#anyway this was such an interesting message to read

[misshoneyimhome]

What's up buttercups 💕

I present to you, chapter fourteen 💕 There's really not much to say here, except things might get a bit more tense now - and spoiler alert: it's the not punch we wanted, but it's the punch needed (in case you get that Batman reference... because well, your girl here and Auston love their Batman) 🔥

Anyway, happy reading! 💋

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, 18+ smut: semi-public sexual activities, mutual masturbation, unprotected vag sexual intercourse (cum inside)

Word count: 6.9k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ; Chapter eight ; Chapter nine; Chapter ten; Chapter eleven; Chapter twelve ; Chapter thirteen

Some who might have interest: @hockeybabe87 @tonyspep @thesecretestblogever @delayed-delusions @kurlyteuvo @emsdevs

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter fourteen - A queen can move wherever she likes*

::

“Dearest Toronto readers,

It’s been a long weekend in the kingdom, and your favourite royal court has been buzzing. We’ve seen cheek kisses on sidewalks, power plays behind closed doors, and perhaps most shockingly of all—a certain Ice King was spotted somewhere far more dangerous than centre ice: the Queen’s childhood home.

Yes, you read that right. Auston Matthews, NHL captain and Toronto’s most elusive bachelor, was seen not at a club, not at brunch, but walking through suburban front doors with a bottle of wine and a confident stride. A boyfriend meeting the Queen dowager? That’s either reckless or royal behaviour—and in this game, it might be both.

Sources say the dinner included siblings, twins, toddlers, and passive-aggressive wine pouring. Was it a PR move? A strategic play to reinforce the illusion? Or are we watching something real—something raw—unfold right before our eyes?

Meanwhile, back in the city…

Matthew Knies continues his personal heater on the ice and in our hearts. With a face made for fan cams and a slap shot that belongs in a museum, the baby Leaf is proving he’s more than just Auston’s golden boy.

William Nylander was spotted this weekend at a downtown café, deep in conversation with a brunette definitely not on the official WAG roster. Eyewitnesses say they were laughing. And sharing a croissant. Sharing. Is the chill Swede finally warming up?

And let’s not forget the true MVPs of game nights: the Tavares children, who had the entire Scotiabank section in tears after high-fiving the Zamboni driver and declaring, “Daddy’s team always wins.”

But beneath the laughter, one truth remains: the Queen is no longer sitting still. She’s been introducing families, teasing captains, and walking through this season like she owns the ice.

They think the Ice King holds the crown… But what happens when the Queen chooses not to wait?

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

_

You woke up slowly, reluctantly, like your body already knew Monday was going to demand more than you had to give.

Your muscles ached. A deep, humming kind of soreness that made itself known with every shift beneath the duvet. The inside of your thighs were tender. Your shoulder throbbed faintly where Auston’s mouth had lingered too long. And your heart? That was worse. Because it wasn’t bruised—it was confused.

Sunday had been… a lot. Dinner with your family. The backseat. His hands. His mouth. His voice—low, sharp, hungry. You like pushing me? This what you wanted?

Your breath caught at the memory, at how easily it replayed in your mind. You hadn’t even kissed him goodbye. And he hadn’t stayed.

But it hadn’t felt cold, either.

You should’ve stopped it. That would’ve been smart. Strategic. The kind of move a woman playing pretend would make. But when he touched you like that—when he looked at you like you were something worth coming undone for—logic folded like tissue paper.

He’d left a message: “See you around, boss. Like this version of you, Pushy. And bossy…” With just enough cheek to make you smile when you read it, hair still damp from the shower, legs still trembling when you moved too quickly. At the time, it had seemed casual. Now, in the bright stillness of Monday morning, it felt… unfinished.

You wrapped your robe tighter around your body and padded to the kitchen, where your coffee sat untouched beside your open laptop.

Just stood there with your hands wrapped around the edge of the counter like it might ground you. A breeze slipped through the cracked window, rustling the little notes stuck to the fridge—grocery lists, old concert stubs, a photo of you and your sister with matching sunburns. Your life. Unchanged. Unmoved. Except now, it felt like something seismic had shifted beneath the surface.

Work emails blinked at you like neon signs, demanding your attention, but your mind kept wandering. The curve of his jaw. The grip of his fingers. The weight of his stare next to you at your mother’s dinner table like he was undressing you through the candlelight.

As soon as you sat down by your desk, you missed two emails before you realised it—one from your manager, one from Chase asking about something vague and unimportant. You blinked, forced yourself to refocus, and typed out an overly enthusiastic response to both.

And then a few minutes later your phone buzzed.

Jess: Sooooo… are you alive? Or did Auston’s post-dinner cardio kill you?

You snorted and dropped your head against the back of your chair.

You: Barely alive. Legs? Done. Nervous system? Shot.

Jess: Damn giiirl… I need a full breakdown.

You: There will be diagrams.

Jess: Can’t wait babe! But uhm, btw, Liam and I are going to the game Wednesday! He got tickets through work, I think. And.. Ryan will be there too, apparently, with some new girl. Hope that’s ok 👀

You blinked a couple of times and then sat a bit straighter.

You stared at the message longer than necessary, thumb hovering like it might change. The knot in your stomach wasn’t quite jealousy. It was something different—half guilt, half relief. Ryan had always been a good friend. And yet the memory of Ryan trying to kiss you, asking about you… of watching from across the arena… it made your pulse spike in a way that felt more like warning than longing.

Yet, you decided to play it cool.

You: Oh yeah? That’s… good. Hope it’s not weird.

Jess: I told Ryan you’d be with the team partners anyway, so he probably won’t try anything. Just a heads-up.

You: Appreciate the buffer. Truly.

You stared at the message for a moment, chewing your lip. Ryan had almost kissed you. He’d asked about you last week... Now he was showing up with a date at a game. Maybe that was progress. Maybe that was closure.

Still… you didn’t like the unease that lingered.

You brushed it off and returned to work. As much as you could without thinking about a certain hockey captain, of course.

_

The morning air was crisp—one of those deceptively calm November mornings where the sun peeks through grey clouds just enough to look hopeful, but the chill still cuts through your hoodie.

A man passed with a cup of Tim’s in one hand and a mini Leafs jersey in the other. Auston caught the flash of his own number—34—scrawled across the back. He didn’t wave. Didn’t nod. Just kept walking while Felix paused to inspect a lamppost like it held answers.

Auston kept one hand jammed in his pocket while the other held Felix’s leash, loose and easy. The dog trotted ahead, nose twitching with every new scent, tail wagging like the win the night before had meant something to him, too.

Auston wasn’t smiling, but the edge of his mouth tugged every so often—remembering the way you’d looked last night.

That skirt had no business being legal. It clung to you like second skin, the kind that demanded to be peeled away. He could still see the way you’d shifted under his gaze, like you knew what you were doing to him, and maybe you did. The hem had barely covered the tops of your thighs, riding up with every step you took through the hallway of your childhood home, like a tease only meant for him.

You’d worn it like it was made for you.

Like it was made for him.

And maybe it had been.

He exhaled through his nose, the breath sharp in the cool morning air, and shoved both hands deeper into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. Felix tugged at the leash a few steps ahead, sniffing out his usual trail, completely unbothered by his owner’s unravelling mental state.

This was supposed to be easy.

Light and fake.

But it didn’t feel fake anymore.

Not after the way you’d gripped the edge of the seat in his car like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth. Not after the way your voice had cracked when you said his name, breathless, wrecked, undone. Like he was something precious and forbidden all at once.

Not after the way you’d let him in without hesitation—into your house, into your body, into the soft, bruised places you hadn’t let anyone touch in a long time.

And now, hours later, with the scent of you still clinging to his hoodie and the phantom of your moans looping in his head like a goddamn soundtrack, he was walking his dog like a man trying to reset his heartbeat. Like a man trying not to admit that he’d crossed a line he didn’t want to uncross.

He was lost in thoughts until suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He slid it out without thinking, thumb swiping across the screen.

It was a photo sent by his sister. And beneath it, one line: “Mamma saw this yet?”

The image showed him standing in your mother’s kitchen, slightly out of focus but unmistakably there. One of your nieces—or cousins?—perched on his hip, his hair slightly mussed, a half-smile caught mid-laugh as you passed him something off-screen. The whole thing looked too real. Too domestic.

Too… couple-y.

It wasn’t the kid on his hip that rattled him—it was the look on his own face. Relaxed. Happy, even. Like he belonged there, laughing in kitchens and holding babies and handing out second servings of salad like it was a Sunday ritual. It wasn’t fake. That was the worst part. He hadn’t even been pretending.

“Shit,” he muttered.

And as if on cue, his phone buzzed again. And this time it was a call.

Mom.

He sighed and picked up. “Hey.”

“So.” Ema didn’t waste time. “You meet her family before I get to meet her?”

“Wasn’t exactly planned—”

“Auston.” His name was a warning wrapped in amusement. “Is this really serious? Because I’m already being texted by Mitchy’s mother who thinks I’m ‘next. And I hope I am…”

He winced. “It’s not—We haven’t really talked about—”

“You had dinner with her family, mijo. That’s serious, right.”

He ran a hand down his face. “Mamma”

“Oh, that’s it. I’m coming to Toronto. This weekend. It’s only fair I meet the girl if you’ve met her family.”

The line went quiet for a second, and then: “You’re not mad, are you Mijo?”

He paused, looking out over the dog park path ahead of him. Felix had finally stopped sniffing and started walking again, tail high.

“No,” Auston said finally. “No, I’m not mad, mamma. I’m just… not sure how to put words into it all”

“Oh honey. That’s completely normal. Sometimes love can do that to you.”

His mother’s voice was nothing but soft and gentle. Yet, it twisted something within him. Something strangely… good.

“Hmm…” he muttered under his breath. “I guess.”

I few more minutes went by as they said their goodbye before he ended the call and just stood there. Felix barked at a squirrel in the distance, but Auston didn’t flinch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cold fingers meeting warm skin, heart kicking just a little faster. This was the part where lines got blurry. Where fake turned into something more. Where people—his people—started expecting explanations.

Was this serious?

Yeah.

Yeah, it was starting to feel that way.

And the worst part?

He didn’t hate it. Not even a little.

_

The office felt louder than usual.

Not in volume—nobody was shouting, no alarms were going off—but in the subtle, pervasive kind of way. Like something was humming just below the surface. You caught it in the way two of your co-workers stopped mid-conversation when you entered the kitchen, the way they exchanged glances over their coffee mugs with poorly hidden smirks.

You told yourself it was nothing. Probably just end-of-quarter chaos. Or the broken espresso machine. Or Chase’s ugly tie.

But then: “Did you see the one where he’s holding the plates? Like, actual dessert plates?”

You froze.

That voice was too close. Two desks behind you. You recognised it—Kelsey from HR, who somehow always knew things about you before you did.

“Honestly,” said someone else, “he looks like he belongs there. Like he’s her boyfriend or something.”

“Didn’t her sister post that to Close Friends? How did it even get out?”

You blinked hard at your screen. Your emails blurred.

No. No way.

You opened Instagram, hands trembling slightly, and navigated to your sister’s profile. Her story was still there: Auston in your mother’s kitchen, holding a handful of dessert plates with one of the twins next to him, you in the background laughing with your head tilted back like something out of a romcom. She hadn’t meant for it to go public.

Apparently, someone had changed that.

You dropped your head into your hand and let out a groan. This was too much. First the charity gala. Then the photo at the game. Now this?

You barely heard your phone buzz.

Jess [Voice Note, 0:58]

“Okay. Okay, listen. I’ve been trying not to scream all morning but—babe. I saw the photos. Those of Auston? In your mum’s kitchen? Carrying fucking dessert plates? He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. Like you hung the damn wallpaper and he wants to kiss you against it. I cried a little. I’m not okay.”

You let the audio finish, one hand dragging down your face.

Maya [Text, 1:46 p.m.]

Okay wait… are you two actually in love? Because I’m starting to believe the fairy tale and I need to know whether to invest emotionally or not.

You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know how.

Instead, you stared at the blinking cursor on your screen and thought about the way Auston had gripped your thighs last night. The way he’d looked at you at the dinner table like you were the most fascinating thing in the room—more interesting than your brothers’ finance talk, more powerful than your mother’s smile.

You thought about the bruise on your hip, the ache that still hadn’t fully left your body.

And just like that – as if someone had read your mind, your phone buzzed again. A new message.

Auston: So, dinner again this week?

Just six words. Direct and simple. Classic him.

You stared at it for too long, thumb hovering. Part of you wanted to reply with something cheeky. Another part wanted to say yes. Absolutely. Please.

Instead, you typed:

You: Let’s see how Wednesday goes. Then we’ll see if you deserve my company at dinner.

Auston: Can’t wait to see you there, boss… hopefully, with my name on you. Or better yet, me on you…

But then, you left him on read.

Not because you didn’t want him. God, you did. But because this—this moment of silence—was the only control you felt like you had. After the gossip, the glances, the screenshots, the stories. After opening yourself up more than you had in years.

You needed a beat to breathe.

Just one.

_

Wednesday -

The Scotiabank Arena buzzed with anticipation, a low hum of energy thick in the air even before puck drop. It was the kind of night that made Toronto feel alive from the inside out.

You adjusted the hem of Auston’s jersey as you stepped into the private suite, sleeves pushed to your elbows, the oversized fit swallowing your frame just right.

"Well, well, well," Tessa grinned as she spotted you, her voice cutting through the chatter like a chirp on the bench. "Look who’s back in her boyfriend’s uniform. You do know that makes it official, right?"

"It’s just a jersey," you said, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"Sure it is," Stephanie chimed in from her spot on the plush couch, legs crossed and glass of white wine in hand. "But the Matthews name looks really good on you."

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, and sank into a seat between them. The suite was already bustling, the partners and families sipping drinks, laughing, passing snacks back and forth. Gaby was in the corner with Estelle, whispering and giggling about something you couldn’t quite hear over the announcer calling the players to the ice.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. A message from Jess:

Jess: "We're in 108. Liam just spilled half his beer cheering for Knies during warmup. Classic."

You: "Love that for him. You good?"

Jess: "Very good. Ryan’s here too. With a girl. Just FYI. He asked about you. I told him you were too busy for him."

Your stomach did a weird little dip. Once again, you weren’t sure if it was annoyance or relief.

You: "Appreciate the strategic deflection."

Jess: "Always. Go enjoy your little hockey husband."

You slipped your phone into your pocket just as the lights dimmed and the arena roared to life. The anthem played, the puck dropped, and the game began with a bang.

From the first shift, it was clear the Leafs were locked in. Auston was skating like he had something to prove—which, to be fair, he always kind of did. His edges were sharp, movements fluid, and his eyes tracked the puck like a predator in control. You watched as he dangled around two Knights defenders and fed a no-look pass to Knies, who roofed it top shelf.

The suite erupted.

"That kid," Aryne breathed, shaking her head. "I swear he was made in a lab."

"He was made by God and Minnesota," Tessa laughed. "In that order."

By the end of the first period, Auston had a goal to his name and an assist. He shot you a look from the bench as he caught his breath, one brow slightly raised, a smirk ghosting his lips. You felt your pulse skip like a scratched record.

Then during the break, the Tavares kids naturally burst into the suite with wide eyes and sticky fingers.

"Can you play mini sticks with us?" Axton asked loudly already pulling you by the hand.

“Alright mr,” you chuckled lightly before you dropped to your knees on the carpet without a second thought, laughing as you tried to keep up with their chaotic energy.

"Unfair!" Jace then shouted. "She’s too good!"

"Oh, I learned from the best," you teased, ruffling his hair.

You were breathless by the time Gaby handed you a water bottle and helped peel one of the kids off your back.

"Natural," she said with a grin. "Tavares might offer you a babysitting gig."

"Well, maybe if this PR thing doesn’t work out, I’ll consider it."

Then back in your seat for the second period, the mood was giddy. Auston almost picked up another assist after winning a puck battle behind the net and feeding it to Marner. Knies followed it up in the third with a beautiful solo goal that had the entire bench on their feet.

The Leafs won 3–0.

"God, I love this team," Stephanie sighed as the final buzzer rang out.

“You love that Auston keeps racking up points while our new friend wears his jersey,” Tessa teased, nudging your arm with a playful smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but the laugh escaped anyway—light, warm, real. There was something about tonight that felt easier than it should’ve. No spiralling. No overanalysing. Just… being. Present. Caught in a moment that felt strangely like belonging.

The girls were already planning post-game drinks and a weekend spa trip.

"You should come," Tessa said, nudging you with her knee.

The chatter in the suite swirled around you, full of champagne giggles and the buzz of victory. Someone had already cracked open a second bottle, and Stephanie was busy Googling spa menus.

“We’re thinking Saturday,” she said, flipping her phone around to show you a pastel-coloured website with lotus flowers and words like tranquillity and aromatherapy. “Girls only. No sticks and no pucks.”

You hesitated for half a beat, your instinct ready to decline before your brain caught up.

“Should I even be invited to that?”

Tessa scoffed. “Babe, you’re Auston’s girl here. You’re basically in the group chat now.”

“There’s a group chat?” you blinked.

Stephanie raised her glass in a mock-toast. “There is. And you’re in. Cucumber water, mud masks, robes, and extremely unfiltered gossip.”

You opened your mouth, still unsure.

But then you thought about the tension in your shoulders lately. The swirl of uncertainty. Auston’s hand on your thigh under the dinner table. The way he said your name like it had teeth. The way he made you feel like more than just a player in some fake game.

Maybe you needed this. Not for him—but for you.

“O- okay,” you said, surprising even yourself. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Tessa cheered. Stephanie beamed. Someone passed you a fresh glass of prosecco.

You leaned back into the plush stadium chair and let yourself enjoy it—the win, the warmth, the invitation to just exist among women who got it. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this kind of comfort. Easy company. No expectations.

And just moments after the final horn had blown and the crowd erupted, you then followed the girls down the hallway, hearts still racing from the game. Laughter bounced off the walls as you weaved past security and staff, heading toward the player hallway to greet the team. It was tradition. Casual and familiar.

You were still laughing when you suddenly saw his shadow.

Not Auston’s.

Ryan.

He was leaning casually against the wall outside the player’s lounge, dress shirt pressed, and a badge clipped to his belt. His eyes swept the corridor, and then they landed on you.

And just like that, the ease you’d been floating in all night vanished.

Jess’s message echoed in your head.

You tried to look away. But then he started walking toward you.

_

“Let’s talk about jerseys.

Because while Auston Matthews dominated the scoreboard tonight—one goal, one assist, and more control than a Bond villain—the real headline was who was wearing his number in the stands.

Our Queen didn’t just show up. She arrived.

Laughing with the WAGs, sipping prosecco, and playing with the Tavares kids like she belonged there all along. And that jersey? It fit her like a crown—bold, casual, intimate. Like it meant something. Maybe it does.

Matthews looked up more than once. Don’t think we didn’t notice.

And while the WAGs have welcomed her into the inner circle, we can’t help but ask: Is she there for him… or finally there for herself?

The Queen is moving freely across the board now. Laughing. Glowing. Choosing.

And with whispers of a certain someone from her past lurking in the wings, we have only one question left: What happens when the game off the ice turns personal? - The Benchwarmer”

_

“Hey,” Ryan said soft and confident, standing upright and sliding his hands into his pockets like he’d just bumped into you by accident. “Was hoping to see you here tonight.”

You blinked. “Ryan. I… didn’t know you were allowed down here.”

He held up his badge with a shrug. “I wasn’t at first. But my firm’s hosting a few clients in a suite. I saw the final buzzer, figured I’d check out the backstage energy.”

You forced a polite smile. “Well… hope you enjoyed the game.”

“I did. And you?” His eyes flicked to the jersey you were wearing—Auston’s name sprawled across your back in bold white letters. His smirk didn’t falter. “Looks like you’re enjoying it too.”

Your pulse skipped. “It was a great night for the team.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice dipping just slightly. “Listen… I know this might be a bit out of the blue, but do you wanna grab a drink or something? Just us? Catch up, you know?”

You hesitated for a moment. “Ryan, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But then he slowly stepped in closer—only by a fraction, but it was enough. “C’mon, just one drink. Unless… you’re afraid your hockey star might get jealous?”

And that’s when it shifted.

The energy. The air. The invisible crackle of something electric behind you.

Because Auston had arrived.

You didn’t see him at first—you just felt him. The way the space around you changed, like it bowed slightly to his presence. And then his voice came, calm and cool but carrying an unmistakable edge.

“She said she’s not interested.”

Auston stepped up beside you, his hand resting gently but firmly against the small of your back. His body angled slightly forward—almost protective, grounded, a wall between you and whatever Ryan thought he was doing.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Wow. Straight to the defence. Guess that captain title really goes to your head.”

Auston didn’t flinch. “She said no.”

“I didn’t hear her say anything,” Ryan countered. “You always speak for her?”

Your mouth opened, but Auston beat you to it—his tone dipping even lower, dangerously quiet.

“She doesn’t need to say anything. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

Ryan scoffed. “Uncomfortable? I was making conversation. She’s my friend you know.”

Auston took a step closer. “Well, maybe you should just back off then and keep it at friends.”

Ryan laughed, but there was no real humour in it. Just a sharp edge laced with something darker. “Back off? What, you think just ‘cause you’ve got a few goals and a fan club, you get to be her personal bouncer now? I’ve known her for way longer than you have.”

Auston didn’t blink. “Sure, you have. But you’re still making her uncomfortable. And you’re not listening.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. You could feel the heat radiating off Auston, his calm starting to fracture, piece by piece.

Ryan shifted, cocking his head toward you, voice sharpening. “You seriously want this guy?” He gestured to Auston with a sweeping motion, scoffing. “Some overpaid, half-baked jock who spends more time doing press than using his brain? Come on. You used to want more than that.”

“That’s enough,” you said, but your voice didn’t carry—not over the tension.

Auston’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side.

And Ryan saw it. Smelled blood. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. You don’t like when people get too close, huh? When someone better can take things from you.”

Auston stepped forward. Close now. His voice low. Maybe even dangerous.

He noticed the people around him, around all three of you, starring but without inferring. Not yet at least.

“You’ve got three seconds to walk away.”

“Oh, I’m shaking,” Ryan drawled sarcastically, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, Matthews—what exactly do you think you are to her? A good fuck? A bank? Or are you just her rebound?”

You felt your breath catch—rage rising like wildfire in your throat. But Auston just exhaled through his nose, slow and measured.

“At least I’m the one she wants to kiss her,” he said evenly.

Ryan’s face twisted, something snapping. And then—

He shoved Auston. Not hard enough to drop him, but enough to send him a step back. Enough to cross a line.

“You don’t own her,” he spat, stepping forward again. “And if she had any sense left, she’d walk away from you.”

You instinctively moved between them, your hands pressing against Auston’s chest before he could react. His fist had already curled. His nostrils flared. He looked ready to swing.

“Please, just stop,” you said almost nervously.

Ryan laughed again, but it sounded bitter this time. “You really want to waste your time on a guy who can barely string two thoughts together unless it’s in front of a camera?”

You turned to him, voice suddenly steely. “Hey, he’s got more heart and more brains than you’ll ever have, Ryan. So maybe get out before you embarrass yourself further.”

Ryan’s mouth opened, maybe to snap back, maybe to apologise—but he didn’t get the chance.

“Yeah, get out buddy. She’s too good for you anyway.”

Auston didn’t move. But Ryan did. And with no warning, no build-up, he just swung. His fist connecting with Auston’s nose in a sickening thud.

A gasp tore from your throat. Auston staggered back a step, grabbing at his face, blood blooming beneath his nose instantly. Somewhere behind you, a door burst open. Shouts erupted. Two security guards and a teammate you couldn’t quite place rushed in.

Everything was chaos.

“Get him out!” someone barked.

Ryan didn’t resist. Just held up his hands, face tight with anger and pride as the guards ushered him back down the hallway.

You turned, immediately at Auston’s side. “Jesus fuck—Auston, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just touched under his nose and winced, blood smeared across his knuckles. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

You looked at him—really looked—and felt your chest squeeze.

Because this wasn’t just about a punch. It was about everything. The pressure. The feelings. And the way it all suddenly felt impossible to ignore.

The corridor outside the treatment room still buzzed with the echoes of shouting, the weight of everything that had just happened hanging in the air like smoke. You could still feel it on your skin—the electric sting of adrenaline, the heat of Auston��s presence, the sound of your voice cracking through the chaos when you told Ryan to back off.

Now, that moment felt far away.

Inside the room, the fluorescent lights hummed low and steady. Auston sat on the edge of the treatment table, jersey peeled halfway down his torso, the blue and white fabric bunched around his waist. His white undershirt was streaked with a faint smear of blood near the collar. His head tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded beneath furrowed brows, while the trainer dabbed carefully beneath his nose with a sterile cloth.

He looked calm. Too calm. Like someone who’d learned to bottle his rage and store it behind a locked jaw and unreadable stare.

You hovered just inside the door, hands clenched around the strap of your bag, your fingers sore from the way you’d gripped it during the fight. You weren’t sure what to say. Or do. Or feel.

The nurse glanced your way with a warm, knowing smile. “Just a light break,” she said softly, lowering the gauze and checking the bridge of Auston’s nose with gentle pressure. “Nothing that won’t heal. He’ll be fine.”

You nodded, offering a tight smile in return. But Auston still hadn’t looked at you. Not really. His gaze stayed pinned to a scuff on the wall opposite, jaw locked so tightly you could see the flicker of tension running along his cheekbone.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. The urge to say something clawed at your throat, but it came out softer than expected.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

That got his attention.

His eyes flicked to yours instantly—sharp and sudden, like a match struck in the dark. “Don’t be.”

“Ryan was out of line. I should’ve—”

“You did exactly what you should’ve.” His voice was firm, low, laced with something you couldn’t quite name—pride, maybe, or disbelief. He shook his head slowly, exhaling as the nurse stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

You stepped closer, inch by inch, until you were just a breath away. The tension in your shoulders released just slightly.

“Always,” you whispered. “He shouldn’t have said those things… it wasn’t fair to you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was alive—full of something simmering just beneath the surface, the kind of stillness that comes right before a storm. You could feel the pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in your core. Your heartbeat was so loud you wondered if he could hear it.

He was still watching you.

His eyes dropped—once, slowly—scanning the jersey hanging off your frame. His name stretched across your back. The sleeves bunched just above your elbows. You hadn’t changed after the game. You hadn’t wanted to.

Auston swallowed. Hard.

“You look…” He shook his head once, like the thought itself knocked something loose. “You look fucking beautiful tonight.”

You smiled, soft and unsure, but he didn’t.

His expression had shifted—something darker, needier curling in his eyes. Like the sight of you, in that jersey, defending him, coming to find him after the chaos—that had done something to him. Unlocked something he’d kept tucked away beneath captain’s speeches and stoic locker room interviews.

And when he finally stood—slowly, deliberately—closing the distance between you, you didn’t step back. Didn’t flinch. Just lifted your chin a fraction, lips parting in anticipation.

His hands found your jaw. Yours found the edge of his shirt.

And then he kissed you.

Not gently. Not cautiously.

Hungrily. Desperately.

You barely registered your bag slipping from your shoulder and hitting the floor with a soft thud. Auston’s hands were everywhere—cupping your jaw, sliding down the curve of your waist, gripping the hem of the jersey like he needed to prove to himself you were real and here and his.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Watching you out there… looking like that… standing up for me like that? You… drive me so fucking crazy.”

You blinked, breath catching in your throat.

“Every time you opened your mouth tonight, I wanted to kiss you,” he added, voice raspier now. “Every time you smiled, I wanted to take you somewhere no one else could see.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

Because the look in his eyes had already told you everything.

Like the only thing that mattered now was reminding you—and himself—that whatever this was? It was already too far gone to pull back from.

The kiss grew sharper—tongues clashing, teeth catching, breaths mingling with increasing urgency.

You gasped when his hands gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you in one swift motion, setting you down on the edge of the treatment table like you weighed nothing. And then his hands were under your jersey—warm and possessive—and the rest of the world blurred out.

“Fuck,” he breathed, lips brushing your neck, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your fingers found the base of his shirt and tugged, eager for skin. “Then don’t.”

He growled—actually growled—against your collarbone, and the sound hit you low in your belly. One of his hands slid behind your back, pulling you flush against him while the other pushed between your thighs, parting them with just enough force to make you gasp.

“Already wet for me?” he muttered, mouth trailing up to your ear. “Or is this all new?”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a moan when his fingers pressed right where you were pulsing for him, just over the fabric of your jeans. “Can’t promise I’ll stay quiet.”

His mouth curved against your jaw. “Don’t even care.”

You kissed him again, this time harder—messy and desperate—and your hands moved on instinct. You reached for the waistband of his joggers, tugging just enough to feel the firmness beneath, already growing. Auston hissed through his teeth, gripping your hips tighter.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead resting against yours as he slipped his fingers past the button of your jeans, sliding down until he found your core—hot, slick, and already twitching for more.

Your breath caught. “Auston—”

He swallowed your name with another kiss, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. You arched against him, biting your lip to stay quiet. His thumb caught your clit just right and your hips jerked in response.

“Just like that,” he murmured. “You’re so perfect like this.”

Your hand had slipped inside his waistband too, curling around the length of him—hard, heavy, already leaking against your palm. He bucked into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a split second before opening again, dark and hungry.

“Need to feel you,” he muttered. “Need to be inside you.”

You nodded—because yes, god, yes—and he didn’t wait for anything else. He pushed your jeans down, just enough, tugging your underwear with them. You kicked them off one leg while he shoved his joggers and briefs down just enough to free himself, and then—

He spread your legs open, lined his tip with your entrance before he slid into you in one smooth, needy thrust, burying himself deep. Both of you exhaled sharp, broken sounds against each other’s skin.

You clung to him. He gripped your hips. And the treatment table creaked faintly beneath you as the rhythm built—quick, quiet, frantic.

Auston bit your shoulder to muffle a groan. You tangled your fingers in his hair to stay grounded.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t careful.

But it was real. Messy. Breathless.

Auston was buried deep inside you, one hand gripping your hip like it anchored him to reality, the other braced against the table to keep you steady. The sting of the vinyl beneath your thighs, the bite of his teeth against your collarbone, the press of his body—every inch of it was too much and somehow not enough.

Your forehead was pressed to his shoulder, your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt as your bodies moved in sync—quick, desperate thrusts muffled by the rhythm of your panting breaths and the faint creak of the treatment table beneath you. It was frantic and overwhelming, and so, so fucking good.

And then—

“Hey Tony. You okay in there?” a voice called out from the hallway, muffled through the door but close enough to rip you both out of the moment.

You froze like you’d been struck by lightning.

Auston stiffened instantly, his hand shooting up to gently cover your mouth. You could feel his heart pounding through his chest as he leaned in toward the door, breath ragged.

“Yeah…” he called back, voice cracking slightly before he forced it deeper. “Just—uh—cleaning up. Give me a sec.”

Silence.

You held your breath until the faint sound of footsteps retreated down the hall. And then—

“Fuck,” Auston muttered under his breath, a wicked grin twitching at the corner of his mouth as he looked back at you, flushed and wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” you whispered behind his palm.

“Don’t be,” he growled. “We’re not done.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He never needed to—not when your body was already giving him every answer.

He started to move again, slow at first, like testing the water. But it didn’t take long for the urgency to return—like the interruption had only made him hungrier. You bit down on your lip to keep from gasping, your moans coming out as desperate little whimpers against his shoulder.

“Gotta stay quiet,” he murmured, voice thick and hoarse, “but you’re making it real fucking hard.”

His hand then slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit like they’d been magnetised. He circled it with a precision that made you bite back a cry, your whole body tensing against him.

Auston groaned low in his throat. “There she is.”

You squeezed his bicep, your thighs trembling. “Please…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, breath hot against your neck. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

God, he did.

And when you came, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep from crying out his name, Auston wasn’t far behind—his hips stuttering, arms shaking, face buried against your neck.

For a moment, you both just stayed there—still tangled, still pulsing in the quiet aftermath.

Your jeans were around one ankle, his shorts half-hitched, your jersey clinging to your back with sweat. Clothes wrinkled, bodies flushed, breathing still uneven.

You leaned back on your hands, heart thudding against your ribcage like it hadn’t quite caught up. Auston stood between your legs, head bent slightly as he pressed one last kiss to your collarbone, his hands smoothing over your thighs.

“We should really stop having sex in public places,” you said finally, your voice hoarse and half-laughing, like you didn’t quite believe the words yourself.

Auston chuckled, low and spent, his forehead brushing yours. “Probably.”

Then he pulled back just enough to flash that boyish grin—the one that made him look far too innocent for what he’d just done. “But I’m not even a little sorry.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as your body slowly came back to you.

“Neither am I.”

He helped you off the table gently, fixing your jersey and brushing a hand through your hair. You reached for his shirt to straighten it. Somewhere in the distance, skates clicked across concrete and doors slammed. The world was waiting.

_

“Dearest Toronto reader,

did you feel that? The ice cracked tonight—and not just under skates.

Our Ice King racked up points like it was personal (and maybe it was). Knies continued his adorable domination with the kind of energy that makes entire sections swoon. Meanwhile, Rielly played like a man with a mortgage and something to prove, and Willy Styles? Let’s just say his downtown café companion wasn’t the only brunette raising eyebrows this week.

But even a solid 3–0 win couldn’t steal the spotlight from the real show backstage.

A certain ex tried to re-enter the chat, badge and all. But here’s the twist: it wasn’t Auston who drew first blood—it was her. The Queen. The one wearing his number. The one who didn’t flinch when voices rose and fists flew. She didn’t need saving. She didn’t wait to be claimed. She stood tall. Chose her position. And made it very clear whose side she was on.

And if you thought that was the end? Think again. Word is, a treatment room bore witness to more than bruises tonight. Let’s just say there was passion. There was heat. There was a jersey half off and a door barely locked.

So yes—this game is getting messier. Hotter. More dangerous. And it’s the Queen who’s holding court now.

She’s not moving to check the King. She’s moving for herself. And if that shakes the board?

Let it fall.

Yours always.

The Benchwarmer”

[kk-iki]

May I also add, yapping ahead. Sorry.

It’s kind of off putting when writers make the men “change for the reader” this belief that women are mean tot change men for the better is pushed so much by any media. What I mean is, we often see that men become soft because of their mothers, girlfriends, female friends showing them they can be soft. But it should never ever be considered as woman’s responsibility to make a man decent human being. We should not be happy that we made a man empathetic. Because he couldn’t get to that point himself. It’s weird. You don’t need or should fix anyone. (Real life specifically!!!)

Anyway as a raging feminist I do have some strong takes on everything because when you live your world being present and critical of the issues you can’t just look past them. However, as I said read what you like, if you don’t skip - it’s not about censorship and never will be. But it’s important to point things like this out because I don’t know decency I suppose.

Also I will be so sure to dm you when I write something worth posting (working on like five stories at once but snail pace because I never wrote anything longer than diary poetry level T_T)

hi again, baby. please, never apologize for yapping. i said it before and i'll happily say it again; i adore when people come into my inbox or my messages to share their thoughts with me. and i want to preface this by saying that everything you've written here, i absolutely agree with.

"[...] it should never ever be considered as woman’s responsibility to make a man decent human being."

this, this, THIS. when a man says he wants a girlfriend, that should mean he's looking for a girlfriend, not a mother figure or a therapist.

i think that it's just a little peculiar how one girl's presence is going to make these war - weary, hardened soldiers suddenly switch up and become the ideal partner. it's not only promoting this strange narrative that women are responsible for teaching men emotional maturity because they're 'naturally more emotional', but it's also just. . .not realistic.

i see this a lot with ghost and price fics, specifically. it's just a little ridiculous because a) there's an implication that the older a man is, the less in tune he is with his emotions, and b) there's also an implication that the younger a man is, the more in tune he is with his emotions.

personally, i feel like this is all a bit backwards ( something about age bringing experience ), but i'm someone who writes the kinds of things people in this fandom aren't interested in, so what weight do my words hold?

bottom line: if you are not emotionally prepared for a relationship, you absolutely should not go into one thinking that your partner will make you prepared. that is not what they signed up for, and that is not something you should be putting on them.

my dms are always open, baby. hit me up anytime; i'd love to see what you're working on. thank you so much for the ask.

[myromanholidays]

besides the brilliance of the commentary in sunrise on the reaping and the expansion/contextualization of themes from the previous books, there's something additionally gut wrenching I'm feeling about re-entering a world that was so transformative and important to me as a kid, and exploring these deeper ideas as an adult with more awareness of today's condition.

like i was young and naive and just learning about the world with limited understanding of how complex life and humanity and politics are, taken on a journey with katniss - equally young and unknowing of the history surrounding her - that was inspiring, heart-wrenching, eye-opening, and ultimately bittersweet, to haymitch's epilogue connecting the past to the future, appreciating these threads in the book as mirrors for the real world around me now and feeling the weight of generations of struggle not just for the characters but for communities devastated across the globe, feeling the years i've aged and become disillusioned, but remembering sotr shows that change and rebellion takes time, persistence, and hope where it seems there's none and just sitting in this mix of nostalgia, recognition, heartbreak, illumination, and gratitude to suzanne collins for these stories equally, if not more, important today as in 2008

[mulderiloveyou]

Another jotch moment I just need to point out, he had checked on her earlier and he came back again after the case was over, which is okay normal. We’ve seen it happen but it’s the way he speaks to her, idk. He opens up just a bit, is softer. Idk.

[allygatoor]

i think it's time that we as a society realized that actually eternals wasn't bad it was just not standard marvel fare and that's okay

[evidence-of-the-unknown]

[ID: The cover of Evidence of the Unknown. Murphy, a pale woman with white hair in a green jacket, stands in front of a cork board covered in papers and red string. On the floor around her are boxes, more scattered paper, and other discarded objects. She is lit from light coming through a doorway behind the viewer, and a shadow of an unknown creature is cast on the floor. The text, on the top and bottom of the page, reads "Telebeast's Evidence of the Unknown." End ID.]

I'm excited to bring this comic to everyone! EotU is a science fiction story focused on aliens, conspiracies, biology, and weird women in the desert. Every Wednesday, beginning next week!

[fromtheseventhhell]

The majority of Rhaegar/Lyanna stans here are minding their own business but for certain people here (especially "martell stans") is not enough

They keep bashing these characters and they are acting as if they are "oppressed" by Rhaegar's stans

It's boring

This is sooooo true, and why I find Elia/Martell stans to be so annoying even though I love several Martell characters (same with house Stark stans tbh). They love throwing stones and then hiding their hands. They put their hate in the main tags and call Rhaegar a pedophile/rapist/racist/abuser/etc., Lyanna a spoiled brat/heartless temptress, and shit talk shippers cause they think the fanon they invented justifies it but the second a Rhaelya gives a fraction of that energy back, they play the victim. Cause you're right, it's not enough for them. At the root of it, they're forever going to be mad that Rhaegar, Lyanna, and their relationship are popular + important to the story. They swear they don't care but then they never shut up about them. Just another case of people wanting to be morally superior and getting pissy when things don't go their way.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[silverwhittlingknife]

hi anon <333 okay so uhhhh listen when i got this ask which i think was... a month ago? a couple months ago? i did not have a dick & tim reading guide

BUT i read this ask and i thought WOW WHAT A GOOD IDEA, a dick & tim reading guide, i wish i'd had one of those when i started reading!! and also i had a lot of work that i didn't want to do so i needed a project to procrastinate on dsfdsfs

so i have been working on a reading guide spreadsheet and it is ALMOST DONE so i will post it soon-ish. <3 if anyone wants to check out the unfinished version and tell me if it's readable dm me <3

also below i have rambled a lot about the makings of the spreadsheet if you also like spreadsheets a lot

this is only sort of tangentially related to the reading guide but it is the SECRET ORIGIN of the reading guide. i think many comic fans eventually end up with a spreadsheet story because comics are bonkers and difficult to keep track of, so either you sensibly engage with your hobby in a reasonable fashion or you slowly go bonkers yourself and end up with a spreadsheet story. this one is mine.

so a year or two ago, when i got first got deeply deeply obsessed with dick & tim, i was desperate for content and i wasn't able to find much on tumblr

so out of a combination of deep affection for the boys and also an extremely strong desire to procrastinate the things i was supposed to be doing, i went through dc.fandom's list of dick's appearances and of tim's appearances.

and i cross-referenced them all to find the comics they both appeared in, and then i started kinda randomly reading through those comics looking for good art/panels that they both appeared in and taking notes on whether they appeared in the same panel or not:

and then as i became even more obsessive i started adding in a bunch of their solo appearances so i'd know the context of their team-ups, and i started color-coding blue-for-nightwing, red-for-robin, purple-for-both-of-them:

and then i started trying to make lists of Significant Events so that i'd know e.g. when characters died or got married or broke up:

and then i got tired of having to search for dc.fandom pages every time i wanted to check something in a comic, so i started adding links to dc.fandom and to dc universe:

and then i thought, you know, it'd be nice to have comic titles and to know if it's part of an ongoing story:

and sometimes when i was reading, i started taking notes on quotes or whatever was going on:

and that's about when i got this ask, and i thought, you know, i really should make a reading guide.

and i started thinking, okay, is there any way to take my spreadsheet and make it slightly less convoluted and a bit more like a reading guide?

and the answer was, probably not!!! but that did not stop me from trying sdfdsfds

so right now i have a spreadsheet called "Dick & Tim Reading List" and it's got a section that looks like this which has about 200 recommended-read comics:

but ALSO there's a tab that's really really long that has all of dick's solo comics and also all of tim's solo comics (from 1987-2011, not of all time, but still):

and also you can just get a list of all (post-crisis) comics dick&tim have appeared in together:

and also as i was working on this i discovered FILTER VIEWS and simultaneously got curious about all the quotes in grayson 12, which taunted me with the possibility of getting post-crisis continuity back before not giving it to me >:(((((( but anyway they're still good quotes so i made a list of all of them

anyway then i looked at all of that and thought ehhhhh okay but that's very complicated!! maybe i need some shorter reading recommendations. so then i started making a list of those:

basically you should picture the spreadsheet journey like this puppy:

anyway i'm still kinda distracted but i do intend to clean it up a bit more and then post a link, so that will happen soon-ish hopefully <3

[front-facing-pokemon]

[no-pasaran-99]

my skin is about to be so smooth & i am so ready to have a hoe phase but oh my god....... i hate them apps

[orcelito]

Took a few months but the situation at work is finally truly blowing up

I may or may not join in a workplace abuse claim against my old boss using old blog posts and discord messages of me venting as proof ☺️

It'd be me burning the bridge of having him as a reference later down the line, but honestly I think I can get by without him.

[agnesandhilda]

bathroom stall graffiti is an art form. I'm not joking about this

[iknaenmal]

actually you know what. my blog my posts i can post about whatever i want

[solivagantingrebel]

I need to get back into roleplays so I don't hate my writing again.

[add1ctedt0you]

She [Jiang Yanli] repeated 'sorry' and 'thank you' countless time