when you went to bed, your mind kept replaying Quinn smiling as he skated away from you the second time. The puck sitting on your nightstand would cause quite the dream that night.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #💌maven's love notes

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aboutcustardcreams · 3 months ago

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Wake up call

pt. 1

a/n: I'm not going to follow the series episode by episode, as I already mentioned. This story will focus primarily on the three witches' story, so I'll probably jump forward and back in time at my own discretion from now on. If you're curious about something in particular, feel free to tell me in the comments. Would you prefer that I go back or forward from now on? (also, sorry for eventual typos or mistakes).

pt. 2

Agatha looked as surprised as you for a moment. The boy was on his knees, squirming uncomfortably at the rope around his wrists and ankles. He said something, his voice sounded muffled through the duct tape.

“Oh, uhm.. well, I may have accidentally kidnapped him.”

You blinked in disbelief, “How can you accidentally kidnap someone?”

The kid muttered something else you couldn’t quite comprehend. You thought it was his way to agree with you, so you grinned, whereas Agatha groaned in annoyance. As the boy persisted, you realized what he really wanted from you.

“Oh–”, you mouthed a quick apology, lips stretching in an awkward smile as you took the tape off his mouth with a quick puck. He winced, but then muttered a ‘thanks’ to you. Had he been locked in there the whole night? Instead of that, you asked a different question, “you alright?”, twirling your finger, you made him turn around to untie the rope around his wrists and ankles.

He sighed and gave you a grateful smile once free, “much better.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, not really sure about what else was to say, despite having tons of questions. There couldn’t be a moment worse than this to have to deal with a kid.

“Agatha, love, care to explain?”

Your lover paid no attention, or rather she feigned to be distracted doing practically nothing more than walking up and down the house, as she mentally freaked out due to the last events.

“There’s nothing to explain–”, she waved dismissively, “For all I care he can keep the house.”

The boy frowned and quite frankly so did you. You walked up to her, confusion written all over your features, “Agatha, what in heaven are you talking about?”

The boy followed behind in silence.

When she suddenly spun around, Agatha was so close, you almost stumbled backwards. “Did you listen to Rio’s words or not?” There was a hint of frustration in her tone, quite relatable in fact, and yet...

Your head lolled to the side, “so your plan is to leave?”

“Glad you’re catching up," she grinned cheekily.

With no magic at her disposal, she had no intention of facing the Salem Seven, and even less letting you anywhere near them to save her life. So running was the best and only option she could think of at the moment; that hopefully would give her enough time to figure out a way to restore her magic and be a witch again.

You ran a hand through your hair, eyes glancing only briefly over the boy, who gave you a tight smile in return. A part of you wondered what he was doing still there. Didn't he have places to be, like school or whatever?

Before Agatha could walk from you again, you reached out to grab her wrist, “So, this is what we will do,” you started, silently enjoying the whiny sound slipping from her lips, “we sit down, talk it out like mature adults, and you–” pointing a finger at the boy, “you’re gonna tell me why you broke into our house in the first place.”

“Uhm.. yeah, I..”

“We don’t have time for this!” Agatha exclaimed, “Need I remind you there’s a price on our heads?”

A playful smirk tugged at your lips and unable to resist teasing her, you quipped, “technically it’s on yours. I only happen to be in your shit as per usual.”

The boy let out a quiet chuckle, that you were about to reciprocate hadn't it been for Agatha’s hand flapping at the nape of your neck, “Oof!" you whined.

Amusement glimmered in her eyes, “You had it coming,” she retorted. Then she glanced over the boy, with a grimace. “Not to be rude or anything, but we’ve got a lot on our plate so if you could just–” She pointed to where the front door used to be, her confidence dimming slightly, “this house is a complete disaster.”

She looked so annoyed right now, tired and scared even, but the latter she would never admit. Completely forgetting about the boy, you focused on Agatha and placed a hand over the small of her back, “it’s not so bad…” you trailed off, resting your chin on her shoulder. She knew you weren't only referring to the conditions of the house. Her eyes fell shut for a moment, her features relaxed when you started stroking her skin, lips barely brushing against a soft spot behind her ear, “we have an excuse to redecorate now.”

Despite everything, Agatha let out a small chuckle. She turned around and draped an arm around your waist. With everything that happened in such a short time, she hadn’t given herself a moment to truly cherish the fact that you were back—the real you. Sure, even without your memories, you stood by Agatha’s side all those years, but having you here now, like in the old days, felt different. It was different. Her eyes darted from your face to your collarbone, nose scrunching up at the sight of the nasty bluish bruise— a reminder of Rio’s hands on you. Her hand glided up to your face, tracing your jawline before slowly moving down to your collarbone, fingers barely grazing your skin, mindful that it was still tender and possibly sore.

“Are you–?”

Your eyes softened at the hesitation in her voice, “you shouldn’t worry about that.”

“I always worry about what matters," she argued back.

"Sappy," you teased.

With an eye roll, she smirked, "brat."

When her eyes darted towards the boy once again, she let out an incredulous scoff, “you better have a darn good reason to still be dangling here.”

Color drained from his face. Quite frankly, Agatha could be intimidating when she tried. Even when she didn't. “I-I do!” He cleared his throat. “I want to walk the Witches' Road. It’s the only reason why I broke in here really and–” he was talking so fast, for a moment you thought your mind had tricked you. There was no way he said the words ‘witches’ and ‘road’ in the same sentence.

Agatha's eyes snapped wide open, “what’s that you say?”

“The Witches’ Road,” he repeated, slower and firmly. It hit you hard. You couldn't help it. “I want you to take me there,” his eyes softened and so did his voice as he added, “please.”

Agatha tried to meet your eyes then, but you had your gaze dropped to the floor.

“The Witches’ Road doesn’t exist.”

“You’re lying,” he argued.

Agatha scoffed bitterly, “am I?”, voice rising in exasperation.

When you slowly lifted your chin towards the boy, you squint your eyes so much as if you were troubled by a sudden headache, “You’re asking for a death wish here.”

Agatha agreed, “quite literally.”

The boy looked crestfallen, but he didn’t back down, “You only say that because you think I’m inexperienced, which is fair. I am. But I can make it to the end-”

Your lips pursed in a grimace as you tried to make sense of everything that was happening. First Rio, then the Salem Seven on your heels, and now this boy who had no idea what he was asking for.

“Look, I love your confidence– but the Road is no place for a kid.”

Agatha sank into the couch in the lounge, curling a finger at you in invitation. Smiling, you obliged, perching yourself on the armrest beside her. You were close enough that her hand could slip to rest on your thigh, her fingers tracing soft, lazy patterns over the fabric of your pants. The gentle rhythm of her touch soothed you, and you allowed yourself to calm your nerves, focusing on her proximity and nothing else.

“I’m sixteen,” he objected, taking a seat onto the chair across from you.

“Oh, why didn’t you say that before? That changes… nothing.”

You had to stifle a laugh at her sarcastic remark.

He gave a dramatic eye roll. “Come on! You walked it before and survived!”

Your brows knit in a frown. Just how much did that boy actually understand about you and Agatha? Or rather, how much did he think he understood? No one truly knew what it had been like for the two of you back in the eighteenth century. People clung to their own assumptions, and you let them—after all, the real truth was far too painful to share. Not a single soul knew the true story behind the reputation Agatha had built, nor the reasons why so many had to die in the first place.

Agatha’s hand stilled on your thigh, “I had a very good reason to stay alive, plus I’m exceptional.”

It wasn’t a lie, not completely at least.

The boy’s eyes shifted from Agatha’s to yours. You felt as if he knew what Agatha was talking about you. You saw something, a glimpse of understanding in those eyes that somehow unsettled you. If Agatha was known as ‘witch killer’ for all the wrong reasons, your reputation also preceded you, but you struggled to say the words.

“I read an egregious amount about you two. I’ve been obsessed since I first came up with your Salem days… the way you two met, and oh my God- don’t get me started on your magic skills.”

So you and Agatha had a little fan.

Agatha’s interest rose considerably. She grinned, “cute. Isn't he a cute pet?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure whether to be flattered or freaked out by all this interest,” you mused.

The boy completely ignored the fact that Agatha just called him pet. “Sorry, I just– you’re a necromancer witch!” He was now struggling to keep a posed tone of voice, and you found yourself scratching the back of your head, not really used to being praised by your gift/curse. Quite the opposite in fact. “Guilty as charged,” you quipped.

Agatha’s hand moved towards your knee, thumb brushing in a soothing circle there. You smiled inwardly at the gesture.

“Books say witches your kind are so rare, powerful and–”

“harrowed, banished, burned at the stake?” You cut him off in a sing-song tone.

Agatha snorted, “you name it.”

She knew better than anyone what it felt like to be brushed aside. It was one of the reasons why she could bond with you so easily and so quickly. You understood her before she could even attempt to comprehend the complexity about herself and her power.

Teen blinked confusedly, “I was gonna say interesting.”

You clasped your hands together and took a deep breath. “Look, we appreciate your enthusiasm. You seem like a really smart boy, and I’m sure you’re destined for great things, but we can’t help you, not with that-”

“But I saved Agatha from the spell…” his smile turned into a frown and his features dimmed as a consequence, “I’d have come to you too if she hadn’t locked me up in the closet. But w-wait,” he suddenly came to a halt, eyebrows knitting in a frown as a new question popped up in his mind. “How did you wake up from the hex?”

Agatha knew, but said nothing, leaving the explanations to you.

“It’s hard to explain–” Being a necromancer allowed you to have all sorts of… vibes. Plus your soul was connected to Agatha’s and her life being threatened by something– or rather someone you knew quite well worked as a wake up bell for you, “it’s like a sixth sense, but better. I can always feel when Agatha needs me. I got a pull into reality the moment Rio broke into the house with the purpose of harming her. I felt her aura. She and I– let’s just say our magic works like opposite poles of a magnet.”

Agatha’s features hardened a bit, as she nibbled on the inside of her cheek out of nervousness. Your magic being complementary to Rio’s had caused you more problems than anything else. She almost lost you to her, and that’s something she would probably never forget.

The boy hummed in thought. He was clearly intrigued by your magic and took a mental note to ask you more questions at the first next opportunity, considering he left his notebook in the car.

“And who’s Rio? I didn’t hear much but– there seemed to be a history–”

“Trouble.”

“A bitch.”

Both you and Agatha said in unison.

“We don’t really need to talk about her now…” you kept vague, hoping he would catch the silent message passing through your eyes. Talking about her was never easy, not when your feelings for her were so tangled and conflicting. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love her anymore, cause you still did. And Agatha... well, she probably did too, however, she would never admit it, not to you and even less to herself. The past clung like a shadow, and neither of you could ever truly forget. The ache of Rio's choices lingered, buried deep, a silent reminder of what your bond once was and could never be again.

He pressed his lips together and gave you a slow nod of his head in return.

“I’m curious,” she smacked her lips, your head turned towards her, as she continued, “If you’ve got the goods to break a spell cast by the Scarlet Witch, why do you need the Road?”

Your eyes widened in shock. Was she really considering this?

“The Road promises that what you’re looking for awaits at its end. I need to walk the road so I can figure out the extent of my power..” he explained and she hummed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Don’t you need power yourself?”

Agatha’s back stiffened, “I most certainly do, yes.”

“She doesn’t need to walk the Witches' Road for that,” you pointed out, glancing at the purple witch with the corner of your eyes.

The boy was confused. Without giving him too much information, you simply told him that you could share your magic. And, in a way, it was true. A more accurate version would have been explaining that Agatha could kill a witch by absorbing all her power, leaving nothing behind but dust. But that was far too dramatic, plus you were still one hundred percent sure she couldn’t and wouldn’t harm you in any way.

She let out a long, exhausted sigh at your insistence, “For the umpteenth time, I’m not taking your magic–”

“Ugh!" You groaned. "Aggs, Rio warned us–”

“She mentioned the Salem Seven, didn’t she?” The boy cut you off. “I’m sorry but y-you’ve got zero chances against them without magic, Agatha.”

She shot him an icy glare, “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Your lips trembled a bit, as you struggled to hold back an amused grin.

“I’m just trying to understand which alternatives you have,” he muttered defensively.

Agatha opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Nothing that she could use to hush both you and the kid.

“He’s got a point, you know. You need my magic, like right now.”

Once again, she ignored you. “Or maybe, we need to walk the Witches' Road one last time.”

The boy’s mouth parted ajar, “Really?”

“Really?” You echoed in a squeak.

She simply nodded her head, giving you an innocent smile that only fueled your incredulity. You let out a quiet, bitter chuckle right after, at the same time shaking your head in disbelief.

“Agatha, sweetheart, a word?”

You held out your hand for her to take, and just like she did a moment ago, you forced a serene, tranquil smile—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes but would have fooled anyone who didn’t know you better. She took your hand, her fingers curling around yours as she let you lead her toward the kitchen. Once you were far enough from the boy to speak more privately, you locked eyes with Agatha. Your face was practically shouting, ‘What the hell?!’ —a silent message that she heard loud and clear, without a single word spoken.

“The Road doesn’t exist! What’s your plan?”

“We are the only ones aware of that,” she stated matter of factly as if that could be used as a great advantage. “Teen is right, without my magic, I can’t defend myself against the Salem Seven, I can’t protect myself or you.”

If this wasn’t handled carefully, it could spiral into something much worse. You knew, better than anyone, how deeply it hurt Agatha to feel powerless, especially when it came to protecting those she loved. She had faced this agony with Nicky, and now, here she was again, reliving the same fear, this time, for you. Her own life, in that moment, felt like nothing compared to yours. Because without you in it, there was no existence worth living for her.

“You could,” you insisted, in a low, almost pleading tone. “if only you took my power–” It was so easy.

“I’m not willing to take any risks with you,” she stepped into your bubble, her hands tightening around your shoulders, in a possessive and yet still attentive way. She wanted you to understand. She needed you to be on her side on this. “I need to make sure I've got control over my thirst first. It's been so long since the last time I did that so I'm sorry but you’ll not be the lab rat for it.”

“Are you really thinking of using the boy?”

Agatha’s mouth dropped open, “Oh no, my God- no! I’m not talking about Teen, you idiot!”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gave her a defiant look.

She gave in after a bunch of seconds, “Okay, maybe I did think of him for a minute. He did break the Scarlet Witch’s hex, though."

You pinched the bridge of your nose at that.

“But we still need to ‘walk’ the Witches Road, except that this time, we aren’t killing anyone,” you’re ready to argue back again, but she didn’t let you, so you bit your bottom lip instead, trying really trying to find the silver lining at the end of this plan. “Here’s what we will do: we gather a coven, make some female friends, sing the Ballad, it doesn’t work, wowie-!, I call them names, they get angry and blast me. I take their magic and stop right before they turn into dust.”

She paused and took into your eyes, letting you assimilate her words, hopeful you’d find her idea good enough, because there was really no time for anything else.

“So, to recap—,” you cleared your throat, “you’re willing to lie to that kid, to the poor witches we’ll meet along the way, witches who’ll eventually turn against us once they learn our intentions, but you’re not willing to take my magic that’s literally within arm’s length because you’re scared you’ll kill me.”

She hummed, feeling quite satisfied with your summary, “yep.”

A slow smirk spread across your lips, “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe," she conceded. "But this plan’s gonna work.” Agatha shifted closer, her hands sliding to your hips, her fingers pressing into your skin with a slight possessive touch.

Your gaze fell to where her hands rested and for a moment, there was silence.

Time ticked. She waited.

“Fine. Oh my God- fine–”

Before you could say anything else, she pulled you into a crashing hug. Your pout quickly turned into an amused smile, and finally into a fit of giggles when her lips began peppering kisses all over your face.

“Atta girl!” She said with a proud grin, to which you responded with a snort.

You’d be pissed, though, if by the end of the day, you’d be forced to resurrect a bunch of witches. But you kept quiet about that.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #Teen #agatha harkness x reader #Teen x reader #wlw #Kathryn Hahn #Aubrey Plaza #Joe Locke #marvel #witches #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agathario

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majinbangus · 3 months ago

Note

i recently went to my local ice hockey teams match who were playing against glasgow and now i’m thinking thoughts of ice hockey boyfriend!soap having to play against his girlfriends home team (and losing…sorry glasgow lmao…we won 5-3)

》 18+ for a little suggestive rambling

Him being all cocky like "I promise not to demolish your team too bad, bonnie. Hope you don't get upset when my team wins" accompanied with an arrogant wink.

It doesn't help that he's been on a winning streak either (like yes, you're proud of him, and you always give him some celebratory love afterwards, kissing his scrapes and bruises among other things) but he just had to go and fire you up, talking smack about your home team, so just this once are you going to root against your hockey player boyfriend.

He thinks it's cute. There's no way his team is going to lose. He says he'll soften the sting of defeat by eating you out later. Make you forget about the loss.

Imagine his surprise when your home team starts out strong and his team has to play catch up. Imagine the look on his face when his team loses and you're laughing at him all smug grins and obnoxious gloating. Meanwhile, he's still trying to catch his breath, red and huffy as adrenaline courses through his veins.

"What was that you were saying about 'not losing' and 'eating me out'?" You rag on him, too high on your team's win to realize you're poking the bear. "Something about 'softening the sting of defeat?'"

"Keep laughing, see where it gets you."

"What's that? I can't hear you over my team beating yours."

"Oh, yer gonna be gaggin' on it if you don't quit it, bon."

"Just like how your team choked up and kept fumbling the puck?"

"Gonna count to three if you don't haud yer wheesht."

"Why not up to five? That's what the winning team's score was."

"One."

"Or is it because you'd rather count the losing team's- sorry, your team's- score?"

"Two."

"Or are you tryna make yourself feel better about it?"

"Three. Let's go for a walk, love."

"Hey, have I ever shown you that 'I'm in danger' meme? Cuz, I think it's a perfect representation of what I'm feeling right now."

You know you're in no true danger, but he does drag you into the locker room to fuck your mouth. It's enough to soften the defeat and shut you up... for about a minute. And then you're going back to gloating again, not even caring about getting an orgasm yourself. For now, your team beating his is all the satisfaction you need.

id be so annoying about the win, i wouldn't let him forget it

#bangus answers #anon #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soapy thoughts :]#f!reader

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cuteandhughesy · 4 months ago

Text

Dazed & Confused | Simon Benoit

summary: working for the leafs social media team was nothing short of uneventful - especially when a blonde french man is adamant on making you flustered.

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Prologue:

you first saw simon benoit in passing. you remember the moment all too well.

dylan, your boss and head co- ordinator for the toronto maple leafs social media team, needed you to cover a pre-season game after the usual instagram girl called in sick. you usually worked more with the youtube page and tiktok account, but willingly stepped up when he asked. after all, it was still grabbing content - and you were used to that.

you remember standing in the players tunnel to capture a video of the team getting ready to take the ice. simon breezed passed you in a cloud of woodsy spice and bright eyes. he didn't really notice you, only sending a brief nod and closed lipped smile in your direction before jogging away.

you barley saw his face, and you didn't recognize the name on the back of the blue jersey. you were intrigued, but didn't seek out for answers - just did the job and left.

you didn't think about him much after that - not until he got called up to play on the leafs back end for the foreseeable future. then, simon benoit was always around; practices, team meals, games and everything in between. he became a solid member of the toronto maple leafs.

he was always polite and friendly. you were smitten as soon as you got a proper look at his face and he flashed you an award winning smile. simon was all dirty blonde mullet, tattoos and moustache...it was unfair, really. in the few weeks he's been playing with the team, you've also noticed how much of a determined and hard player he was. you could tell he really loved what he did. they way he battled for the puck, threw his body around and blocked any shot no matter the speed - and all that made you even more interested in him.

to say you were currently nervous was an understatement: you were quite literally trembling. your mouth was dry and underarms moist as you set up the tripod for the teams filming camera. your dress - although professional - was flowing freely, brushing your tan knees in a way that was almost overstimulating.

normally, getting equipment ready to film content was fine - easy, even. but the presence of the 6 foot 4, deliciously scented, handsome canadian was enough to throw you off your game. just the thought of having to soon converse with simon, has your body feeling trembly. thankfully, you could pass as being chilled: the slight breeze providing the excuse.

"you're not cold?" the sound of simon's french accent has you tensing up in the shoulders. you'll have to talk to him much sooner than you intended, and you feel yourself get warm at the thought.

as nonchalant as you can manage, you pretend to fiddle with one of the dials on the video recorder, although you'd already adjusted it all properly - you needed a distraction when you spoke. you clear your throat, "no, this is a treat compared to toronto."

although it was Anaheim, it was still january and the wind did bring a chill to your exposed skin. in that moment, you wished you brought your jean jacket along instead of leaving it in your hotel room. with that in mind, it was still much warmer than winter back home.

simon laughs once, crossing his arms over his sweater clad chest. the material tightens over his biceps so wonderfully, and you have trouble focusing. "yes, true but you've just got a dress on...i've got a shirt on if you want to borrow my - "

the thought of wearing his clothing and getting to smell his cologne was just too much. even though him just offering his sweatshirt sent your heart ablaze.

"i'm good," you interrupt, eyes finally dashing up to meet the man before you. his gaze is soft on you, and the way his hair sticks out from beneath his hat is almost endearing. you send him a close lipped smile when he gives you a concerned look, clearly weary of your tone. "thank you, though, simon."

his lip quirks up on one side, "just call me benny."

you tuck a loose hair that's fallen from your messy braid behind your ear, hands falling from the pointless fiddling on the camera. "did I say your name wrong?" your brows crease together, worried that he was only giving you his nickname because you butchered his actual one.

simon shakes his head quickly, arms uncrossing. "no, no. it's just..." you quirk a brow as if urging him to continue. he breaths a laugh, "nothing, it's okay."

you don't read into his dismissal and remove the clipboard out from where it was tucked between your ribcage and bicep. immediately you feel relief from where the metal clip was digging into your boob. "okay, benny, just to go over this one more time - it's a get to know you for our tiktok so all the questions are probably ones you've answered a million times so I apologize for that...ummm," you meet his eyes and they widen when you see he's smirking back at you. you clear your throat, and look back to your clipboard. "we are already rolling so if you're ready, we can start?"

his arms cross again, and his chest bulges out. "i'm always ready."

"is that so?" for some reason, you decide to tease him. you're not sure where your sudden confidence has come from, but you don't back down - looking up through your lashes to watch his face for a reaction.

his tongue pokes his cheek and he snickers, "oh yeah." you're not sure if he's trying to sound seductive, but it works, and your face flushes red. his suggestive tone has your spark of confidence disappearing and you dart your eyes down quickly, "how do you properly pronounce your name?"

"are you asking or is this the first question?" he teases, hands clasping behind his lower back. although now you can't stare at his veiny hands and long fingers, the way his chest broadens at the pull has all your attention. "I can't tell."

you subtly shake your head to pull yourself together. "I thought you were always ready?" you hum, sending him a playful glance. you're not sure how confident your teasing remark comes across, but you still keep the eye contact.

simon laughs a real hearty laugh and the sound sends your stomach swooping. "touché" he muses. "simon benoit." he answers your question without being asked again, and his thick accent has you feeling flustered.

clearing your throat once, "any nicknames?" you ask.

"just benny," he smiles.

the breeze picks up again -the anaheim air smelling like ocean. hints of grass from the golf course you and the team were at currently filling your nostrils. "you lived here in california for a few years, where was your favourite spot to go to?"

simon hums momentarily, "I think, uh, laguna beach, it's a pretty cool spot - a little artsy hippie, I liked it a lot."

you hum lightly, tucking the same piece of hair that's fallen out your braid back behind your ear. "artsy and hippie huh?"

his lip quirks up, "what? do I not look like the type?"

you just shrug lightly, "no no, just wasn't expecting that. maybe some practice rink or expensive cafe"

"c'mon i'm not that shallow," he laughs. simon notices your eyes almost sparkle when you tease him, and you always have to fight back a wide smile. he likes the way you flush when he teases you back, and he wonders if you always get flustered when doing media with the team.

your quiet laughs fades, and you look down at your clipboard again. "do you have a favourite spot in toronto?"

his arms go over his chest again, and he sways back and forth slightly. "yeah, I like trinity bellwoods. it's a nice spot. cool little cafes, nice park."

your eyes brighten ever so slightly, "so I wasn't wrong about the expensive cafes?"

simon splutters twice with amusement, "who said it was expensive?"

you giggle, "all toronto cafes are, benny."

he breaths a laughs, "well, one day I can take you. then you can decide if it's expensive."

you have to fight a smile. this was not helping your case- I mean, he was practically asking you on a date...right? maybe he was just being friendly, or maybe just keeping the conversation rolling. regardless, you flush at his words and look away, "we will cut that don't worry."

simon just shrugs, "doesn't matter." although he seems nonchalant with his words, there's a small part of his pride that flares knowing you didn't want anybody to watch the way he flirted with you - that you wanted to keep it between you both.

you fight a smile. "what's in? and what's out?"

his brows pull together, "what does that mean?"

"like, what do you want to see more of this year? and what's something you want to see less of?"

"ahhh, I see," he hums, "let me think."

the breeze picks up again and you shiver gently. on the golf cart behind you, your coworker, james, shoves his headphones off one ear. he's sitting on your shared cart with the teams editing laptop, making sure the shot on the camera is correct and the audio is working - all the boring stuff you hated doing. "y/n," he hums, "can you adjust benny's microphone, i'll let you know when it's good again."

fuck, you think.

"yeah, sure," you nod gently. you move towards simon with as much confidence as you can muster, avoiding the way he watches your every move with a playful little smile.

you can smell that same spicy scent he is always wearing as you step into his space, and you feel faint. "just...stay still for a moment." you whisper into the air between you and the quebec native.

"okay," he says back just as quietly, mirroring your tone. only as you concentrate on keeping your cool, simon is smirking softly down at you.

you hope he can't see the shake in your hands as you reach up to the collar of his maple leaf branded sweatshirt. you start adjusting the microphone with expertise, james calling out directions as you do so.

you can feel simon still staring down at you, and you wonder if he's still got that sexy smirk on his face or not. he shifts, hands moving to sit on his hips.

"stay still," you remind him, eyes darting up to meet simon's. your tone is harsher than intended, but you can't help it. being so close to him had you feeling nervous and tense and james still didn't have the audio and -

"you're kind of bossy," simon laughs.

you hear james call out from behind you both, telling you the audio is back and the video can continue. although his words fall on deaf ears, simon's statement the only thing you can concentrate on. "what?" you splutter, hands falling back to your sides and away from the man in front of you. "i'm not bossy."

"shame," simon teases gently, "I like bossy,"

your eyes go wide, and you shoot a glance over your shoulder to your co-worker. james doesn't look up, but he's smirking - because he can literally hear you both word for word.

"wha - no, i- shhh," you panick, face surely flushed bright red and if somebody was to reach out and touch it - they'd get burnt from the heat.

simon smirks at your reaction. he leans in close to the microphone clipped to your dress, sitting between your boobs. "james, cut that out." he says.

if you weren't frozen (and kinda turned on) you would've moved away, but you didn't. too wrapped up in the smell and voice and aura of simon benoit.

"i've got it," simon says once he straightens back up to his full height.

"got what?" you don't mean to whisper but you do, face still beating red.

"my answer," he teases, "are you ready? or do you need a minute?"

you scoff highly, "yes, i'm ready! you were the one with the microphone problem." you wave your hands rather frantically in the direction of his chest.

you can hear james stifle a laugh behind you.

"I'm teasing you," simon says. he has the strongest urge to tuck that damn piece of hair behind your ear, but he doesn't want to scare you. there's also an audience, and you've also only just properly met. so instead, he smirks, shoe nudging against yours.

"oh, okay." you heat up with something you think is embarrassment, "let's get on with it then, god, benny"

your attempted dig back is successful and has simon laughing loudly as you retreat back a few feet to behind the tripod. you pick up your abandoned clipboard on the grass and you ask the question again.

the filming don't last much longer, and simon continues to flirt with you - very much unbothered by the fact your co-worker can hear his every word. everytime your cheeks turn pinker and you have to fight a smile: simon gets a little bit more smitten. when you end the video, he protests once and says he's having too much fun and that has your heart fluttering.

simon bids goodbye then with a smirk and a gentle nudge to your side. you busy yourself with packing up the tripod so you don't have to face james with a flushed face.

it's no use though, because he comes up to you and clears his throat knowingly.

"what?" you hiss.

james has always been your closest co-worker. you'd even consider him your closest friend outside of the rink. in fact, you spend most evenings with james and his boyfriend at their apartment watching 2000's movies and eating unhealthy snacks until your stomachs are on the verge of exploding.

"you think he's cute, don't you?"

"no," you say immediately. "well, he's not ugly - but, no no he's just-i'm just-"

"you know he was flirting with you, right?" james teases, rolling up one of the cords around his forearm. "but based on your permanently red face...you knew, and you liked it."

you splutter, "he's just being friendly."

"whatever you say," james teases in your ear, turning away to pack up the laptop. "but, so you're aware...he couldn't keep his eyes off you for more than 10 seconds."

you swallow hard at that.

the rest of the day you kept catching simon's eyes and everytime he gave you that smirk that had you melting.

Part One: (A)

ever since that interview, anytime you and simon had to interact, he was always getting you flustered. you're not even sure if he was meaning to flirt with you - but boy was he good at it. even thinking of simon had your chest flushing and ears burning, leaving you to fan yourself with sheets of paper while james gives you a smug look: it's fine...really. three weeks have passed of sweet teasing, brushing limbs and trying to ignore the sultry smirk he always seemed to sport when you cracked around him.

the hallways of the practice arena were dimly lit and the cool air wafted through the halls from the rink just a few turns away: chilling your bones.

james wasn't working with you today. he was back at the main arena working on editing the first set of blueprint videos for the leafs youtube channel. so you stood by yourself, phone held in one of those janky tripods that tilt dramatically to the left when you touch it.

with free hands you hold onto the stained whiteboard that held your question of the day: would you rather be a cowboy, pirate or samurai? the question came after mitch marner was bugging you for questions about cowboys (his yellowstone obsession was getting worse).

it only took three players before simon sauntered his way over. he peeks around ryan reaves, who's stopped to read the question. "samurai," reaves decides, gum clicking between his teeth as he passes by.

simon tucks one of his gloves under his arm and uses his bare hand to scratch his growing goatee. your eyes linger on his lips momentarily, watching the way the move - oh, he's talking to you.

"what?" you mumble, blinking three times fast.

he laughs, and you swear his cheekbones becomes dusted with a faint pink. "I asked what would you pick?"

another player passes and calls out there answer.

"you're the one whos supposed to answer the question, benny, not me."

"but I wanna know you have to say," he quips with a raise to his brow and an upwards tug to his lip.

your spit thickens and you swallow nervously under his tense gaze. "i'm very busy and you're distracting me right now."

simon really laughs at that and you have look away. "i'm not distracting you - i'm trying to give you content."

you blush, "whatever."

simon takes a step closer to you, and on his skates he's even taller than normal- no doubt reaching 6"5. you crain your neck back slightly to keep eye contact. "are you going to answer my question?"

simon smirks down at you, eyes meeting the whiteboard touching your belly once more. "captain jack sparrow."

you squint at him, "what? that's not a proper answer."

"yes it is," he chimes, "the pirate one: so i'd be captain jack sparrow. he's badass, no?"

you'll have to edit most of this interaction out the video, you think. the swearing and his teasing and the way he looks down at you...it's all too much for your crushing heart and the fans speculating will just be overwhelming.

you stand your ground, keeping eye contact and pray your face doesn't go too much redder. "just because you pick pirate, that's no guarantee you'd be jack sparrow."

mitch marner approaches you both and answers samurai - which goes against his begging for the damn cowboy question. as you and mitch bicker about it his answer, simon notices the way you're more confident in the eye contact with his teammate and you don't blush...at all.

it has simon swelling with pride that's he's the only one you react to that way and the thought has a fire lighting under him. wordlessly, he slips past you both with a smile on his lips.

you edit the videos on the unoccupied visitors bench after you captured some on ice videos of the team during practice. you were sitting beside the teams photographer for a good chunk of the practice before you left to go into one of the spare rooms to pack up your stuff and head home.

you could hear the players laughing in the dressing room as they undress and pack up. you end up tweaking the video more on your computer, taking up another 20 minutes of time. you're still shoving things into your shoulder bag when you leave the room, checking the oversized compartments to make sure you've got everything.

so you're not looking where you're going, and you're reprimanded when you bump into a body. the impact sends the bag off your shoulder, loose papers flying out and pens rolling across the concrete.

"i'm sorry, I wasn't -" you look up to see a smiling simon, hand on your shoulder to steady you. the sight and feeling of him as you stopping your scentence.

"my apologies," he says. "I didn't see you."

you give him a skeptical look, "you didn't see me?"

simon did see you: he just wanted to try and get you flustered again. plus any excuse to talk to you from here on out, he was going to take. "swear." the smirk he's sporting has you believing him even less.

simultaneously, you both bend down to collect the spilled items. it's then when you notice simon is dressed in his regular clothing, a hoodie and a pair of athletic pants. he's got his winter parka on as well.

he passes you your pens and you shove them back into the branded bag, standing to your full height. "thanks," you nod, "I didn't take you for such a gentleman."

he stands as well, passing you a loose laptop cord. "you think i'm a gentleman?" there's a teasing tone underlying in his voice.

your eyes are drawn to his black coat again, and your brows pull together. he was clearly leaving, but both entrances were the other way: in the direction you had been headed. the rink, the dressing room, none of that was down were you two collided. "depends," you hum, "do gentleman purposely try and knock me on my ass? or is that just you?"

simon kisses his teeth, looking down to the floor briefly. "just me I think."

his honesty has you fighting back a giggle. you have to bite onto your bottom lip from cracking, but the corners of your mouth still tug upwards. "thought so."

"I wasn't trying to knock you down - which, by the way, didn't happen," he muses, "I was trying to find you."

"why?" you drag out, hands clasping onto the strap of your heavy bag.

"to walk you out," he says in a 'duh' manner. you give him another skeptical look, and he sighs gently "I'm trying to get to know you, y/n. just go with it and treat your new co-worker - me, by the way, nicely." he's teasing you again, a glimmer to his eyes as they watch for your reaction.

"alright," you nod as you start walking down the hall. simon follows quickly, falling into step with your much smaller strides. "it's not like, a part of your job or anything though...to get to know me. you don't have to spend time with me."

he laughs beside you, his coat covered bicep brushing against your shoulder. "I know. doesn't mean that I don't want to spend time with you."

you two reach the door to the parking garage, and he holds it open for you to slip through after him. you smile in thanks, that all familiar heat making it appearance on your skin. "thats nice of you to say, really."

"see," he smirks as he comes to a stop, "I can be an actual gentleman - not just the creepy kind who stalks around the arena until he finds you."

you do laugh out loud at that, all your teeth shining and simon admires the way your face looks while you smile. "stalked the arena until you found me huh?"

he shrugs like he's not embarrassed, which has you beaming even more. "what can I say? i'm very determined to make you blush and do that spluttering thing you do when we speak."

you can't tell if you've paled or gone red, his call out has you feeling light headed and nervous and overwhelmed. "is it that noticeable?" you laugh gently. the panick must be all over your face because simon immediately steps forward, "no, it's okay. it's endearing...I kind of like it."

your brows raise in question and you slightly scoff, "you like watching me get flustered and embarrassed?"

his eyebrows pull together, "what? god no, I like that i'm the only i've seen that can get you like that."

"what is this?" you question, "are you hitting on me? because, you - I can't - we're not allowed to date or whatever without like a 15 page report and - i'm sorry I don't know what's happening. what's happening?"

although his eyebrows shoot up at your rambling, he looks very endeared. "I'm hitting on you, y/n. that's what's happening. is that okay?"

"no!" you say quickly. your eyes close with regret, "no, I meant yes. it's okay but you can't...not really. especially in front of my co-workers and the team. remember! the 15 page report we'd have to fill out if people even thought -"

simon reaches forward, gently tucking a straight strand of your hair back and behind your pierced ear. his gentle touch from his large hand has you pausing, eyes glimmering as you stare up at him.

"okay."

"okay?" you repeat with a squeak. "what does that mean?"

he laughs gently, his hand trailing down your strand of hair and off your body. "it means that i'll be careful when we flirt."

you feel yourself get hot. "seriously, I can get in so much trouble."

"do you want me to stop?" simon asks you gently, "because if you really don't want to continue this, i'll walk away and we can forget it."

with a pondering moment and a shake of your head, you mumble, "no, I don't want you to stop."

"you won't get in trouble, okay?" he hums, "i'll just act normal and just be my normal self...only with secret intentions that nobody will catch on to." he smirks and you laugh through a shaky breath, eyes meeting the floor quickly as you begin to flush a deep burgundy.

simon catches the flush. "there it is," he whispers, hand reaching out to brush against the soft skin of your cheek.

you clear your throat. like with any man you've encountered, there is that nagging voice in your head that reminds you of everything that could go wrong. that what you think could be their intentions are possibly far from it - cheating, toxicity, fake feelings, a bet...everything that could break your heart. with that in mind you meet his eyes again, and you begin to knaw at your bottom lip. you try not to sound guilty when you say, "i'm not trying to date anybody...right now."

you tuck your hands into your coat pockets nervously, already preparing for the blow up and curse out from the man infront of you. he will get mad at your confession...maybe even-

"that's fine," he says immediately, halting the million little thoughts of panic swirling in your head. you exhale in relief, releasing your lip in favour of a smile.

simon mimicks your expression and then says something that has your heart stopping in the best possible way. "but with the most respect i'm not going to stop trying to change your mind."

"he said what?!!" james asks you loudly. you sink further into the white couch cushions of his apartment, hands covering your face.

"that he's not going to stop trying to change my mind." your voice comes out muffled from behind your hands.

james leans forward and pulls your palms away from your face. "and you're telling me you didn't pull him into the back seat of your car and pounce on him after that? it's kind of the hottest thing i've ever heard."

you groan, "I don't know what to do now. or what to say, god, what the hell. I really like him, james. I have an actual crush on this man."

"then why didn't you just say fuck it and do something about it? and don't give me the paperwork excuse, y/n."

"because..." you sigh, your thoughts of doubt once again drowning you. "what if this is all just some sort of thing he does? like...what if i'm just a notch on his belt? something different or someone new that he can't help but try and get with." your pick the skin around your thumb, the sting serving as a distraction. "so I told him I wasn't ready because im scared to get fucked over. i'm trying to protect my peace."

your friend gives you a pitiful look, no doubt memories of your previous relationship and break up making an appearance in his mind.

you had dated you last boyfriend for 4 years and it was awful. sure, the beginning was great but as you two grew as a couple, it got more toxic and exhausting. he cheated on you with a friend and it was all just a shitty situation. hence your hesitation with simon and the thoughts of doubt you were experiencing.

"I get that," james hums, pulling your into a tight side hug, "and I love you so much and never want you to go through that again. just...feel simon out.

let him continue getting you all...blushy and weird as long as you're comfortable- which, judging by your confession earlier - you're very comfortable." you smack your friends arms and he laughs. james continues, "and if you're still feeling doubtful, then it's not meant to be."

Part One: (B)

february 8th was a busy day for you and the leafs social media team. it was the annual outdoor practice and family skate at nathan phillips square downtown - which was a huge day for content.

the TTC was always packed, but even more so with the presence of the toronto maple leafs on board. most of the team wasn't able to find sitting room on the subway, so they were all spread out through the packed cart, shoved between fans and other passengers.

you tug on your lanyard as a nervous habit, eyes dancing through bodies. you find james on the other side of the subway cart. he's holding up one of the teams phones, live streaming for the instagram account. today you opted for purely tiktok content, which would really start once you got to the rink and off the hectic subway.

the TTC comes to a screeching stop at one of the many stops along the way to your destination, and the movement jolts you backwards. "sorry!" you say.

a large hand touches your leather clad hip delicately, steadying your sway. "looks like you're the one trying to knock me on my ass this time." the thick french accent gives simon away immediately.

you turn around so you're facing him. "you're lucky you made yourself known, I was ready to sock a stranger in the face for touching me."

he laughs loudly - too loudly for a public setting and it has you looking around nervously. "i'm kind of upset you only just realized I was standing behind you. I must not have a distinctive presence."

he does have a distinctive presence, you think. you could smell his cologne as soon as the cart started moving, but you were too nervous to turn and look to find out if was him. instead of telling him he smells good and making a fool of yourself, you hum, "I can't take you seriously with that mask on your face."

you see his lips curl into a smirk through the home-made cut out on his black face warmer. "you don't like it?"

"it's awful," your smile betrays your words and that has simon's grin widening. "I can't see your face, only your mouth, it's kind of creepy."

"is that why you keep staring at my lips?" he teases quietly.

you splutter, "well, they are the only thing I can see."

suddenly, simon grabs you waist, tugging you closer and spinning you around so your back is now facing the row of seats that were previously to your right. "what are you doing?" you panick, eyes dancing around to make sure nobody is watching.

"relax," he muses, "you were in the way."

your brows burrow, "In the way...oh," you stop once a little old lady shuffles past, leaning on her walker as she moves through were you once were standing. "I'm surprised you could see her with those crazy tinted glasses."

"wow! you are on fire today," simon muses, releasing your waist. "I like it."

you flush deep, "good." simon's brows raise at your words, and you wish you could see his eyes. at the same time, you think, you were only so bold because you couldn't watch him stare at you.

Instead you focus on his mouth, the smooth pink lips and his moustache peeking out from the mask.

"you're staring again," he whispers. "is it my moustache that you like?" you flush and he smirks, "wanna ride it?"

your face falls and you become impossibly redder. he brightens at your reaction and laughs with amusement. "si!" you screech out. "you flirt in the most awkward situations."

"you know you love it," simon remarked, "you should call me si all the time, I like it."

"does anybody even call you that?"

"no," he hums, "just you."

his arm is caging you in, his veiny hand griping the bar above your head to steady himself. the cart halts again, making you bump into william nylander behind you and it had you snapping out of the trance.

"sorry willy," you mumble.

then willy mentions a certain clip you wanted to get of him walking off the train and you break away from the quebec native to plan with william and directing him like normal.

the short walk form the TTC station to nathan phillips square wasn't long. you got lots of fun videos of the boys during the trek and when you weren't recording, morgan rielly was talking your ear off about his girlfriend and dog who you always asked about.

the fans were always amazing, and you were never less than shocked at how many showed up to the outdoor practice. the practice wasn't anything crazy, but after that, peoples families started to arrive for the scrimmage and family skate. you even got to (very carefully) shuffle out on the ice and get content of willy and his doggies.

you're back on the bench when simon comes up to you, still wearing his glasses and mask, but his smirk is prominent. "hey y/n."

you analyze his face and the way he dragged out your name. you pocket the phone and cross your arms gently, "what do you want?"

simon slaps a hand to his chest, scoffing, "what makes you think I want something?" you raise a brow in his direction and he breaks with a groan. "fine. can you put on my marks for me?"

you're confused at first, but then simon shows you the black stick clutched in the hand he slapped his chest pad with and it all makes sense. "why? you're wearing all that stuff on your face and nobody will be able to see the stripes."

he shrugs and leans in close, "maybe I just want you to touch me."

"shhh," your ears burn red, and thankfully it can be mistaken for just being cold, "just...sit down and shut up."

you gesture to the bench behind you and simon walks around you, his grin still present, "okay bossy."

you send him a look and take the chalk from his outstretched hand. "alright, glasses off."

"mitchy, do you hear how bossy she is?" simon muses. mitch marner is a few feet away from you both, tying his skates up. he snickers as you squeak.

"y/n's always been bossy." mitch teases.

"hey!"

"really?" simon looks up at you, his deep blue eyes now visible as his previously worn sunglasses sit his his lap. "I thought I was special."

your eyes widen in his direction. "you're...ridiculous. now stay still."

"yes ma'am"

with nimble fingers you tug his face covering down ever so slightly, allowing just enough of his cheeks out for you to draw. you're too concentrated on making clean marks that you don't notice simon's gentle gaze on your face.

"you have pretty eyes." he whispers once you finish the left side.

"oh." you pause, "i- thank you." you turn his face slightly with your hand, letting it linger on his jaw before you start drawing again.

mitch is still occupied, now just with john tavares and his kids instead of his skates. with that in mind, simon inches his hand over his thigh. once close enough, his index finger reaches out and gently strokes the outside of your leg. "welcome." he mumbles.

you tense from where you stand between his spread legs. his gentle touch has you feeling jittery in the best possible way. when he pulls away you try not to frown.

"all done," you mutter, pulling up the mask to its original spot. the black marks almost blend into the edge of the material and it has you biting back a giggle.

"thanks," he replied, standing to his full height, "how can I repay you?"

at first you just laugh off his flirty remark, but then you think of an opportunity for content do you look up at him all big and doe eyes. simon swallows harshly as he looks at you, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "can you do me favour?"

"anything," he gulps immediately.

"I need you to do like a minute long live on the tiktok account," you stated. he looks a bit hesitant at first so you sigh, "please?" you notice a black smudge on his jersey from where he slapped it earlier, and you reach out and start rubbing the mark away. you don't know if it was your touch on him or you plea but he agrees.

Part Two:

"is it just us here today?" are the first words that come out of simon's mouth when he enters the blue room.

the sudden voice makes you jump, head spinning around like a swivel, but you relax when you see it's just him. simon is in his usual get up of a leaf branded sweatshirt, shorts and his compression socks.

"james is on his way." you answer, fiddling with the lighting off to the side of the room, trying to get the proper tone for the camera. "aren't you cold?"

he hums, "eh, i'll be okay."

you smile, "okay," you hum in a sing song tone. you finish with the lights and move to the gray couch in the center of the room. fluffing the rogers branded pillows, you can feel simon watching you. you straighten up and spin around to find him, in fact, admiring you.

"stop staring at me to distract me," you laugh through an exhale, moving back towards the camera.

"oh, I'm not staring at you to distract you." simon mumbles. just as he goes to take a step closer to you, james opens the door, balancing his open laptop on one arm and his coffee on the other.

simon moves away from you to seem less suspicious (even though james knows about every conversation you and him have shared ((unbeknownst to simon of course)).

you brush past to help james with his things, your knitted sweater brushing against simon's chest on the way.

james takes charge with the video, which you're glad about. you're not sure if you could control your crush enough to keep composed for a video your boss has to approve before james edits. although you don't ask any questions, simon always makes sure to look at you when answering. he even winks in your direction after he nails the milk game, which is just...too much.

the video wraps up after he does (not well) the 10 seconds challenge. james leaves the room after he claims he needs to run up to his office before the next player gets there, but you know he's just being sneaky and trying to give you both a second alone.

you grab your bag off the floor below one of the tables in the room. "si," you start, "i've, um, got something for you."

simon finishes folding up the blanket he'd pulled out from behind the couch. he smirks at your words and raises his brows. "yeah?"

you nod. it's too late to back down now, you think. you grab ahold of the maple leafs branded tin and wave it in his direction.

"what's this?" he questions. long fingers pull the lid off to reveal 6 chocolate chip cookies. the smell wafts through the air and he moans. "Did you make these?"

you flush at the sound of his groan. ever since you were little you've loved baking. it's your love language. your grandma has taught you one of her easiest cookie recipes and ever since you'd made them at any given opportunity. when james mentioned for simon's blue room video he was going to create some sort of milk related challenge - you didn't think twice about tossing a batch of cookies in the oven. "yeah, I thought because of the milk..." you stop as you watch him take a big bite. his face changes and you wince. "are they not good? I'm sorry."

simon shakes his head and swallows his mouthful, "no, no. they're good, fuck, they're great!"

"really?" you blush, "it's a simple recipe really, thought it be nice to go with the milk and-"

"I thought I was trying to win you over here, not the other way around." he takes another cookie and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

you forget about his comment when the cookie starts falling out of his lips and you laugh, trying to catch the crumbs with your hands. "si!" you laugh gently when a chocolate chip falls to the carpet.

he flushes fondly at the use of the nickname, chewing slowly. "you gunna have one? or are you going to make me eat all alone?"

you roll your eyes and reach into the tin. you pause with the cookie by your lips, eyes meeting simon's once again. he nods and gestures to the cookie. so, you take a bite and fight the urge to groan.

as simon looks down to brush cookies off his chest, you take a moment to really admire him. you really think everything about him is perfect. his skin, his hair, his lips and even the damn cookie crumb on the corner of his mouth. suddenly, he catches you and you look away immediately.

you don't notice the way he smiles brightly at that.

the door is pushed open and you jump away from simon, your once close proximity now feet apart. william nylander is oblivious to the tension and smiles, "where'd you get the cookies from?" the swede tries to reach in the tin and grab one but simon smacks his hand.

"hey! get your own, these are my cookies."

willy laughs, "what! where'd you get them?"

"from someone special," simon sends you a quick wink while william is busy looking around the room.

Part Three (A):

filming the team playing keep up before warm-ups had always been your favourite content to get. it's the only part of a game day that wasn't super tense, and the players would crack jokes with you and each other all while having fun.

plus, it doesn't hurt when they loose the ball and simon gets lifted up or climbs to retrieve the ball and his shorts get all tight showing off his butt and thighs.

this away game was no different, and a small group of players gathered by one of the staircases and were kicking around the ball.

you'd been distracted by a member of the coaching staff sneaking behind you so you weren't looking and the ball had been kicked by simon. it had hit the wall infront of him, the force of his movement propelled the ball off the wall and right towards you.

thankfully, you didn't drop the team's phone when the soccer ball hit you in the face. you did wince though, your free hand coming up to clutch your nose. you can hear a few players concerning voices over the drumming in your ears.

you're too focused on not crying infront of the maple leaf team when simon jogs up the small flight of stairs to reach you. he grabs ahold of your face, tilting your head back.

"i'm so sorry," he rushes, "are you hurting bad?"

"i'll be fine," you insist. you take your hand away from your nose and thankfully it doesn't feel broken. "am I bleeding?" you question him. you flare your nostrils at him the best you can with the dull pain.

simon's ocean eyes dance over your entire face, checking for any injuries. "no," he mumbles, "not bleeding." he knaws on his lip and his thumb strokes against your cheek, "I didn't think the ball would come back and hit you, i swear. i'm so sorry."

"anything to get my attention, huh si?" you tease him. finally his eyes leave your beat red nose and find your eyes. a smile overtakes his lips and he breaths loudly.

"anything." he insists.

"is she okay?" tyler bertuzzi says behind you both.

"y/n?" somebody who sounds like mitch marner ask's in concern.

"i'm okay!" you call out. nobody can see you past their defenceman's broad back. which is good, because they'd probably ask questions about the way he was holding you and looking at you...and the way you looked back. "you should probably let go of me," you whisper.

simon notices how there's no tone of willingness in what you tell him, but he nods regardless. he releases your face and turns back to his teammates. "she's all good."

Part Three (B):

you're already set up on the ice with james when the players start making their way onto the rink. james has taken on getting the more aesthetically pleasing content for the blueprint series on the youtube channel, where as you get to do what you do best and make the players do stupid things for the fans (and your own) enjoyment.

"here comes lover boy," james whispers out of the side of his mouth. he's looking through the lense of the camera when he says it, so even though you know who he's referring to, you follow his eye sight.

simon looks so good. he looks like he's just got a fresh hair cut and recently trimmed his facial hair. he's laughing at something jake mccabe said as he steps into the ice. his tattoos are peeking out his jersey sleeve and he's not wearing his guard so you can see all the muscles in his neck.

he doesn't see you, him and his defensive partner too busy skating over to the benches set up for the team photo. you're upset momentarily, but then matthew knies skates over so you can mic him up and you get distracted.

the last of the team finally makes it onto the ice a few minutes later, and the staff starts to make their way down.

simon hears your laugh before he even sees you. he spins on his skates and searches through the small crowd of his teammates and staff until he can locate you. the first thing he notices is how you're wearing your hair slicked back into a ponytail. he likes that style the most out of anything he's seen you do because he can really see your face this way. you've got on a nice pair of jeans on and a cropped blazer that sits right against the waist band of your pants. gold jewelry shimmering under the lights and you're probably wearing your usual scent and -

"dude, what are you staring at? it's been five minutes" bobby mcmann breaks simon out of his trance.

he spins to his left and shrugs, "um, what?" simon hopes he doesn't look too flustered - no doubt flushing from the embarrassment of being caught.

just as bobby goes to speak again, you interrupt. "hey guys," you call, shuffling over in your sneakers until you're close enough, "I need to get some .5 pictures. si, can you help me out?"

"of course," he mutters. simon reaches to grab onto the phone, and his fingers brush against yours at the exchange. at the touch, he frowns slightly, "your hands are freezing," he states, "I'm not that cold, I can give you my gloves if you want."

"i won't be able to hold the phone, si."

"well, technically i'm the one holding the phone." he teases.

you laugh once, "ill pass on the sweaty stinky gloves."

simon scoffs and sends bobby a wide look, the ladder laughing at your banter. "they're not stinky or sweaty!"

"just...come here," you hiss and he makes his way over. you start instruct him how to take the photo of bobby in a way to get the most humorous angle. then you repeat the process with bobby when he reaches up to take simon's photo. then when bobby hands the phone back - to simon - the french man makes sure to take a photo of you with the lense and you immediately push his arm.

laughing, bobby skates away and leaves you and simon by yourselves. once he notices nobody within the general vicinity, simon takes no time leaning in close to you with that smirk you know all too well. "you look so beautiful today."

at first, you're too distracted by how good he smells, but once his words register you can't help but smile. with a playful roll of your eyes, you tug the wrist of his jersey, "c'mon flirty pants, we got pictures to take."

he starts to skate away slowly. it's rather pathetic the way you're shuffling along the ice after him, and the sight has simon chuckling breathy. he spins back to you and offers his arm. "c'mon slow poke, we have pictures to take." he mimics your earlier words teasingly.

"ha ha," you huff sarcastically, reaching out until you can wrap your small hands around his large bicep. once you're holding tight, simon starts guiding you both along."there's knies," you state, nodding towards the winger. matthew knies perks up when you call his name, slowly making his way over to you both.

while he's still out of earshot, you send a firm squeeze to simon's bicep to grab his attention. without looking, you mutter "don't say anything that will get us in trouble, matthew is mic'ed up."

with a quick nod, simon looks down at you, "i'd never."

the small time spent before the group photos is the most fun either you or simon have had in a long time. simon doesn't leave your side until it's time for the picture to be taken. he's upset when he's ushered away to the benches and he's even more upset that you're sitting nowhere near him for the photo.

after the pictures, it's a mess of bodies leaving the ice, and simon doesn't catch you before you leave the rink. he watches the back of your head as you leave the rink and move back towards the hallways. he immediately follows to try and get to you.

instead of taking the tunnel down to the locker room, simon turns the opposite direction. his skates hit the concrete flooring and in that moment he doesn't care that he will have to sharpen them extra before next game - too busy calling out for you.

at the sound of your name, you stop your conversation with james and turn around to watch simon hobble his way over to you, the anti-skate flooring, limiting his strides. your brows furrow and you stop moving. "hey...everything okay?"

simon is glad james didn't stop to wait with you and that nobody else is in earshot. he comes to a towering stop before you and exhales, "I want to take you on a date."

"what?" you whisper.

he smiles slightly, "y/n, i'm tired of only seeing you at our job and I want to, fuck, I don't know, go out with you."

you take a deep breath and look around to make sure body has come close. "si, i'm not sure..."

"just," he sighs, "one date. just one and if after that you're still unsure then...we can stop."

you knaw on your lip and briefly weigh your pros and cons. on one hand, all your earlier worries could still be the case. a slot in his schedule he's just looking to fill -or a task to conquer, possibly only fun to have. on the other hand...it might not be any of that.

"okay," you smile, "one date."

Part Four (A):

you get a text from simon the night of the team picture day: just hours after he asked you out and enchanted numbers.

what are you doing tomorrow night?

you resist the urge to scream into a pillow and kick your feet with excitement.

y/n

tomorrow, like you, i'll be at the arena doing my job

babe 😐

AFTER that

y/n

nothing

wait for me after the game and we're going out

so sure, maybe you dressed a tad nicer than you usually would for work. the march air was still chilly in toronto, but that stop you from slipping on your favourite black pencil skirt. you paired it with some nice booties and high necked black top with your trusty oversized denim jacket.

you regret the choice of not wearing tights as you wait by simon's car in the parking garage. the chill tickling up your legs and making you shutter. it isn't long before he comes out the elevator, hair slightly damp. you're surprised he showered that quickly and got dressed again. he's wearing the striped burgundy suit that you love on him and you feel yourself smile at him.

"hey," he greets happily once he approaches, "weren't waiting long, were you?"

you shake your head, "not long at all." he throws his things in his backseat and then stands infront of you. slowly, he looks you up and down once and licks his bottom lip. you gulp gently, "am I dressed okay? I didn't know where we were going so I thought-"

"you look amazing." simon interrupts. he reaches past you and opens the passenger door. "ready to go?"

you blink, "yeah."

once simon starts driving, the nerves you thought would come along with the date never started. in fact, you feel more comfortable than you ever have with a man. there's a taylor swift song playing quietly through the speakers, and if that wasn't a sign you were in the right spot - you weren't sure what else could be.

simon flicks his signal on, his blinker flashing on the dark pavement. he looks over at you just as you do him, and he smirks. "are you not going to ask where we are going?"

you let your head fall against the head rest and you shrug your shoulders softly. "maybe I like surprises."

he exhales a laugh, "alright." he makes a right turn and says, "we are almost there."

you look out your window just as you pass trinity bellwood park. you fight the urge to smile and look back over to simon. he's smiling while he looks out to the road ahead, no doubt remembering the same conversation shared between you as you did too.

moments later he pulls up to a small cafe. the sign in the window says there open until 11, and it's just past 10 as he parks. "I deal coffee & wine," you state, "are we getting coffee or wine?"

simon unbuckles his seat belt, "whatever you want."

as soon as simon pulls open the glass door of the cafe, you're hit with the bitter scent of coffee and grape wine. the warmth of the eatery enveloped your skin and you sigh happily. "smells so good."

simon laughs in agreement. "wanna look at the menu?" he whispers into your ear.

you flush and nod. he places a hand on the small of your back and pushes you closer to the counter. a young woman behind the long counter top greets you both and waits at the till for you.

"what do you recommend?" you ask quietly, slightly leaning back into simon's chest as you look up at him.

his thumb moves against your back. "you like sweet things, so probably the hot chocolate or chai tea. they're nice and sweet."

you don't question how he knows your taste, because you aren't suprised. instead you smile, "mhmm i could definitely go for a hot chocolate."

you move towards the cash and order the drink. simon adds his own drink: an americano coffee. you see one more butter croissant in the display case and your eyes light up. "ou, can we also have that croissant?"

the woman laughs gently at your enthusiasm and adds it to your order. simon pays wordlessly and moves you both over to the side as they make your fresh drinks. you groan as the barista adds a pile of whipped cream on your drink and simon smiles down at you.

a moment later you two are making your way to the back of the eatery. you notice there's only one another person sitting in, but that makes sense for the time.

"thanks for this," you smile once he takes a seat across from you, holding up your steaming white mug.

"of course," he smiles, immediately taking a sip of his coffee. "thank you for coming out with me, I know it's late."

"trust me," you hum, "I understand the late schedule and busy day. we work together, remember?"

you tease gently. simon is tonguing his cheek, leaning forward on his elbows to get closer. "okay cheeky."

you laugh behind your hand, eyes twinkling as you look over at him.

"I never would've thought when we first met you would've been this quippy."

you shrug, "i'm full of suprises."

simon laughs gently, "yes, i've realized that," you laugh quietly at his statement. "it's one of my favourite things about you."

"oh really?" you raise a brow at him, reaching into the branded paper bag to pull out the flakey pastry. you rip it in half and set the second half back on top of the bag. "what else is there?"

"mhmm," simon rest's his head in his palm, "obviously when you're bossy."

"obviously," you tease, taking a bite of your croissant.

"also when you blush - but that's another obvious one." your raise one brow at him with a small smile. his face falls ever so slightly, "my absolute favourite thing about you though is how dedicated you are. how even when i'm annoying and distracting you, you're always focusing on yourself and your job. you're also really sweet and beautiful and nice..."

your face changes into a soft delicate expression and simon clears his throat, "or maybe the cookies, i'm not sure yet."

you scrunch your nose and nudge his knee under the table. "you're ridiculous." he grabs your ankle before you can pull your leg away, his palm warm as it encloses on your skin, holding you to him.

softly, he strokes along the back of your calf with his thumb and you swallow your food gently.

"you love it through," simon teases.

you hum, "to be decided."

he laughs loudly and the one barista looks over to your table. you send her an apologetic smile but she just smirks like she understands.

"are you going to eat your part of the croissant?" you ask him, brows raised as you push the paper closer to him.

"that's for me?" he smiles.

"yeahhhh," you smile, "i'm a giver, si. I also wasn't going to make you pay for food you don't get to at least try."

his long fingers grab the pastry and bring it up to his mouth. "well, i'm a taker." he takes a big bite and moans at the buttery flavour. you shush him through a laugh.

"we're in public, don't moan!"

"why?" he teases after swallowing, "it turning you on?"

"stop!" you laugh. he joins in your laughter, finishing off the croissant with only one more bite. he dusts his hands off by sliding them together and you try not to frown when he lets go of your ankle. you bring your foot back to your own side of the table and simon frowns. instead of saying something, his dress shoes slide over to you and he locks his own ankles around your one leg.

"can I ask you something serious?" he questions.

you flip your straight hair over your shoulder and nod, "course."

"what's the real reason you didn't want me flirting with you. when we first talked about this back in january, you seemed so scared of my affection."

you clear your throat and look down into your mug.

"you don't have to answer if you really don't want to," simon hums, "I just want to make sure i wasn't making you uncomfortable."

"you never have," you say immediately, eyes meeting his again. he's looking at you so gently you sigh, "it's just...I didn't know how to act around you. until about 10 months ago, I was in a relationship and...obviously lost my touch at flirting and that feeling of being around somebody new as a single person."

"I understand," he nods, "how long were you together?"

you laugh bitterly, "almost four years," you look down at your half empty mug again, "but it wasn't healthy. he wasn't very nice and we were always arguing. he cheated on me with our friend."

"fuck," he curses, "i'm sorry to hear that."

you just shrug, "even with all that, I really thought we were soulmates or something, I don't know, it sounds silly."

"no it doesn't," simon hums, "you probably learned a lot from that relationship, and that's what's important."

"you're right." you take another sip of your now luke warm drink.

after a moment he says, "if it's any consolation, your flirting worked on me. I was smitten as soon as you opened your mouth."

you blush, "is that right?"

"oh yeah."

he catches sight of the clock behind you and hisses, "they're gunna close soon, we should probably head home."

you try not to sound disappointed as you agree. he leads you out the restaurant and into his car soon after, and the conversation doesn't stop the entire ride back to the scotiabank arena parking garage. simon scans his badge as you approach the gates, driving slowly until he reaches you car.

"here's me," you hum.

"here's you," he muses. the car keeps running as he gets out of his vehicle and rounds to your side of the car. he pulls open the door and you climb out with a smile.

"well," you say, "thank you again for tonight, si, seriously i had a really good time."

"yeah?" he mutters gently. "what was your favourite part?"

you lick your lips as you catch a whiff of his cologne, "I can't say..."

simon laughs gently, "what? c'mon."

shrugging up at him, you try and contain your smile. "not telling."

simon breaths that laugh once again, blue eyes not once starting from yours. "you're killing me here, jolie fille."

the native tongue has you feeling tingly. it sounds so beautiful coming from his lips and you gently sway towards him. "what's that mean?"

he bites his bottom lip ever so slightly, "pretty girl."

immediately, you feel hot from his compliment. you giggle gently, hands flying up to cover your face and press against your burning red cheeks.

"nuh uh," simon teases, "no hiding," he continues as he grabs onto your wrists delicately, prying your hands away to uncover your face. "I wanna see you."

your lips go tight, and you stare up at him. he's now standing chest to chest with you, staring down at you with a soft smile. he lets go of your wrists and slowly, he brings one of his hands back up to your face. gently, he runs a finger over your cheekbone, no doubt a trial of pink following his touch.

you watch his face in anticipation. just as he reaches your hairline, his entire hand moves and caresses the side of your face as he holds you in his palm. the sounds of traffic outside seem to no longer exist, you can't hear anything besides the thumping of your heart and the soft breathing from simon.

you watch as his eyes wander down from your eyes, to then your cheeks and then finally your lips. simon swallows harshly and licks onto his bottom lip. his other hand finds the other side of your face, and he is holding onto you gently.

your heart is racing as you stare up at him. you feel so small in his hold and nothing short of beautiful. his palms are warm against your face, and you wonder is his heart is racing just like yours is.

he finally meets your gaze again, and you notice how wide his pulls are blown. the small rim of blue that surrounds them are an even darker shade than normal, the colour resembling the deepest part of the ocean - and you wanted to dive right in.

simon wets his lips again, thumbs gently stroking the patch of skin right before your ears. standing in the middle of the parking garage is never a place you thought your body would feel tingly and pulse with nerves and excitement- but here you were.

"what?" you asks you gently, breaking the tension between you.

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you," simon mumbles in a low tone.

you could feel yourself go weak, and your tongue slips out between your lips to wet your mouth slowly. "and what are you going to do about it?"

there's a ghost of a smile on his lips right before simon leans down into your space. his nose nudges against yours twice and you take a deep breath. slowly, your hand finds his abdomen and slips under his suit jacket - keeping yourself grounded with the touch.

then finally, he leans in the last centimetre and connects your mouths together. his lips expertly move against your own and when his tongue prods for entrance, you let him in. you can taste the lingering americano coffee in his mouth and you whine against him.

simon's brows pull together at the sounds, one of his hands sliding into your hair and pulling you even tighter against his body.

your free hand finds his face, and you press your palm softly against his skin as you hold him to you.

when you separate, you're both breathless, chests heaving as you stand together and clam down. then, simon smiles brightly, thumb coming down to rub against your swollen lips. the action has you grinning.

"your cars still running," you whisper through your smile.

he laughs shakily and that tickles against your skin. "I know," simon mumbles. he reluctantly pulls his forehead away from where it rested against yours, straightening his back to his full height. your hand falls from his face and rests against his chest.

once he can finally look at your entire face again - all rose tinted lips, flushed cheeks, glimmering eyes and messy hair from where he was holding, he smirks. "i've got to be here early tomorrow...you work tomorrow?"

you nod just as you pull your hand away from his chest, "I do."

"good," simon whispers. he leans in once more and places another heavy kiss against your lips. when he pulls away and you've become even more flustered, he slowly releases your face."i'll see you tomorrow then."

"yeah," your teeth push into your wet swollen bottom lip in a way to contain the embarrassingly large grin you're about to get, "see you tomorrow."

Part Four (B):

the jet was quiet. although, that was expected with a late night flight after a time zone change. this short road trip was especially hard, considering it was three hours behind toronto time and the games had been rough ones.

most of the team was sleeping, or keeping to themselves quietly. just the occasional person engaging in conversation with their seat mate, or somebody getting up to use the bathroom.

beside you, james was sleeping. his head tilted down, and mouth slightly open. his active facial expressions were keeping you rather entertained- it was much more amusing that watching dylan, your boss, across from you edit on his computer.

on your leg, your personal phone vibrates, indicating a text message. the bright light is momentarily blinding, and you squint harshly until you can swipe your brigtness all the way down.

your eyes read the message quickly, and the words have you shifting in your seat. thankfully, dylan is still engrossed in his work so he doesn't see the way you've flushed red.

you peek down the isle of the jet as best you can without drawing too much attention. you catch simon's eyes almost instantly, clearly he was doing the same thing.

he smirks all hot and syrupy at you. he waves his phone in your direction once and then starts to type. a moment later, your phone buzzes again and you're met with his previous message as well as his new one.

i'm thinking about your lips right now

you look so pretty

you smile at your screen.

y/n

such a flirt. you're being obvious, you know?

you watch him shrug to himself, eyes still on his phone.

you're the one who was leaning out of your seat like a mad woman to try and get a glance at me

you roll your eyes playfully.

y/n

and I found you already looking at me

touché

you find each others eyes again. to keep his smile contained, he bites onto his bottom lip, unashamedly admiring you from across the plane.

you send him a gentle smirk, resting your head against your palm as you stare back. although you don't want to get called out from staring at simon, the rush of it all has it feeling extra dangerous. you mind flashes back to your first kiss with simon only a few days ago, and your body flushes again. although you've shared many kisses since then - it didn't stop you or him from wanting to do it over and over again.

as if he can read your mind, your phone vibrates again.

can we sneak off to the bathroom and make out?

you bite your lip.

y/n

definitely not. but when we get home...

Part Four (C):

simon's hands are warm against your exposed legs. his finger tips dip underneath the edge of your pyjama shorts as you straddle his thighs.

his lips pull away from your kiss, wet as they trial down your neck. he sucks onto your sweet spot and nibbles the skin there. the sensation has you whimpering, grinding down onto his jean covered crotch.

after your date a few days back, you went home and screamed happily into your pillow. never in your 23 years of life have you been kissed and held so perfectly. simon knew exactly how to kiss you in a way that was everything you craved and more. the following morning when you saw him, it took everything in your willpower to not pull him into a storage closet and do it all again.

so after a few excruciating hours of working, simon had the evening off as a healthy scratch. which would usually bum him out, but as you say on top of him half naked, he couldn't care less.

underneath your shorts, he grabs your ass, pulling you over his hardening dick in a way that has you both breathless.

"fuck," you whimper, "I need you so bad."

he smirks slightly. his eyes dart down to his crotch, small streak of arousal left from your grinding. "yeah, I can tell."

you're not even embarrassed about it, and if anything, it turns you on more.

"I need you too," simon mumbles, lips touching yours as he speaks before pulling you in for another hot kiss. the hand that was once squeezing your bottom slips back down until he rounds it to the front of your body.

delicately, his hand slips past your shorts to find your lacey underwear. expertly, his fingers manoeuvre the material out of the way, leaving you exposed under your shorts.

you moan in unison and you pull away from the kiss. simon slides two fingers through your wetness, the sticky arousal coating his fingers. "fuck, you're so wet."

the words have you moaning quietly. then, using the same two fingers now coated with your slick, he prods them into your dripping hole. your quiet moans turns into one of pornographic level, walls clenching down on his long digits.

"si, I need you in me so bad."

"fuck, yeah," he agrees in a mumble. his fingers don't stop their skillful pace, and if he keeps going you'll surely cum. "wanna take you to the bed though, bébé."

"mhmm okay." unfortunately, simon's fingers slip out of your cunt. "let's go before I combust."

he chuckles gently at your exaggeration but doesn't hesitate in picking you up. your legs wrap around his strong torso and you can feel his dick hit your ass cheek.

you bite your lip at the feeling of him poking into you. thankfully you're in a studio apartment and you two skip the awkward stumble down a hallway to a bedrooom. within 10 steps, simon is dropping you down on your mattress.

you reach forward and unbuckle his belt looped through his jeans. you're still flat on your back as you work, and simon leans over to kiss your lips messily. the hand he isn't using to hold himself up, comes down to the waistband of your sleep shorts and effortlessly pulls them down.

he pulls away from the kiss in favour of sitting back on his knees. smirking, he begins to pull down your shorts and panties. once you're naked from the waist down, simon grabs your hips, pulling you until your wet core is flush against his clothed crotch. you both grunt at the friction.

"get naked si, before I start touching myself."

he smirks, "bossy."

you don't have time to bite back because he pulls off his shirt, revealing his toned stomach and arms, skin littered with tattoos that have you drooling.

"fuck," you moan. as you take off your shirt, simon discards his jeans and boxers, leaving him completely naked before you. your nipples tighten at the sight of his hard and heavy dick - his tip an angry red with a smear of precum on the slit. he pumps it a few times.

simon feels like he could cum already at the sight of your hazy eyes and flush face. "you ready?" he questions gently, slowly crawling back over your body.

"shit, yes," you moan. "please, si."

with your go ahead, he begins by nudging the tip of his dick against your puffy throbbing clit. the sensation is heavenly and your head pushes further into your bedding, a mewl leaving your mouth.

then he guides his member to your dripping entrance. the feeling of your warm hole and sticky juices on his tip have him shuddering and he doesn't waste anymore time - fully sliding into you.

"fuck," you moan loudly at the full feeling.

simon hisses at the sensation of your walls hugging him so sweetly. he curses and grabs your leg with one of his hands, manoeuvring it up and over his shoulder. the new angle allows him to push his dick even deeper into your pusssy.

you mewl even louder at the feeling. your positive reaction has simon smirking and he finally starts thrusting into you. slowly at first, pulling the entire way out before pushing back in. but then he starts pushing into you harder, not fully leaving before he pounds back into you.

"you feel so good," he mutters through his grunts, his large hand squeezing your hip. "fuck, can you feel that? your walls pulling me back in everytime baby? it's like you're made for me."

you moan loudly at his words, the sound of his dick sliding in and out of you is so gushy and hot that it's overwhelming - the coil in your belly already tightening. using the hand that wasn't griping his bicep, you bring him down to meet for a kiss. it's all teeth and panting but it's just what you needed. "i'm gunna cum," you mumble on his mouth.

"yeah," he encourages, "c'mon." simon bring his thumb down to your clit and with two full circles on the bundle of nerves, you're cumming with a shout, walls clamping down on his thick cock as he continues his pumping.

it's just a few thrust later, simon's hips and thrusting come to a halt buried deep inside you. he moans into your neck - hot ropes of cum coating your insides as he finishes.

"fuck," he moans, looking down to where your bodies connect. it's a mess between you, all glistening skin and wet hair flat to skin. he thinks he's never seen anything sexier.

you smirk as he lifts his head and meets your eyes. finding your lips, he brings you in for a chaste kiss.

"i'm gunna have to shower," you whisper against his lips. "wanna join me?"

simon smirks breathlessly, "lead the way."

after another round in the shower, simon can't help but admire you. you both have wet hair, and your skin is all dewey from the water and your eyelashes look extra long. you're so beautiful.

there was a time where simon wondered if you would ever properly relax in his presence. like, truly be relaxed.

sure, he loved watching you flush from his nicknames and flirty remarks. he didn't mind the way you stuttered sometimes when he said things, or the way you nervously advert his gaze. simon loved it all. he knows it means you're making progress and you like him - which is all he wants.

currently, simon can only think about that as you both brush your teeth in the mirror - making eye contact every couple seconds and grinning like you've been together for your whole lives.

you're both only half dressed, you without pants and simon without his shirt. you've opted for stealing his shirt though, which simon thinks is even sexier than you naked.

in this moment, after the sex and the kissing - this moment, simon knows that you're truly comfortable with him. looking at you as you lean over and spit out your toothpaste, simon can't believe there was a time you weren't.

Part Five:

you're pretty sure you're skipping. which, yeah, in theory is embarrassing - but you can't help it. thoughts of the night before run freely through your head, phantom touches and kisses currently grazing your skin.

simon spent the night at your place, and he even drove you both to the leafs facility together. like usual, you had some editing to do up in your office, but this time before packing up, you had printed out all the proper paperwork for a workplace relationship. you were planning on bringing it up to simon when you both got back to his car, so you thought you'd just head down and wait for him at the locker room.

quietly, you near the open doors of the locker room - careful not to draw too much attention to your presence. thankfully the halls are empty, and it's not too loud. you slow in your steps right outside and you can hear a few voices inside the room. smiling, you hear simon's distinctive accent and laughter.

stopping fully, you hear a different voice. "-finally happened then?" they ask. you can't recognize the voice and don't catch the full scentence.

suddenly, simon laughs just once, "I don't kiss and tell."

"look at his face!" somebody different cheers, "you sly bastard. you did it...I knew you had an extra pep in your game today."

slowly, your expression changed to one of confusion to one of displeasure. you blink hard as tears begin to sting your eyes.

the original voice you heard cheers, "we've only been waiting since you brought her up in january-"

the frantic beating of your heart increases- they had to be talking about you. you and simon and what happened - not only last night but everything since january. your stomach plummets to the ground. all your original doubts about getting involved with simon start rushing back and now they don't sound so stupid.

you don't stick around any longer and turn on your heels. you don't have it in you yet to feel angry, all you can focus on is getting the hell out of the arena before you breakdown.

shakily, you pull out your personal phone and order an uber - exiting the arena.

simon pulls his sweatshirt over his head, momentarily hiding his flushed cheeks from his teammates.

jake mccabe sends him a knowing grin at the sight of his blush. jake cheers at the sight, in the midst of removing his elbow pads. "we've only been waiting since you brought her up in january. you're obsessed with her."

simon laughs gently, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly."obsessed is crazy." it's not crazy and he knows that. because simon has been obsessed with you since he's first seen you. at first, he thought he was being subtle with his longing glances and flirting - but then joseph woll picked up on it, then bobby and then jake and now it's not a secret.

bobby snickers and tosses his sweaty jersey into the team branded laundry bin sitting in the middle of the room, "fitting for somebody who's crazy in loveeeee." he sings.

"she's a nice girl benny," jake says to his defensive partner, "im glad things are progressing between the two of you. you just need to sit her down and really tell her how you feel. none of that 'just flirting' casual stuff from the beginning- because we both know that was never what you wanted - you don't want to give her mixed signals."

in the few months simon has been with the leafs, he's always admired jake on and off the ice. he was an amazing teammate, an outstanding defence man and always knew the right thing to say. this time was no exception and simon hummed in agreement, "you're right," he states, "she's probably waiting for me at my car right now...I should go and drive us back to one of our places and just...confess how much I like her...because i really fucking like her."

"you sappy piece of shit," bobby mutters with a grin, "go before she gets sick of waiting for you and walks home."

simon laughs gently, "if I bring up that 15 page document I want us to fill out she probably will walk home." he tosses his hat over his damp hair. "i'll see you guys later"

when simon doesn't see you waiting against or in his car, he frowns. then he panics, spinning around to look at his surroundings for any sight of you.

confused and worried, he quickly retrieves his phone out of his small duffle bag, immediately pulling up your contact.

simon

hey, I thought you were going to wait for me? did you get a ride home? everything okay?

it's five long minutes of watching the screen in search of your reply. he knaws on his lip anxiously as he looks and waits. then his phone dings, your nickname appearing.

y/n/n 🤍

didn't feel well.

simon

want me to come over with anything?

y/n/n 🤍

I need space for a little bit, simon.

his heart comes to what feels like a halting stop. something is definitely up. your last text message was staring at him tauntingly, and the urge to go comfort you was overwhelming him. at first, he types another message but reluctantly deletes it.

after all, if you're really not feeling well, you're probably trying to rest and the last thing he wants is to annoy you or disturb your sleep before your shift at the game.

but then james is the one recording all the pre-game content - you nowhere to be found.

the following morning, you don't reach out. when he catches sight of you during early morning drills, you don't look like you've been off sick. you also don't look at him. simon watches as you ignore him completely.

jake sends him a sympathetic look once he sees your face in comparison to simon's but simon can't even decipher what's happening. his heart breaks and he feels confused and defeated.

Epilogue:

7 days. an entire week since you left the arena and simon in a frenzy of tears and heartbreak. an entire week of ignoring the french man you've fallen for. paying no mind to him, or filming him for content, avoiding even his closest friends. you've ignored all of it.

after overhearing simon and a few teammates discussing you and your relationship in the locker room, you called james. in the back of an uber as you sobbed, james listened as you told him everything. how it sounded like you were nothing more than a lay: another girl who he set his sights on.

"look at his face"

"it definitely happened"

"talking about it since january"

his teammates chimes danced in echoed around your head, taunting you and your stupidity. you had finally opened yourself up to a man again since your previous relationship - finally let your guard down enough and finally feel completely free with simon and for what.

you weren't more to him than just a fucking notch on his belt. you're glad you didn't stick around to hear the rest of the conversation because you didn't even want to think about what else could've been said.

that night you had james cover your shift. you couldn't even fathom being in the same arena as simon after the wound was still so fresh. the next morning you avoided him completely - you didn't even crack when you felt his ocean eyes burning into your figure - you couldn't look: wouldn't look.

that first morning, you cried in your car after clocking out for the day. james had offered to handle the parts of your job that required up close content with the team, while you opted to stay up in the offices to edit.

the off chances you were around the team, it was never without james. you avoided one on one interaction with most of the players, and avoided even glancing towards simon.

the first two days, he tried to make his way towards you. but both times you left before he could reach you. he didn't deserve your time and you definitely didn't want to hear whatever pity excuse he would come up with.

on the 7th day of ignoring simon, your heart was still broken. you didn't work, so you sat on your apartment couch. your tv is on mute, some home renovation show is the only thing illuminating your dark living space.

the leafs game ended an hour before, but you didn't watch. you only knew because james asked if you wanted company - which you declined in favour of finishing up some editing for tomorrows uploads.

you're mid audio adjustment when there's two quiet knocks echoing through your apartment. you pause and wait for a moment. but then two more knocks follow and you sigh.

tossing your throw blanket off, you're already prepared to lend mrs. tomlinson, your elderly neighbour, some milk for her nightly tea. it was often her husband forget to pick up diary when he went grocery shopping, and she ended up on your doorstep everytime.

"milk again, mrs. tom-" you freeze with the door half open.

simon looks up from the floor at the sound of your voice. he is still in his suit, hair washed and damp as the scent of apple shampoo floods your senses.

the sight of him then has you panicking and you try to shut the door. you're not quick enough and he reaches out, palm flat against the door to stop it from completely closing. "y/n," he mumbles softly, "what is wrong?"

the sound of his voice is too much. all traces of anger, sadness, guilt, disappointment and love come flooding back in. "please leave," you whimper.

he looks heartbroken at your request, shoulders dropping in defeat as he stands in front of you. "did I do something wrong?" simon asks, "I mean- why are you avoiding me? I don't know what happened but it's killing me - you're killing me here."

"i'm killing you?" your voice is strained as you cry.

he exhales a hard breath and runs a hand through his hair frantically. the action leaves his strands messy. "i've been racking my brain for a week trying to figure out what I could've done wrong, and i've come up with nothing." he laughs once in something similar to disbelief, "I thought maybe at first you really were sick and trying to keep distance for my sake. but I quickly realized you were actively ignoring me."

you sigh, eyes shutting momentarily as you beg your emotions to hold on for a little big longer.

finally, you meet simon's eyes properly for the first time in 7 damn days. his are swimming with emotions and you try not to scoff - what could he possibly be emotional about - he should be guilty. he should be on his knees, begging for your forgiveness-

"please, y/n, just tell me what happened and let me fix it."

irritation bubbles into your chest and you subconsciously move closer to him. "I heard you," you state, "in the locker room last week." you're suprised that your voice doesn't waiver or change as you finally admit to him what you know.

instead of the guilty look you expect to take over his sharp features, simon looks at you with confusion. "okay...what did I say?"

you scoff. a tear falls from your eyes and you angrily wipe it away, "you seriously don't remember? 'I don't kiss and tell'," you mimick his words from a week ago. his face changes then, a look of something like embarrassment taking over. angrily, you continue "was I seriously nothing more to you than somebody new to get with?"

his brows pull together, "what-"

"I mean, fuck, simon," you interrupt him, "I opened up to you! I told you about my ex and my doubts about getting into a relationship. I risked my fucking job for you by breaking the rules ! I was ready for that absurdly long conversation with HR for this to work out! I really like you and you didn't even care about me for more than one night?"

simon jumps in quickly, stepping closer to you and past the threshold of your apartment and the hallway. "there has never been a time where you were just a casual thing. especially after you opened up to me, the last thing I would do is switch up on you and abandon what we have."

you shake your head, arms crossing against your chest defensively. "I heard you and your teammates talking about me!"

"then you didn't hear everything!" he interrupts, "in the locker room I was talking about how much I like you and how much progress we've made together! jake and bobby were bugging me about how crazy obsessed I am with you."

"oh? and, what? i'm just supposed to believe you?"

"yes," he replies, "yes! because why would I go through months and months of trying to get you agree to go on one date, if all I wanted was a one time hook up?"

his words have you pausing. sure, if you thought long and hard you probably could come up with a reason why he tried so hard to just fuck you...but then again, maybe you can't come up with a reason. maybe he was telling you the truth. you swallow gently, "I don't know."

"well I do know," he laughs gently, eyes downcast and runs a hand over his head. once he looks up again, your face is wearing a much softer expression than before and simon feels himself becoming slightly breathless. "it's because i'm falling in love with you, y/n."

at his words you body covers itself in goosebumps. your arms fall to your sides, limp and heavy. "you're what?" you mumble. all traces of negative emotions you once felt have disappeared. you can't tell if you want to cry or kiss him.

oblivious to your new emotions, simon continues. "god, it's never just been about flirting with you or just trying to make you blush - those were just the extras that I got the pleasure of having. i've had a crush on since the moment I first saw you back during the pre-season - when you were recording the walk out. when I found out you were the regular social admin for the team, I've never been so excited to be around somebody or spend time with someone. and spending time with you, y/n has been my absolute favourite thing.

I really like you, y/n. hell, like I said, i'm falling in love. and if you're not ready for this right now, then i can wait–"

his words are muffled as you push up onto your tippy toes and press your lips against his. it takes a moment for it to register that you're kissing him, but then he sighs gently against your mouth.

you hold his face in your small hands, tenderly caressing your lips together. simon wraps one of his forearms around you waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body as his other hand moves to caress the side of your head.

slowly, you pull away breathlessly, "you saw me? at that pre-season game?"

simon nods just as delicately as your breathing, "you were impossible not to notice, y/n." he gives you another kiss, this one quicker than the last. "i'm sorry that I made you believe anything different than my true feelings, I never wanted to hurt you."

you shake your head gently, "i'm sorry for ignoring you. I should've just asked you about what I heard, instead of assuming the worst possible scenario. I feel so silly," you admit, "it's just after everything that happened with my last relationship, god, I had so many doubts about you and your intentions so that one little thing pushed me over the edge."

"don't feel silly," he hums, leaning down for another kiss. simon pulls away slowly and you slightly chase his lips."if I told you about my actual feelings before today, none of this would've happened."

"don't dwell on that," you mumble, "and after this, i'll never assume again. there's no more doubts and i'm leaving my baggage at the door."

"I'll take your baggage always, jolie fille."

the french term of endearment is not forgotten and you smile, leaning back up to re connect your mouths for another euphoric kiss. in that moment you decide you'll never get tired of the way simon kisses you.

you both part to catch your breath.

"so..." you hum after a beat, chest still pounding as you start to regain normal breathing patterns.

"so." simon replies breathless, a grin tugging on his lips.

"you're falling in love with me?" you tease.

"I thought I was pretty obvious about that part," he mumbles sheepishly, the hand that was once on your face coming to rub the back of his neck.

you smile gently up at him, thumbs rubbing against the warm skin of his jawline. "you ready to fill out those 15 pages of paperwork ive been talking about?"

simon's hand lowers slightly from your lower back and down to your ass, affectionately rubbing over the flesh. that flirtatious smirk you love so much appears his face, "i'm always ready."

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