#and late-night puck drops

[icedbatik]

Think I'm calling it. Hope good things happen while I sleep!

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

extra: she’s really empathetic, she’d make a great wife.

➴ chapter warnings: rumors, mentions of cheating.

➴ word count: 2.9k

💌 from me to you: and today i reached 600 followers. may or may not have cried. thank you so much. i hope you enjoy this one, and thank you anon for giving me this idea, i hope i met your expectations!

𖧷

𖧷

JACK BLINKED slowly, as if he wasn’t really sure if what he was seeing was actually real.

He sat up straight, resting his naked back against the wooden headboard, staring at the girl in front of him.

Sophia was resting against the glass door, wearing nothing but one of Jack’s old t-shirts that he doesn’t even recall putting inside his luggage, which can only mean she did it herself, something the singer’s often doing, wearing his clothes around, like she’s seeking for some kind of closeness that only he can provide.

She’s breathtaking, Jack remembers thinking. Even with no makeup on, even with puffy, tired eyes, and even with her hair slightly tangled from sleep, she’s breathtaking.

She’s not even doing anything important; she’s not singing, she’s not dancing, she’s not smiling for the thousands of cameras which are frequently shoved up her face. She’s simply existing, simply breathing, and that is enough to make Jack Hughes believe she’s the one for him.

He knows he is lucky. He knows she’s too good for him, and he knows that, one day, she’ll probably realize it, if she hasn’t already.

But, he also knows that as long as she lives, and maybe some time after that, he won’t ever love someone like he loves her. His heart won’t ever beat this fast for someone else, even if he wanted to.

Her laugh is enough to get him through his hardest days, her voice enough to bring him out of his dark thoughts. When he watches her on stage, dancing, singing, smiling and doing what she loves most, he’s certain that she’s enough to make him the happiest man alive.

So, that’s why they are where they are today. Because he can’t lose her. Not again, not ever.

He remembers feeling his heart dropping inside his chest when he read the article. "NHL Star Caught in Cheating Scandal: Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes Relationship in Turmoil".

Gladly, he had been one of the first to read the excruciating story. After that one incident where Sophia thought he was fucking his ex, Ava he thinks, his Google Alerts notifications for himself and Sophia are always on, and he doesn’t miss a single thing anymore.

That’s why he almost crushes his phone inside his hands when he reads the article, over and over again, memorizing the nasty, evil words plastered for everyone to see.

There’s a picture, too. A blurry, probably edited one, showing his face beside a random girl’s he doesn’t even know. His name is beside the word “cheater”, “unfaithful” and he’s being compared with that one asshole named Harris Dickinson.

He wants to kill someone.

It’s late at night, and he is away. Sophia is back in Newark at their shared apartment, and he knows she’s probably asleep by now. He won’t get home until later that night, and he’s seriously considering murdering whoever thought that coming up with this lie, now out of all times, would be a great idea.

She’s not answering her phone, as expected, and Jack Hughes wants to scream. He just had a shitty game, they lost 4-1, even after he shot the puck at the net twenty-three times alone— not even one earned him the glorious “goal honk”.

He spends the entire ride silent, because he knows his teammates have already seen the article. He can feel their eyes on him, and he can sense their pity too. Even Luke, who always chooses to stay quiet and watch from afar, is looking at him with worried, hooded eyes.

“I didn’t do it.” Jack mumbles, looking through the window and watching the dark sky above them.

“I know,” Luke hums, sounding upset. “That’s why I am worried.”

“They can’t fucking leave us alone,” Jack hisses, his frustrated tone echoing through the silent bus. “Do they have any idea what this does to Soph? Do they have any idea how fucking messed up this is?”

“She’s a tough girl,” Luke tries. “She’ll get over this.”

“What if,” Jack stops himself. No. Sophia will hear him out, she won’t shut him out like she did last time. This isn’t the first dating scandal they have to deal with, and it certainly will not be the last. “Fuck.”

“I know nothing I say will help but,” Luke sighs, then turns his head around until he’s facing his brother. “I’m here, we’re here. I love you.”

Jack blinks, nodding once. “I know. It helps.”

He arrives at their home at three forty-nine that night. He opens the door and closes it in record time, and he doesn’t even think twice before running to their bedroom, desperate to see if Sophia had run away and desperate to see if he’d find their bed empty.

He doesn’t, though. Sophia’s there, just not like he expected her to be, asleep. No. She’s sitting on top of the covers, resting her back against the headboard, eyes glued to the TV in front of her, some random show Jack didn’t even bother acknowledging playing in the back, muted.

“Baby.”

Her eyes are tired when she looks at him, and he hates it. Hates it because he knows she isn’t tired because she spent the night doing what she loves— she’s tired because she’s thinking nonstop, and she’s not well.

“Jack.”

“You’re not asleep.” He stated, standing in front of her, looking for something he wasn’t really sure of in her face. He didn’t find it.

She smiles, tiredly, tilting her head to the side. “Had this bad feeling on my chest, like something I didn’t even know what was about to blow up in my face.”

“I didn’t do it,” he blurts out. He’s panting and he knows he probably looks awful, but he doesn’t care. “Soph, listen to me. I didn’t d—”

“I know,” she softened her tone, patting the seat beside her, on Jack’s side of the bed. He immediately complies, sitting beside the woman he’d buy the moon for if she asked to. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know your heart, Jack.”

“Soph…”

“I know you,” she gulps, looking at something on his face, as she raises her hand and rests it against his chest. “I know you’re not him.”

“I fucking love you, Soph,” he says, and he can’t believe he’s on the verge of tears. Jack Hughes, the sassy, though player, is on the verge of crying because he can’t stomach the thought of losing his girlfriend. “I’d give you my life if you asked me to. You know that.”

“I don’t want you to,” she smiles, softly, her eyes filled with tears too. “Where’s the fun in that? I want you by my side, every day. I want people to write your name on my biography when I die, and I want people to know that you’re it for me.”

“I’m going to kill whoever wrote that,” he promises. “I know I can find them, and I know I can make them pay for what they did, I just know that,” he’s seeing red, and he’s ready to punch someone in the face when Sophia kisses him, sweet, honeyed lips touching each other.

“Let’s make the most out of this,” she whispers. “This time, let’s just see the glass half full.”

Making the most out of that awful situation turned out to be spending a week at Calilo, a private, five star hotel in Ios, a Greek island.

The room they chose had a private pool, and a private entrance to the beach, which they were in love with. Sophia cried when they opened the hotel’s room door because of course she did, and Jack took a picture of her there to send to the family group chat, before turning his wifi off, something he promised he’d do once they arrived at their destination.

For seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eight minutes, six hundred four thousand, eight hundred seconds, they weren’t going to be the famous singer and Hockey player, Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes.

No. They’d be Sophia and Jack, a normal couple living a normal life.

“We could be royalty, king and queen of nowhere,” Sophia sings, voice smooth and quiet, yet enough to make Jack want to jump out of bed and kiss her senseless. “Lose it all, everything. As long as we got you and I, you and me, they can tear this whole house down. All we have is love.”

“Did I die and go to Heaven?” Jack mumbles, and smiles as Sophia turns around and faces him. He barely tries to hide the way he scans her body with hungry eyes, lingering over the outline of her boobs for longer than he probably should.

“Some people do say I’m an angel,” she blinks innocently, and walks towards the bed, sitting on Jack’s lap, gracefully putting her legs on each side of Jack’s body. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a girl who just got knocked up.” He smirks, and Sophia laughs, throwing her head back as Jack holds her in place with his hands on her waist, carefully arranging her on top of him.

“We’ll have to work on this newly developed kink of yours…” she winks.

“Like it isn’t your fault,” he rolls his eyes, playfully, staring at the outline of her panties sitting right on top of his own boxers. “Making a song about wanting to get knocked up. Singing said song in front of thousands of people. Asking me to fuck you in unthinkable positions just so you could do them on stage.”

“I mean…” she smirks. “I gotta keep my fans interested, right? And what are boyfriends for if not for helping their girlfriends out?”

“You’re unreal, Sophia Montenegro,” Jack says, leaning forward and kissing the singer fervently. She tastes sweet, she tastes like his favorite person in the world.

But maybe that’s just because that’s what she is.

𖧷

SOPHIA HAD already forgotten how good it was to live a normal life.

She loves her fans, she really does. She also loves to sing, and she loves to be this huge pop star people say she is, but also loves to be human. She loves to walk around without thousands of people taking pictures of her and analyzing everything she does. She loves to eat a silent dinner by herself or with her friends and family and not have several cameras in her face.

When Jack suggested, after that terrible article, that they should travel somewhere quiet and safe, she thought he was just kidding. It was June, he was technically off his NHL player duties, and she did have some time before she had to headline festivals and make appearances in TV shows so it made sense for them to take some time for themselves, but they had never done that before— why, she doesn’t know, but now she realizes how dumb they had both been.

Ios was a small island, and the few people who were there didn’t know who they were. They walked around with their hands together without anyone batting an eye at them, and even when they asked for people to take pictures of them together, no one hit them with the usual “oh my God, are you that one singer and that one player?”

People treated them normally, and she couldn’t be happier. The past few weeks had been like hell, living on the edge and worrying that something would break them apart, but now?

Now, they were walking together after eating Chicken Gyros and Bubble Waffles with chocolate ice cream (“That’s too sweet, baby, it’s disgusting.”, “You’re disgusting, Rowdy.”), making their way to the private beach in front of their bedroom, which Sophia promptly said it belonged to them from now on.

She spent the entire walk singing, because Jack had asked her to. The lyrics of I Have A Dream slipped out of her mouth like syrup, each sentence sweeter than the previous one. Jack, who has been holding her hand and watching her the entire time, smiled and felt his hands getting sweaty.

“I have a dream, a song to sing. To help me cope with anything, if you see the wonder of a fairy tale, you can take the future even if you fail. I believe in angels.”

She loved this song, it had been one of the many who inspired her to be a singer. And to get to sing it in Greece, while holding hands with the person she’s sure to be the love of her life?

She won.

Her white sundress contrasted perfectly with the sunset in the background, and when she and Jack decided that they wanted to sit by the sea, the sun was already saying its last words.

“It’s beautiful.” She sighs, content.

“It is, yeah,” Jack answers, but when she turns around, he’s not looking at the view, he’s looking at her.

She laughs, smacking his chest. “Did you just call me ‘it’?”

“I don’t know, man, I heard the word beautiful and thought we were talking about you.” He cheesily answers, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“You’re actually so annoying,” Sophia chuckles, moving the sand around with her feet. “I don’t know how I’ve been handling your ass for almost five years.”

Jack stays silent for a while, something that isn’t like him at all, but Sophia doesn’t ask anything. He’s been like that since that one article, and even though she can tell it still bothers him, she promised him she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

It was upsetting, to say the least, to know that people were constantly praying for their downfall. At least once every two months they would come up with a new genius idea of how they weren’t together anymore, and how they hated each other, and how Jack was a freaking cheater and how Sophia was a homewrecker.

She understands that they may not look like the perfect match— who would’ve thought? The bratty, Mr. I-hate-media-attention dating the singer whose name is practically in every headline and whose face is in almost every magazine cover, not to mention her songs always doing numbers in the charts.

But they are happy.

So, so happy.

“I don’t think I want to leave,” Sophia whispers, listening to the sounds of the waves in front of them. Her head is resting on Jack’s shoulder, and he has his left hand wrapped around her thigh. “Like, ever.”

Jack hums. “Not even to make concerts?”

“Well. Maybe,” she sounds childish and Jack smiles. “I wish I could have all of that with all of this. You know what I mean? This peace, their love. Is it weird?”

“Not really, baby. A bit confusing, though.” He kisses her temple, and she chuckles.

“I’ve been in the spotlight for half of my life. Ever since I’ve decided that I wanted to be famous, I’ve been watched like some kind of wild animal,” she whispers, voice filled with emotion. “I love what I do. But… I also love who I am when I’m not performing. When I’m not Sophia Montenegro. I like it when I’m just… yours, for example.”

“Soph—”

“I’m sorry if it sounds confusing…” she pouts, and Jack smirks.

“Do you like being mine?” He asks, and she rolls her eyes at him, annoyed by the obvious question.

“You already know the answer to that,” she says. “Of course I do.”

“Would you like to be mine for the rest of our lives?” He lowers his voice, and Sophia furrows her eyebrows, lifting her head up and staring at the man sitting beside her.

“I mean I would but…” she watches his face. He looks beautiful, she thinks. His eyes match the sea. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want to know if you’d say yes.” He simply says. Sophia notices he’s shaking, though.

“If I’d say yes to what?” She answers, but she can feel her heart racing inside her chest already.

“To be my wife,” he finally says, pulling a black, velvet box out of his jeans pocket, and opening at the same time her first tears start to roll down her cheeks. “I also love who you are when you’re not performing, but I love it even more when you’re just mine. So, please, Soph, tell me—”

“Jack—” she gasps, putting her hand in front of her mouth.

“Will you marry me? Will you make me the happiest man alive and let me make you my wife?” He asks, blue eyes full of expectations and hope.

Sophia laughs wetly before throwing herself in front of her boyfriend— fiancé—, kissing him messily, just because she can. And because she wants him to feel the turmoil going on inside her, and what he did to her.

How he found her, a garden with no flowers— and then he bought the seeds, planted and watered them, and how he’s now watching them grow and bloom. How he delicately took care of each one of them, and how he’d kiss them gently before going away.

“This could go very wrong,” she says, voice trembling as Jack puts the ring, a very fancy one she notices, on her finger. “You could get tired of me. And you could realize I’m not that cool—”

“Soph, forget it,” Jack laughs. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon. So either you start getting used to being called Sophia Montenegro Hughes now or you’ll have a very hard time.”

“I fucking love you.” She sobs, rolling her wet eyes at him.

“Always so romantic, my postar,” he kisses her cheeks, wiping her tears with his lips. “I happen to fucking love you too.”

𖧷

sophiamontenegro

Ios, Greece

liked by morgan.grace, tyla, elblue6 and 3,902,012 others

sophiamontenegro that feeling when you’re sooo empathetic he had no other option but to make you his wife 💌 that’s that me engaged i guess

View all 9,103 comments

user1 SOPHIA I FUCKING LOVE YOU

user2 HARD LAUNCHING YOUR ENGAGEMENT WHEN PEOPLE SPEND THE ENTIRE MONTH TALKING ABOUT YOUR “BREAK UP” WHAT A QUEEN

trevorzegras That feeling when you have knee surgery tomorrow :/

sophiamontenegro trevorzegras 👍🏻

morgan.grace YOU BETTER CALL ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW SOPHIA WHAT THE HELL

sophiamontenegro morgan.grace on it baby 🫡

user3 THE CAPTION

user4 ngl i thought they wouldn’t last a week but look at them 4 years later getting married

user5 soph you better live stream your wedding pls

jackhughes 😈

user6 we survived another “jack and sophia broke up” moment let’s GOOOOO

user7 album when

𖧷

jackhughes

liked by lhughes_06, njdevils, curtislazar95 and 293,928 others

jackhughes

View all 2,892 comments

lhughes_06 👍🏻

user0 lhughes_06 average hughes brothers reaction

user1 It’s okay Jack we know how overwhelming choosing a caption talking about your engagement with the world’s most famous pop singer can be…

user2 THE SCREENSHOT LMFAO HE DID SOPH DIRTY

sophiamontenegro delete that or i’m asking for a divorce

jackhughes sophiamontenegro we’re not even married yet ?

nicohischier Congrats Jack and Soph ❤️

_quinnhughes congrats!! love ya

elblue6 🥹

subbanator HELL YEAAAAH

trevorzegras Can’t wait until the priest says speak now or forever hold your peace and I get up 😌

jackhughes trevorzegras you’re not even invited

trevorzegras jackhughes 🙁

user3 didn’t know yall were locked in like that

user4 my sister just started screaming and crying 😂

user5 Mama and Papa 💜

user6 THE CONTACT NAME NOOOO

[ghost-proofbaby]

when you know, you know. (e.m.)

summary: air hockey has never been so romantic.

warnings: it's alluded to that reader is wearing red lipstick. not edited.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: a very late valentine's day gift for you all (and eddie). also, the fact i've never written proper mechanic eddie... what a shame.

“Yes!” 

If any of the nearby children flinched, you didn’t notice. You were too wrapped up in your victory, going as far as to partake in a terribly embarrassing dance on your end of the air hockey table as Eddie shakes his head slowly. 

“You definitely cheated,” he deadpans, a twitch of a smile nearly giving him away as he leans down to pick the puck out of the slot below on his end, “There’s no way you’re about to beat me in under five minutes, again.” 

You smile, lips painted red under the lowlights of the arcade as you lean over the table and taunt him, “Or maybe it’s just a skill issue. I wouldn’t keep beating you if you were actually a professional in air hockey like you’d claimed, Munson.” 

Three dates – tonight makes four – and you still hadn’t quite worked out how you’d managed to capture the attention of the boy before you. When he’d originally asked you out to coffee, you’d swallowed down all your excessive excitement just to answer him. The local mechanic that you’d been making heart eyes at every few months when you’d go in for an oil check, the one who hadn’t allowed the others at the shop to oversell you on a damn thing when you’d get your tires rotated. Who always smiled shyly as he’d bring you back your keys.

You’d figured the coffee date would last an hour if you were lucky. The two of you would spend more than five minutes in the same room together, he’d realize how overbearing you were, and that would be the end of it. Ridiculous crush effectively squashed. 

But it hadn’t. 

It had lasted hours, plural. Coffees finished and second lattes nursed until they’d gone cold, the outcome had been the exact opposite of your expectations. Your conversation had flowed effortlessly, common ground and common interests found with ease, and suddenly, Eddie was more than just some cute mechanic for your friends to tease you over. 

The first date had only ended due to his shift at the shop that afternoon. 

The subsequent sushi dinner date, and then the movie night the next week, had also lasted hours. 

“For someone who works on cars, you should be a lot better with your hands,” you poke gentle fun at him as he makes the first hit against the puck this time, far more careful than you had been when serving. 

“Or maybe I’m just determined to keep letting my pretty date win.” 

“And why would you ever do that?” 

Another hit from your mallet, the sharp tapping of your aggressive push ringing out over the sound of nearby machines. You don’t dare to glance in the direction of the ruckus, but you’re pretty sure someone has just won an exciting amount of tickets based on the squeals of glee. 

“I dunno,” Eddie pauses to shrug after he hits the puck once more, his guard dropping. You’re ruthless as you take the opportunity to shoot the puck straight into ‘goal’ on his side of the table. A straight shot, far too easy for your liking, but you still celebrate the victory with another embarrassing dance, “Maybe it’s because I’m into that ridiculous dance they keep doing whenever they score.” 

You immediately stop your little jumps, eyes widening, a rush of embarrassment heating you up from the inside out as Eddie’s eyes stay glued on you. The table powers down as he makes his way around it, feet bringing him right to you. 

You’d always thought Eddie would find you weird, or odd, or unappealing after that coffee date, but the outcome had been better than you could have possibly conceived.

He was an absolute weirdo as well. 

Fondness overtakes his features just like it had on that coffee date when you’d accidentally snorted at one of his jokes, and your heart flutters eagerly. You can’t believe there had been a time you’d only watch him from behind glass, trying to not get caught as you would blatantly stare at him as he’d work on your car. A time when you’d only see his curls up in loose buns rather than framing his face as they were now, a time when you couldn’t even shake his hand due to it being covered in oil. 

That had all only been a month ago, but you already couldn’t imagine your life without Eddie Munson in it. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he chuckles as he stops in front of you, smirk deepening the dimples you’d only noticed on your second date with him. He’d been too bashful the first date, ducking whenever his grin would grow too wide on you, biting his tongue on half the flirtatious remarks you wished he would have said. “You won, fair and square, so what’s your prize gonna be, valentine?” 

He also waited until the second date to kiss you. That had nearly killed you. 

“It’s not very fair if you let me win,” you whisper, unable to look away from his eyes. They’re a soft brown, a smooth honey, a nice sight for sore eyes. You kind of like the crinkles beside them, too. Kind of wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him, roll over, and kiss them – all before the sun ever rose. 

He reaches out and gingerly grabs your hand, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles before he entangles your fingers with his. “Psh, who said I let you win? Maybe I just really suck at air hockey.”

“You just-”

You never get to finish your argument. He’s quick to swoop down, capturing your lips in his. The rudest of interruptions, and it still manages to weaken your knees. 

Each kiss only grows sweeter. And more confident, more sure. The first one had been timid, exchanged on your doorstep with boyish hesitation and meek desperation. But now, several kisses experienced since that night, all apprehension has melted. He lets his lips meld to yours, captures your bottom lip just tightly enough to give it a brief tug when he pulls away. Still soft, ever so sweet, and leaving you wanting for more. 

Four dates. All it took was four dates for him to make you a goner. 

“Now, that wasn’t fair,” you breathe out, betrayed by the smile that you wear. Your chest feels shaken up, impending explosion of mushiness and flowers and hearts and every single cliche the love songs on the radio could squeeze out.

“It was your prize.”

“I never said I wanted a kiss for my prize.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he puts a dramatic hand up to his chest, leaning back so dramatically that your hand instinctively reaches out to loop a finger in his jean pocket to keep him upright, “Would you like me to take it back, my fair maiden?” 

Four dates, and he makes it impossible to not imagine a future of this. Of silly banter, of gentle mornings spent kissing away crows feet, of cutting one another off with the most infuriating of methods. You’re starting to believe you’re just a hopeless romantic, and he’d spotted that from a mile away – he knew every single button to press to have you putty in his hands, and he was taking full advantage of it. 

You giggle, an honest to God giggle, as you say, “Hm, I’m not sure. I heard the return policies on those are a bit wonky.” 

If your friends thought you were insufferable when he was some stranger you just had a crush on, they would be vomiting at the sight of this. 

He leans into your space, close enough to smell his faint cologne and mint on his breath, “Are they? Well, lucky for you, I’m friends with the shop owner. Can definitely accept the return without a receipt. It won’t be a problem, ma’am. I swear it.”

He’s weird. He’s goofier than you could have imagined, snarkier than you could have dreamed, and more romantic than you had yet to uncover. He’s kind of perfect, but you wouldn’t dare say that to his face. Not yet, at least. 

You’re glad you had said yes when he’d asked days prior for you to be his Valentine. And you’re glad he hadn’t gone the boring route, showing up with just chocolates and flowers and calling it a day, but had instead dragged you out to this arcade for a night of adventures as he claimed. 

“And how would one go about returning a kiss, kind sir?” 

He answers wordlessly, bringing up a finger to tap on his lips. He goes as far as pouting them dramatically. 

He wants you to kiss him. 

Lucky for him, you want to kiss him, too. 

Your kiss is more chaste. Teasing as you lift up onto your tippy toes and only press your lips to his for a brief second before falling back. You leave him wanting more – it’s written all over his face, along with a blush that races right over the bridge of his nose. 

He’s cute. He’s cute, and he’s weird, and you really fucking like him. 

“Now that that’s over with,” you have to change the topic, move right along before your heart truly bursts from your chest, “I know what I want my prize to be.” 

He takes a moment to recover, pupils almost resembling hearts as he stares down at you. Eventually he pulls himself from your trance, shaking his head as he asks, “And what would that be?”

You’re the one taking his hand this time. If he gave you the time, you’d like to learn each callous and scar by heart. Trace over them in the middle of night, when it’s just you and him in the darkness beneath your sheets. Memorize the way they feel as he explores every curvature of your body and figure out which of the roughest patches would brush against your most sensitive bits in a way that would make you arch your back right into him. 

The two of you haven’t even discussed if that’s where the night might lead, but you’re sort of hoping the luck in the air doesn’t run out. 

“There’s an awfully pretty ring in the case up at the ticket counter,” you muse, knowing damn well the ring was the ugliest thing either of you had ever seen in your lives, “Think you’ve got the tickets to spare?” 

His hand gives you a squeeze. Something not too tight, something perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fourth date, it’s only the first month – it’s only the beginning. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, more earnestly than you’d expected, as he steals another kiss. 

You let him. You have this aching feeling in your chest that you’ll probably let him steal an endless amount from you for the rest of your life. 

When you know, you know. Or whatever the poets say.

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[nhlclover]

𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 | 𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐇𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐉

summary: arber comes home from a long road trip, finding you awake and waiting for him

warnings: pure fluff, gross coupley stuff where they are just obsessed with each other

word count: 0.9k

notes: based on 'joy of my life' by chris stapleton. i love him no one will be able to change that (this is directed at sens and leafs fans)

Arber’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the leather cool and worn beneath his touch, as the rain began to fall in earnest. Heavy sheets of water splashed against the windshield, distorting the world beyond in a blur of shadows and streaking light. It was almost one in the morning, and the long stretch of games out west had wrung him dry—his muscles ached with the memory of each hit, every battle for the puck. But all of that melted away with the thought of coming home to you. It was a warmth that seeped into his bones, soothing the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin.

Pulling into the driveway, he killed the engine and sat there for a moment, the patter of rain against the car roof the only sound in the world. The house stood still and silent before him. He expected darkness, to tiptoe through the house while you slept peacefully, but there was a soft, golden glow spilling from the bedroom window. A smile tugged at his lips. You’d fallen asleep with the light on again, he was sure of it. He forced himself to move out of the car, his body protesting with every step as he made his way to the door.

Carefully, he slipped inside, the door creaking in protest at the late hour. Every step he took was deliberate, gentle, as though he were trying to preserve the peace of the space you shared. The memories of the many times he’d returned home late at night flashed through his mind, all those moments when he’d tried and failed to sneak in without waking you. Your groggy complaints, the way you’d swat at him half-heartedly before snuggling closer.

Tiptoeing up the stairs and down the hallway, he softly twisted the knob and pushed the door open. His breath caught when he saw your silhouette, bathed in the soft light of the bedside lamp you’d indeed left on. However, you were awake, your eyes warm and sleepy, an expression on your face that made his heart twist.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice a melody Arber had been waiting to hear. “You’re home.”

He exhaled, the breath shuddering out of him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him, a small smile on your lips. “I couldn’t sleep … not when I knew you were coming home tonight.”

His chest tightened, the weight of your words sinking into him. He dropped his duffel onto the dresser, but before he could even think of unpacking, you spoke again.

“No, no, baby,” you murmured, your voice like velvet, drawing his gaze back to you. “Do that later, please.” You peeled back the covers, inviting him into the warmth he’d been craving all those lonely nights on the road. “Come lay beside me… I’ve been waiting since you left.”

He paused, his heart swelling. He wanted to get the unpacking over with, but you were beckoning to him like a siren. He stepped away from the dresser, beginning to strip off his clothes, exhaustion making his movements slow. He slipped into bed, immediately wrapping you in his arms. You fit against him perfectly, your warmth seeping into his skin, chasing away every ounce of fatigue. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla.

“I missed you,” he confessed, his voice thick with the weight of it all—the longing, the endless nights spent wanting nothing but this.

“I missed you too.” you whispered back, your fingers tracing delicate patterns across his chest. Every touch was a balm, soothing the aches and bruises that had settled deep in his bones. “Long trip?”

“Yeah,” he said, a tired chuckle escaping him. “I thought it would never end.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “Well, you’re here now. And that’s all that matters.”

The two of you lay there, wrapped up in the silence, letting it wash over you like a lullaby. Arber’s hand drifted to your hair, his fingers threading through the soft strands, his eyes tracing every line and curve of your face as if memorizing it all over again. “You know,” he began, his voice raw with emotion, “every time I’m away, it feels like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind. You’re… you’re the joy of my life, you know that?”

You felt your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I remember the first time I saw you,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You looked like an angel that day. I thought to myself, ‘There’s no way she could be real.’ But you are. You remember?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Of course I remember the day we met. I thought you were the most intimidating man I’d ever seen. And then you smiled… and everything changed.”

“Changed everything, didn’t it?” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. His chuckle was soft, but the love in his eyes was unmistakable. “I knew then that I’d never want to let you go. I still feel that way. Every time I come home, it’s like I fall in love with you all over again.”

You lowered your head back down, hearing the gentle beat of his heart through his chest. “I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” Arber replied, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. You briefly leaned away from Arber, turning off the lamp and leaving you in the darkness, before rolling back into his grasp.

In the stillness of the night, you felt him draw you even closer as if trying to make up for all the time spent apart. And in that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, with all the love in the world.

[babygirlnicohischier]

It's the Cup - Matthew Tkachuk x gender neutral reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, oral (F and M receiving), fingering (F receiving)

Summary: Maybe serving the Stanley Cup champs wouldn't be so bad after all, thanks to Matt somethingorother.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I wrote this right after the playoffs wrapped and just found it again, so don't be shocked if the proofreading is 100%

God, you thought as you slipped past your coworker slid the 1000th aperol spritz of the night to the group of 22-year-old girls in front of you,it’s 2024, why are we still playing Drake at the bar?

Things have been different lately, mainly that your bar has never been this busy. After the Cats won the Stanley Cup, even the most hidden gems in the city were packed with people who hoped and prayed that the team would be make an appearance, free bottles and fanfare galore.

Everyone except you. A bartender on their third double shift and eigth sugar-free red bull of the weekend. You were hoping that a few days out from the Stanley Cup Parade things would have started settling down but there had been no such luck.

Now, you have to crank out ten vodka sodas at a time and feel your hands go numb from constantly reaching into the cooler for beer bottles and seltzer cans to keep up with the rush. You didn’t think it was possible to get cramps in your hands from bud lights, but the universe wanted to prove you wrong. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be stiffed by the jerks here trying to hit on the puck bunnies. A few feet from you at the corner of the bar, you briefly make eye contact with one of the Panthers players, his golden curls somehow still perfectly touseled even after hours of partying. You hear him introduce himself, Matt something, to the girl in front of him. You almost felt bad for her with how uninterested he seemed in her, and how his eyes glazed over as she leaned in close to ask him something.

“It’s the Cup,” a sarcastic voice barked out,”it’s the Cup, girl.”

With how shitty the past few days have been, you allowed yourself to laugh at the snark. You looked over in the direction of it just in time to see the 1000th aperol spritz of the weekend slink away from Matthew Something. A few more rounds of green tea shots and dozens of High Noons later you could finally catch your breath as the crowd in front of you began to die down. Even the rush of the celebration could only alst so long into the night, and you checked your phone to see it was nearly 1:30 at this point. ‘Only a few hours left and I can crash. I got this.’

The sight of wet crumpled bills falling into your tip jar instantly made you perk up and lower your phone. It was one of those Florida Panther players, Matthew Something, dropping hundred dollar bills by the handfuls into the bucket with a smile.

“Been watching you all night, he yelled over the music,”you’ve been working so hard that I haven’t had a chance to come over. I’m Matt, by the way, Matt Tkachuk.”

Ah, you thought, that’s it.

You gave him your name and shook his outstretched hand, not-so-subtly noting how much bigger it was than yours. It was also gentler and warmer than you expected for someone with such a rough job and tough guy reputation. After a few moments, you realized you still hadn’t let go of said gentle, warm, and very big hand, and he hadn’t pulled away either. You would have been embarrassed if in that same moment one of his drunk teammates hadn’t come over yelling something neither one of you could make out and holding the Stanley Cup triumphantly above his head.

Matt finally dropped your hand and asked for some beers. “Oh yeah, he’s being nice to me since I’m at work. He was talking about getting drinks not about talking to me.” Thankful for a reason to turn away from his blue-green eyes and golden curls, you welcomed the order and opened up the row of beers. Dropping a few more of those crumbled wet bills into the bucket, Matt winked and turned back to his friends.

This happened a few more times throughout the night as the players took over your side of the bar. You watched them enviously as they got to drink, party, and dance while you were stuck making mixed drinks for girls trying to slip into the players’ section and the guys without a Stnaley Cup victory chasing right after them.

The only one without someone, girl or guy, hanging on to or circling around him was Matt. Matt who you caught looking in your direction more than once. Your eyes looking in his direction more than once. As much as you tried to ignore him, something about his gaze brought a flush to your cheeks.

Around 3am, when the remaining crowd seemed to settle down again, you told your coworkers you needed your break and slipped out the back door into the sticky Florida night to finally take in some fresh air, even if it was just as hot as the inside of the bar. As you sat there, trying to rally for the next few hours of your shift, the door opened behind you. You were surprised when you opened the door and heard the sound of someone scrolling through tiktoks, some pop song blasting out into the humid night air. “Shit, you scared me,” you said with a gasp, turning to see none other than Matt.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry about that. I would never want to scare you,” he replied. “I have been looking for you though.”

“Oh really? What for?”

“You’re the hottest person here. My friends bet me $20 I couldn’t get your number tonight. They upped it to $100 when they saw me empty my wallet into your tip jar and you didn’t even blink my way. I almost thought you weren’t interested until we kept locking eyes.”

“Oh please,” you teased, “it’s a but hard to look away from the loudest guys in the bar.”

Matt scoffed, “Somehow I don’t think that’s it. So what do you say? You wanna help me make back some of that tip money? Wanna help me win this bet?”

As he went through each sentence he inched a little closer until he was leaning over you, leaving just enough room for you to dip around him and escape if you needed to. Even inebrieated with a few of those beers you served him, Matt was aware of himself and how big he was, and how maybe you weren’t into him after all. The spicy smell of his cologne mixed with the beer you knew must be coming out from his pores at this point and the faint hint of cigar smoke and chewing gum. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were leaning in towards him, noticing how pink his lips looked. Before you could talk yourself out of it you were kissing him, hands running through his mullet.

He was taken aback at first and froze before you felt one of his large hands reach up and cup you cheek as he pulled you in even closer. As the kiss deepened, Matt pressed his body flush against yours. Through his jeans,through his hold, you felt him start to harden as you pushed your hips into his.

You pulled gently on his curly locks, eliciting a low moan from his throat. Taking advantage of his groan, you slipped your tongue into his mouth and his eagerly followed suit, pushing into your open mouth. His hands moved from your face to snake around your waist, somehow pressing you even tighter and removing any remaining space that was left between you. His lips were swollen as he pulled away from you briefly. You leaned into his collarbone, exposed with his shirt only half buttoned, and sucked it hard enough to leave your mark on him.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he threw his head back. Working up his neck, you continued to leave bites and wet kisses.

“Babe do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked, taking your hand and placing it over the growing bulge in his jeans.

It was thick, and you were surprised at how much of a grower he was. As your hand traveled up to his zipper you heard him softly whimper at your touch and the anticipation of more.

“Why don’t we go back inside?” you asked, continuing to stroke him through his pants,“Staff bathroom is a little more…private.”

You already knew he wouldn’t say no to you no matter what you said, his fingers interlocking with yours letting you lead him wherever you wanted. Once back inside, you slipped into the tiny bathroom between the shelves of extra bottles and backup cups.

Inside the small space, there was barely enough room for the two of you to stand together; nevermind with your back pressed into the sink and his calves touching the toilet behind him. Despite this, Matt continued making out with you the second the lock on the door clicked into place.

“Need you,” he whined, grabbing for any piece of your hips or waist that he could get to. When he managed to get his hands on you, he lifted you up and sat you on the edge of the sink. Lifting up your hips, you helped him pull down your shorts and undies. They were barely around your ankles before you felt Matt’s hands reach between your legs.

“Look at you, so wet for me,” he said mystified as he dipped one finger between your legs and put it into his mouth, “taste so sweet too.” 

“Matt, come on,” you said, grasping at him and pushing him towards the floor, ”be a good boy and eat me out.

Matt was eye-level with your core now, puppy-like and eager, and spread your legs with care. Instantly, he dove betwen your legs and lapped at your wetness, circling your clit with his tongue.

“Oh god,” you managed to choke out as he licked at your core, “Matt, you look so pretty with my pussy on your face. You love this don’t you, baby?”

He moaned into you as an answer, driving deeper with his tongue and tightening his hold on your thighs.

“Just like that babe, you’re doing such a good job, baby boy.” Matt practically growled at the pet name.

“You love being on your knees, huh? Like a slut.” As he pulled away from your center, Matt sank his teeth in your thigh, leaving his own mark on you as his stubble moved across your skin. “Of course I do,” he grinned, licking his lips, ”especially when you taste so good.”

He stuck two fingers in his mouth and pulled them out with a pop. Before you could answer, his fingers were deep inside you, curling to hit your most sensitive spot. Soon his mouth joined in, sucking and biting your clit as you got closer and closer to release. Praises rained from your lips, urging him on until finally you felt yourself clench around his fingers. Matt let you ride out your high on his fingers before pulling them from you and licking them clean. A string of your cum still connected his lips to you, and it was the prettiest thing you had ever seen.

“Your pussy is addicting,” he said with a dazed smile. You finally untangled your hand from his locks, disappointed your grip on him had ruined his perfect curls.

You took a moment to regain yourself before sliding down off the edge of the sink and pulling your shorts back up. “You did so good, baby. You deserve a reward for making me cum so quickly.”

Matt nodded eagerly, waiting for whatever you would give him.

“Do you want me to go down on you too? Do you want me to show you how much I appreciate how good you were?” 

“Fuck yes,” he gasped out as he watched you slide slowly down his body to settle in on your knees. With nimble fingers he undid his belt and pants and pulled out his cock, pumping it slowly in his hand as he waited for you to be ready.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” you asked him, tone suddenly serious.

Matt froze instantly. “Well,” you said, feigning disappointment,”if you want to take care of yourself then I guess I don’t need to help.” 

“No, please—” he said, letting go quickly. He looked down at you with his big blue eyes, but you were more focused on the bead of precum on his pink tip. You needed to know how it tasted but you couldn’t let him have it so easily. 

“Please what?” you prompted, giving tiny kisses and sucks along his thighs. You felt him shudder underneath each kiss.

“Please suck my cock,” he begged, eyes pleading with you,”please I need to cum. I've been so good.”

“Well,” you considered, drawing out the word, “you do sound so sweet begging for me.” You peppered kisses along his lower stomach, loving the way he squirmed for you.

“Please,” he breathed out, just as you kissed right where his abs ended and his happy trail began, ”please, I need you.”

Rather than answer him, you readied yourself before taking most of his length into your mouth. His surprised moan only fueled your fire as you swallowed around him. You pump him near the base, making sure to make a show of slipping your other hand into your shorts. 

“Oh fuck,” he moaned out, repeating the phrase like a prayer. “Oh fuck, baby, please don’t stop.” 

You pulled back to trace his head with the tip of your tongue, looking up at him so you could see how much he was enjoying it. He was biting his lip, using every muscle in his body to hold in how loudly he truly wanted to moan. Bobbing back down to swallow more of his length, you kept your eye contact going as long as you could. When his tip hit the back of your throat he couldn’t help but close his eyes and let his head hang back in ecstasy. 

You felt him twitch in your mouth, a sure sign he was going to cum soon. Pulling your mouth off of him, you asked him sweetly, “Now baby, do you want to cum on my face or in my mouth?” 

“Your mouth, please,” he panted out. You nodded and gave him kisses down his perfectly pink cock before putting him back between your lips. Not long after, you tasted the salty sweet release and felt him shake under you as you sucked his head gently, coaxing as much from him as he could give. 

“Shit,” he gasped,“That was… that was amazing.” You pulled his boxers back up over him as you carefully stood up. Checking yourself in the mirror, your eyeliner was running slightly and your lips were perfectly plumped from the encounter. 

A pounding at the door and a call for your name has the two of you nearly jumping out of your skin. “Hey, I need to pee,” one of your coworkers shouted from the other side,”Are you two almost done in there?” 

Matt burst out laughing as he looked at you wide-eyed, face burning like a high school kid getting caught by his parents with his first hickey.

“Give us a sec!” you shouted as Matt finished up his belt buckle. He pulled you in close once more, kissing you deeply for a moment.

“No matter how many times we do this,” he admitted, pressing his lips gently to your forehead,”it’s still fun.”

“Maybe next time we can try role playing at your job though,” you suggested with a laugh, “I can pretend to be a sexy goalie or a naughty linesman.”

“Matthew Tkachuk, 2 minute minor for not enough roughing,” you teased.

“Ha ha very funny, now we better get out of here before Marla gets upset with me,” Matt said worriedly,”I think we took a little too long this time.”

He opened the door cautiously, afraid to slam it into your best friend and coworker, Marla, as she waited for you two to clear out. She rolled her eyes as you walked out, fingers laced together and very content.

“God,” she groaned,” can’t you guys fuck somewhere else? I love you both but this is the third time this month that I’ve been stuck out here waiting for you to finish up your little sex games.” 

“Listen, if you were dating someone this hot you’d want to fuck them everywhere too,” Matt replied and Marla rolled her eyes. He led you back out to the sounds of shouts and celebration, still holding your hand in his. 

“I’m serious about the linesman thing,” you piped up again,“I think it could be a sexy little scene.”

“Ehhh, we’ll talk about it at home. Now come on, the guys wanted to say hi before you went back to work.” 

[clockwayswrites]

Danny/Jason, Catharsis

@roanawayspoons cw: blood

Jason watched the floor of the gym from behind his helmet. It was mostly empty at this time of the morning: late enough that the night owls were in bed but early enough that the early birds were still asleep. The last two who have been using the treadmills were shoving each other, laughing as they headed out.

That just left Jason, who knew he wouldn’t sleep that night, and the new guy.

That was a little unfair. The guy had been here for a few months already and others had joined after him, but no one knew him. He went by Puck, threw a mean punch, was good with kids and prostitutes, and kept to himself.

Tonight he seemed determined to break a punching bag open.

Slam.

The bag swung back and Puck dodged, light on his feet— lighter than he should be with how sloppy his footwork was.

Slam.

Puck shook his head, sweat flying. He had come in with his head shaved to nothing, but it was growing back in now, coming in mostly white with a swath of black along the bottom.

Slam.

The smear of blood was bright on the cream of the bag. Puck’s hands were wrapped, but he’d long ago worn through them.

Jason locked the doors before he stepped up and stopped the heavy bag from swinging.

Puck took a step back, but didn’t drop his stance. Smart.

“In the ring,” Jason ordered, not trying to soften the way it came out through the modulation of the helmet.

Puck gave a jerky nod and did as he was told. He slipped easily between the ropes. He really was a small thing, but the muscles wrapped around him like steel wire now. Jason had to pull the ropes apart to move into the ring himself. He rolled his shoulders back, shifted his feet, and motioned for Puck to come at him.

He really was quick as a whip, but Jason had fought better and blocked easily. And kept blocking. And blocking. And blocking.

“Fight me!” Puck yelled.

Jason stayed quiet and kept blocking.

“Fight me!” Puck’s punches lost their form, the next swing went wild.

Jason caught the fist, fingers wrapping easily around Puck’s too thin wrist.

Puck snarled, sharp teeth bared with the feral sound. For a moment Jason was sure that Puck was going to try to bite him, but instead the snarl stuttered and faltered into a keening sound.

With a sharp tug, Jason pulled Puck off balance. Puck’s free hand shot out to catch himself against Jason’s chest. Jason twisted them, pinning Puck against him with an iron tight arm. And Puck howled. He kicked and screamed and thrashed and snarled.

Jason stroked his thumb along the inside line of Puck’s wrist, ignoring the way the blood from Puck’s abused knuckles smeared with the gentle motion.

The snarling turned to keening again turned to body shaking sobs. Puck stopped fighting. Slowly Jason brought them to the mat, cradling Puck carefully the whole way. Puck felt so fragile, so small, as Jason tucked him into a tight hold in his lap. He let the wrist go, running fingers through the short white hair.

Puck just cried and Jason let him, let him get it all— what ever ghosts haunted him— out in a wail that cut Jason to the bones.

“You’re safe,” Jason murmured. He didn’t know if that was true, not really, but in the moment it was, and Jason could make sure it stayed that way. “I have you, you’re safe.”

[malk1ns]

january 11 vs senators, 5-0 loss

really? right in front of my labatt blue light?

a continuation of this one.

The Senators game is essentially over before the puck drops.

Sid stayed up too late the night before going through Malkin’s stud file, lingering over his previous successful breedmatches and staring at the pictures of the dark-eyed little babies he’s sired all over Russia.

It’s different in the K, Sid knows. The babies are left with their omegas, and the alphas are barely involved. Malkin’s been an in-demand stud for years over there, coveted by every hockey team that could pay the fee his home club charged, and there are vague references to private __ too, ___ where the bottom side is fully redacted and no picture of the get provided. The scribbled-in notes from the Penguins’ scouting department hint at high-up political connections. The sheer amount of live covers he’s done throughout the years would preclude him from playing a father role.

In the NHL, though, breedmatches are treated a little differently—sentimental bullshit, Sid’s dad used to say, but there’s a part of Sid that finds it romantic. Not every match ends up permanent, of course, but alphas and omegas are expected to work together to raise the result of their coupling.

Malkin would have had to agree to that before the Penguins paid his stud fee and brought him over. He would have been told exactly what was expected of him if he and Sid successfully mate, and he would have signed a contract with the terms laid out.

That thought, and the lingering scent of pine in his nose, keeps Sid up. 

He’s crabby when his alarm goes off, and his bad mood lingers all the way to the start of the game, which is early enough that all his routines are thrown off. 

When Giroux skates over to take the opening faceoff, he takes a big, obnoxious sniff like he always does, and Sid grinds his teeth. Giroux is an alpha, luckily not one that the Penguins ever considered because Sid finds his scent absolutely rank (although he is polite enough to not say anything about it, unlike some people), and he’s hated Sid from the second they shared ice for the first time Sid’s rookie year.

“Heard something interesting today,” Giroux mutters, bending down so his face is closer to Sid’s than is polite. “Finally found an alpha that can handle you, eh? What did they have to pay to get him to agree?”

Sid holds back from swinging his stick then and there, but his flare of temper is obvious to his entire team, and the game goes to shit almost immediately.

Sully pulls Sid aside at intermission and redirects him from the locker room to the trainers’, and when Sid steps into the exam room he stumbles as he’s surrounded by the smell of evergreens.

“Easy,” Kevin says, grabbing at Sid’s arms to hold him steady. “Hey kid, you’re alright. Dharmesh thinks that a new alpha in the building is getting you worked up, he thought maybe if you had a few minutes to acclimate to Malkin you’ll calm down a little bit out there.”

“Geno,” Malkin says from where he’s leaning against the far wall. He looks unfairly good in trousers and a button-up, and Sid swallows hard around the saliva that pools in his mouth. “For new friends, use Geno.”

Malkin—Geno—looks way too amused for the turmoil bubbling in Sid’s gut. It’s clear he didn’t say anything about their unexpected encounter two days earlier, and Sid doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

He does know that exposure to Geno’s smell isn’t going to make him play any better. Geno knows it too, if the little smirk on his face is any indication.

“Well,” Kevin says awkwardly, looking between them. “I’d, uh…we can’t leave you alone just yet, but Sid, take in a few deep breaths and…hopefully the rest of the game will go better.”

It doesn’t. Sid watches from the box as the Senators make it 4-0, and when they troop off the ice for second intermission down 5 and not even close to scoring a goal of their own, Sid’s expecting it when he’s redirected, but this time it’s to Dr. Vyas’s office.

He doesn’t bother sitting down; he knows what’s coming.

“Well,” Dr. Vyas sighs, looking over Sid’s file. “I thought we had a little more time, Sidney, but your pre-game blood work shows elevated hormones—almost as if you’d been exposed to a compatible alpha already.” He looks pointedly at Sid over his glasses, but Sid sets his jaw and doesn’t say a word. “The hope had been to get through both games this weekend, but you’re going to start responding to alphas on the ice soon. Once you finish this game you’re to go straight home, and Malkin will be dropped off later tonight. I don’t expect you’ll be ready until tomorrow at the earliest, but having Malkin in your space early will make you more comfortable.”

Sid can’t imagine ever feeling comfortable like this, not even with Geno close by. He feels itchy, like he’s too big for his skin, and he can’t stop shifting from foot to foot. He wants to hit someone, maybe, or roll onto his belly and show his throat.

He obediently heads back out there for the third, though, and does his best to put passes where they’re supposed to go. 

It doesn’t matter. They get shut out, and Giroux bares his teeth at Sid as Sid skates past him to get off the ice.

Sid is more honest with the media than he usually is after losses, but he feels frayed and can’t come up with the bland platitudes he’d normally offer after a game like that. Once he’s done with questions, he bolts for the showers, scrubbing hard at his neck where his blocker had been rubbing him raw all evening.

He doesn’t bother with his dress clothes, instead shoving on his sweats and practically running for his car. The guys have left him alone pretty much all afternoon, but he’s getting side-eyed, and Sid heard the coaches whispering to Kris about tomorrow’s game, what to expect with Sid out.

Sid doesn’t take a full breath until he’s safe in his home, surrounded by his own scent and nothing more. He showers again, then sits on his bed, staring at his phone.

All he can do now is wait.

--

The gate alarm shocks Sid out of his mindless social media scrolling. He’s not entirely sure how long it’s been, but he has to blink away fuzziness as he stabs at the app to let the car service in and unlock the front door.

He spends too long debating on if he should rush down to the entryway, because the door swings open before he’s made a decision. He should go downstairs, welcome Geno into his home and offer him a drink, but instead he stays in his room, sitting ramrod-straight on his mattress and listening as Geno steps inside and kicks his shoes off.

The pine scent makes its way up the stairs before Geno does, and Sid closes his eyes and inhales, trying to center himself and settle the rabbit-fast beating of his heart.

“Sid?” Geno’s voice cuts through his reverie, and Sid opens his eyes.

Geno’s hovering in the doorway, brow furrowed. “Okay that I come in?” he asks, and Sid manages a jerky nod, tracing Geno’s slow, careful path into Sid’s room, the way he glances around at Sid’s stuff before making his way to the bed.

Sid is drowning in pine. He makes a noise and reaches for Geno, grasping at his shirt and trying to tug him onto the mattress. If they can just start, if he can get over these initial nerves, he’ll be fine.

Geno doesn’t move at Sid’s urging. Instead, he sinks to his knees, sitting back on his heels and resting his big hands on Sid’s thighs.

Sid gasps. Geno’s hands are hot through his sweatpants, and the way Geno’s looking at him makes him want to cover his face, to cross his legs and hunch his shoulders like he hasn’t since he was a boy drawing too much attention from the opposing teams’ parents during midget.

“Sweetheart,” Geno says gently, rubbing his thumbs over Sid’s legs. “Sid, look at me.”

Sid, face incredibly hot, glances up from where he buried his face in his hands. Geno’s looking steadily at him, and he smells…steady. Comforting. It’s reassuring. Sid sucks in a desperate breath, willing himself to calm down.

His legs are shaking under Geno’s touch. That’s not entirely nerves.

Geno’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t move, and slowly Sid’s shoulders come down from his ears.

He wants to reach out and pull Geno up and over him, bare his neck and let Geno take over. He wants to cower in the corner and snarl until Geno leaves, taking his drugging pine-scent with him.

Sid didn’t expect this. He’s never been around an alpha even while in pre-heat, not when his breeding rights were so heavily featured in every contract he’s ever signed. The team would not have tolerated any accidents, so Sid went to extreme measures to ensure that when he went off suppressants over the summers he isolated himself the second he started noticing pre-heat symptoms.

It turns out that reading books about what to expect when you heat with an alpha for the first time didn’t do anything to prepare him for the reality of how overwhelming it all feels.

Geno hums in approval as Sid forces his breath to slow, spreading Sid’s legs further apart so he can get closer. When he pushes himself off his heels and onto his knees, he and Sid are nearly face-to-face.

“There,” he says soothingly, reaching forward and cupping Sid’s neck again, like he did the other day at the rink. This time he goes straight for Sid’s scent glands, toying over them with his thumb until Sid’s shivery and dripping slick.

Nothing in his book mentioned this at all. His scent glands have never registered as something that could ever be a turn-on, the way Geno’s playing with them is turning Sid into a whimpering mess.

Geno takes a deep inhale. “So sweet,” he mutters half to himself, lifting up to push Sid back onto the mattress as he crawls on top of him.

Sid almost panics again, but Geno puts his mouth on Sid’s neck and tongues at his glands, and Sid’s eyes roll back in his head.

His whole body goes lax, thighs butterflying out so Geno can get between them and press them together. Geno’s heavy on top of him, weighing Sid down into the mattress, and Sid blearily thinks that he could maybe stay like this forever.

Geno’s attentions on his neck get him worked up before too long, though, and Sid squirms, trying to hitch his hips up. There’s an empty ache inside him and he thinks he’s soaked through his pants with slick by now, but with Geno holding him in place all he can try for is friction on his dick.

“No,” Geno says firmly, pulling back and wrapping his hands around Sid’s hip bones, pressing him down and holding him still. Sid whines, high-pitched and embarrassing, an omega coo he’s never heard himself make before. “You let me take care, sweet boy. I get you there.”

Sid loses time for a while as Geno strips him and touches him all over. His hands are big and warm, and he smells incredible, and when he next pulls back to look Sid over Sid is panting and writhing in his arms, drooling so much he can’t even form coherent words. If he could, he’d be begging.

When Geno crawls down the mattress, shoves Sid’s legs further apart, and licks at his hole, Sid starts crying.

Geno has to hold his hips down tight enough to bruise as Sid thrashes under his ministrations. He’s shockingly good with his mouth, lips soft and tongue wet, and he’s growling, something deep and guttural and alpha that Sid can feel thrumming in his chest even though Geno’s all the way at the foot of the bed.

“Geno,” he finally manages, and with one last sucking kiss Geno pulls back. Sid looks down in time to see him licking his lips. “Geno, please, I can’t.”

“Lyubimyy,” Geno says again, the same thing he said the other night. When he covers Sid with his body again, Sid can smell his own slick on Geno’s breath. “Sweeter than I’m think you are, so good, sweet boy. You want to come? Okay, I make you come, take good care, then we sleep.”

“Please,” Sid sobs, and when Geno puts his lips back to Sid’s scent glands and closes his hand around Sid’s dick, he comes like a shot, shivering through his orgasm as Geno milks him through it.

Geno has to hold Sid up as he stumbles for the bathroom, propping him against the sink and fussing over him with a damp cloth until he’s clean. Sid’s eyelids keep drooping, but he forces them open, unable to look away from Geno as he putters around Sid’s bathroom.

He barely looks ruffled. He’s hard, sure, but he smells calm, not nearly the level of frantic and out of control Sid had thought an alpha might get around him. It’s a little disconcerting.

Geno must pick up on something in his scent, because the smile he slips over his shoulder is sharp, with lots of teeth. “I get mine tomorrow, sweet boy,” he purrs, and Sid shivers.

[qrrieterisunnq]

Hi i think sweet creature with nico would be so🥹🥹🥹 (my favourite hs song and fav player)

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you'll like it! Not the best one I wrote!🤍

It’s already 1 am, and you’re lying on your couch, tv playing quietly in the background as you’re waiting for your husband to come home after his game. He was supposed to be home three hours ago, right after his post-game interviews.

Your daughter is already asleep in her crib, after an hour of trying to get her to sleep. The whole time she was crying, wanting his daddy to give her a goodnight kiss. You know how much she loves Nico, so it was really hard to explain to her, that daddy is still working, and he’ll give her a goodnight kiss as soon as he comes back. After you promised her that, for the fourth time, she finally gave in and fell asleep.

Your relationship with Nico has been on the wrong path for a while now. You had been arguing for a few months now. It would start with small stupid arguments, but they would graduate to much worse ones. The worst thing is that your daughter is always a witness to them.

It started at the beginning of the season, the devils had such a great start, winning a lot of games, which led to Nico spending his nights in a bar with his team. He was coming home late and leaving early for morning practices. You were used to it, but your daughter wasn’t she is only a year old and is really attached to Nico. She loves him so much which is starting to be the topic of most of your arguments now. You hate he barely sees her, and when he’s at home, it's only for a few hours or for him to get some sleep.

A loud bang on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You straighten yourself, waiting for something to happen. You hear the jiggling of the keys assuming it’s Nico, you stand up and walk over to the door to open them.

You’re met with Nico’s large figure. He stumbles into the apartment cursing when he hits the shoe cabinet, causing all the fall on the ground. You let out a breath, pushing him further into the apartment as you drop down on your knees to put the shoes back in the cabinet. Your head whips in the direction of your living room when you hear a loud band.

Be quiet! Peach is sleeping!” you whisper loudly as you enter the kitchen. “Where were you?” you ask him when you return with water and Advil tablet. “Peach wanted a kiss from you.”

Nico just stares at her blankly, an annoyed look on his face. Y/n let out a sigh shaking her head. “I asked you where you were so late. You were supposed to be at home three hours ago. So where were y-“ Y/n is cut off by Nico’s voice.

“Stop asking me stupid questions!” he snaps at her, his voice full of venom, he stands from his sitting position, hovering over y/n small frame. “You’re acting like a jealous whore!” he yells at her. Y/n’s eyes were well with tears at the hurtful words. She can’t believe he really says this to her, especially when he knows how hard she’s trying to not be one of the wives that has to have control over their husbands.

Before Nico can say anything the noise of their crying daughter interrupts him, noticing the tears in his wife’s eyes. Y/n shakes her head quickly making her way in their daughter room, with Nico hot at her tail, with regrets written all over his face.

“I’m so sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to.” He let out a sigh, his eyes locked on his wife and their daughter in her arms. “Dada.” Peach mumble as soon as she sees her dad standing next to her. She turns in Y/n’s arms making a grabby hands on her dad. With a small smile, he takes her from y/n’s hold pressing her to his chest, placing a chaste kiss on her chubby cheek.

“Hello my beautiful babygirl.” He whispers, tears in his eyes, as he slowly realizes what an awful father he has been to her. And even more awful husband to y/n.

“Dada.” Nico looks up at y/n, his eyes full of tears, some of them already rolling down his cheeks.

“Y/n I’m so pucking sorry. I, uhm, I know I’ve been acting weirdly and being distant. I don’t really deserve you two, but puck! I love you and I swear I’ll do better. It’s just too much on me, and I don’t know how to handle everything.” You have to smile at his “puck” instead of “fuck”.

“I know, I love you too, Nico. But you have to communicate with me more, okay.” You let out a sigh, walking closer to him to give him a side hug.

“Yeah, I will. I promise.” He nods his head, kissing the side of her head. His eyes closed at the feeling of being in his love's presence.

[secretlittlerandezvous]

Winter Classic Surprise- Lukas Reichel

Summary: Y/n flies from Germany to surprise her boyfriend, Lukas Reichel, at the Winter Classic game.

Words: 800

The hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin as Y/n stared out the window, the faint glow of the Chicago skyline came into the view sooner than she expected. Her stomach twisted with a mix of excitement and nerves. She hadn’t seen Lukas in weeks, and the thought of surprising him at the Winter Classic sent a thrill through her. Was it even a good idea?

It all started with a late-night phone call with her best friend, Lindsey, who was dating one of Lukas’s teammates. Lindsey had jumped at the idea. “He’s going to lose his mind,” she said, already plotting how to get Y/n into the family skate without Lukas suspecting a thing.

As the plane touched down and she stepped into the cold Chicago air, Y/n could hardly believe it was actually happening. She pulled her scarf closer to her neck, her carry-on bag slung over one shoulder. Lindsey was waiting for her just outside the baggage claim, her grin as wide as ever.

“There she is!” Lindsey yelled out, pulling Y/n into a hug.

Y/n laughed, the tension slowly easing. “I can’t believe we’re pulling this off. Are you sure Lukas won’t suspect anything?”

Lindsey waved her hand dismissively. “Please,” she said raising her eyebrow. They can barely keep track of what day it is.”

The drive to Lindsey’s apartment was filled with laughter and excitement as they talked through the plan again. Once they arrived, Y/N was grateful for the chance to rest after her long flight. She crashed on Lindsey’s couch that night, the nerves in her stomach only slightly eased by her exhaustion.

The next evening, after a day of hiding out and catching up with Lindsey, it was finally time. As they pulled into the lot at the Winter Classic rink, Y/n’s heart raced with anticipation.

The rink was breathtaking, strung with lights and buzzing with activity. Players and their families skated together, the festive energy filling the air.

“Alright, here’s the plan. I’ll get you a pass and distract Lukas while you lace up. You just focus on not falling over when you surprise him.”

Y/n smirked, her nerves momentarily forgotten. “No promises.”

After slipping through the security with Lindsey’s help, Y/n found herself standing on the edge of the ice. She spotted Lukas almost immediately. He was gliding effortlessly across the rink, his cheeks pink from the cold, his laughter echoing as he chased a puck with a group of kids.

Her heart swelled at the sight of him, the weeks apart melting away in an instant. She laced up her skates quickly, her fingers trembling slightly as she tied the knots. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the ice, her movements hesitant at first.

“Alright, Y/n,” she whispered to herself. “Let’s do this.”

She skated closer, weaving through the crowd of people until she was just a few feet behind him. Her pulse was racing, the anticipation almost unbearable.

“Mind if I join?” she called, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Lukas turned toward her, his brows rising in confusion. His stick dropped to the ice when his gaze landed on her.

“Y/n?” he said, his voice full of disbelief.

“Hi,” she said softly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “Surprise.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his wide eyes scanning her face as if he was trying to confirm it was really her. Then, in one quick motion, he was in front of her, his arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her off the ice.

“You’re here,” he breathed, his voice full of awe. “You’re really here.”

She laughed, holding onto him as he spun them around. “Of course I’m here. Did you really think I’d miss your Winter Classic?”

He set her down but didn’t let go, his hands resting on her waist. “You flew all the way from Germany? Just for me?”

“I did,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I couldn’t wait any longer to see you.”

Lukas’s smile was radiant, his eyes shining. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I try,” she teased, grinning.

Before she could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed her, his lips warm against hers despite the chill in the air. The world around them faded away. The noise, the lights, the cold — all of it dissolved into the joy of being together again.

When they finally pulled apart, Lukas rested his forehead against hers. “This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten.”

Y/n smiled, her heart full. “I’m glad. Now come on,” she said, tugging his hand playfully. “Show me what you’ve got, Reichel. I want to see if you’re as good as you pretend to be.”

He laughed, lacing their fingers together as they skated off.

[swifty-fox]

From the angst writing prompts list: “ you’ll fuck me but you won’t [go out with/date/marry] me. ” for Buck x Bucky?

prompt list

let's do some Hockey AU! Old Men Yaoi time Buck and Gale are in their late thirties here.

Saturday evening's argument starts out in that silent way of theirs. A slight downward curve of Gale's lips, a scoffing eyeroll from John. A decision not to sit beside each other on the plane ride home.

John shuts down the goal on Gale during practice, a pointed petty over-exertion of routine practice.

Gale uses the last of the creamer and doesn't replace it. He doesn't even like creamer in his coffee.

By Monday night they're in a full-blown Fight.

It makes the rookies uneasy, the tension between their Captain and their Alternate. The way the two men snipe at each other from the showers, from the locker room, from puck drop to final buzzer reminds the other veterans of their debut year on the team. Before they'd figured things out and decided they made a damn good team on the ice and romantically to boot.

The Buckies didn't fight. It was an irrefutable fact of the universe, like how Biddick always ate a nerds rope between second and third periods and the way Little Mac always had dog fur in his duffel bag.

Tuesday they lose their game because Gale is too busy chirping John for leaving the crease yet again and so John tells him to care about his own game and lets in three points diving for the puck halfway to the blue rather than trusting their Dmen.

Wednesday is a double OT Win and John goads the teams into a line brawl because it would be exceptionally bad form for him to punch his Alternate in the face.

Friday Coach Chick Harding sits them down and tells them to figure their shit out or be benched for the foreseeable future.

At home they cook dinner and don't talk about it. John does the dishes and Gale does the laundry and they don't talk about it. They have bitter, biting, angry sex and hold each other in the aftermath but they don't talk about it.

They're both healthy scratches for Saturday's game and Brady loses a tooth trying to fill Gale's skates. Curt corners John in the owners booth after, sticks a blunt scarred finger at his nose and orders him to fix this.

John, who'd always been the slightly more emotionally intelligent of the two, and also the elder, and also the goddamn Captain, sighs like a scolded teenager.

Lying in bed after another bout of wonderful sex where they don't talk about it and don't talk about anything else either John stares up at the ceiling they'd painted together and purses his lips.

"We have to talk about it."

Gale grunts, twists to pop a couple advil in his mouth and passes the bottle to John. They both were living with their aches and pains more prominently these days and their medicine cabinet had long been well stocked with compression bandages and OTC painkillers and packs and packs of IcyHot. "Talk about what?"

"Oh fuck off, eh? You're not stupid and you're not a fuckin' liar Buck."

"What is there to say?"

Throwing his hands up John makes a wordless sound of frustration, rolls to pin Gale with his thighs and glare down at him. Both their bodies were mid-season lean, packed with muscle and bruised from rough play that would only grow rougher as teams fought to qualify for the playoffs. "You're content to fuck me all these years but you won't marry me?"

Gale, lines around his beloved face that were not there even five years ago, grey creeping through his hair unnoticed for the paleness of it, avoids John's gaze.

"Isn't this enough? We got a house and we got a team and it's each other we come home to at night. We live like we're married already Bucky, what's a document got to do with any of it?"

"If it's just a document it should be no big deal right?" John asks sweetly.

Gale frowns up at him and John jabs him in the center of his chest, drawing a grunt from the other man.

"You're being a puss and you know it. I just can't figure out why."

Pale blue eyes close, muscled cheekbones flexing with tension as Gale sighs slowly. John strokes down Gale's chest, over the seams of his stomach muscles and along the ladder of his ribs. Even angry, they'd lived too long together to not be at ease.

"I don't want the end of my career to become a political statement. I don't want to be a martyr or a symbol, I just want to play some good fucking hockey and then retire. And then when it's no longer our Job to be talked about I want to marry you quietly and privately and play beer leagues with you so you can finally have your Goaltender fight."

there's a long period of silence in which Galer's face screws up tighter, eyes squeezing shut as if waiting for his partner's ire. And then John is laughing, loud and incredulously and from the belly.

"That's it?"

Gale opens one eye and finds John looking down at him with his signature toothless grin. His salt and pepper hair falls around their faces as he bends down to kiss Gale soundly, "You spent the last week stressing out all the children because you were too scared to ask for a long engagement?"

"Engagement?"

John rolls back off Gale's body with a groan, stretching his body out, "Yeah. Unless I heard wrong you just said you wanted to marry me, which is as good as asking in my book. So sure Gale, I'll marry you after you retire."

"Hold on, John, fuckin' hell, we're not resolving this that easy are we?"

"I mean it ain't the most romantic of proposals, but there's time for you to do it right."

[ladylooch]

What if you’re recently going out with Nico and you can’t go to the game but you have plans to go out to eat after? But after the defeat he is feeling sad and tired and cancels, and you feel bad for him so decide to get him takeout from his favorite place ♥️. Once you get to his house he is just sad looking at replays of the game so you cheer him up! (You can do whatever it can be fluffy and cute or hot l) love your writing!! 🥰🥰

A/N: Okay Nico girlies, it’s time to heal. 🙏🏻

You’re five minutes into the third period of the Devils game when it dawns on you that you have not heard Nico’s name in quite sometime. Your eyebrows lower as you pause from wolfing down popcorn and M&Ms - your guilty pleasure snack. Tonight, you are trying to hold off your hunger long enough to meet Nico for a late-night snack. Eating at 11:00pm isn’t your normal dinner procedure, but for Nico Hischier you’ll make any exception. Curiously, your head tilts to the side while you grab your phone, scrolling through Twitter, looking for an explanation. 

“Nico Hischier is missing from the #NJDevils bench.” 

Ten or so more tweets follow that one. You bite your lip. The Islanders pressure on him has been intense since puck drop. You hope he is okay, but resist the urge to reach out to him. He will when he is ready. 

At least you think so.

Things with Nico are new. You aren’t sure what to expect from him tonight.

You watch the rest of the game, curled up under your weighted blanket, hoping it will relieve some of the anxiety you feel pressing into your lungs. Breathing is laborious as your airway tightens. Tingles of uncertainty practically numb your fingers by the end of the game. 

A little ping brightens your dark living room to your left. You grab your phone, seeing Captain Nico 😈 pop up with a text (his doing, not yours). 

Hi 😘 I’m so sorry to do this, but I have to take a rain check for tonight. Doctor’s orders are to sit on the couch and not move until I leave for practice tomorrow. I am so sorry. I promise I will make this up to you. I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight. I’m sending you some pizza through DoorDash. 

A lump forms in your throat from both the frustration of not getting to see him, but also the sadness for him being less than 100%. 

It’s okay! I completely understand. Your payment of DoorDash Pizza will be enough for now 🤪 You’re so sweet and do not have to do that. I’ve had enough popcorn and M&Ms for the two of us! But, I hope you are okay. I am here if you need anything.

You sigh, tossing your phone back onto the couch and leaning down to scream into the fabric. Fuck. You wanted to end the night falling asleep in his arms again. He has this way of calming the entire world with his touch. You needed that after a stressful week at work. Now, you’ll be tossing and turning all night, worrying about him.

Now, I’m definitely getting you pizza. No girl dinner for my girl. I am bummed, babe. Trust me. Wanted to get my hands on you. It’s been a long week.

An idea pops into your head, but first, you’ll need to wait for that pizza.

The pizza is still warm in your hands when you walk towards Nico’s apartment door. Thank god for the nightly activity in Hoboken, so you could easily piggy back into the main entrance. Plus, who looks scary with pizza in their hands? No one.

Your boots scuff at the floor beneath your feet until you get to Nico’s door.

“Hey did someone here order grabby hands and pizza?” You call out after a soft knock. You chuckle at the movement you hear beyond the door.

“I did.” He chuckles as he opens the door. Your body relaxes when you see his dimpled smile. He is definitely happy to see you. He’s wearing a backwards hat and comfy, Devils sweats. He looks okay, but his right shoulder seems to have extra padding around it. You tentatively reach for it, feeling the coolness. “Ice.” He winces slightly when he tries to shrug.

“Back on the couch, cap.” You insist. 

“Can I have a kiss first?” He asks, puckering his lips. You lean up, going slightly on your tip toes to connect your faces. Your eyes close as Nico gives soft, gentle pecks that awaken your body. Pink dusts your cheeks as a soft moan escapes his mouth. “I’m afraid the hands will have to wait. I look better than I actually feel.” He tenderly adjusts the ice on his shoulder. You frown deeply, staring at his hand there. 

“Are you… going to be okay?” You finish hesitantly. You aren’t sure if he will tell you, or if you really even want to know. But you’re a little scared and more information would be better than being in the dark.

“It’s too swollen and sore to know the extent of what’s going on.” Nico says. “Could be a sprain, could be a tear.” You nod, then bring your eyes back to his.

“Whatever it is we will work through it together.”

“I’m so glad you are here.” He murmurs, reaching to caress your face. His thumb strokes your cheek in soft swipes that have your heart growing in your chest. “I bet if we each have like five slices of that pizza and fall asleep together, I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“I stay the night one time and now you’re so presumptuous Mr. Hischier.”

“I can’t help myself. You’re a great cuddler. I’ll beg if I have to.” There are his dimples again, just for you.

“And here I thought I was going to have to beg you.” You chuckle, poking his stomach then walking towards his kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” You ask him.

“No.” He murmurs back, looking lost in thought as he scans your face. “Have I said how much I love having you here?”

“Literally two seconds ago.”

“Okay, well, that was too long ago. I love having you here. A lot. I usually have to go through these moments alone and not having to do that tonight is nice.” You nod because you understand how comforting it is to have someone take care of you too.

“I love being here, Neeks. Now put your butt back on the couch. I’ll bring you pizza when its warm again.”

[yauchfilms]

big thighs, new jersey ✢ mattias samuelsson (18+)

pairing: mattias samuelsson x fem!reader (childhood friends to lovers)

warnings:  pining. so much pining. fem language (reader is referred to as a woman). cursing. alcohol consumption. reader and mattias are drunk but coherent. super vague religious imagery. oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, fingering, petnames, praise, enthusiastic consent, cocky mattias but literally who is shocked, begging, so many feelings involved. ever so slight angst.

summary: y/n has been in love with mattias since they first met when they were 8, and they had matching bowl cuts. being his best friend is the hardest job she’s ever been tasked with. 16 years of pure desperation all boils down to one night on the beach. 

word count: 5.2k ... jesus christ

author's note: welcome to what is essentially a year's worth of brainrot, compiled into one fic. i started this concept a year ago with some friends, and now thanks to @pldstattoos, @flashyfucker, and @puck-luck, it is now a tangible piece of literature. based ever so loosely on the song “big thighs, nj” by lowcut connie, amongst other tunes that i will share later. this man just SCREAMS childhood friends to lovers so i had to give my very best to my favorite boy ever. 

it’s late again.

he’s got one arm draped over your shoulders, gesturing wildly to the rest of the group with his can of seltzer, not spilling a single drop. the old, paint-stained sheet you two share has gone cold, matching the feeling of the sand beneath it.

if he remembered you brought that old “seaside heights” sweatshirt you bought back in the heyday of the jersey shore era with you to the beach when you told him you were cold, eyes wide and hopeful, he kept it to himself.

another day spent at the beach with your friends, skitting along the sand, never too far apart from each other. you could feel him on your skin like the humidity. 

it’s been like this since your parents agreed, reluctantly, that you were too old for day camps and you barely got to see mattias anymore during the school year. your mom softened when you mentioned him like she always did. since then, you’d bike to his house in the morning to find him strapping on his rollerblades. you’d make him race you for a few blocks since he insisted on cross-training in the offseason or whatever it was he said to make himself feel like he wasn’t totally slacking off. then you both slowed down, falling into a rhythm about as familiar as your own heartbeat. you’d meet up with friends, skipping through town and letting the breeze off the ocean push you one way or another. and more often than not, it ended around a fire pit — and as you got older — with cans in hands, recounting the day and making half-hearted plans for the next one.

except, now you’re older. old enough that you just finished your first ever real internship, one that led you up to the summer, now leaving you with the stress of finding a real job. but that doesn’t matter right now. what matters right now is the fact that you’re back with your friends, on the beach, recalling those stories from long ago, like how you broke your arm when you were 10 because you insisted to mattias and his older brother, luke, that you could do a cartwheel on the trampoline in your roller skates. it had been his older sister, allie, that called the ambulance, naturally. 

you’re acutely aware that there are a finite number of these days and nights left. mattias is a big-time hockey player now (well, not actually, but to you, he might as well be wayne gretzky), and just like you, he can’t spend his whole life on the beach. but you really wish he could, with you, forever. knowing you have to share him with the world, that’s the part that eats at you. 

you’re also acutely aware of his position on you, his hand skirting just barely along the top of your bikini top, just barely out of reach from where you really wish he’d lay his hands. you wonder if he can feel the goosebumps on your skin from the calm jersey winds. 

mattias’ voice vibrates through your body, its deep, steady buzz keeping you centered. it’s not until you hear angelo let out an almost inhumane noise that triggers the group into a state of hysteria, that you feel a cold splash on your shoulder and the sound of mattias stifling a choked laugh, snapping you out of your thoughts. you glance up at mattias, whose guilt slowly etches onto his face as he drunkenly realizes what he’s done. he didn’t even spill that much, but he knows there’s a good chance you’ll overdramatize for the sake of poking fun at him.

“mattias, how could you!” you widen your eyes again and fling your wrist against your forehead, leaning your back into him as though you’re fainting. you stick to your performance as much as you can, trying to ignore how his muscular frame presses against you, his arms catching you with your quick movements. he’s leaning down over you, rolling his eyes and laughing at you. you smell the scent of mango and alcohol on his breath, his signature summer scent at this point. you could kiss him right now if you wanted; he was close enough to your face. 

you want to chastise him for not being more careful, for not paying attention to his own body. but you know it weighs on him more than anyone else. there are boundaries you know not to cross. 

he lifts up his shirt, just enough to use it as a makeshift towel for the drink he spilled on you. just enough to see his soft, tan skin and the ripple of his muscles that he, for some reason, chooses to hide more often than not. 

“sorry, baby. lemme help you,” he half-whispers, because he’s mattias, a man who can never be truly silent. baby. a nickname he started using on you when you were 15, starting to drink when you went to the cool parents’ house, a nickname that he only really uses on you when you’ve both been under some sort of influence. he knows the effect that it has on you, and you hate that you know that he seems to do it on purpose. he’s so unfair sometimes. 

he uses his free arm to keep you steady, wrapping his arm around your stomach. you can feel his heartbeat against your back, but choose not to focus on it too much. you’re practically in his lap now, being cradled in his arms as you feel the soft material of his shirt swipe down your arm, and back over your shoulder, and just along that same forbidden spot along the hem of your bikini top. it’s killing you at this point. 

“all good?” he asks, causing you to be forced to look him in the eyes again. 

“all good,” you squeak out, your voice barely a whisper, leaning back into him and taking your spot back in his arms.

“sorry again, dude,” he slurs, smoothing down the messy hair on top of your head, and it reminds you that you, too, have plenty of alcohol in your body, and it’s just now starting to catch up. it’s that same consumption of alcohol that would account for why no one has paid attention to either of you for the past 5 minutes, everyone caught up in telling their own drunken tales from the past. 

you go to tell him that you swear it’s okay, when josh loudly —and suddenly— announces his departure from the group, saying something about his early morning tee time with his dad the next day. it was from there that lauren, bri, and anna got up and began making their way back to the house together, arm in arm, giggling about an inside joke that you had been too distracted to participate in. julian and angelo linger for a few minutes longer, arguing with each other and mattias about stuff that doesn’t matter. your eyes feel heavier still. the pair of boys eventually peel off, their yawns becoming hard to ignore. they bid their goodbyes to you and your human pillow, disappearing up the dune and into the house. 

mattias nudges you, and you stir. 

“do you want to head in? it’s, like, 3:45 am,” mattias asks, showing you the time on his phone. his phone background – a photo of the group, his arms, wrapped around your chest, everyone smiling like it was picture day – lights up your face, the sudden brightness causing you to squint. sure enough, the clock reads 3:42 am. you let out a sigh, twisting in his arms so you’re laying with your back to the sheet, between his thighs. he grabs your head on both sides, shaking it slightly, his fingers loosely carding through your hair. you don’t say anything, just staring up at him like he’s a god of some sort. 

“what’s up? talk to me. did i do something?” he looks down at you, a sympathetic look in his eyes mixed with that damn smirk of his. 

“tias,” is all you can manage to get out, your voice barely a whisper. 

“yeah?” his voice suddenly going quieter than normal. this is rare, and it worries you. 

“would you be mad at me if i asked you to kiss me?” you ask, suddenly feeling bold and vulnerable with your loneliness in the moonlight. 

“of course i wouldn’t; am i ever mad when you ask?” he replies, cocking an eyebrow at you. and he was right. you two had made out countless times before, always in private, never escalating past light groping, always leaving you both high and dry, but too scared to ask for more. even at your big ages, you were still stuck in this routine, always running back to each other when the girl mattias tried to fly out bailed on him or the guy you met at the bar ended up giving you a weird vibe. it was normal in some way. like, of course best friends kiss each other. why wouldn’t they?

“you don’t get it, i don’t think,” you dare, the alcohol in your system giving you a strange boost of confidence.

his hands loosen around your head, ever so slowly moving down your neck, over your shoulders, and to that damned spot on your chest. your body reacts to his touch, suddenly hyper-aware of just how cold you are on the beach in nothing but a bathing suit. 

“no, i think i do. let me know if i’m reading this wrong, but i think i get it,” he responds.

you adjust yourself between his legs, your head now laying on his upper thigh. you feel the strong muscles tighten underneath you, causing a chill to run down your spine. looking up at him, your eyes soften, and he leans down again, feeling his breath on your face. the scent of mango white claw still lingers, only slightly less prominent now. you squirm slightly at the feeling of him so close. 

“tell me what you want,” he speaks, low and gravelly. the feeling of it in your eardrums sends a pang straight to your core. 

“what do you think i want?” you tease, wondering if he truly has caught on, or if he’s telling you want you want to hear.

“you want me to fuck you, don’t you?” his words catch you off guard, even though he said exactly what you were hoping for. “you don’t think i haven't felt you squirming in my lap all night? i’m not that dumb, baby.” his voice is barely audible at this point, just enough to get his point across.

all you can do is stare up at him, suddenly unable to form a complete thought, putty in his lap. your breathing grows heavier, and he can’t help but notice. 

“so, what’ll it be?” 

“please, ti.”

he pulls you up into his lap and you straddle him, finding your place settled directly above the bulge in his since-dried board shorts. his hands immediately find their place along your sides, gliding gently up and down from your ribcage to your hips. his fingers linger slightly over the string of your bikini, toying with it, not daring to remove it. he leans down, connecting your lips from where they were parted dumbfoundedly in front of him, as if you had never been in that position with him before. you had, but this was different.

 he moves slowly, as if wanting to take his time with you, not knowing whether or not this would be the first or the only time he would have his way with you. you open your mouth once again, a moan escaping your lips. he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, licking up into you with desperation. the roll of your hips against him elicits a loud groan from him, now, and you decide that if that was the last thing you ever heard, you would die a happy woman. you can feel his shorts growing tighter underneath your lap, causing you to roll your hips again, slower than the first time. another groan escapes his lips, causing you to stop and look him in the eyes, your hands holding his face tenderly.

“what are you so fucking loud for?” you tease, knowing that the sounds he’s making are turning you on even more, as evident by the wet spot growing on his shorts. 

“sorry, i’ve just been thinking about this moment since we were 16. you don’t know how hard its been to keep my cool around you, y/n. i’ve been so good, so patient. i can’t think of anything i’ve ever wanted more than this,” he says, panting slowly, trying to control his breathing. he seems as if a huge weight has been lifted off of his chest.

you hold back the tears threatening to spill over your waterline. you feel the exact same way, just unsure of how to express it. all you can do is plant a delicate kiss to his lips, letting the moment speak for itself. his hands find that spot of your bikini top, finger rubbing lightly on the freshly tanned skin there. 

“may i, please?” he almost begs, toying with the strap of the thin top, a look of desperation looking up at you with big hazel eyes. 

“of course,” you whisper, a kiss planted to the tip of his nose. 

long, slender fingers make their way down your shoulders to the front of your chest, as he hooks the strap around his fingers, pulling slightly. a gasp escapes his lips as your full chest is exposed, the harsh chill immediately giving you goosebumps, you reaching back to unclasp and remove the rest of it. he sees the way your body reacts to the cold, and he takes your right breast in his large hand, enveloping it in his grasp, and you immediately feel warmer. he kisses you again, more passionate than the last, massaging the flesh in his hand, deft fingers keeping rhythm against your skin. 

he leans back, taking you with him, now fully laying on top of him on the sandy blanket. his hands trail to your ass, the lack of his hand on your chest not too significant due to the lack of space between your bodies now. 

the kiss never breaks, your hips rolling deep into him, the feeling of his hardness underneath you growing almost unbearable. 

“ti, i need you to touch me please,” you sigh, pulling away. 

all he can do is look up at you, his face slack as he furiously nods his head. 

his hand trails down your ass, following the hem of your bikini bottoms, his fingers tracing the fabric down to your core. he moves the fabric to the side, sliding his fingers through your folds with a loud gasp. 

“oh my god, so fucking wet,” he groans into your shoulder, you kissing up and down his neck, nibbling just below his ear. 

“just for you, only you,” you whisper in his ear, causing his hips to buck up at you. “slow down,” you warn, not wanting to waste this moment. 

he begins rubbing down on your clit, and now it’s your turn to moan. he glides his middle finger through your wetness a few more times before slowly teasing your entrance with the pad of his finger. you let out a whimper, signaling that he can go ahead. he slides his finger into your cunt, and you immediately feel the stretch of his thick digit.

“can you take another, baby?” he asks, not necessarily waiting for permission before adding a second finger. the stretch was almost unbearable, and he could feel you react to it so viscerally while he scissored his fingers slowly in and out.

“just wait till you take my cock,” he growls, his confidence suddenly taking over. 

“now, please,” you whine, desperate for what you’d dreamt about since you were a horny teenager fantasizing about his length in math class. 

“what happened to patience, baby?” he questioned, fingers never losing pace in your cunt. “i wanna taste you; are you gonna let me do that, huh?” 

all you could seem to muster out was a weak “mhm”; his fingers already overwhelming you. 

he removes his fingers, eliciting a wince from you. turning you over in his arms, he begins kissing your face, barely avoiding your lips, down your chin, to your neck, stopping right by your ear.

“i know baby, i know, i’m gonna take such good care of you, don’t you worry, baby,” his voice almost primitive. 

he returns to his path down your neck, leaving marks that you’re sure your friends will see in the morning. he takes his time, agonizingly slow, and you wonder how he hasn’t come in his shorts yet with how patient he’s being. he gets to your chest, placing chaste kisses across it, until he reaches your left breast. he takes your nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue, causing you to arch up into him. he doesn’t say anything, simply opting to hum into your skin, the sensation driving you crazy. he comes off with a pop, his hand quickly replacing his mouth as he makes his way over to the other side.

you run your fingers through his hair, the hair that he has yet to ruin with his midsummer chop. you twist the longer locks between your fingers, needing some sort of stimulation. your hands trail down his back, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt, wondering why it’s even still on in the first place, suddenly feeling overexposed. 

“take this off, now,” you demand, your voice sounding stricter than you intended. he stops, leaning up on his knees to look down at the beautiful sight below him. 

“yes, ma’am,” he groans, drawing out each word. if he hadn’t had you pinned down beneath him, you probably would arched up into him. he reaches behind him, yanking the top over his head in one fell swoop, exposing his soft, tan chest, the few hairs left at the top near the base of his neck curling up neatly. 

“stop starin’, baby,” he teases, knowing exactly what you’re thinking, although both of you refuse to acknowledge it; something to tease him about at a different time. 

he leans back down towards you, placing a soft kiss to your lips, eliciting a giggle from you, which makes him pull back, that signature goofy grin of his plastered across his face. 

“you ready?” he asks, making sure you two are on the same page, although he knows he doesn't have to ask.

a soft “please” escapes your lips, reverberating off of his own, and he begins making his way down your body, starting with your neck, softly nibbling at the skin there. he trails down your shoulder, kissing the newly-formed freckles that have appeared from the past few days of sunshine, then, obviously stopping to spend a quick second alone with your tits. from there he makes it to your stomach, causing your breath to hitch sharply. he pulls back, quickly placing another peck to your lips, as if to say “it's okay”.

he regains his place at your navel, using his hands to pry your legs apart for him. despite your sudden shyness, you oblige immediately, and he lets out a guttural groan at the view of the wet spot prominently featured on your bikini bottoms. 

“i need these off, now,” he demands, this time, tugging at the strings of your bikini, undoing the ties on your hips, patting the flesh of your hip to lift up for him. you oblige, and your bottoms are joined with your top in the sand. 

mattias ducks back down, face fully aligned with your cunt. his finger once again finds its place between your folds, not quite doing anything, but rather scoping out just how wet you truly are. another groan escapes him, mixing with the moan that escapes you, harmonizing together into what you could only describe as a masterpiece. his groan echoes off of you, feeling the warm breath of him. 

you look down at him, and he looks up to meet your eyes. while never breaking eye contact, he allows a string of spit to fall down his tongue and into your folds, making your legs twitch, embarrassingly though, because his tongue had yet to make contact.

you think he’s about to touch you again, when you suddenly feel the cooling sensation of his mouth on you, catching you off guard. his tongue circles your clit, much like how he had your nipple in his mouth earlier, causing you to arch your back into his face, the feeling of just 3 days worth of stubble stinging your thighs. he wraps his arms around your upper thighs, holding you in place. 

“gotta be still baby; taste so fucking good. i love this pussy,” he coos, his warm breath once again driving you mad. 

you giggle, not out of malice, but because you often found yourself alone at night, imagining him saying similar things to you, your own hand never seeming to do the trick. you wonder if he’s ever done the same, even though you’re pretty sure you know the answer. 

you thought your reaction would’ve deterred him, but shockingly, it only seemed to motivate him more, picking up his speed, practically making out with your core. his nose, long and slender, hits your clit, sending shockwaves through you, your legs growing shakier with each kitten lick. 

“mattias, i’m close,” your words croak out; you can barely think straight. 

“you’re doin’ so good for me,” he pants, trying to stifle the moans that dare to escape his lips. “you got it, baby, so fuckin’ good.” 

his words, mixed with his motions, are enough to send you over the edge. he continues his movements with his tongue on your clit, electing to tease your hole with his finger. the sensation is too much, and you try your best to keep your screams in, knowing that your entire friend group is a mere yards away, likely sleeping off their hangovers that were bound to appear. 

you come, then, your legs shaking in his arms as he continues to lick through your orgasm. as your breathing becomes sporadic and heavy, he peels off, running his hands down the sides of your body to calm you down — and warm you up. 

your shaking doesn’t stop, and you’re almost certain its due to the fact that the temperatures have dropped since you and him became preoccupied, but there’s no point in going inside now.

“how you feelin’, baby?” he asks, spooning you against his chest as you lay on the blanket. “you’re shivering. do you wanna go inside? we can finish this in my room, if you want,” he continues, stroking your arms tenderly in his grip. 

“need you inside me, now,” you mewl, not fully able to find your words. you were gonna finish what you started.

“you sure?” he whispers, and you can feel his heart beating faster — and his shorts growing tighter — behind your back.

“tias, i can feel you. you want this as bad as i do,” you half-argue back.

“i don’t have a condom or anything; are you sure it’s fine?” he implores.

“oh my god, mattias, please just fuck me already,” you whine, begging him for more. 

and with that, he’s rolling you over, pinning you to the sheet, the warmth of his body caging you in. 

he begins kissing you again, his movements slow and soft, savoring the moment, all while simultaneously thrusting down onto you, trying to get some kind of friction going. you reach down between your bodies, untying the strings of the bright red shorts he’s wearing. you fidget with the waistband, and he lets out another groan. 

“go for it,” he confirms, panting into your ear, and you tug them down just enough for his cock to bob free. he shuffles them off, discarding them with the previous pile of clothes, and you look down between you two. he was right, it was big. you begin calculating in your head how he was going to make it work, suddenly growing desperate to find out. 

“told you,” he says, with that stupid smirk back on his face. you let out an exasperated laugh, catching his chains in between your teeth. it’s his turn to laugh now. 

he pumps himself a few times, although he definitely didn't need to, adjusting himself in order to line himself up with your entrance. he glides his cock through your folds, and you arch up into him. he uses that opportunity to grab onto your back, keeping you flush with his body again.

he finally pushes in, and the stretch of him is almost mindnumbing. 

“holy shit,” is all you can muster, as he bottoms out and readjusts himself to get the right angle. he begins slowly rocking in and out, not quite fully pushing all the way back in, and you can tell that he thinks you can’t take it.

you moan his name, signalling for him to pick up speed. the sounds of your bodies mixing together are most definitely echoing through the air, and you hope and pray that none of your neighbors have decided to go for an early morning jog. 

he finds his rhythm, picking up your left leg and hooking it over his hip. this angle is heavenly, and you can tell it feels good for him, too, because another throaty groan escapes his lips.

“so tight, holy fuck. you like that, baby?,” he asks, planting kisses across your chest and neck, leaving plenty of marks in his wake. 

“yes, oh my god, ti,” you squeak, the feeling of his thrusts interrupting your ability to speak in full sentences. 

you can feel him getting closer, judging by the way his cock twitches inside you. 

“where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, and you know exactly what he means. 

“anywhere. just not in,” you reply, your paranoia suddenly taking over. 

he complies, pulling out. the loss of contact makes you wince, but he leans back on his heels, jerking himself off over you. your hand reaches down between your thighs, rubbing your own clit, until he swats it away, replacing it with his own free hand. the image of the large, muscular body in front of you, doing what he’s doing, is enough to send you to your second orgasm of the night. you come, quickly, nothing but smalls gasps escaping your lips. this is enough for him, and he spills, painting your chest with his seed. 

you can’t help but grab for your own breast, lightly rubbing it into your skin. mattias is still straddling you, his own breathing trying to recover. 

“i wish i could take a picture right now,” he says. “this is the hottest thing i’ve seen in my life. you’re so perfect, oh my god.” he’s panting. 

“why don’t you?” you ask, motioning toward his long-abandoned phone on the blanket next to you both. his eyes grow wide, as if he was certain that he had misheard you, until you quip, “seriously, go for it. something to think about on your roadies. consider it a gift,” you tease, and he scrambles to grab his phone. he turns it on, the time now reading 4:38 am. the sun is just barely starting to peak over the water, the sky now a pale purple, like something out of a national geographic magazine. 

he swipes to the camera app, lining you up in the frame, your come-covered tits prominately centered in the middle, the breaking of dawn just barely visible behind you. you hear the camera click, and you let out an exasperated giggle. leaning up, you wrap your hands around his neck, and he pulls you close. 

“it’s fucking freezing out here,” you complain, your shivering suddenly returning to your body. 

“i know, i hid your sweatshirt under the blanket about 2 hours ago,” mattias reveals, and you smack him lightly on the back of the head. he reaches over, lifting up the corner of the sheet, revealing the old sweatshirt, shaking the sand out of it. he uses the old sheet to clean you up quickly, then helps you place the sweatshirt on, planting a sweet kiss to your lips as your head pops out the top. 

“we should definitely head in now,” you say, standing up from your place in his lap. reaching for your bikini bottoms and loosely retying them to your hips, you then throw his shorts and shirt playfully against his chest, and he quickly and haphazardly put them back on. he continues to hold on to your top, and he grabs your hand as you make your way back up the dune, up to his house that is all too quiet now. 

you walk through the gate, pausing at the sliding glass door, turning to face him. 

“we should talk about this, later,” you say, scared of what he might say next. he looks down at you, his height suddenly overwhelming you. 

“later is good, yeah. let’s just savor it for now, okay?” he suggests, and you wonder if he truly means it. your friends would surely catch on, and you have no clue how to go about that awkward conversation, even though, unbeknownst to the both of you, the group had been placing bets for years now about how long it would take for you two to break. anna was about to be $1,000 richer. 

with that, you two quietly open the sliding glass door, both cringing slightly at the chime of the alarm system that notifies when doors are opened and closed. he leads you up the stairs, daring to not make any extra noise, when he stops at his bedroom door, your shared guest room that housed the 3 other sleeping girls just 2 doors down.

“stay with me, please?” he begs, and his eyes soften. he reaches up to rub his left eye with his finger, a nervous tic of his that never goes unnoticed from you. 

“of course,” you whisper, and you let him lead you through to his room. 

you make your way to his bed, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants that had been thrown lazily on the floor, replacing your bikini bottoms with them, the small article joining the pile next to you. he climbs up onto the bed with you, a fresh pair of boxer briefs now on his body. he pulls you close, taking in the scent of your hair — the salt of the ocean, now mixed with his cologne — and he lets out what sounds like the largest sigh of relief of his life. 

you once again feel his heartbeat against your chest, this time, the steadiness, mixed with his rhythmic breathing, lulls you into sleep.

this wasn’t the first time you two had shared a bed, but it was different, this time. as you drift off, you hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time you fell asleep with him holding you like this.

[nylwnder]

lake house

a/n: HELLO SWEETIES!!!!! welcome to my first 2024 fic n series! i started it off with ryan cause if you know me, you know he was everything to me for the 4 months we had him. also, HUGE SHOUTOUT to @shoot-the-puck for in a way co-writing this and the others with me i love you so much scoob thank you for being my asylum roomie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyways, enjoy and dont forget to tune in to the other drops <3 mwah!

pairing: ryan o’reilly x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT, its giving soft sex (unprotected), lowkey body worship, lowkey exhibitionism, cockwarming, childhood friends to lovers, use of “snook”, and ryan being such husband material. gawdamn.

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @11livpangburn , @domi-max , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay, @fallinallincurls

series masterpost

the drive to the lake house was as calming as ever. although it was a couple hours, it was a trip you knew all too well. one you were dying to take every june the minute the last bell rang for summer break.

sometimes it was just you, your parents and your brother. most times, it was you and the o’reilly family. a lot of kids shared between two vans, snacking on chips and freezies from the coolers at the back of the cars.

the tradition never stopped when the lot grew older. you escaped to the house every time your winter term ended, then after your internship finished, and then when you could use up all your saved vacation time from your new job. ryan always followed when his nhl duties came to an end. both respective families coming in to stay in between.

that being said, this was the first time you drove to the lake house with ryan in the driver's seat and with you in the passenger's seat. it was the first summer since he came back home to toronto. but more so, to you. officially.

he was sick of waiting until your usual shared break, and you were very much sick of coming home to a cold bed.

before any headline could find you, ryan called you that night. and it was as if the 100 ton weight was being lifted off of your desperate shoulders. because it was. after ten years of long and needy facetimes, one-night lustful visits, and the best stanley cup celebration you two could possibly have imagined, you were going to have him, at your full disposal, “whenever you fucking want” as ryan had told you.

ryan put the car in park and you couldn’t help but smile about the fact that this would be the first time you’d be stepping into that house, as a proud pair. the “finally” ’s already shed by your parents who were following in behind the two of you.

—

the first night was spent with take out, laughs, pjs and movies and it always makes you grateful for growing up with a group with such a tight knit bond. your heart was full when you heard inside jokes from circa. 2006 running through the house — which are still ever so applicable, presently.

the next day, you didn’t wake until you heard the cars drive off in the late afternoon. it had been a while since you had the time to sleep in, so it seemed your body pranced at the chance. after heading to the bathroom, you couldn’t find ryan in the rooms or common areas. he always made sure you get as much sleep as you need, not only because he knows how grumpy you get if you don’t, but also because he always wants the best for you.

as you made your way to the kitchen, you looked out the windows casing the large lake. you saw the large figure of the man sitting at the edge of the dock and didn’t do anything else but make the walk over to him.

you sat beside him as he turned to face you with a toothless smile. you smiled at it, you always told him he looked cute like that, and he started listening to you. “sleep good, sweetheart?” he asks as he looks down to cut the leaf caps off the pack of strawberries between his legs. “wonderful” you emphasised before you reached for the strawberry he handed you. “i’m glad. you deserve it.”

you took a bite out of the soft strawberry, the juices from the flesh spilling into your mouth. you couldn’t help but let out a little innocent moan. the first time you tried these, they were immediately the best strawberries you have ever had in your entire life. and they just so happen to be locally farmed near the lakehouse.

ryan giggled, “had to stop by the market and buy you a few packs during my run. wouldn’t be a lake house summer without these guys right here.”

“this is why i love you. thank you.”

he only responded by handing you the bigger piece between the two in his hand. you put your head on his shoulder as you two looked out in front of you. the sun was bright but not exhausting, as the wind from the water dismissed the heat.

“the folks went to gather some things for this week's meal plan.”

you hummed a response. but it got you thinking. and so you didn't waste time.

you turned yourself around in order to lay your upper body on ryan’s lap. he placed the knife and strawberries safely aside as he smiled. you gave him a small smile before shutting your eyes for a bit.

you reached for ryan’s hands from his sides. you played with his big and thick fingers for a bit, before taking his hand and placing it on top of your shirt. then you moved his hand under the hem. as you began to move it further up, the material of your shirt wrinkled with your movements and began to expose your skin.

ryan kept his hand in your grip and his eyes firm on you. you kept moving it up, reaching the curves of your boobs. “take it off” you mumbled as he obliged. taking off the tshirt and throwing it on top of the other items he had set aside.

you didn't reach for his hands again. he knows what to do. he always knows, ever since your first kiss.

the sun shined on your supple flesh. his calloused hands moved back to your curves. pushing down your pants a tad, in order to squeeze your love handles. later, his fingers lightly trace up the soft line marks found upon your hips, and the ones on the sides of your breasts.

your cheeks begin to mimic the berry blush as you open your eyes to look at ryan. you loved how comfortable you are to be vulnerable around him. you always felt adored, and safe.

he pulled you up swiftly, allowing your legs to straddle him. your arms naturally wrap around his broad shoulders. you look into his gentle eyes, “i love you, snook.” you lean in for a tender kiss but his hands push your body tight into his. “i love you more, sweetness.” his lips finally meet yours and he envelopes you perfectly. “always have. always will.” he whispers.

his lips meet your cheek as he leaves wet kisses on your jaw and neck. you let soft moans escape your parted lips, your body melting into his figure. ryan often joked that his body was made for you specifically, with the way you fit against him so perfectly.

“gorgeous.” he whispers into your ear as his beard scrapes against you. you bite your lip at his words. one he's been telling you since you grew butterflies in your stomach every time you saw him. “want you snook” you plead, your pussy twitching as his hands squeeze your bust. you grind down on him, and he huffs outs. “just had you yesterday morning, honey.”

“dont play with me, ry. you know i always need you.”

he hums in response. “thats true. i can never say no to my girl.”

he lifts you once again, getting to lay you down on the thin throw ryan had brought out with him. your eyes close again as the sun hits your face, but you feel kisses pressed all over your skin. ryan’s lips trace from your lips to your cheeks down along your jaw, and onto your neck once more. he sheds a few soft nips while he makes sure your panties and shorts are discarded.

its not long before he nips on your nipples, noises escaping your exposed body. your fingers pull down his own shorts and you feel his cock against your skin.

two digits slip smoothly into your damp cunt as ryan cups your face. you bite up a cry. but before you know it, he’s lined up at your entrance and you're pleading for him to move.

you let out a lewd moan as he pushes in. ryan followed with a low groan and you clenched around him immediately, “that’s my sweet girl. so divine.” he says as he gives kisses on the edges of your collarbone.

his thrusts are a blend of slow, long and quick, hard movements. his hands held your hips as he didn't let his lips leave your body. his hair tickles your chin as he gives your breasts some love once again. you felt yourself reaching the goal closer and closer. the all too familiar feeling of your wet walls stretching around ryan’s thick length driving him crazy.

your effect on him was always so strong. right from when you both were young. the minute you got hurt, it broke ryan to see you cry. it was his dire mission to help clean you up or provide you with the necessary pick me up. oftentimes that was bringing you your favourite snack or sometimes a kiss on your cheek was all you needed. when you laughed, ryan laughed. and even when it seemed like ryan and your brother were picking on you, he always made sure to give you a hug later on. he would never hurt you. and he'd never let anyone hurt you. that was for sure.

you were pleased that there were laughs, screams and talk from the surrounding residents that can help drown out your shared sounds. at the same time you couldn't possibly care if they heard either. your mind was far too fuzzy.

“make me cum snook. make me cum all over your cock” you were desperate and needy, i think that was already established. ry smiled at your words, pulling your body up into him once again.

your arms were so tight around him, you stuck to his body like gum on a shoe. he pumped into you as you also began riding his length. the way your body swayed with your hips helped bring ryan even closer to his climax.

your head fell back as you felt the wave of pleasure overcome you. ryan continued your movements for you until your whines dyed down. once you both finished you kept yourself on his lap “don't move, ry. still need you there.” you mumbled.

“till they come back?”

“please.”

a smile appeared on both of your faces. droplets of sweat trickled down his chest and you crushed them with your finger as your head laid on his shoulder. his hands rubbed the sides of your body as his face was cuddled on top of your head. his nose tucked into your thick hair. your smell, your weight, your breathing and your warmth calmed him. his mind never wandered off. he was the most present, the most grounded with you, like this.

“why is it that every time we have sex you’re so quiet?” you asked ryan as you looked up at him. it was a thought you had often so you figured you’d ask. “sometimes you used to make me feel as if i did something wrong…” you said with a little titter.

it was a stupid idea to think about, you knew ryan loved you so much.

he scoffed, “no honey, you could never.” you smiled. “you just take the breath out of my lungs”

you both start laughing. “you’re a pro hockey player and i’m the one who can kill you? i’ll take it.”

ryan lets out a chuckle again. “all i know is words cannot express how i feel when i’m with you, but i want to experience it till my dying days.”

your heart warmed. you grab his face and eagerly kiss him. “and so you will.”

[ enjoyed reading? join my taglist! : click here <3 ]

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Ooo ooo! I got a good one:D

Slashers finding and reacting to their s/o in the brink of death because of another slasher!

Angst to fluff pls:D

That really IS a good one.

Slashers finding their s/o close to death thanks to another slasher

Warnings: Blood

Jason Voorhees

He notices your sleep getting more and more restless lately. You complain about frequent nightmares, and often wake up with cuts and bruises that weren't there the night before. Jason tries so hard to dismiss it as coincidence. Hell, you are living in a forest; there are a myriad of ways to injure yourself here without noticing. Against his better judgement, he goes out to deal with the recently arrived campers.

When he returns, he immediately notices you thrashing around in your sleep, and the red stains spreading from your skin to your sleep clothes and finally to the bedsheets. Jason panicks, and tries to shake you awake. This isn't good, you're losing so much blood... No, he can't lose you. Not like this, not in any other way either. By the time you finally wake up, you are already dangerously weak from the blood loss. Jason patches you up with the first aid kits from the cabins, praying that it is enough. Then he gets ready to sleep.

Seems like that pesky old man didn't learn his lesson last time. But Jason gladly repeats it, hoping it will stick this time, and returns to your side. Your hand is warm in his, and your face is slowly gaining a bit more color. He sighs with relief.

You'll be okay.

Vincent Sinclair

You just wanted to take a walk in the sorrounding woods. Nothing to be worried about, right?

Well, wrong. You hear the chainsaw from far away, but you play it off as just a trick of your imagination, or maybe just some workers from the county. What you did not expect was the huge man in a leather mask breaking out of the woodwork and coming right for you. The saw digs into your side, but you somehow manage to get away.

Vincent is looking for you. You left on your walk an hour ago and have yet to return. You're never gone for that long. Everything within him freezes when he sees you stumbling out of the forest, clutching the gaping, bleeding wound.

He takes you into his arms and lets out loud gasps and whines, his unuseable vocal cords straining to form words he cannot speak. He drags you back home, where Bo and Lester are watching TV. Bo drops his can of beer when he sees you. "Shit!"

"That looks bad. Vinnie, we need to take them to the hospital..." Lester takes over carrying you. From far away, the whole family hears the chainsaw roar.

Vincent stares at Bo head on. And he signs. "Let me borrow your shotgun."

He did not end up killing your assailants, but a very pissed off Vincent coming after them with Bo's shotgun taught them not to bother the Sinclairs again. After they are dealt with, Vincent has Bo drive him to the hospital, where you are. You open your eyes and find yourself sorrounded by your family.

"Sorry I made you guys worry", you mutter.

Vincent squeezes your hand and shushes you. You need to focus on getting back on your feet.

Freddy Krueger

When you come stumbling into his dream realm, he immediately notices that something is wrong. You are *bleeding* and pale as a ghost, and can barely stand. You're not sleeping... *you've fainted*!

"Shit shit shit..." He props you up. "Hey, who did this?!"

"Hock...." You sputter. "Hockey mask..."

His eyes widen and he gnashes his teeth. "Jason? That fucking hockey puck?!"

You nod weakly. "I... I'm hiding... Don't know how long... Must have passed out..."

Freddy grabs your shoulders a bit tighter. "Listen to me. I need you to wake up, right now. I'll show that fucking mama's boy what happens when he fucks with you. So go on! Wake up! Wa-..."

He finds himself stuffed into a closet with you, and reminds himself to teach you better hiding spots once this is over. You pass out again almost immediately, and while Freddy hates to leave you like this, he has a disobedient *dog* he has to deal with, first.

Once Jason has been sent back to where he belongs, Freddy returns to the closet, where he finds you slowly coming to.

"Did you have a nice nap?", he asks cordially. He is glad to see you awake again. That means the injuries may not have been as bad as they seemed at first. But still... "You should probably get to a hospital..."

"Yeah... Probably..." You fumble your cellphone out of your pocket and dial 911.

Later, once you're sleeping peacefully in your hospital bed, Freddy pops back into your dreams.

"That'll teach that bastard not to show his ugly mug here again", Freddy sneers. "Are you okay now?"

"Couldn't be better", you reply with a smile.

Freddy is pretty rough around the edges. But during moments like this, he shows that he really cares.

Bubba Sawyer

Maybe Drayton was right when he said that nothing good would come out of this road trip. But you love wax museums and Bubba had heard about this really famous one in Ambrose... He would have never guessed that it would end like this.

You have been separated from the rest of the Sawyers, and now everyone is frantically looking for you. Most of all Bubba, who blames himself for not taking better care of you.

They track you to the Sinclair house, where Bubba hears a pained howl from the basement. And when he finally reaches the secret workshop, he sees the masked man dig his ornate carving knives into your flesh. The man himself has a pretty nasty bite wound on his hand; a display of you fighting back when he tried to inject you with the paralytic.

The chainsaw roars to life, and the man with the carving knives only barely manages to dodge it. He seems to know well enough that he and his little butter knives have little chance against the chainsaw, so he retreats, while Bubba cuts you lose from the operating table and carries you upstairs.

Bubba isn't the only one who would have loved to make these rotten brothers pay for hurting you, but your health was more important right now. He *somehow* managed to talk Drayton into taking you to the hospital, despite the eldest's protest about the cost.

Bubba hates that Drayton won't allow him to visit you, but when you come back, the first thing he does is hug you as tightly as a drowning man clinging to a lifesaver.

Don't ever scare him like that again, please.

[hockeylovee12]

Crossing Enemy Lines

Chapter Four

Luke Hughes x Original Character

Warnings:Cursing

November 13th, 2023

The shrill sound of an alarm pierces through Luke’s dreams startling him awake. 

He groans, burying his head into the soft hotel pillow, trying to drown out the noise. 

Just as he’s about to drift off again, he feels a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. 

“Luke come on man, we got less than 15 minutes until we need to be downstairs for team breakfast!” Alex urges, his voice carrying a pressing tone, behind the thick Swedish accent. 

Luke’s eyes snap open, taking a moment to process his roommate's words, “Shit, okay, I’m up, I’m up” he mumbles, throwing the covers off his body and stumbling out of bed. 

Luke rushes to the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth, and relieving himself, before throwing on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. 

He quickly grabs his phone and room key and meets Alex by the door. The two make their way down to the hotel restaurant with less than a minute to spare. 

The room is already buzzing with activity as teammates scatter around various tables, loading up their plates with eggs, bacon, and an assortment of fruits and pastries. 

Luke and Alex grab their food, and find two seats at a table, with Jack, Dawson, Nate, Nico, Jesper, and Timo. 

"Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence," Dawson teases as Luke and Alex sit down. 

“Shut it, Mercer. Not all of us can be morning people like you.” Luke grumbles, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

“Ignore him Hughesy,” Nate chimes in, a teasing smile plastered across his lips “He’s just jealous because he knows he’ll never be as pretty as you, even with a few extra minutes of beauty sleep.” 

The table erupts with laughter, and the conversation flows easily as they eat, discussing  t he drills they'll most likely run during practice, which is set to begin shortly after they finish their meal.

Then talk shifts to their upcoming game against the Red Wings, set for later tonight. 

“Nico, you think you can sneak a few extra pucks past Lyon tonight?” Jack asks, nudging the Devils captain. 

Nico grins “I’ll do my best.” 

“Hopefully tonight’s not another shitshow like Thursday against the Rangers” Dawson murmurs. 

The mention of the Rangers causes a slight pang in Luke’s chest, his mind immediately drifting to Jordan. 

He discretely pulls his phone out, hiding it under the table, scrolling through his notifications, searching for a response to the message he had sent her last night. 

Nothing. 

His heart sinks a little as he stares at the screen wishing for a little blue dot to appear next to her name. 

“Who you texting Rusty? Your girlfriend?” Nate teases, leaning closer to try and catch a glimpse of Luke’s phone. 

Luke quickly presses the side button, causing the screen to go black, and shoves the phone back into his pocket. “No one, and I don’t have a girlfriend.” Luke mutters

“Ooh, someone’s getting defensive. I think he has a girl” Nate grins, earning a few chuckles from the rest of the table. 

"Come on, Hughesy, spill the beans," Dawson chimes in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Who's the lucky lady?"

“There’s no lucky lady, I don’t have a girlfriend, now drop it” Luke states

“Come on boys, leave the kid alone” Timo interjects “If he says there's no girl, then there's no girl."

“Besides we have more important things to focus on, like tonight's game” Nico adds

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table before the conversation shifts back to hockey. 

But Luke can’t shake the feeling of  disappointment settling in his stomach

He sent the text 11 hours ago. Why hasn’t she texted back? Is it too late? Was it all just in his head?

He shakes his head, trying to regain his focus as the rest of the team finish their breakfast, his appetite suddenly lost. 

But even as he moves in sync with the rest of his teammates, placing their dishes in their designated spot, and moving towards the lobby, where they prepare to take their team bus to the rink, he can't fully ignore the dull ache in his chest, the nagging sense that he might have already lost his chance with Jordan before it even really began.

*****

The clock reads 11:03 AM when Jordan’s eyes finally flutter open. She reaches for her phone squinting at the bright screen as she unlocks it.

A text from her long time best friend Brooke, sent late last night, catches her attention first. She quickly types out a response, promising to call her later. 

As she hits send, she navigates back to the inbox on iMessages, when another notification catches her eye. 

Her heart skips a beat looking at the blue dot next to Luke’s name and a timestamp reading 10:43PM.

With trembling fingers, she opens the text, her breath catching in her throat as she reads the two simple words: I’m sorry. 

A flurry of emotions wash over her-relief, happiness, nervousness. 

She sits up in her bed, her mind racing as she tries to craft the perfect response.

It's okay, she types out, then immediately deletes it. Is it okay? She's not sure.

Me too, she tries, but that sounds too dry. 

I’m sorry, Luke.  No that’s too formal, and literally the same thing he said. 

After a few more attempts she settles on Me too, can we talk? Her heart pounds as she hits send, the weight of the words hanging heavy in the air.

She stares at her phone, waiting for the three little dots to appear. But as the minutes tick by, the screen remains frustratingly blank. 

Jordan tries to distract herself, scrolling through social media, checking her email, even getting up to pace around her room. But every few seconds, her eyes dart back to her phone, hoping to see a response from Luke.

Thirty minutes pass. Then an hour. Still nothing.

A sigh escapes her lips as she realizes she can’t spend the entire day waiting for him to text back. 

She goes through the motions of her morning routine-brushing her teeth, washing her face, getting dressed-but the whole time her mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Luke. 

A sigh escapes her lips as she finally forces herself out of bed, realizing that she can't spend the entire day waiting for a text that might never come. She goes through the motions of her morning routine - brushing her teeth, washing her face, getting dressed - but her mind is still preoccupied with thoughts of Luke.

*****

After a draining morning skate, Luke showers and changes at the rink, before hopping in an uber with Jack, Nate, Alex, Dawson and John, to grab some lunch. 

They arrive at a local restaurant, settling into a booth and placing their orders.

As soon as the waiter leaves, Luke pulls out his phone, his heart skipping a beat when he sees a text from Jordan.

Jordan: Me too. Can we talk?

Luke quickly types out a response.

Luke: I’d like that. 

Jordan's reply is almost instant.

I’m glad you texted

Luke: Me too, I’m really sorry about the way things played out, hockey been a huge part of my life, for well forever and I just let it cloud my judgment when I shouldn’t have

Jack nudges Luke, raising an eyebrow. "What's got you smiling at your phone like that?"

Dawson leans over, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. "Texting your girlfriend again, Rusty?"

Luke rolls his eyes, quickly locking his phone. "No, just one of my friends. I don't have a girlfriend, Dawson."

Dawson holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just asking."

Luke's phone beeps again, and he can't resist checking the message.

Jordan: It’s okay, I get things are a little complicated, but I’m not my brother, and I like you alot. 

Luke's heart races as he reads her words, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

Luke: I like you too, and I promise from here on out, I won’t treat you like that. 

Their food arrives, and Luke manages to grab a fry while still keeping his eyes glued to his phone. The conversation around him fades into the background as he focuses on his text exchange with Jordan.

Jordan: Thanks Luke, so what do we do now? 

Luke: We'll figure it out. Maybe we could start with dinner? Just the two of us?

He holds his breath as he waits for her response, absently taking a bite of his burger.

Jordan: I'd like that.

Luke’s about to type another text, when Jack snatches the phone from his hand. 

Luke looks up, frustrated and meets his brother's eyes. 

“Dude what the hell!” Luke protests, reaching for his phone. 

But Jack holds it out of reach and powers it down, “Finish eating then you can have it back” 

Luke sighs, looking around the table which has silenced a bit, causing him to flush slightly as he  realizes most of his teammates have finished most of his meals, whereas he’s only taken a singular bite of his burger, and a few fries. 

“Fine” Luke grumbles, turning his attention back to his plate, and taking another bite of his burger. 

The conversation around the table picks up again, as John starts talking about the movie trailer for the new Hunger Games that came out a few days ago.

"Did you guys see the trailer for the Hunger Games movie?" John asks, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Yeah, I did!" Dawson exclaims, "The movie came out a few days ago, yeah?”

“Yeah it did, think the 17th I’m waiting to watch it” John says

"I haven't seen it yet," Alex admits, "I actually haven't seen any of the Hunger Games movies."

The entire table goes silent, and everyone turns to stare at Alex in disbelief.

"Wait, what?" Nate asks, his jaw dropping, "You've never seen the Hunger Games? Like, any of them?"

Alex shrugs, looking a bit sheepish, "No"

"Oh, man," Jack laughs, shaking his head, "you're missing out. Those movies are classics."

"Seriously, Alex," Luke chimes in, "you've gotta watch them. The first one, especially. It's a game-changer."

"Pun intended?" Dawson grins, and the whole table groans at the terrible joke.

"Okay, okay," Alex holds up his hands in surrender, "I'll add it to my list. But you guys have to promise not to spoil anything for me."

"No promises," Nate teases, "I might 'accidentally' let something slip, just to see your reaction."

"You wouldn't dare," Alex narrows his eyes, pointing a warning finger at Nate.

"I don't know, man," John smirks, "I think it would be pretty hilarious to watch you freak out over plot twists that everyone else already knows about."

"I hate you guys," Alex grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Aw, come on, you love us," John grins, reaching over to ruffle Alex's hair.

Alex swats his hand away, but he's laughing now too, "Yeah, yeah. But seriously, no spoilers. I want to experience the movies for myself."

"Fair enough," Nate concedes, "but you better watch them soon. We're gonna need someone to geek out with over the new one."

"I'll get right on that," Alex promises, "but only if you guys agree to watch my favorite movie with me in return."

"Depends," Dawson says, eyeing Alex suspiciously, "what's your favorite movie?"

"The Notebook," Alex replies, with a completely straight face.

There's a beat of silence, and then the entire table bursts out laughing.

"Oh my god," Nate wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes, "can you imagine? A bunch of hockey players sitting around, crying over The Notebook?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it," Alex defends, but he's grinning too, clearly enjoying the reaction he's gotten.

"Alright, alright," Luke concedes, still chuckling, "we'll watch The Notebook with you, Alex.” 

"Good" Alex smirks, echoing Nate's earlier words

*****

Luke returns to the hotel around 2pm and only then does Jack give him back his phone. He knows he should probably take a pre-game nap, sticking to his routine, but he would much rather talk to Jordan. 

So as Alex settles in for his nap, Luke slips out of their room and heads down to the lobby, seeking a quiet corner where he can call Jordan in private. 

He finds a secluded spot near the hotel's business center, pulls out his phone, and searches for her contact before hitting the call button, his heart racing as he listens to the ring.

"Hello?" Jordan's voice comes through the speaker, sending a thrill down Luke's spine.

"Hey, it's me," Luke says, a smile spreading across his face. “Sorry I didn’t respond I was with my team and my brother was being a dick” 

Jordan laughs on the other line, “It’s okay I’m glad you called” 

“Me too, so we were talking about dinner?” Luke says 

“Yeah, when are you free?” Jordan asks 

“What about Saturday night?” Luke suggests, knowing the Devils have a back to back the 16th and the 17th meaning, by league rules, they will have the 18th off. 

“Saturday works” She says

“Cool, uh there’s this great restaurant about 10 minutes outside of Manhattan, called Velvet & Vine. I can pick you up?” Luke suggests, hoping she likes the idea. 

“Sure, that sounds great” Jordan replies, and Luke can hear the smile in her voice.

“How’s 8pm sound?” Luke proposes, mentally crossing his fingers.

“Works for me” Jordan confirms, and Luke feels a rush of excitement.

"It's a date," he says, then quickly realizes  considering they haven’t technically established that yet. "I mean, not a date-date. Unless you want it to be. I just meant-"

Jordan laughs, cutting off his rambling. "Luke, relax. It's a date. I want it to be."

Luke feels his cheeks heat up, but he's grinning like an idiot. "Okay. Good. Me too."

There's a comfortable pause, and then they continue talking, the conversation flowing easily as they share more about their likes and dislikes, their hobbies and passions.

Luke learns that Jordan loves to paint in her free time, and Jordan discovers that Luke has a secret talent for solving Rubik's cubes.

Before they know it, an hour has passed, and Luke realizes he needs to start getting ready for the game.

"Hey, Jordan, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I gotta get ready for my game.” he says apologetically. 

"Of course.  Go, do your thing. And Luke?" Jordan says, her voice warm.

"Yeah?"

"Good luck tonight. I'll be rooting for you," she says softly, and Luke feels a surge of warmth in his chest.

"Thanks, Jordan," he replies, meaning every word.

They say their goodbyes, and as Luke hangs up, he can't wipe the smile off his face. He heads back to his room, feeling lighter than he has in days.

He changes into his game day suit, the grin never leaving his lips.

As Alex starts to stir from his nap, Luke busies himself with his own pre-game rituals, double-checking his bag to make sure he has everything he needs.

"You seem chipper," Alex notes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Good nap?"

"Something like that," Luke replies cryptically, his smile widening.

They gather their things and head down to the lobby to meet the rest of the team, ready to board the bus to the arena.

*****

The puck drops in Little Caesars arena and the game is underway, but before the Devils can even find their footing, the Red Wings score two quick goals, less than a minute apart, leaving Luke and his teammates stunned. 

On the bench, Coach Ruff is fuming, his face turning a shade of red that rivals the winged wheel on the opponent's jersey. "Wake up out there!" he shouts, slamming his hand against the boards. "We can't let them dictate the pace like this!"

Luke grits his teeth, determined to turn the tide. He throws himself into the play, battling for every inch of ice, every loose puck.

And then, with just minutes left in the first period, Jesper finds the back of the net, giving the Devils a much-needed boost heading into the intermission.

Miles away in New York, Jordan sits in her room, her laptop balanced on her knees as she watches the game. She has her headphones in, the sound of the commentators' voices filling her ears.

As the second period begins, the Red Wings strike again, extending their lead to 3-1. Jordan bites her lip, her fingers tightening around the edge of her laptop.

The Devils manage to score another goal, cutting the deficit to just one heading into the third period.

Jordan is on the edge of her seat now, her eyes glued to the screen. She watches as the teams trade goals, the score tying up at 3-3, then 4-4.

With just three minutes left in regulation, Luke gets the puck on his stick. He weaves through the defenders, his skates cutting through the ice like blades. And then, with a flick of his wrist, he sends the puck soaring past the goaltender and into the net.

Jordan leaps to her feet, a shout of joy escaping her lips, before quickly clamping her mouth shut with her hand.

Underneath she's grinning from ear to ear, her heart swelling as she watches Luke celebrate with his teammates.

The final buzzer sounds, and the Devils won. 

In the locker room, Luke is still riding high on the adrenaline of his game-winning goal. He showers and changes quickly, fielding questions from the media with a grin on his face.

As he finally makes his way back to his stall, he grabs his phone, his heart skipping a beat when he sees a text from Jordan.

Jordan: Nice goal :)

A smile spreads across Luke’s face.

[accultant]

⚰️ - A dream/nightmare that featured someone no longer in their life

━━★. *･｡ﾟ✧⁺ dream hunting in the valley of the in-between

Iago pretends to inspect the dagger in their hands while Bhaal's latest gift is delivered to the altar. They can hear the victim trying to fight, scuffling against the stone floor and screaming through what must be a gag of sorts. They don't watch this part, they never do. They're too cowardly to look into the faces of their victims. It's easier to end it quickly, without thinking or feelings. A prayer, a jab of the knife, and they can call it a day and go back to their office until it's time to prove themselves again.

They've gotten better at closing themselves off to it - for the first few years, they would shake so bad they could hardly hold the blade, they'd always mess up the angle so it would take multiple tries before their gift would stop squirming, they'd pass out or get sick before the end of it all and Puck would have to carry them back to their room and help them wash off the blood. By now, they've learned how to hardly be present at all during such a display.

The body is thrown across the altar and locked into place. Iago doesn't watch this, either, still examining the dagger, but they know the script like the back of their hand.

As always, they glance at Puck, first, who gives them a small, practiced nod of encouragement. It's a habit more than a comfort at this point, but one they cling to.

Only after that, does Iago begin, their voice dead, unfeeling, and distant to their own ears, "Bhaal awaits thee."

The knife twirls around to point the tip downward, clasped firmly in their hands that still shake despite their years of practice, "Bhaal embraces thee."

Their arms rise above their head and swing back down to accurately sink the blade into the heart of the one below, "None escape Bhaal-"

Honey-gold eyes lock onto theirs and the air is stolen from their lungs. Vigor. He isn't supposed to be here. This isn't right. He's gone. They haven't seen him in months. That should mean he's safe from them. He isn't supposed to be here. He was never supposed to be anywhere near here. He belongs in city streets and shops open late with a bribe and flipping coins into wish fountains and laughing at their stupid jokes. He's almost unrecognizable draped across their altar and bleeding. He shouldn't be here -

The light is already fading from those eyes when they snap out of their initial shock, dropping the knife like it burned them. They started to choke, whispering, "No. No, no, no, no, I didn't mean to- why- why are you-"

Murmurs rippled across their audience, the Bhaalists always looking for reasons to critique Iago's performance. "I didn't know- I didn't- you're not supposed to be here- Oh, gods-"

A handful of attendants start to approach to dispose of the offering and Iago shields him although he had already gone limp. Puck is the only one who manages to hold them back as they kick and scream, their only friend's corpse taken away to be thrown atop the others.

When they wake, they're still screaming themselves sick and spend the rest of the night washing their hands and obsessively checking their door to insure it was still locked, the wards still intact, and they hadn't left in the night. It was only a dream. They hadn't seen vigor in almost a year now. They hadn't a clue where he was, and sometimes, that could be a relief. He's safer anywhere but here, at least.