#erik johnson fanfiction

[holy-puckslibrary]

— 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬.

pairing(s) — dilf!ERIK JOHNSON x ex-nanny!wife!reader (established); REESE JOHNSON (oc) x ex-nanny!stepmom!reader (platonic / familial)

wc — 4.7k synopsis — family weekend forces reese’s worlds to collide. results are… mixed note — i just really love reese. that's it :) and how dilfy does mr johnson look in that gif good lord

the nanny (series masterlist) | main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — age gap relationship (erik and the reader, established), vulgar college boys with no respect, busy-bodies who cannot mind their own beeswax, possessive!erik, pregnant!reader (not discussed in detail), sweet bby reese in peril :(

REESE JOHNSON has a problem.

It’s the sort of anxiety-trodden predicament that could’ve been soothed into nothingness had he spoken up sooner. He didn’t because he couldn’t. That was part of the problem. 

And now it’s too late—for solutions or comfort.

The teen, now a second-semester freshman at the University of Denver, had long since adjusted to the heightened scrutiny of his family in the early days of your relationship with his father. Everyone online had to throw in their two cents on the “illicit affair.” Even people who didn’t give a shit about hockey (evidenced by their inability to name a single team) felt they had a right to weasel their way in. While irritating and uncomfortable, the harsh reads didn’t bother him for too long because Reese knew the truth.

He also knew how unnecessarily ruthless people could be when they had a screen to hide behind. The son of a prominent figure in professional sports, Reese knew people stared at him through a very particular lens. It veered toward a rosy sheen every so often, but mostly it was smudged glass. Like a fish tank whose walls were muddy with the greasy impressions spectators left behind. Strangers offering commentary on his father’s life, and by extension his too, was part of the gig.

Frankly, the aftermath wasn’t much different than before. Only the subject matter changed. If it wasn’t thinly veiled insults about Erik’s waning career or his prior inability to keep a girlfriend, it was overly critical evaluations of Reese’s prowess or lack thereof and, unsurprisingly, comparisons between father and son. Without fail, the verbiage and tone implied competition, hinting that their healthy bond was only a bit of showmanship to hide the rocky resentment beneath.

This weekend is different. Sure, his teammates and friends had already gotten ample face-time with both of his parents, as well as his kid sister, but never all at once. Though they all did their best to coordinate, busy schedules rendered a revolving cheering section for Reese Johnson. 

This weekend—family weekend—will change that. By some stroke of luck (or a cruel twist of fate, the jury's still out on that one), everyone would be here… together. And that’s not to say he isn’t grateful for their effort or that he isn’t excited because he is. Reese is thrilled to share this new slice of life with his loved ones. It’s just that…

Reese knows how it looks when they venture out into the world.

Not that his dad is exactly old or even old-looking. In the same way you aren’t questionably young. Still, the age difference is noticeable. Before you were more than a nanny to the Johnsons (if you were ever just a nanny to begin with), it was easier for on-lookers to assess the dynamic, and still, albeit seldomly, they would drum up gossip. Things got remarkably more awkward, though, after his father finally plucked up the courage to propose, and increased tenfold once Erik had a gold band to match. It was as if the wedding ushered in the open season on Johnsons.

More times than he cared to count, Reese found himself cupping Josie’s ears to keep his little sister from hearing jeering crowds calling their dad an old pervert and you a shameless gold-digger. No one’s had to explain what a “sugar daddy” is (or why it's the first thing that auto-populates when you plug ‘Erik Johnson’ into Google), but the burden would’ve fallen on Reese if he hadn’t left her in the car while he ran in to grab a takeout order last summer.

But Erik’s eldest isn’t just worried about his family existing outside the warmth and safety of their insulated bubble. His sleepless nights are filled with fear. Fear of the pain and sadness he’ll undoubtedly feel about it all now that he sees you less as his friend and more as a maternal figure.

Reese’s always been protective; it's led to many a fight with his own father and, sometimes, his own sister. He’s the first to rush to your aid and the strongest force in your defense. The habit, however,  strengthened when his perspective shifted as swiftly as flipping a switch. 

Suddenly, you weren’t just his dad’s girlfriend or the person who made him pancakes in the morning. Or the savior who dropped off his English paper because he was in such a hurry he left it on the printer. You were a confidant, someone he called for when he was in a bad spot or when he wanted to see the latest mind-numbingly bad action flick. When he asked his date to prom, it was you he wanted help from. When Reese was sick, your home remedies worked better than anything store-bought or concocted by his dad. When practice ran over, he could count on you to wait up with his dinner hot and ready, the rest of the house already fast asleep. 

For the first time since he could remember, the Dad-shaped gap wasn’t devastating. It hurt like a bitch, but it was bearable because he had another adult—another parent—he could rely on. In every sense of the word, you were his mom.

And no one wants to hear disgusting lies about their mom.

However, Reese hasn’t called you that yet. At least, not to your face. In passing to his childhood friends or when referring to you with Josie, sure, and once or twice over the phone with Erik, but when he calls for you, he uses your first name like he's still your “nanny-kid.” But it's not for a lack of trying. It’s just that every time he thinks he’s worked up the nerve, the three letters catch in his throat like molasses, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. 

Moments like those are the rare few he wishes he were Josie instead of himself. His jovial spitfire of a sister never missed a chance. During her lunch block with classmates, on the phone with their extended family, to strangers at Avs games, or on the sidewalk, the moniker slipped off Josie Johnson’s tongue like water down a slide. Their dad liked to poke fun, warning her to be careful so as not to wear it out from overuse.

Maybe it was the sister snuggled in your stomach that tightened his throat. The baby that could and would call you “Mom” with little effort beyond mastering the string of sound. The baby that would grow up not knowing you as anything besides her mother. It was a shade of ownership Reese felt hesitant to touch. No matter how desperately he yearned to.

The closest he’s come is penning in the title beneath your name on the lanyard that’ll hang from your neck for upcoming festivities. It was a small gesture. Still, it felt like too much and not enough all at once.

Reese is caught between wanting to honor the bond and all you’ve done with the accurate label and the fear of explicitly acknowledging it stirs in his chest. At least in this limbo of sorts, as cumbersome as it's become, Reese can have what he’s always wanted and keep you in his life without risking capsizing the boat with an awkward declaration. It’s an uneasy compromise, but it's the devil he knows. At least he knows what and when to feed it.

Reese hates that he’s letting his worries dictate his life. It's just… hard. No one tells kids how to navigate gaining a new parent or any of the baggage that unique situation carries. No one tells kids how to trust the position’s new occupant not to follow in their predecessor’s footsteps. In his heart, Reese knows you won’t run. But knowing that doesn’t shut down the nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that drones on like a broken record, telling him that the burden of the word, knotted with his expectations, will be his family’s unraveling.

He couldn’t do that to Josie. To his dad. Or to you and the little sister you’re carrying. 

So, he’ll stomach it. For how long, Reese isn’t sure. But, for now, he’ll stand on the outskirts of the minefield, bidding time.

"Johnson! Your whole family's coming, right?" Kody, a junior defenseman from Fort Collins, yanks Reese from his downward spiral.

The last place he wants to be right now is out in the world. The last thing he needs is to cannonball himself back into the fishbowl. Even if the phantom audience never spoke to him, sometimes their heavy attention pushing into his back was enough to send Reese reeling.

But he made a promise to make more of an effort. To be more social, to have more fun—to take life a little less seriously. 

In his mind, if he was at school to learn and play hockey, there was little room to wiggle. Sure, Reese has had his fair share of adolescent recklessness and could lean toward boyish immaturity at times, but at his core, he was a rule-follower. A responsibility fiend with a penchant for playing the white knight. A stickler for structure. When given the choice between a teenage dream and a full-grown reality, the freshman chose the latter nine times out of ten. 

Reese Johnson’s moral compass weighs down his back pocket; he feels most at peace when things fit neatly into their proper boxes. Good and bad, black and white. One or the other, never both.

Stress and anxiety exacerbate his mental rigidity. And he’s been so fucking far from zen lately.

Reese would’ve broken the stupid promise if it’d been made to anyone besides you. So, when a few of the upperclassmen on the team appeared at his dorm with an invitation to get pizza, he begrudgingly accepted.

It isn’t so bad. Far from awful this far. Definitely not the worst way to spend an evening. His teammates were alright enough guys, and their girlfriends weren’t as callous as he’d expected. Reese just found it hard to connect with them, a situation that couldn’t be more different than his previous team experience. 

With his childhood friends, it all clicked. Fell into place without much real effort from any of them. There was an awkward period, but it ended within the first month and, honestly, had more to do with prepubescent cringe than anything.

An entire semester came and went, and Reese still felt like an outsider. When he looked out onto the ice, he saw a sea of strangers. They had different interests, different priorities. Inside jokes he wasn’t in on. Ones he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in on. Even their sense of decorum was foreign. He was well-acquainted with profanity and vulgar jibes, but Reese’s neck still occasionally heats at their… colorful chirps.

But maybe this will be a good step, Reese thinks to himself as he clears the nerves from his throat, making room for an answer to Kody’s question.

“Uh, yeah. My parents and my little sister,” he nods. The blip of quiet that follows coaxes out further details. “They’re going to skip the mixer-campout thing tomorrow night because of the baby, but they’ll be at the student fair and our scrimmage the next day.”

It feels odd to talk about his family. The words, somehow both intensely personal and casual at the same time, taste funny on his tongue. Reese’s stomach clenches, suddenly too aware that he’s never really had to do this before, the small talk. Back home, everyone knows everyone. There’s little to talk about by way of mundane facts because there’s no need; it would be incredibly redundant. His friends from home wouldn’t think to ask if his family was coming, nor would they nudge him to share their schedule. They’d just know.

Reese is aware that this is a silly thing to get worked up over, or even care about at all. He knows it’s part of the process. Part of making new friends is letting them know you. Telling them about yourself and your life, and all the people in your life. Especially the ones you love. Offering up bits of yourself in exchange for bits of them. Still, it's unsettling. Like he’s inviting a group of strangers to pass judgment on his unconventional family. 

No one’s said anything, but Reese already feels defensive. 

And rightly so, he’d soon find.

"That was quick."

Lane, a senior forward from some beach town in California, draws first blood. The quip seems innocuous, but the shit-eating grin undermines any plausible deniability. Even without his smug expression, they probably would’ve understood the implication lurking below the surface anyway. 

It isn’t the isolated comment that burns the tips of Reese’s ears. It’s the fact that he’s never spoken about the circumstances or the timeline of your relationship with his father. Reese hasn’t tried to hide anything, but he certainly hasn’t been forthcoming either. For all they knew, you could’ve been Josie’s biological mother. A long shot, but feasible enough if you didn't know any better. 

But somehow, this kid from out of state knew. Knew that, by “traditional” standards, it was a little soon for his parents to be welcoming a new life.

"Can you blame him? Hot young thing at your beck and call?” Kent, a sophomore from outside of Toronto, cuts in before Reese can. 

The lecherous glint in the winger’s tone makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t need to look up from his half-eaten slice of Hawaiian to know his mouth matches Lane’s.

“Fuck, dude. I would've knocked her up before she dragged me down the aisle. But, I've heard Viagra massacres your swimmers, so maybe that wasn’t in the cards for Ol’ Johnson.”

The group, crowded around a hodgepodge of tables, descends into a fit of snickers and profanity.

Reese contemplates leaving until a manicured hand gently squeezes his arm. Callahan Graham blinks up at him, a sweet smile tight on her rosy mouth. Callahan “Callie” Graham, Lane’s on-again-off-again girlfriend of three years. They’re “off” right now, if he’s remembering correctly. Not that it matters. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Reese’s chin dips in gratitude.

From across the table, Callie’s roommate, Greer, pipes up over the commotion. “I hope I'm as cute as she is when I'm pregnant."

"Me too," Bree, one of the other girlfriends, sighs dreamily into her Diet Coke. "I couldn't believe how pretty she looked the last time she brought Josie to watch you play, Reese. If I was pregnant and holding down a two-kid fort by all by myself for most of the year, I know I'd look it. But I guess that’s just another perk of true love, isn’t it? Beauty in spite of it all.”

Kent snorts. “True love…right.”

Reese’s molars pinch together. Beneath the table, he picks at his nails. It hurts, but it's the distraction he needs right now.

"It's not like being a trophy wife is a real job anyway, so I'm sure that helps. Just lie back and spread those pretty—"

Reese’s fist finishes Lane’s sentence. As badly as he wants to put it through the douchebag’s face, he (thankfully) had the foresight to direct his anger downward. It was the succinct thwack! of his hand against the table that cut the lewd thought off prematurely. 

Reese is a striking juxtaposition; hardened jaw, sharp eyes, pinched mouth—silent. Only his chest moves. Shallowly, the accent on the exhalations.

For a moment, everything is still. It’s nice. While it lasts.

Kody is the one to crack the ill-fated stalemate. Trepidation peeking through the tiny cracks in his smooth confidence, he approaches like a hunter would an agitated deer, “Loosen up, Reese. We're just having fun. And, if anything, it's a compliment."

Reese openly glares, unconvinced.

Kody persists, deadset on being the one to subdue the beast. “Come on, even you have to admit your dad's locked down a fuckin’ tenner. A real win for Team Geriatric, I’d say. You should be proud of him, kid.”

This isn’t the first time someone’s prodded Reese about your physical appearance. He wasn’t blind. He knew you were attractive, but you’d never entered that part of his brain before. Ever. It's as if his subconscious preemptively locked you away in the same box as his dad and kid sister, or any other family member. But they weren’t asking if he thought you were pretty, not really.

The omnipresent “They” wanted to know if he thought you were attractive the way he thought Pedro Pascal or Olivia Rodrigo was attractive. They wanted to know if he felt the way his dad felt about you. They’re probing for a twisted scandal, a sick taboo love triangle. As if they weren’t already gorging themselves on the age difference or the boss/employee origin story. 

They wanted more. They always wanted more. They wanted to take one of the best parts about Reese’s life and fuck it up.

His teammates are proving themselves no different than the losers populating Twitter.

“She ever read to you a story before bed?” Lane again.

Then Kent, in quick succession. “Tuck you in nice and tight, and come running when you had a nightmare?”

There’s barely enough time between the two to squeeze in a meager answer. Though Reese surmises that’s by design. 

Innuendos are funnier when they have a single target in the audience to fly over. At least, to people with cheap senses of humor. Easy laughs are no accomplishment when they weaponize the feelings of an innocent bystander. Even in his anger, Reese wouldn’t have humored them with a doe-eyed reply of feigned ignorance. It wasn't earned. 

“If I got to spend all of high school being coddled by a rocket, I'd still be milking that shit. Maybe if you had, she would've fucked you instead of your dad."

Reese’s brow shrinks to a contemptuous pinch. It wouldn’t take much for him to be reacquainted with his dinner; it’s already halfway there. 

As he looks over at Kody, he loses what little hope he had that he’d find a place in this friend group. He hasn’t found his people yet, on the team or in general, but Reese is certain they’re not sitting around him tonight.

"How far along's your mom?" Callie seizes the conversation knowingly.

Briefly, her pale eyes slice pointedly in the direction of her… whatever Lane is to her, and then back to Reese, warmth restored.

"Uh, almost seven months? But Josie and I were both late, so Dad thinks we'll have to wait until the end of summer until she's here. Maybe they’ll share a birthday.”

"She?" one of the freshman girls squeals, clutching her companion’s forearm in excitement.

"Yeah," Reese says bashfully, head dipping to conceal the grin tugging the corners of his mouth. The meat of his cheeks ache with joy. “Two sisters."

"I give Johnson Sr. six months before he puts the moves on Nanny 2.0,” Lane’s whisper pierces the lukewarm calm that settled the table at his… Callie’s hand. 

She kicks his shin. Hard.

"You really think the old timer's game is that reliable?" Kent picks up the slack between open-mouth chews.

And Kody is not far behind, “He's decently famous and moderately rich. That was enough the first time, so why wouldn't it work for the second? Or, Junior, maybe this next one can be yours—if you pull your head out of your ass in time, that is."

Reese is done. Has met—no, exceeded his limit. He doesn’t have to sit here and take this. Yeah, it would be better for the locker-room culture if he stuck around, but a boost in morale wasn’t worth the decimation of his pride.

His goodbye is simple but effective. The deafening screeeeech! of his chair sliding back on the linoleum.

The sidewalk is blurry beneath his feet as he trudges back to safety. Whether it's the tears’ fault or how quickly he’s running, Reese can’t be sure. All he knows is that he needs to be as far away from them as possible.

He needs… he needs…

Reese’s fingers tremble defiantly while he fishes for his phone. He continues to fight with them, shoving his key into the door and pushing it open with the other as he scrolls through the call log. He slams the world out and hits the green icon.

“Reese? Are you okay?” your groggy, but no less sweet voice flits through his phone. 

Only two rings. 

Reese’s shoulders melt, comforted by the familiar warmth of what home sounds like. But his mouth remains frozen, stuck. 

You allow a few beats of silence to lapse, giving him ample space to answer if he is able and wants to before speaking again. “Do we need to come up tonight?”

He blinks, attempting to wash away the salty film over his eyes to read the clock above his desk. 1:37 AM, the angry red letters read. 

Guilt seeps into the mix of nasty emotions monopolizing his body. The acidic cocktail begins its ascent of his tender throat.

You shouldn’t be up right now. Not this late, not when his sister’s made you an insomniac for so much of your pregnancy. Not because someone was mean to him.

Reese feels like an asshole. An inconsiderate asshole bothering you with his problems in the middle of the night, knowing you’re already sacrificing your weekend for him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry for waking you and the baby, and probably Dad, too. I—It's nothing, really. It can wait. We can talk about it when it's not, y’know, the middle of the night.”

“Reese, no one sets off the alarm on my Bullshit Radar faster than you do. You wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t urgent. Talk to me, Reeses Pieces. You know I won’t be able to go back to sleep knowing you’re not alright.”

Reeses Pieces. The nickname, said with such casual affection, is like a magic wand.

“Uh— I-I, um… I had a, um, a r-really bad night… and I— and I just really needed to hear y-your voice, Mom.”

It slips out. Slips free. It just… slips into the mix with all the other words like it belongs there, too. And it does. It feels right. Reese feels a twinge of satisfaction. Regardless of the circumstances (and the night he’s had), it happened.

It finally happened.

The floor crumbles a little and gentle flames lick at Reese’s cheeks. His phone feels as though it's floating up and away from his clammy palm. He’s telling his fingers to tighten their grip, to hold on. They hesitate, and when they finally decide to obey, it only makes matters worse. He fumbles, nearly dropping his phone to the floor. The elephant easing down onto his chest is making it hard to focus, to think, to listen. 

“Reese? Did I lose you, bub?”

He blinks himself out of the daze. “Hmm? No, I—I, sorry. I’m here.”

“Oh, Reesey. I was just saying I was glad you called then. I mean, I always love it when you call. Even when it’s to tell me you sent your Airpods through the washing machine. Again.”

Reese barks out a phlegmy laugh.

Note to self: the rice hack only works the first time you let your electronics go for a swim.

Second note to self: this reaction—this non-reaction is better than any teary blubbering or callous rejection. Normalcy doesn’t require a reaction.

“You can always, always call me. Especially when you’re having a rough time. Even when it's the middle of the night. My main priority in life is making sure you’re safe and happy, you and JoJo. And the peanut sitting on my bladder. And the 6’4 blanket-hog snoring like a hacksaw beside me.”

“Maybe we should get Dad a sleep study coupon for his birthday,” Reese teases.

He feels better now. You, and finally being courageous enough to be vulnerable, was the medicine. Reese feels lighter than he has since you dropped him off in September.

You snort. “I’ll gladly pay to see your dad covered in wires. But, as much as I love laughing at his expense when he’s none-the-wiser, that's not why you called. Spill it.”

He does. The spiel tumbles out like an overdue avalanche, and Reese hardly realizes how quickly he’d been talking until he finishes with burning lungs. You listened patiently, letting him get it all out without interruption. You were good about that, knowing when someone needed room to rant more than they needed interjections with guidance or commentary. Reese usually fell in the first category, tonight being no exception.

“…I just don’t get why they found it so funny. Or why they even thought to say it in the first place. It's so...gross.”

He listens to you sigh and knows you’re doing it through your teeth. You’re probably massaging the waves of frustration between your eyebrows, nose scrunched. Josie calls it your ‘Dragon Face’ because of the way frustration contorts your features, but Reese adopted the term into his own lexicon because it almost always appeared when someone threatened the safety of your family. Like him, you’re generous with your protection. Fierce without delay. 

“Because you aren’t them, Reese. You’ve always had a strong sense of right and wrong, respectful and not. And you’re rarely swept up by group-think, if ever. Those things may feel like a curse right now, but I promise they’ll be superpowers one day.”

“I wish I could fast-forward to that day. This sucks,” he groans, tossing himself backward onto his twin bed.

“It does suck. Majorly. Still, even if you had time travel in your vast arsenal of powers, I’d tell you to stay put, Reese. Part of college is learning how to deal with immature people, building up a tolerance for their bullshit as you grow stronger and more confident in yourself.”

“But I’m not strong. I ran away crying like a little baby,” Reese croaks into his pillow. A warm saltiness tickles his eyelashes.

“You removed yourself from a bad situation, and you let yourself feel your feelings in the present tense. Those are both huge wins in my book,” you counter.

Your voice is louder now, stronger. Like coaxing Reese—coaxing your son out of a pit of self-pity breathed all the energy you lacked for the better part of a year back into you. The subtle shift whittles away some of his earlier guilt.

“It takes guts to do that, Reese. Most people spend years trying to learn what you did instinctively. Some people never learn to do it at all. And don’t tell anyone, but I’d put money on Kody, Lane, and Kent being some people.”

Reese snorts. “I know you’re right, but I think what’s actually bugging me is that you guys’ll be subjected to that shit this weekend. It’s one thing for them to say it to me, but it’s another to say it to you or in front of JoJo. I hate that people care so much about us and our business that they can’t keep their mouths shut. If you don’t feel comfortable coming now, I would totally understand. Fuck, if I were you, I’d never visit again. Maybe I could come home this weekend instead?”

“Reese, as sweet as that is, the only thing that’ll stop me from coming this weekend is early labor, not chauvinist pigs.”

“You shouldn’t even have to hear it, though. And besides, won’t smiting college kids stress the baby out?” Reese asks, worry tearing through his voice despite the lighter tone.

“Do you honestly think your dad will let them get more than a couple words out?” you ask through an airy chuckle.

For the second time tonight, someone else speaks before Reese can.

Erik’s voice is muffled and gravelly, but the protective bite—the very same one that took hold of Reese at dinner and you just moments ago—is loud, “They’ll keep their mouths shut if they want to keep whatever teeth they have left.”

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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[mourirderire]

NHL Fic Rec list

Hiii!!! I just wanted to share a few fics that really made me feel strong emotions...

Oh and make sure to check the warnings before reading :)

Avalanche:

Four times You Run Into Cale Makar and the One Time He Runs Into You - @kailyn-writes

i miss you like the very first night (Cale Makar) - @mattyanonwrites

Mistletoe Magic (Cale Makar) - @the-penalty-box-imagines

Nothin' Like You (Cale Makar) - @ghstandpucks

Teach Me To Please (Cale Makar) - @pucksalotguys

Annoying Little Brother (Erik Johnson) - @ghstandpucks

Apartment 352 pt 1 (Erik Johnson) - @imaginingsoftly

Have My Cake and Eat It Too (Erik Johnson) - @mikkorantanev

Like Father Like Son (Erik Johnson) - @ghstandpucks

look what you started (Erik Johnson) - @mattyanonwrites

Only All the Time (Erik Johnson) - @antoineroussel-archive

Overwhelming Light (Erik Johnson) - @burkymakar

the nanny (Erik Johnson) - @holy-pucks

Two Slow Dancers (Erik Johnson) - @hockeywocs

The Turn In Our Relationship (Gabriel Landeskog) - @yourfavewriteress

The Second Time (Nathan Mackinnon) - @wyattjohnston

Till Forever Falls Apart (Nathan Mackinnon & Sidney Crosby) - @pucksalotguys literally heres their whole masterlist i encourage you to read them all

Blues:

Right Under Our Noses (Colton Parayko) - @yourfavewriteress

Bruins:

5 Times the Team Told David He Was in Love + 1 Time he Realized it (David Pastrnak) - @mainlypastrnaksbae

Canucks:

Coach Hughes (Quinn Hughes) - @matsmarts

Midnight Rain (Quinn Hughes) - @babydollmarauders

Milkshakes AU (Quinn Hughes) - @hugheshugs

Devils:

Lies (Jack Hughes) - @nolanmoylee

Kraken:

Four Times His Teammates Said "I love you," and One Time He Did (Vince Dunn) - @blueskrugs

Panthers:

Baby, It's Cold Outside (Matthew Tkachuk) - @raysofcrosby

Wish We Were Older (Matthew Tkachuk) - @sorryjustafangirl

Penguins:

By The Water, Euphoria (Sidney Crosby) - @flashyfucker

Illicit Affairs (Sidney Crosby) - @blueskrugs

Two Little Lines (Sidney Crosby) - @pucksalotguys

Maple Leafs:

What Once Was (Mitch Marner) - @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

Sabres:

All's well that ends well to end up with you (Tyson Jost) - @mattyanonwrites

[misshoneyimhome]

The One Without the Teeth I Erik Johnson☆

[burkymakar]

Perhaps I wrote a hockey rpf fic on ao3… and Mayhaps it includes a pairing of Andre Burakovsky and Erik Johnson… and you could potentially read it at this link here

[tonyspep]

omg this was so fucking hot i am dead af

Lucky Charm | E. Johnson

Erik Johnson X Fem!Reader

A/N: Inspired by Emily Kaplan’s interview with EJ after the Avs won the Cup. He’s so fine it’s not even funny.

CW: NSFW (blowjob, praise, exhibitionism if you squint REALLY hard), swearing, very limited knowledge of how horse racing/betting actually works, but I gave it a stab. Very VERY lightly proofread, pls excuse any mistakes, just doin this for funsies.

Word count: 2.4K

:)

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The summers in Denver were always perfect. It was finally time to relax and enjoy the warm weather after months and months of cold ice rinks and rigorous schedules, for you and your boyfriend both. EJ could finally take a step back from his intense training and long road trips, just for a few weeks, before it was back to the grind again.

You worked as a senior consultant in a successful Denver design firm, which was also the reason you met the tall blond. He commissioned you to design his newly renovated kitchen and living space, and invited you to enjoy a glass of wine with him when all was said and done. He had given you a soul-sucking kiss on the way out the door that night, leading to the best years of your life so far.

You were high up enough in the company now, around four years down the line, that you could somewhat make your own schedule. You followed Erik’s schedule most of the time. You would work hard in the months he was on the ice, and take a few weeks in the summer to enjoy the sunshine and your boyfriend.

That’s how you found yourself here, sitting on the shaded patio, watching the water in the backyard pool ebb and flow in the breeze and reading a new book leisurely. There was nothing like enjoying the soft sound of the water and a good book to pass the time.

You shared a routine during these days. He would join you outside with a tray of food and special cocktails he liked to make, spending the day reading or playing cards with some music on. On race days, especially the ones his horses were entered in, he insisted on sitting outside with a cigar (because there was no way he was getting cigar ash on his indoor furniture) with the back door open, plus sitting on the part of the sectional that faced indoors so he could watch and still enjoy time with you.

Today was a race day, and like clockwork, you could hear Erik open the back door, the sound of the TV in the other room coming through, and his footfalls coming up behind you. He leaned against the back of the deck sectional you were seated in, squeezing the back of your neck and laying a gentle kiss on your head.

“How’s the read?” He asked, coming to sit down with a tray of sandwiches, fruit, and the drinks.

“S’good so far, I’m about halfway through.” You answered, popping a raspberry in your mouth and flipping the page, “any news on MacKinnon yet?”

Horse racing was something that seemed to escape you interest-wise. You thought the horses were absolutely stunning, but the pedigrees going back to the dawn of time and the betting Erik liked to partake in were a bit much for you. He loved it though, so you kept up with his horses at least. You had met them all on trips to California and listened to his explanations about why they were so elite, all while petting their velvety noses and giving them carrots, completely losing the conversation after their grandparents had been brought up.

“Nothing yet, the race starts in 20ish minutes. The announcers have high hopes for him though.” He said, picking up the cigar and his little silver guillotine strait cutter, “his money pool is up to 30k right now, could be a big day for us baby.”

He put the cigar into the guillotine and clipped the end off, pulling out his nice zippo and holding it up. You loved how he looked lighting up his cigars, holding the cigar between the teeth he still had and gently grasping it with his hand. You loved the way the little fire would reflect on his sunglasses and cast soft shadows on his face. Every time he blew a puff of smoke out, it made you want to melt into a puddle, but you would never tell him that.

“That one smells pretty good.” You remarked as he leaned back, pulling you up against his side, the scent of tobacco and spice wafting around you.

“I think so too. Naz gave me a few after the parade.” He said, looking up towards the tv for the stats of today’s race.

You admired his profile as he looked at the standings, watching his eyes dart across the screen behind his sunglasses and the tendril of blond hair sticking out of his backwards ball cap. You admired his nose and his cupid’s bow, watching as he blew out more smoke and let it billow around him. You quickly learned to love the way his lip fell flat where his teeth were missing too, despite your friends feigning concern for your future make-outs. You loved everything about Erik really, but moments like these really did something to you. You thought you might get caught looking for too long, so you turned back to your book and dove in once again.

Your books were to you like Erik’s horses were to him. You loved romance novels most of all, you could laugh at the worst of them and squeeze your thighs together when they got good. You learned new things about yourself because of them too, Erik more than willing to try new things when you brought them up, on the rare occasions that you did. You weren’t the most adventurous in the bedroom by any means, but you had a few things you particularly liked when Erik did or helped you do.

This particular book was on the thigh-squeezing end so far, the slow-burn where the main character falls in love with the handsome rugged cowboy (who also happened to have an affinity for cigars) after finding herself stuck in a podunk little town. It had gotten very hot very fast. Images of a tall dark and handsome man pushing the main character up against a barn door and finally kissing her after 15 chapters went flashing through your mind. You continued down the page, imagining the clothes coming off and the sloppy kisses leading up to a risky, almost-public blowjob. He topped it all off with blowing cigar smoke into her mouth while she trembled under him.

Suddenly, your skin was on fire, and you were hyper aware of Erik’s fingers gently stroking up and down your arm, and the way he looked smoking that damn cigar. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, and you breathing became more ragged and shallow.

You craned your head up and placed a kiss on his neck, then his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Your hand found his chest as you tried to sit up a little more, but Erik lifted you up just enough for a proper kiss, letting his hand fall on your shoulders, the other holding onto the cigar so he wouldn’t burn you or get ash on you.

“What’s this for baby?” He said, reaching out for another kiss, “your heart’s beating a million miles a minute…” he continued.

“Cant I kiss my boyfriend? I just felt like it…” you said, albeit with a ragged intake of breath.

He smiled a knowing smile, “did your book get good baby?”

“I just wanna kiss you…” you repeated, and he obliged with a few more kisses, noting the way a blush crept up your neck and turned your ears red like it did when you asked him to try something.

After the kiss slowed down, you laid down on the sectional, your head resting on Erik’s thick thigh. His eyes shot back to the tv again, observing the standings again. You tried to focus on your book again, but your mind traveled back to the blowjob up against the cowboy’s barn, and him blowing smoke into the main character’s mouth, your thighs squeezed together again. Erik began running a hand through your hair, brushing your scalp with his fingertips.

You placed gentle kisses on his thigh and began to slowly slide off the sectional, not wanting to take too much of Erik’s attention off the tv. You brought a pillow down with you, putting it under your knees so they wouldn’t scrape against the concrete of the patio. You reached for the knot holding his shorts up, and he inhaled sharply, his hand flying down to caress your face.

“Baby…” he said, and you continued trying to take the knot out of the tie, “baby you wanna do this now? Here?” He said, gently holding your chin so you would look up into his gaze.

You never wanted to do anything outside before now, you had a lot of anxiety about the media seeing you and Erik doing NSFW things and ruining both of your careers. He had asked before on a couple of occasions, but you found a way to steer things inside with the blinds shut. You were almost completely secluded here, it was the off-season, and it would take a real scumbag of a media person to show up at the house for a juicy scoop.

“Yeah, I want you so bad…” you said quietly, “you look so fucking hot with that cigar…” you admitted without thinking.

“You like the cigar huh?” He said, pushing his hips up so you could pull his shorts and boxers down just enough for his dick, already half hard from a few kisses and touches.

“You have no idea what you do to me with that damn thing…” you said, pressing kisses to the cut of his hip and his happy trail.

He groaned in playful frustration, spreading a little more so you fit better between his thighs. You finally grabbed his dick, running your closed hand up and down. He moaned and reached for your hair, running his fingers through it again. You stroked him until he was fully hard, watching the muscles tense under your touch.

You ran your tongue along the underside in a fat stripe, letting your spit coat his dick. You took the head in your mouth and sunk down slowly, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t take. He fisted your hair, pulling back strands so he could see your face.

He loved looking at you when you blew him, there was nothing better. He loved watching his dick disappear into your throat and how expertly you took him. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, and saw he was slack-jawed with his eyes rolled back, absorbing all of the sensations.

“Mmm baby, you look so pretty taking me like that…” he said breathily, “holy fuck your mouth feels so good.”

You hummed, sending vibrations through his dick and bringing him that much closer. He had to control himself from fucking your throat. Everything about this was hot, the sight of you on the ground for him, the wet sound of your spit, the way your mascara was starting to run in the corners of your eyes.

He watched and waited for you to look up through your eyelashes again, then took a deep inhale of the cigar and blew it out, still holding onto your hair. The smell of the cigar just heightened everything further.

Suddenly the sound of a bugle announcing the beginning of the race, and a shot accompanied by the gates holding in the horses swinging open drew your eyes to the tv. You looked up to Erik again, watching his eyebrows slightly raise as MacKinnon pulled forward by a few feet. You took him out of your mouth, spit dribbling down your chin and all over his dick, and you took a moment to breathe while you stroked.

Focusing back on Erik, you knew he was close, you could feel his hard muscles tensing. His moans were getting higher and a little louder, but not too loud, he knew that would make you nervous about people noticing. His hands ran through your hair and gently held the back of your head when you took him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, eliciting a sharp whine from him. He took another puff of the cigar, sending you into a somewhat feral effort to get him there.

“I-I’m so close baby! God you feel amazing!” He said, watching you take his dick, “you’re so good for me, treating me so well…” he praised.

You sucked gently and bobbed your head a few more times before he finally shot his load down your throat, letting you swallow it. He moaned and writhed above you, tightening his grip on your hair before letting his fist loosen so your hair fell down around your face.

You leaned your head on his thigh and took a few breaths, trying to regain some composure. Seeing you like that always made his heart skip a beat, hair tousled from his hands and lips swollen and glossy. You even had a little speck of black soot from the cigar swiped across your cheek.

He hiked his shorts back up and offered his free hand. He pulled you up to straddle his lap, taking a deep inhale of the cigar again, watching your eyes and your swollen lips. He kissed you, letting the smoke fall out of your open mouths. You were both breathing heavy as you relaxed chest to chest, head falling into the crook of his neck. He rubbed soothing circles into your back as you tried to regain your breathing.

“Holy shit! Mackinnon’s about to break into first!” Erik said somewhat tiredly, and you turned around to see his beloved horse pulling forward in the final stretch of the race.

You both cheered as MacKinnon crossed the finish line, effectively winning Erik 30 thousand dollars and more bragging rights to his racing friends. You leaned down and kissed him again, not trusting yourself to get up and stand on your jelly knees quite yet.

“We should break open a vintage bottle tonight baby, we’re celebrating!” He said, standing up with you wrapped around his waist, “you’re my lucky charm baby, maybe we should do that for every race!” He joked.

“Trust me E, I can get on board with that… just keep that cigar around…” You teased, and he laid a deep kiss on your lips.

He walked you both inside and laid you down on the couch, tray of food and drinks (and the cigar) long forgotten. His hands already traveling down your body and in your hair.

“Let me show you now much I love you, my lucky charm.”

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

When the Longing Returns 

Phantom of the Opera (2004) Fanfiction

Chapter 2

Read a spicier version on AO3

Read chapter 1 here

Pairing: Erik (The Phantom) x Christine Daaé

Rating: M

Chapter Summary: The Phantom returns Christine to the Opera Populaire, where she must conceal her new attachment to the Phantom from Raoul.

Chapter Word Count: 5,690

You can now enjoy this chapter with my custom made immersive soundscapes! Follow the links in the story.

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Music is the only sensual pleasure without vice. ~ Samuel Johnson

~~~~~~

Christine grasped the Phantom's hand as he led her through the cemetery gate to where the barouche and horses stood waiting. She looked at the empty driver's seat and only then fully realized that it was he who had driven her there. She had been so caught up in her inner musings she hadn't even noticed who was driving when they departed the opera house.

But if the Phantom had brought her, what had happened to the driver?

A sudden anxiety gripped Christine's heart and she stumbled.

Immediately sensible of her faltering, the Phantom turned, reaching out and taking her upper arm to steady her. The mere sensation of his stable hold eased her, but the fear that had made her stagger reminded her that those same strong hands were not beyond choking the life from a man.

He could see instantly that something in her was amiss.

"Christine?" His voice was soft, concerned.

Hers was quiet, but surprisingly steady as she asked, "Where is the coach driver?"

His eyes studied her face as he took in her question, and she thought she saw a flash of dark humor in them.

"In the carriage house, unconscious," he replied, looking forward as he began to walk again. Christine followed, feeling relief begin to slowly relax her tense muscles. "I knocked him out, then gave him a sedative; he's quite unharmed, I assure you," he continued, before glancing back at her, the flawless, unmasked side of his face bearing an arch expression. "Were you afraid that perhaps I'd killed him?"

Christine felt her stomach tighten as he said aloud exactly what she had been thinking for that brief, horrible moment. It was silent but for the soft crunch of their footsteps over the frosty ground as she considered how best to reply to his supposition.

"You've killed before," she said quietly, and despite the tremor in her voice, and her crystal clear recollection of the horrific thud and the sight of the body that had crashed down to the stage—her hand nevertheless tightened around his as he pulled her along.

"Yes, I have..." he said after a moment, his voice almost as quiet as hers as he felt her grip his hand.

They had reached the carriage now and he turned to face her again, silently staring; marveling that, in spite of her obvious disquiet regarding his guilt, she still stood there with her hand clasped trustingly in his, and his ring on her finger.

He lifted his still-gloveless left hand and reached slowly, cautiously, toward her face. Still, she did not flinch from his touch. It was the very first time he'd ever touched her face with his bare hand. His breath caught at the first moment of contact, and Christine felt hers leave her in a sudden rush as well. As his palm came to rest on the side of her face, he stroked her cheekbone reverently with his thumb and savored the smooth softness of her skin.

His eyes were soft as she accepted his touch, and her gaze drank in the tenderness that flooded his. Her hand came up to rest over his, lovingly, comfortingly.

His eyelids slid closed, and he had to take a deep breath before he could speak again. "I am not..." he paused, desperately searching for adequate words to ease her, "...not a senseless killer, Christine," he said softly, looking down to her again, his eyes pleading and gentle.

The words he'd found were not remotely adequate, he knew, but for the moment, if they gave her any solace, they would have to suffice.

Christine could not interpret all of the emotions on his face, but she felt his plea, and nodded her head in understanding.

Slowly, she drew closer to him, letting him hold her as she rested her head against his chest and felt his heartbeat under her cheek. She inhaled deeply and tried to discern each note in his unique scent: the silk of his waistcoat... the earthy tang of the subterranean tunnels he frequented... hints of many exotic spices... alcohol, but something rich and pleasant; cognac, perhaps?... and the mellow, floral sweetness of roses. It took several deep, intoxicating pulls for her to identify all these notes and there was more, much more to decipher. She would have time to apprehend them all. But not right now.

She resented that she could not remain there longer, but the clouds and fog of the early morning were thinning with the approach of dawn. Allowing herself just a few moments more in the warmth of his arms, she finally lifted her face to his.

"You must take me back now," she said grudgingly.

He nodded, stroking her face again, still in awe of her affection. That he should have to return her again, when he finally had her, uncoerced, in his arms! It was a torture, but a necessity. He could bear it only because he knew that he would have other opportunities to embrace her soon enough. "No one must know anything has changed between us," he said solemnly. "Carry on as you have done until now. I will return you in the carriage. Once it has stopped inside the coach house, I will leave you. If you are noticed returning, tell the truth: you visited the cemetery, you didn't notice the driver."

"Yes," Christine said, listening intently to his instruction as he helped her into the barouche.

"You will come to me tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, confused, and slightly dismayed.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asked in a subtly pointed tone. Christine had more than an inkling that he knew exactly how much rest she'd gotten—which was not much at all. She had drifted in and out of sleep, but the moon had seemed too bright, and her head and heart too full of agitating thoughts and emotions for her to stay at rest very long before she woke again, gasping. After only a short time, she'd stopped trying and lain awake, waiting until it seemed a reasonable hour to wake the porter.

She didn't answer, but blushed slightly, looking sheepishly at him.

"I think I robbed you of enough sleep last night. I would prefer not to deprive you again so soon. You need rest; for your voice and your health."

"I know," she acquiesced. It wasn't the first time she'd heard him admonish her on the subject. The sense of familiarity in it warmed her.

"You should go to bed as soon as possible after you return, so you will be perfectly rested when you come to me tomorrow night. Promise me you will."

Christine was further warmed by the tenderness of this entreaty, and smiled as she responded, "I will, I promise."

The ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Good. Now that you've returned to me, I have much to teach you."

Christine nodded again, feeling a little surge at that suggestion in his expression. She could not see him sooner, but she knew that he would see her. A wave of nervous excitement washed through her at this knowledge—which might have struck her with a measure of horror just yesterday—and she took no pains to hide it. It was rather like the nervousness she'd often felt when she would sneak to the chapel, sometimes early in the morning, others late at night, for her singing lessons. Similar, but not entirely the same. These tremors reached deeper.

An obstacle then occurred to her—one that hadn't existed when she'd taken her secret lessons with the Angel of Music.

"What about Raoul?" she asked. "He slept outside the dormitory last night; I had to sneak past him to come here. I am sure he means to again tonight, and probably tomorrow night as well."

The Phantom's lip curled ever so slightly at the mention of his rival's name. "I will see to it that he doesn't interfere," he replied in a hard voice.

Seeing a glimmer of worry behind Christine's eyes, his expression softened into one of reassurance. "I'll have Madame Giry take care of it," he clarified. "You have my word, no harm will come to him—only a stern word from a ballet mistress. And, failing that, a harmless sedative." He reached up and allowed himself the liberty of holding her hand once more, squeezing as if to say trust me. She returned the pressure, and he lifted her hand to kiss it again, holding it there for several heartbeats.

Finally letting go, he fixed her with a last, lingering gaze before pulling his glove on, covering his face with a muffler, and climbing into the driver's seat.

The carriage began to roll, and Christine felt an intense mixture of emotions at the enormity of her decisions that morning. She gazed down at the gold ring, running the tip of her index finger fondly over the smooth, smoky stone.

~~~~~

Christine had the length of the return journey to think, which was fortunate, as she had a great deal to consider while she stared up at his back.

The choice she had made was rash, irrational; rooted solely in emotions and not at all in logic or propriety. And there would be much more questionable behavior on her part in the weeks to come. 

She was going to break her engagement to Raoul; but first she was going to lie to him outright. Could she sustain this? Continue to receive Raoul's affections, pretending to take comfort in them when her true source of comfort lay elsewhere—in a man she knew Raoul would happily see in prison? Or even dead? Could she so actively deceive her childhood friend and late fiancé?

It seemed that these questions should be a great concern to her, but as she posed them to herself, she found that she already knew the answers, as certainly as she'd ever felt anything.

Yes. She could.

Her greatest challenge now would be continuing a façade of her girlish, wide-eyed fright at the mention of the Phantom; that would be particularly difficult when she so longed for his nearness. It seemed fortunate to her that shivers and shudders could often indicate obverse emotions.

She felt so differently now from how she had the night before; resolute and purposeful. It was a relief to no longer be haunted by her repressed emotions flapping in the back of her mind, like a bat trapped in a cage. This engagement was just as secret as hers to Raoul had been, and the consequences of it being discovered of a much more dire magnitude, and yet, somehow, she felt so much... freer with the Phantom's ring on her finger than she had with Raoul's around her neck.

She looked down at the dark stone in its simple, elegant setting again. It fit her, and it was of slender enough proportions that it did not look out of place on her delicate white hand, but it was very plainly not made for a woman. This was his ring; taken from his hand and given to her—not just a symbol of promise, but a token of himself. It was an incredibly, almost overwhelmingly, intimate favor, and Christine loathed the idea of having to go through the day hiding it from view. A chain would not do now, she thought. Chains could be lost... stolen. She would have to secrete this treasure closer to her person.

As they re-entered the city, Christine pulled herself from her inner thoughts and was forced to focus on her present task. Her heart was pounding again, from anxiety now, rather than the more pleasant, passionate excitement she'd experienced in the cemetery.

Working to calm herself, she reluctantly slid his ring from her finger and clutched it for a moment, feeling it dig into her palm; then she tucked it down the front of her bodice where she knew it would be safe.

As she did so she glanced up to look at the broad line of his back and shoulders again, and saw his head half-turned to look back at her. His mask concealed his expression, but his gaze caught hers briefly before he turned forward again.

The multitudes held in that sparkling eye as it connected with hers! He had seen her tuck the ring away; seen that she had chosen to hide it, not in a pocket, not in her sleeve, but in such an intimate area, where it would be concealed, but very much felt.

She was glad of his notice; glad to see, in his smoldering blue eye, that mixture of awe and triumph and a hundred other emotions so knotted together she could not distinguish them all.

Emboldened by the deep understanding of this silent, charged exchange, Christine took a deep breath and steadied herself as they approached the opera house.

~~~~~

The carriage rolled around to the coach house and Christine felt sweat begin to prickle on her palms. She clutched hastily at her cloak to dry them. The roll slowed, and the conveyance lurched before finally coming to a halt.

As soon as the horses were still, the Phantom swept down from the driver's seat—performing this maneuver with an almost shocking speed and grace—and darted into the shadows. He paused only once, to glance back at her, before disappearing around the corner.

Swallowing and allowing her previous expression of distracted contemplation return, she climbed out of the barouche. She'd not taken three steps when...

"Christine!"

It was Raoul's voice. He was rushing toward her, his face in transition from an expression of extreme anxiety to one of profound alleviation. He must have awoken only shortly before their arrival; he looked very disheveled and hadn't properly dressed—just in his shirt, trousers, and shoes (how he'd slept the previous night)—in an evidently distraught haste to find her.

"Christine! Thank God, thank God!" He threw his arms around her, crushing her with the force of his relief. "My God, Christine, I looked everywhere for you," he said, taking the right side of her face in his hand. She appreciated the care in his touch, but it did not stir her. "I was so terrified, I thought—"

Christine cut him off. She knew exactly what he'd feared. "I'm sorry, Raoul." The apology was most sincere; she was not insensible of the alarm she'd caused him. How could she be when his concerned eyes darted across her face so? "I didn't mean to worry you. I'm perfectly fine," she said, placing her hand on his and gently pulling it away from her face. It felt wrong to let him touch, so easily, the exact place where the Phantom's cautious and supplicant hand had rested not an hour before.

Of course, Raoul couldn't know that what he held was no longer his (if, indeed, it ever truly had been), so she cloaked her motive in how she held his hand with care, conveying to him only reassurance that he need not worry for her. It seemed to her a natural enough response.

Raoul must not have found anything unusual in this action or in her eyes, because he simply held her to him again, hugging her fiercely. The force of it caused the Phantom's ring in her bodice to shift until it was nestled between her breasts. She had to work very hard not to gasp at this sensation.

"Where did you go at such an early hour?"

"To the cemetery; to visit my father," she replied, keeping her voice solemn and steady. Raoul would surely understand this desire.

"Of course," he said sympathetically. "But you..." He became still suddenly, like a stone, his eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder.

"Raoul? What…?" She turned to follow his gaze, already knowing that it rested on the empty driver's seat, and the horses, unattended to and still hitched to the carriage. He let go of her just as suddenly as he'd frozen and darted to the porter's office. Christine knew what he would find there: the porter, asleep.

Raoul turned to look at the barouche again, his mind working feverishly behind his eyes. "But then who...?" he wondered aloud, then exclaimed as enlightenment struck, "Dear God!" He rushed back to her and took hold of her shoulders. "What happened, Christine? Tell me exactly!" he demanded, his voice full of panic.

His eyes were intensely bright and paranoid. Christine knew it was out of concern for her safety, but it almost frightened her. She let herself feel that hint of fear as she replied in a tone of upset confusion.

"I-I came down and woke the porter," she started, her brow furrowing in concentration. "He was rather groggy—I think he must have fallen asleep drunk last night..." This was true; she had found him very much in that state, and there had been a great deal of partying with drink backstage during the masque. "I paid him and told him I wished to visit the cemetery, and then I went to dress and fetch a coat. When I came back, the carriage was ready, and I climbed in."

"Did you not see who was driving?"

"N-no, I didn't notice—it was foggy, and I was very much in my thoughts. Why...?"

Raoul's hands gripped her shoulders harder, shaking her slightly.

"The porter is asleep, Christine—he couldn't have driven you!"

She cast back to what her reaction to this leading revelation might have been twenty-four hours ago, gasping as if a horrifying conclusion had just dawned on her. "Raoul!" She clutched his forearms in terror, the exclamation a breathless whisper.

He held her to him again in a consoling embrace she knew too well. This was the first time she hadn't actually taken any comfort in it, but she pressed her hands to his shoulders as if she did all the same.

After a few moments he pulled away to look her in the face again. "Christine, why didn't you wake me?" he asked, his tone bewildered and reproachful. "If you wanted to visit your father's grave, you should have told me; I'd have gone with you."

She knew that.

I didn't want you to, she thought with a slight rush of irritation at his... obtuseness. But she mustn't say that to him out loud—not in so many words. "I... I just wanted to be alone, Raoul."

"You mustn't be so foolish," he told her, almost a reprimand. She didn't like it, and it must have shown on her face, because he then softened slightly. "I'm sorry, Christine, I don't mean to sound harsh; but really, you mustn't go off on your own! It's a miracle that... that monster didn't carry you away..."

Christine hid the surge of indignation she felt at his use of the epithet, fighting to keep it from breaking into her face, but she couldn't prevent her grip on his arms from tightening, harder than she believed possible of herself. She played it off as a fright. Raoul noticed. "Oh, Christine, don't think of it," he said soothingly, stroking her hair.

Then his expression became puzzled, his gaze drifting in thought. "But...why didn't he?" His eyes darted back to her, perplexed. "Why didn't he kidnap you?"

"I—" Christine's brow furrowed quite naturally, though there was no mystery for her to unravel. "I don't know, Raoul." Her voice was soft, trembling almost as if in fear. An expression of worry she did not feel stole over her face and into her eyes.

The enigma seemed to disturb Raoul even more than the potential danger, the lines in his brow deepening as he searched for an explanation. "Perhaps... perhaps his only goal was to taunt us…."

"But why? If I'm what he wants, why taunt us at all? Why would he not just... take me?" Something inside her quivered at her own choice of words.

"Hubris?" he suggested, his voice thick with contempt. "We already know how exceedingly arrogant he is."

Despite a clear measure of satisfaction in his own deduction, Raoul still looked disconcerted by the Phantom's apparently anomalous behavior.

He shook his head, and focused on Christine again. "Enough of that for now, dearest. Put it from your mind, as much as you can. Look at you," he lamented, stroking under her eye with his thumb. "You look as though you barely slept."

"I barely did sleep," she responded meekly. "I was too disturbed to get any rest. It was the reason I wanted to go to my father's grave. I always find a sense of solace there. I hoped a visit would help to calm my mind."

"Did it?"

"Yes, actually," Christine replied placidly. "More so than I had even expected."

This seemed to bring some relief to Raoul. He would not have been so eased by her words if he could know the true reason why the journey had brought her such serenity.

Christine almost felt ashamed.

Almost.

"Then I insist you go back to bed at once, and get some proper sleep," Raoul said firmly, in a tone that brooked no further comment as he linked her arm through his. "You must rest, Little Lotte."

Christine smiled at the nickname.

To Raoul this smile would look like one of fond reminiscence. But in truth, she'd grown tired of being called by her childhood nickname.

It was patronizing, and abrasive.

She was sure he'd not meant to be; that he said it out of a desire to draw her thoughts back to a time of ease and happiness. But she'd been living in that time with him for months, and dolls and goblins and shoes were no longer subjects with which she wished to occupy herself... not when she had the Angel of Music to sing songs in her head.

So she smiled. Not out of fondness for the name, but out of a sympathetic appreciation for the best reason he could have had for using it.

Raoul took a moment to wake the porter—who roused with a little difficulty and a bad headache but was, otherwise, perfectly unharmed, just as the Phantom had promised he would be—and help him see to the horses. The porter thanked the vicomte for his kind condescension and apologized profusely for his own negligence.

As this interaction took place, Christine stood with her arms crossed over her chest in the shadowy doorway which led back to the opera house proper, gazing at the corner around which the Phantom had disappeared.

"Brava, brava, bravissima~" a ghostly, melodious voice whispered from some dark corner nearby—or perhaps from within the very wall.

Christine's pulse raced and her breath shuddered at the sudden and unexpected sound of his voice, luxuriant with praise. She felt almost as though he were standing right behind her, and imagined feeling his breath on the back of her neck. She hugged herself little tighter, and the metal of the ring hidden in her bosom suddenly felt especially warm. She relished it, and wondered if he could see the blush rising in her face from wherever he was hidden.

She made no response other than these reactions, unable to risk Raoul noticing her talking, apparently, to herself; but Christine somehow knew that no other reply was needed—all was understood.

Raoul was soon finished with the porter, and, having told him that he would have more questions for him later, rejoined Christine (who had, by now, recomposed herself) and led her back inside.

On the way to the dormitory, they met Madame Giry, who was, of course, relieved to know that Christine was returned safely, and quite understanding of the fact that she had slept very poorly. All things considered, the girl could not be grudged a few hours more sleep.

When they reached the dormitory, Raoul kissed her once—uninhibited, as always—on the lips, and then again, on her forehead, before retreating so that she could undress. Would he guard her all day as well?

Once the door was closed and she was alone, she took the Phantom's ring out of its hiding place and admired it, fondling the warm metal between her still-chilly fingers just briefly before placing it under her pillow. She began to undress and, as she loosened the laces of her corset, stopped for a moment. He was there; she could always tell. Could he see her? Her face became very hot at the thought, but she resumed her action, her hands shaking when she unslotted the studs in the front of the corset to remove it, which she did without hesitation. Clad only in her cotton chemise, she crawled into her bunk, smiling, and lay down, rolling onto her side and curling up contentedly with half her face buried in her pillow.

She was very tired after the cold walk in the cemetery and from the tumult of emotions she'd experienced from midnight to dawn. The morning light now streaming in her window didn't bother her at all as she settled under her covers. She felt under her pillow for the gold ring and drew it out. The dark cat's eye stone it held had looked a rich bluish gray when she'd examined it in the faint light of dawn, but in the sunlight, it now seemed closer to green. She pondered this trick of the light briefly, and then kissed the treasured symbol before hiding it under the pillow again, holding it fast in her hand and drifting easily into the slumber that had evaded her the previous night.

~~~~~

In a passage beneath the opera house, the Phantom leaned against a wall; this, his first opportunity to properly examine the morning's haps and comprehend them—or attempt to.

The frames of the events swam in his head in total disorder, Christine's face the central feature of every picture. This was nothing new—but how changed everything else was.

Her performance in the carriage house had been magnificent.

Christine was not a devious creature by nature, he knew. Yet how perfectly she had beguiled the vicomte. How superbly she had played the mortified ingenue, clutching at her dashing hero and shaking in terror. It had so delighted him to watch her dupe the over-righteous whelp, that he had almost laughed aloud at how absolutely the gallant idiot had swallowed her affectations of dread.

She had followed his instructions exactly, and had met every query the damned fool had posed to her with aplomb. Further, she had used her own intuition to play to his boyish affection, while simultaneously deflecting his touches with such subtlety that the Phantom himself would almost have been convinced that nothing had changed in her feelings for her erstwhile lover, had he not known her face and mannerisms so well. He could see her underlying coolness at the vicomte's touch—especially because he could now compare it to the warmth she had exuded at his own.

The excellence of her acting and her nuanced defenses against the insolent boy's touches, however, did not mean that it had been easy to watch as he presumed to put his hands on Christine the way he did. Seeing him hold her or touch her face in such a cavalier manner had made him seethe, but when he'd shaken her, the Phantom had wanted nothing more than to cut the vicomte's hands off at his limp wrists. Christine had borne it dutifully, though. And all for his sake.

Only a very profound emotion could have compelled Christine Daaé to justify such willful falseness. And the boy had been utterly taken in. The young nobleman must truly never have known the joy of experiencing Christine's passion, even when they'd kissed so joyously on the rooftop—surely if he had, he would not have been able to mistake the sedate affection she had just now shown him for true love.

A small, hateful voice in the back of the Phantom's mind whispered for a moment that perhaps she was naturally deceitful and that it was he whom she was deceiving.

He beat that notion down.

He'd known her too long. Long before she'd had any idea there was a man behind the Angel of Music to deceive, she had shown daily in her behavior that the core of her character was both compassionate and honest.

And—he thought, a gentle weakness stealing over him—he could not disbelieve the instant, blushing exhilaration in her face as he had whispered his praise to her from the shadows (nothing like the timid humility she had always shown when he used to praise her as the Angel); or the trusting hand that had squeezed his, even as he acknowledged his guilt of murder.

Her expression of tenderness as he reached out and touched her face had been too ardent, the warmth in her eyes when he'd taken his ring from his finger and placed it on hers too pure. It was same welcoming warmth as when she'd first approached him and allowed him to fold her in his embrace. He couldn't bring himself to mistrust the earnestness with which she had clung to him and begged, with her breast heaving and rosy lips parted, for him to kiss her.

This could not be real—couldn't be true, he'd thought at the time. She could not be coming to him so readily... and yet could all of his senses delude him at once? Her voice requested, her eyes pleaded; her arms, her hands, clutched herself to him; and then, when, finally, he gave in to this astounding advance, her lips had guided his, and given them the courage which his doubt had tried to subdue.

He could still feel the reassuring warmth of her loving hand on his face, and then the heat of her mouth against his. The memories were a healing balm to his cracked soul.

It was too much, he thought now, as he slumped further against the wall. His legs felt weak just from remembering her pleasured moan as he'd gripped her waist, let his fingers dig into her, and forced the length of her body flush with his. Lust had begun to surge in him then, but nothing had risen from his passion because the emotion had just been too overwhelming. He'd not been prepared for the sensations to overpower him so. The reality of what was happening, of the fact that his hands had produced that sound from her--perhaps the very first time such a sound had ever escaped her--and the way it had poured right into his mouth... it had nearly crippled him. And then, at that vulnerable moment, he'd remembered that she had promised herself to that milksop of a vicomte! The only reason she did not wear Raoul de Chagny's ring was because he had stolen it from her neck. Surely then, this was a single kindness she'd chosen to bestow upon him—perhaps out of pity—which would never be repeated. His ardour had guttered in the cold wind of that thought.

But he'd been blessedly wrong. Her beseeching fervor had been wholly in earnest. There was a fire in her eyes as she affirmed it, and his all-but-extinguished passion had returned; but he had controlled it, though her zealous kiss had done its best to sorely test him.

And control had been difficult, but it was well worth the effort.

She'd come willingly to him, without shyness or apprehension, and it was even sweeter than in his dreams.

He couldn't have said exactly when the dreams had started��perhaps a little over a year ago—but it was around the time he'd begun to realize that the fondness and sense of kinship he felt for his protégé (emotions already so unique and foreign to him) had evolved into something much deeper; an intense love, a desperate longing, and he'd made up his mind to win her.

Whether the dreams had precipitated this epiphany, or been the results of it, he was equally unsure.

He allowed himself to sink to his knees in the shadowy passage; to sink into the truth of his fresh memories of the real Christine Daaé—not a siren in his imagination—actually seeking his love and offering hers in return.

She had come to him, imploring, "Kiss me, my Angel..."

It was not just a hope that he now held in his mind and hear as he knelt in the stygian shadows. The images in his thoughts were real, and they were just the beginning—a foretaste of a more complete union.

I will not leave you now.

She had declared herself for him, and the evidence of her blossoming desire, which had first begun to show themselves in his lair so many months ago, had all been made manifest in one morning—in her ruby lips; her dark, gleaming eyes; her enthusiastic kisses, her readiness to hold him and be held by him.

She had his ring... it had made him shake, to kiss that ring as it rested against her flawless knuckle, and the memory of seeing it there made him shake now. It was mere metal and stone, but it was his possession, and it was hers now. As he was.

All he was and all he had was entrusted to her, and she knew it. She accepted it; not only that, she kept the precious, gem-crowned band intimately close, even when she needed to hide it. The look on her face when she'd glanced up and seen him watching as the ring disappeared under the black, trimmed neckline, cut so very low—how his veins had sung at that moment! Deeply intimate, subtly erotic... and then the fervent sweetness with which she kissed it as she went to sleep....

She was his, and he would have her completely soon enough, he felt confident (he allowed himself confidence, but dared not presume certainty)—but all in time.

At the right time.

~~~

Author's Notes

[collecting-stories]

Has any one wrote a One Chicago and ER cross over fanfiction story? I would like to read one if there is

Talk about ER look at the stars through out the fifteen series of it !!!!!!

Ewan Mc Gregor, Kat Dennings, Kirsten Dunst, Sally Field, Octavia Spencer, Angela Bassett George Clooney, Linda Cardellini, David Schwimmer, John Stamos, William H Macy, Ming Na Wen, Ving Rhames, Rosemary Clooney, Kristin Davis, Abraham Benrubi, Jared Padalecki, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Piper Laurie, Mary Mara, Lucy Liu, Red Buttons, Scottie Pippen, John Aylward, Alex Kingston, Glenne Headley, Maria Bello, Jorja Fox, Omar Epps, Harry Lennix, Jami Gertz, Lisa Nicole Carson, Clancy Brown, Chad Lowe, Gedde Watanabe, George Eads, Mariska Hargitay, Taraji P Henson, Mickey Rooney, Eva Mendes, Kellie Martin, Julianna Margulies, Mare Winningham, Cress Williams, Keiko Agena, Xander Berkeley, Julie Bowen, Jessica Capshaw, Mike Doyle, Teri Garr, Djimon Hounsou, Marlee Matlin, Eric Christian Olsen, Holland Taylor, Erik Palladino, Alan Alda, Erica Gimpel, Troy Evans, Martha Plimpton, Gabrielle Union, Shia Le Beouf, Anton Yelchin, Mitch Pileggi, Dakota Fanning, Liza Weil, Maura Tierney, Elizabeth Mitchell, Mark Valley, Nancy Kwan, Judy Parfitt, Wentworth Miller, Alan Dale, Chris Sarandon, James Cromwell, Jim Belushi, Eric Stonestreet, Josh Peck, Sherry Stringfeld, Noah Wyle, Eriq La Salle, Mekhi Phifer, Julie Delpy, Mary McDonnell, Michael Gross, Lisa Vidal, Khandi Alexander, Kal Penn, Christina Hendricks, Kim Raver, Don Cheadle, Leslie Bibb, Tom Everett Scott, Chris Pine, Josh Radnor, Crispin Bonham Carter, Aaron Paul, Eli Wallach, Lake Bell, Josh Hutcherson, Ed Asner, Jerry Trainor, Zac Efron, Bob Newhart, J K Simmons, Jessica Chastain, Rocky Carroll, Leland Orser, Donal Logue, Danny Glover, Ray Liotta, Cynthia Nixon, Josh Gad, John Leguizamo, Corey Stoll, Kristen Johnson, Ernie Hudson, Eamonn Walker, Serena Williams, Stana Katic, James Woods, Stanley Tucci, Amy Aquino, Busy Phillips, Joe Manganiello, Estelle Harris, Garret Dillahut, Lois Smith, Forest Whitaker, Parminder Nagra, Mae Whitman, Peter Fonda, Steve Buscemi, Thandiwe Newton, Rooney Mara, Ariel Winter, Susan Sarandon, Judy Greer, Alexis Bledel & Chadwick Boseman,

I’m not sure but yeah, I have watched all 15 seasons of ER.

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟

˗ˏˋ𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 —grumpy!erik johnson x sunshine!nanny!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.1k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — in erik's absence, his nanny takes over staging the family's elf on the shelf in order to keep the magic alive for his children. results are... questionable.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i'm unhealthily attached to this made-up family send help

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

JOSIE JOHNSON is thoroughly unimpressed by her Elf.

“Snow angels? In sprinkles? Groundbreaking.”

Dissatisfaction narrows her gray-blue eyes as she stands in front of the kitchen island.

Bernard, the Johnson family’s special scout from the North Pole, is lying limp against the marble countertop in a pool of red and green. The sugary spillage is low-effort at best, especially compared to his iPad drive-in movie yesterday and the miniature golf course the day before that.

Dumping a container of cheap sprinkles—and not even the expensive variety with confetti shapes and edible glitter—wasn’t going to cut it.

Someone was going to have to do better.

“Uh-oh! Looks like Bernard had a wild night,” Erik Johnson, her father, announces as he pads in from the dining room.

If he thinks he’s being subtle, he’s doing a terrible job. His daughter can see straight through him; his voice goes all sorts of wonky when he has a secret.

And his dye-stained fingertips aren’t doing him any favors, either.

“Wild for who? A first grader?”

Josie was in second grade now. She is far too smart to fall for his poor acting and, evidently, much too cool to bother with humoring him.

Erik cocks his head to the side. His kid could be snarky, but she typically postponed doling out remarks until the afternoon. Or until he’s had his second helping of caffeine.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, he thinks to himself.

Aloud, though, he opts for a simple joke. “Well, I think it was wild. Do I look like a first grader to you?”

He sets his coffee mug beside the espresso machine and puffs out his chest like a peacock. Erik’s already 6’4 without trying, so when he raises both hands and lefts onto his tip-toes for emphasis, his head nearly brushes the ceiling. He’s grinning, wide and bright.

He expects his daughter to giggle at his antics like she did when she was younger or, at the very least, crack a reluctant smile out of second-hand embarrassment.

She does neither.

Rather than pearly teeth, Erik’s met with the whites of her eyes. If Josie had rolled them any harder, they'd have gotten stuck facing the wrong way. That’s what her older brother, Reese, told her whenever she did it.

The irony of the repeated red-lettered phrase "Be Nice!" on the white background of her Grinch-themed pajamas isn’t lost on him.

“Josephine Johnson, I thought I made myself clear the last time we talked about this; you do not roll your eyes at me. Or anyone, for that matter. It’s very rude,” he reprimands sternly. “What’s gotten into you?”

Josie crosses her arms, unphased, and fixes him with an unwavering glare. She could do this all day if need be.

“What’d she do this time?” Reese asks through a yawn as he strolls into the kitchen.

You, the family’s live-in nanny, are not far behind. You’re rubbing the sleep from the corners of your tired eyes when Josie darts to your side.

She looks up at you expectantly, eyes wide and pleading. Silently, they beg for you to agree to whatever she’s planning to say next.

“Can you be in charge of it again? Please, please, please?” she asks, so sweetly she might give herself a cavity.

Josie tugs on your arm to drive home her adolescent anguish when you aren’t instantly compliant.

Panic fizzles in your chest. There was no way she knew, right?

She couldn’t. No way. You were still a few years off from the dicey reveal. No one in her grade had spilled the beans yet, and the adults in her life were content to keep up the ruse.

Surely, she meant as the Elf’s supervisor or an assistant.

Wrong.

“Bernard looks so much cooler whenever Dad lets you set up his pranks instead of doing it himself. See? Look how lazy he was this time,” Josie explains while tugging you over to the scene of the crime. “All he did was spill my sprinkles all over the counter and set my Elf on top of the mess. Like, could it get any lamer than that? He’s probably all sticky now, and he’ll have to stay that way because he’d drown in the washing machine!” 

“No, I didn’t,” Erik says a little too quickly, tone noticeably defensive. “Bernard—who is perfectly fine and not sticky at all, for the record—must’ve been way too tired when he got back from visiting Santa last night to do anything else. He didn’t even bother making it hard for you to find him this morning. I’d do something “lame” too if I spent the entire night flying home from far, far away.”

Bernard wasn't the only member of their household who spent the night up in the inky sky; Erik had been in an entirely different country only four hours ago. And, instead of going straight to bed like his body urged him, he spent an hour arranging the stupid little Elf into what he thought was a fun scenario for his daughter to find the following morning.

Now, he wishes he had just left Bernard on the mantle.

He blames you. They wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t introduced her to the concept. Fuck your quirky childhood tradition. All it'd caused were problems.

“I’m not a baby anymore. I know Bernard isn’t actually one of Santa’s elves!” Josie shouts, growing angry.

Reese mumbles something to the effect of “Could’ve fooled me…” under his breath, and Josie’s face pinches with frustration.

Like the miniature teenager she’s rapidly morphing into, the youngest Johnson massages the fold between her eyebrows. Then, her outburst matures into an accusation. “I know you’ve been hiding him this whole time.”

Erik balks at the allegation.

Irritated, she continues, “I’ve been sneaking down to watch you do it since I was, like, five years old. It's not my fault you aren't very observant. Or that your footsteps sound like an elephant’s. But I don’t care about that. I don't care that I know, but I do care how much effort you put into it.”

Josie clutches your hand in hers and smiles. She could get away with murder with the deep dimples indented on either side of her mouth —and she knows it, too.

She also knows flattery can get her wherever she wants. “Which is why I want you to take over again. You did such a good job while he was away. The goldfish in the paper pond was super cute, and you even made sure he was watching my favorite movie at the drive-in!" 

“Fine, you know what? You’re right,” Erik confesses, conceding to his eight-year-old with a toss of his hands. “And if it really matters that much, I’ll never touch the Elf again. Okay? I give up full control and responsibility.”

Josie positively beams. She always got her way eventually.

“So, how did you even figure it out, anyway?” Reese asks.

The question is garbled; he couldn’t wait until his mouth wasn’t full of Lucky Charms to make his inquiry.

“How could I not?” Josie retorts. Her facial expression is equal parts annoyance and ridicule. Reese’s eyes loop. His little sister clarifies with a huff, “Obviously, he isn’t a real elf, Reese. Santa needs all the help he can get to make sure everyone on the Nice List gets exactly what they asked for every year. Why would he send an actual elf, who should be building a bike or sewing a teddy bear, to spy on me for weeks?”

Fair point, you think to yourself.

“Wait a minute... If you knew he wasn’t real the entire time, why did you let us keep hiding him?” Erik asks, a quizzical dent in his forehead. 

Josie perks up, apparently thrilled to clue them in on the motivation behind her feigned ignorance. “Mrs. Thornton says even adults need a creative outlet because it makes them happier. Especially when they’re grouchy. Clearly, you’re the exception, Daddy.”

Reese honks, sending milk across the room from his nostrils.

Your sudden amusement is muffled by your free hand.

If it were humanly possible, there would be steam billowing from Erik’s crimson ears.

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[tonyspep]

omg bre this was so cuuuuuuuuute i loved it as always you write ej so well and really capture his personality 🫶

43 from prompt list 3 with EJ 🫶 the most competitive golfer lol

you suggest mini golfing as a fun, different date idea and ej seemed so excited about it so you were looking forward to going. what you weren't prepared for was your boyfriend's level of competitiveness even in mini golf.

while you're playing for the fun of it, ej takes it a little too seriously and wants to win or beat you out on every single hole. you honestly don't mind because seeing his big toothless smile is worth it all and you aren't good at golf in any capacity so you came in expecting to lose. plus, the kisses he gives you after you sink the ball makes your heart flutter.

it isn't until the last hole that luck is on your side. because as ej struggles to get the ball in the hole in the correct amount of strokes, you miraculously get a hole in one. that alone stuns ej because he's so proud of you, but can't understand how he wasn't able to that too.

"i can't believe you got a hole in one! on the hardest hole of the whole course!" he says for the thousandth time since handing your clubs in. "maybe we'll have to get you out on a real course."

"there's no way." you laugh, kissing his cheek. "mini golf will always be more my speed."

[imperfectmuse]

Hi, you can call me Freyja, I mostly just reblog whatever I see and enjoy, which doesn't necessarily relate to my main interests, but I figured I'd share my main interests 💛

Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel

Psych

Marvel (Daredevil, Avengers, Deadpool, X-Men)

DC (Peacemaker, Arrow, Flash, Justice League, Young Justice)

The Almighty Johnsons

Wicked

Halsey

Sabrina Carpenter

Taylor Swift

Ariana Grande

I'm also pretty big into shipping and fanfiction but here's some of my big faves:

Gracie Abrams

Spike x Angel

Shawn Spencer x Carlton Lassiter

Elphaba Thropp x Glinda Upland

Buffy x Spike

Buffy x Angel

Matt Murdock x Foggy Nelson

Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

Steve Rogers x Tony Stark

Deadpool x Wolverine

Charles Xavier x Erik Lehnsherr

Adrian Chase x Christopher Smith

Oliver Queen x Quentin Lance

Oliver Queen x Tommy Merlyn

Oliver Queen x Barry Allen

Oliver Queen x Slade Wilson

Wally West x Bruce Wayne

Wally West x Dick Grayson

I also do have a Shassie side blog @pineapplesnhandcuffs

[miracleonice87]

Turn The Lights Off, Carry Me Home with Nathan MacKinnon (feat. Erik Johnson) - part two of Feelings and the Final

a/n: I mean, was there really another gif I could use? 😂 congrats to the Colorado Avalanche! hope you guys enjoy this one. the part about Gabe is completely true and comes from the most recent episode of Spittin Chiclets where they interview EJ lol. obviously for legal reasons the part about Nate and EJ is fiction lmao!

warnings: swearing, alcohol, nudity, allusions to / jokes about smut but nothing graphic

word count: ~1,200

_____

Nate was crying again. Tears of joy again, for which you were grateful. You couldn’t imagine the alternative… except, after last season, you supposed that you nearly could.

But this year, he had done it. The man who had disgustedly announced that he “hadn’t won shit” after last season’s crushing end, had now, indeed, won shit.

Your husband had won the damn Stanley Cup.

And here the two of you stood at center ice at Amalie, his frame towering over yours in his skates as he held you with every ounce of strength he had, sniffling as tears tracked down his face. His cheek rested against the top of your head, and you couldn’t even muster up a joke about his sweaty beard mussing your hair because of the desperation you felt radiating from him.

In the moments where he felt his world was crumbling around him, when he felt himself buckling under the weight of infinite expectations, none heavier than his own – Nate needed you in those moments. He needed you to be his anchor, to hold him together when he knew he could fall apart at any second.

And in the moments where he felt so light and buoyant and joyful that he was afraid he may just float away – he needed you in those moments, too. Like this one, right here. He needed you to ground him even in victory, even in his relief. Having you in his arms was his only clue that this was, indeed, real life.

He eventually drew a deep breath and stood up straight, settling his eyes on you. He shook his head in silence, still trying to find a grip on this reality.

As you pressed your hands to his cheeks, you only wanted to know one thing.

“Was it worth it?”

As a smile slowly turned up the corners of Nate’s mouth, you knew he knew exactly what you meant.

Was it worth it? Waking up at 4 a.m. as a kid to travel two, three, or more towns over to practice on free ice. Moving away from home at 15. Not attending university like the rest of the guys he’d grown up with and feeling like he was missing out. Was it worth it? Rarely getting to travel home to see his family during the season for more than 24 hours, if that. Birthdays and anniversaries and weddings that absolutely broke his heart to miss. Having to leave you at home for long road trips. The injuries and heartbreak and doubts and sweat and blood and tears. Was it worth it?

Nate nodded, then kissed your forehead.

“It was,” he assured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank you for believing in me.”

You wrapped your arms around his sturdy waist and leaned against his chest.

“Until the world stops, baby.”

_____

You’d stumbled into your room, a handsy Nate pressed against your back, no earlier than 7:30 the next morning after a good 10 or so hours of partying with the team and their families. He’d barely let you tap your key card to open the door, in favor of mouthing hungrily at your neck and jawline as you fumbled with the door handle, giggling all the while. Eventually, somehow, the lock had clicked open, and before you knew it, Nate had ushered you inside and pushed you against the closet door, his lips on yours as he pushed the beer-and-champagne-soaked denim “29” jacket from your shoulders and tore the maroon silk camisole from your skin.

No, he literally tore the seam.

You scoffed and playfully smacked his shoulder. “Nathan!” you gaped accusingly, but he could see the mischievous glimmer in your eyes.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he muttered before hoisting you upward, your legs automatically wrapping around his hips. He took a few long stride with you koala’d around him, dropped you onto the mattress, and took his fill of you until neither one could keep your eyes open for another second, drifting into a glorious, blissful haze.

You’d assumed you’d been asleep for hours when you heard a knock at the door. You blinked bleary eyes to peer at the alarm clock on the bedside table: 9:16.

You groaned and flopped back onto your pillows, knowing you’d put the privacy card outside your door for the entire stay. Whoever it was would have to wait. You burrowed back under the covers and pressed yourself into a still-sleeping Nate’s chest. For a few more seconds. Until the knock came again. Louder this time. You let out a growl, which finally stirred Nate.

“What’s happening?” he moaned, voice hoarse.

“Nate,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“EJ, I swear to god, I’m gonna murder you,” Nate called back, pulling an extra pillow over his face. “Go away. Go to bed.”

“Why? Are you guys having sexual intercourse?”

“Erik!” “EJ!” You and Nate both sat up in bed as you shouted your warnings.

“I won’t look, just open the door,” Erik promised. “Trust me.”

Nate rolled his eyes, pulled the covers up to shield your bare chest, threw on a robe from the closet, and opened the door… to find Erik Johnson butt-ass naked with the Cup in his hands, covering his… manhood. An enormous, toothless grin on his face as he peered into the room over Nathan’s shoulder.

“First of all, you said you weren’t gonna look,” Nate pointed out, rubbing his forehead. “Second… what the fuck are you doing?”

EJ pushed his way past Nate and let himself into the room, placing the Cup on the TV stand.

“First of all,” EJ mocked, gesturing to where you lay in bed, “she’s all covered. Unfortunately.” That last addition earned him a backhanded smack to the chest from your husband. “Oww! Jesus. And second, this is how Gabe delivered the Cup to me this morning, so I wanted to keep the tradition going,” he shrugged. “She’s all yours!” he exclaimed, squeezing Nate’s shoulder as he headed for the door, pausing at the closet. He turned to you.

“Can I borrow your robe?” he asked, glancing at the garment.

You sighed then made a sweeping gesture with your arm.

“Have at it,” you said dryly.

EJ nodded enthusiastically, taking the robe from the hanger and wrapping it around himself.

“Thanks,” he said simply. “Okay, I’ll leave you three alone. See you later. Love you.”

With a loud kiss to Nate’s cheek and one last grin your way, he was off, the door shutting itself behind him. Nate simply looked at you and shook his head, laughing quietly.

“What a fucking nut job,” he giggled, then glanced at the Cup. “But this is pretty sweet though, right?”

You nodded, then gestured for him to bring the trophy closer. “Might as well make the most of it,” you said. “C’mon, let’s take some naked, messy bed selfies to embarrass our kids with someday.”

Nate beamed, shedding the robe. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[equallyshaw]

The Medicated Series: features OC's with medical issues such as depression, anxiety, physical disabilities such as MS or Rheumatoid Arthritis as well as any other autoimmune disease such as Crohn's, endometriosis, infertility, etc. (not an autoimmune but you get it).

I feel, as a person with a physical disability, that there is a lack of representation and have always wanted to see myself in y/n stories. Always have and always will.

In my writing, it will have inclusivity, not exclusivity.

Love you all, stay healthy and safe.

I'm starting off with rheumatoid arthritis since this is what I have, and have so much to say ! haha. Enjoy xx

Links for information regarding rheumatoid arthritis:

https://www.cdc.gov/arthritis/basics/rheumatoid-arthritis.html

https://www.arthritis.org/diseases/rheumatoid-arthritis

triggers/warnings: medications, disformity, and talks of depression/anxiety.

Cale Makar Medicated Series Master post:

Original Character: Eliza Nicole James, 23 years old. Brunette Hair, Blue Eyes, short and curvy.

Word count: 4k.

——

Today was like any normal day. My hands are stiff, my knees unable to properly move, probably shouldn't have had that Chinese food last night but alas, here we are. When I have something like Chinese, Mexican food, or pizza, my body goes into overdrive, and well, it wants to stop working even more so than it already does. I'll wake up with night sweats which is exactly what happened this morning, and now I am walking like a penguin trying to make coffee in my kitchen as well as some toast.

“Bad morning?” my best friend/godsend/caregiver Becca smiled from her computer in the little breakfast nook. I nodded, holding onto the counter with whatever strength I had. “Fuck.” I rasped, realizing I didn't grab my coffee creamer, “Here.” Becca said getting up and bringing me my coffee creamer and giving me a hug. Today was a rough one. My rheumatoid arthritis hasn't been this bad in a while. I go through periods where I'm up and then others are down and today I was down. I’ll need a shit ton of Tylenol to get through. Maybe the full 6 before 4 pm today when I get off of work.

It is currently 7:30 in the morning and i have to get to work by 10, since i have a physical disability, i am allowed to work 10-4 every day - most days. Some days I work less and others I can work a full 8 hours. But today might be only 6 if i can manage. But wait no, today we were having this hockey team come in and visit kids that had terminal illness’. I am a social worker working with kids who are like me or similar, where we will never get better. Never. Go figure.

Becca helped me back to my room to help me get started on my morning routine since she could see I was having a day.

“Okay pretty girl, what pants and shirt today?” she asked, looking in my closet as I sat down on my bed. I bit my cheek before responding, “anything that looks good. I don’t really have the energy or ability to decide right now.” I breathed , realizing that the brain fog was kicking in. When that happens, I tend to get dizzy, the inability to concentrate and sound a bit drunk due to my words slurring.

—

As soon as I walked in, I noticed a bunch of people with microphones and cameras and I groaned internally as I walked down the hall. Eric noticed me as soon as I walked past him and a huge group of guys, the hockey team I believe.

"Eliza!” Eric called after me, and I continued to trudge towards my office and once I walked in I noticed a Trenta iced coffee waiting for me and I smiled, I could cry happy tears right now. My body always could use so much caffeine at one time. I never did not have enough energy. Eric walked in and gave me a sad smile behind me, “Eliza, you should have told me how bad it was today. You didn't need to come in.” he said looking at my cane that i was sporting. I waved him off, taking a big gulp of my coffee as I sat down.

“Thankyou ric, i appreciate it so much.” I murmured and rested my eyes for a second. The energy to get from the outpatient pavilion doors to my office seemed like nothing to a ‘healthy’ person but for me, it was like climbing up mount everest sometimes. Eric sat down across from me, speaking into the walkie he sported sometimes for events. “We should be able to start in 15 minutes. Our star speaker should be ready then.” he said, talking about me and I groaned out loud. Eric took notice and leaned forward on his knees, inspecting me.

“I'll be fine, even if I stumble over a few of my words and they think I'm drunk.” I sipped some more coffee, preparing myself for the day ahead. eric gave me a hearty laugh, knowing full well the extent of my comments.

—

“Now, I would like to introduce you to our very own warrior, miss Eliza James.” Eric announced looking at me at the side of the stage and I smiled, handing him my cane as he met me. He gave me an inquisitive look and I shook my head, smiling. I began to walk towards the podium, walking almost perfectly now that the 3 Tylenol I popped in the car ride over were kicking in.

I looked out over the crowd that was filled with hockey players, media, doctors, therapists, and so many of the warriors themselves.

I smiled before speaking, “good morning and welcome to the Denver Medical Center, Hillside outpatient pavilion for our little warriors. Who, like me, face an uphill battle day in and day out. We are incredibly grateful for your support, especially during these trying times.” I paused, taking a shaky breath.

“I first came here when I was 12, not understanding what my body was going through. I remember the first day I woke up with the inability to move. I could not get out of bed for a month after that, barely functioning to be able to eat and sleep well. I did not know why my body was giving up on me, I was angry, I was sad, I was confused. How could a little girl who did everything right- be dealt this card in life? I went through many weeks not understanding what was happening until I came here, after a long few days of testing and blood work. It was the day after I turned 12 that the incredibly kind and understanding Dr. Hart - who is here today - told me what I had. And told me that I was not alone, that I'd never be alone. And she was right, after many months of fighting through pain and virtually relearning how to walk every morning again, how to hold a spoon, a pen or how to properly sleep, I came to this hospital and met people just like me. I met people like Martha, Phillip, James, and Piper who are all here today. Who I am so very fortunate to work with every day.” I paused, smiling at them in the crowd. “Without the help that I received many years ago, I wouldn't be standing here today. I wouldn’t be who I am, doing what I love. Without the many years of physical, occupational, and talk therapy that took up my youth.” I paused taking in a breath. “And finally, many people ask us, “how do we do it?” “How are you so resilient?” and I always respond, what other choice do we have? What other options do we have? And every day with the little warriors in front of us, people witness that being in pain and living with it is possible and maybe just maybe, we won’t have to be so resilient. Thank you.” I finished smiling a grateful smile.

What I didn't notice was how moved some of the hockey players were, and the tears that brimmed their eyes over the unimaginable. Yeah, it's unimaginable until you wake up one day with it.

I walked back towards Eric, with a smile on my face as he clapped happily for me. “You did so well!” he grinned before walking past me to finish the opening and then we could get around to the hockey players meeting the patients. As soon as he was finished, I walked over to the kiddos and said good morning to them.

Martha, my favorite little Irish dancer, jumped up and gave me a big hug, “How are we doing today M?” I asked bending over a little bit to face her and be on her level. “It's okay! I can bend my fingers more today than yesterday and my hand’s aren’t as puffy.” the 7-year-old beamed. “And oh my god that's makar!!!” she said in a smaller voice, and i peered over to look to see who she was looking at and not realizing who was who. I smiled, looked back at Martha and grinned, “Wanna go color?” I asked and she nodded excitedly as her mom laughed. “Always down to color anytime, any day.” she mused and I giggled understanding her excitement. I took her hand and began to walk with her towards the play area as well as the ‘playroom’ that was used for music therapy and art therapy. Which I help facilitate and run. Five minutes later the players all shuffled in and began to walk toward different kids and began to hang out with them. I was sitting at the coloring table with Martha rubbing circles on my deformed knee. Let’s just say it was bumpy and had no cartilage left, so I was literally joint on bone.

“Hi. is this seat taken?” a young voice asked to the side of me, Martha eyed me. That nervous little chick. I shook my head, “no not at all.” I said with a small smile, taking in the hazel-eyed dark blonde-haired boy. He smiled and sat down in between Martha and I. “So what are you drawing?” the hockey player asked. Martha didn't say anything. “She's a bit shy, give her some time.” I said getting a bit closer to the guy and he nodded looking back at me.

“My name is Cale, what’s yours?” he asked after a few minutes of coloring. cale. “Mar-martha.” the young girl said and Cale smiled. “You have a pretty name, Martha.” Cale mused and Martha blushed. So did cale. “And you are Eliza right?” Cale asked, facing me a bit and I nodded.

“Hey Shelley, I'll be back. I need to go speak to Dr.hart for a few minutes.” I said to Martha's mom and she nodded. Okay, you can do this. No falling now. I pushed back the chair a bit to give myself some room, hoisting myself up and putting my weight on the table. Cale and Martha eyed me, making sure I was ok.

I stood up, flexing my knees a bit and sighing. “You ok Eliza?” Cale asked concerned and I looked down at him for a second before nodding, “Just another day with these old knees.” I half-joked before turning on my heel and walking towards the hallway. Dr. Hart looked up from her desk, before getting up and meeting me halfway. “Bad day?” she asked and I nodded. She nodded, walking over to her desk and grabbing a doctor’s script. “10 mg prednisone. Now.'' She said handing me a doctor's order and I thanked her before heading down to the pharmacy, not without letting a social worker know and having them tell Martha that if I could - I'd be back.

It was a few hours later as I was sitting at my desk, going through some paperwork before I heard a knock on my door. I looked up and saw Cale and I motioned for him to come in.

“Hey- you forgot this.” he said moving the cane closer to me and my eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh! I will never go anywhere without this thing.” I said standing up to grab it. “Thankyou.” I said smiling as I reached for it and he nodded, “Here sit down.” I motioned toward the two seats in front of my desk. “How was Martha? Did she come out of her shell?” I asked and he nodded, grinning. “She's funny and spunky for a 7-year-old. She chirps like a pro.” he said and I laughed. “Oh yeah- keeps you on your toes.” I said and he laughed.

“But that's good. Things like this-” I said referencing the event, “make things sometimes less stressful. Even though when you grow up and don’t have the opportunity to do things like this, as a kid it’s what you look forward to. It takes your mind away from everything, even just for a little bit.” I said rambling before catching myself. “Sorry, didn’t mean to talk that much.” I said with my cheeks going red. He gave a smile, one that I couldn’t read. “All good, I like hearing you talk.” he said before catching himself, “I mean, I like hearing what you have to say. It’s eye-opening and raw. Which I think the dads in the group needed to hear. That things could change one morning and have it not be the same.” he said honestly and I nodded. “It still doesn’t get better, even 11 years later- my dad still gets upset and how he can’t help me in the way he wants to or ‘protect’ me.” I confessed. “13 years? Wow.” Cable said dumbfounded. “Yep, I'm still so young and it's daunting and honestly depressing thinking about the rest of my life. I never thought I'd get to 18 let alone 21. But here I am at 23.” I added and he took that in like a sponge. “Well I'm glad you’re here, it seems as though you are making an impact. And mean so much to these people. Is it true you helped start this wing of the hospital?” he asked very curiously. I nodded, “Yep, there was a room in the hospital next store where we would meet 2 times a week. Here, we meet every day if possible or we have rotating kids that come for therapy and to simply be a kid with others who are going through the exact same thing.” Cale nodded in awe.

Like yeah, it's one thing to be passionate, but it's another to feel the joy come after putting in the time and effort to help kids just like you. It’s more than rewarding.

“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence. “Ye-yeah, brain fog is bad today and I also got some steroids so I’m in a funk.” I laughed and he did too. “I hate to be forward- but could I possibly get your number? Take you to coffee or whatever you feel comfortable with?” Cale asked and I froze. I looked him in the eyes, not registering what he was saying. “Uh- wait what?” I asked before realizing what I had said. “Could I possibly get your number?” he asked, feeling nervous. “Um, hmmm. That's a first.'' I said, chuckling and closing my eyes as I leaned back in my chair. “Nobody has ever asked me for my number before.” I said, reopening my eyes. Cale was taken back by that. She was gorgeous, down to-earth, and friendly, how could somebody not like her? “Here.” I said handing him my card with my email and work cell number there. “I just want to let you know, there is a very real possibility that I will cancel like I could wake up one morning feeling fine- and then bam as soon as I’m heading out the door, I have to go back to sleep or stay in because of something. '' I said, hoping he’d understand.

“If you do, there will always be another day. I promise.” he smiled a genuine smile that made my bad knees crumble as I stood up. “That's a very sweet cale, but you might be thinking differently when the time comes.” I said hoping he’d understand and I wouldn’t have get my hopes up. “Again- they’ll be another day. Or if you feel comfortable, I could always bring food or coffee over and we can hang out that way. I just want you to feel comfortable.” he said, hoping she’d get the message that he wouldn’t leave or ignore her. I nodded, “thanks cale.” and smiled.

“Now, if you don't mind- I'm outta here for the day.” I said, grabbing my laptop bag and cane, and heading out the door. “Wait, do you want me to help you?” He asked me as he followed me out. I shook my head, “I might look like I’m fragile but I can do a lot by myself.'' I said confidently and he nodded sporting red cheeks. We came up to the pavilion doors, meeting some of the hockey players that were waiting around. As soon as Cale walked up, they noticed me and smiled.

“Thank you guys again for coming out today, I assure you the kiddos won’t stop talking about this for months. It made their year.” I said smiling and they nodded. “Of Course! We had a really good time, I believe we are coming back in a few weeks to do this again.” a tall blonde and beautiful man said. mental note: gabriel landeskog. I nodded, “We will see you guys then.” I said before walking out the electric sliding doors.

“Bye James! Please don’t fall!” Eric joked/yelled from the counter, as Becca pulled up. I opened the door, and waved back to Eric, chuckling a bit. “I’ll try my very best for you, Ric!” I mused before getting in the seat.

“You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” I said as I sat down in the car.

“Ouuu tell me!!!” Becca said as we pulled away. “A hockey player asked for my number.” I said shyly. “Wait!!!!” Becca said, looking over and screaming at me. “Oh my god oh my god!!!! This is the best news!!” Becca exclaimed, causing me to laugh.

“Uh huh, just wait until he sees how many issues I have and then he’ll start running for the hills.” I remarked and she gave me a frown. “No, don't think that. He talked to you after hearing what you had to say spoonie. (autoimmune nickname) Don’t doubt yourself. You don’t realize how much of an enigma you are sweetie.” she said, grabbing ahold of my hand.

“Yeah right.” I said starting to get even more defeated. My phone buzzed in my lap, and I looked down to see a text from an unknown number.

“Text me a time and place, and I'll be there. No rush, just let me know whenever :)” the text read.

“He even put on a smiley face!!” Becca pointed out making a turn at the light.

Maybe just maybe, cale was giving her the time of day, that she deserved so very much.

—

It was a month later, that the team and orginization were going to be highlighting and honoring the kiddos from the pavilion. It warmed my heart to see how much the team was getting out of these little kids. So when I got a call from Joe Sakic himself, I was floored. They personally wanted me to facilitate the evening in whatever fashion I wanted and they’d provide anything and everything for us.

Martha and I walked hand in hand into Ball Arena, it was two hours before puck drop and we were going to see the team before the game started. Well, they were- I was just there as moral support for Martha.

Martha beamed as we walked through the tunnels, rambling on about seeing Cale again. Her and cale had become thick of thieves the few times he had been around. Sometimes on his own without the team, to see Martha and ofcourse me. We had been talking for pretty much the whole month and even had made it to two dates outside of my apartment, the other two were in my sanctuary. Cale had been so sweet and understanding, but it was only a matter of time.

Martha noticed Cale from down the hall and pointed at him, and began to get even more excited.

Cale and a couple of the other players were playing soccer, getting into the zone for the game, and relaxing a bit. “Martha, he’s busy. We will see him in a bit, ok?” I said leaning down to Martha’s eyesight and she nodded with a bit of a pout. “Were gonna go meet Sakic ok?” I said and she nodded as we headed towards Joe Sakic’s office with the nine other kids that could make it tonight. We walked past the group of players, with me attempting to keep them all in line, making sure they got to the first destination. They were like any other kids, they were excited to see the players and had to be reigned in in order for them to not disturb the players. We walked towards the office and saw the king himself, waiting outside of his office talking to my manager- Eric who wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“Hi, guys!! How are you doing?” he asked the kids as we got closer. All ten of them began to shout, and go crazy. It was a sight to see. I watched from behind them, taking in their excitement, and laughed at the whole ordeal. This is why I got into social work, to see things like this happen. And Joe Sakic was taking it all in like a pro, kneeling down and commenting on their jerseys and hats, etc. He was also quite the jokester too. After a few minutes of watching from afar, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Cale. I smiled widely, taking in his presence. “Hi Cale, how are you?” I asked turning around to give him my full attention. “I'm good, how are you today? Any surprises? I see you don’t have your cane.” he asked and I shook my head. “No, thankfully. It’s a good day.” I mused. “Well I am glad. You excited for the game?” he asked and I nodded, “This is actually my first in person game ever, so Martha promised me she’d show me the ropes. Her family being season ticket holder and what not.” I joked causing him to grin. Speak of the devil. “Cale!!!!!” Martha screamed jogging past the rest of the kids and Joe Sakic, and Cale opened his arms and kneeled to her height. Oh, how it would be lovely to kneel again.

Awhile later, the kids were running around or tempting to run around the locker room greeting all the players and having them sign their jerseys. I stood in the doorway leading into the hallway, feeling somewhat overwhelmed but kept telling myself to deal with it because who knows when this would ever happen again. I looked towards Martha who was in front of Nathan Mackinnon giving him pointers on how to not fall so much since the last game, apparently he kept falling. Nathan was enjoying this very much and played along with it, taking her notes and corrections very seriously. Even another player, Erik Johnson joined in with his so-called notes. Martha was a gem, everybody could tell. “You alright? Ever since we walked in here, you’ve been quiet.” Cale asked me as I stepped out into the hall for a brief moment. I was overwhelmed, overstimulated, and just wanted to find some coffee and a pretzel and call it an evening.

“Yeah-yeah I’m fine.” I said giving him a fake smile, which he didnt believe. “Im exhausted, I need to find some coffee and just chill. As much as I love all of this, it's overwhelming. Not gonna lie.” I confessed and he nodded. “Is there anything I can do?” cale asked, hoping he could ease some of the burden. “I’ll be fine, we will be heading to our seats shortly.” I said and he nodded. “Will I be able to see you tonight after the game?” he asked hopefully and I frowned. “Probably not Cale, I will be passed out as soon as the game is over. I know that’s not something you want to hear, but that’s me. I’m afraid.” I said and he shook his head, putting a hand on my arm. “How many times do I have to tell you, that whatever you can do is perfectly fine?” he said genuinely causing a chuckle to escape my lips. “Okay, ill text you though. No promises.” I said as the kids started to walk out.

“Pretzel time, Eliza!!!” Martha shouted causing Cale and I to laugh. “And coffee!” Shelley, Martha’s mom added and I pointed at her with a grin. “You know it!” I mused before turning back to cale. “Have a good game.” I said and he nodded and thanked me before heading back in the locker room.

“Have a good time, James!” I heard from behind me, seeing Bo Byram and I rolled my eyes laughing and waving him off.

“Now let’s see what all this hockey fuss is about, Martha.” I joked causing her to groan playfully and ramble about everything that had to do with hockey. It was time to make notes if I were to continue to see Cale.

What Eliza didn’t know was that she’d be seeing a lot more of Cale inside and outside of work in the coming months.

…

And I know cale wasn’t featured a lot here— but he will be :)

I hope you guys enjoyed it!! I can’t wait to dive more into there relationship.

Let me know!

Please like, repost, and if you want to - give me a follow to get many more stories like this and others :)

[horsesandhockeyplayers]

Fourth Line Grinder-- Part 11

Author’s Note:  This beautiful header is courtesy of @whatishockey​​ and her brilliant creative mind. We continue with ALL NEW content as EJ and Nell figure out their relationship. Please see the masterlist post to see the 2019 Pacific Classic as an example race

Word Count: 5118

Word Count TOTAL: 65,488

Song: Dark Horse - Aaron Watson

Synopsis:  Nell Sayer, often called The Witch for her ability to heal horses that are deemed lost causes, is content with her life. With a job where she makes a good living and her two best friends, Nell is unprepared for the changes a meeting with a once-in-a-lifetime horse and his incorrigible owner brings, knocking her off her feet…literally. If only she were as good at listening to her heart as she is at listening to the animals she loves.

Tag List: @laurenairay, @danglesnipecelly, @hockeylvr59, @whatishockey, @thebookofmags, @princessphilly, @glassdanse, @tippedbykreider, @iangiemae, @kotkaniemi-caufield-mom, @marcoscandellas, @mac-blackwood, @fanficrecsby-e​

Part 11 

The feeling of kisses being pressed along my naked spine woke me. True to my word I had accompanied Erik to Denver when he signed the papers for the property. I was staying at his modest Denver home for four days before flying back to San Diego.

Grinder came out of the Eddie Read with no issues, in fact he was so fit he was beginning to get rambunctious in a way that had Dick considering what to do with him if he qualified for the Breeder’s Cup in the Pacific Classic. There were two full months between qualifying and actually racing in the Longines Classic.

But that was a problem for another day. Thick fingers slipped between my vaginal lips and I moaned into the mattress. EJ pushed two fingers inside me and down to probe my G spot while his thumb rubbed my clit. I came in record time as he laughed against my shoulder blades, his hand following my gyrating hips as I shook from the orgasm.

Mile high sunshine was starting to filter into the bedroom and I knew from experience it couldn’t be much past 5am.

Erik kneeled between my spread legs and he lifted my boneless body onto all fours by my hips. We both moaned as the head of his cock slid inside me. His pace was languid and lazy as he slid a hand between my breasts and lifted me up pressing my back against his chest.

I raised my arms and clasped them behind his head, pulling him down for a kiss. I liked any kind of sex with Erik, but I loved these relaxed mornings, lazy fucking and morning breath until we had our fill of orgasms and hunger sent us to the kitchen for breakfast. It was messy and wet and I made a mental note to get a generous gift card for his housekeeper.

He continued his lazy thrusts, his hand sliding down my body and across my lower stomach like he could feel his dick inside me. Continuing down, he swirled his middle finger around my clit and snapped his hips into mine. His voice was low in my ear, “I like it when you cum on my fingers, I love it when you cum on my cock.. You gonna cum for me, Peaches?”

I shivered at his breath on my earlobe and proceeded to shatter into a million pieces in his arms. Praise slipping from his lips, “That’s my good girl,” as he fucked me hard through my orgasm, chasing his own.

When I felt his cock twitch inside me, he buried his face into the crook of my neck as he groaned through his release.

The sun had long crested the horizon, bathing our kneeling naked bodies in golden light and I knew he looked like a god dipped in starshine.

He collapsed into a mattress that seriously felt like sleeping on a cloud, he twisted as he fell and I landed on top of him, his soft cock regretfully sliding out of me. 

My muscles felt like warmed jello and I was putting more effort than should have been necessary into not drooling all over his smooth chest. 

Within a few minutes he was snoring softly again and I watched the sun climb across the sky through the floor to ceiling east facing windows. 

When relieving myself became more urgent than laying on top of 240lbs of prime Colorado beef, I tried to slip off of him as quietly as possible and ended up getting tangled in the sheet and falling off the bed in a heap. 

Erik sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair tousled from sleep and my fingers. The sheet was still tucked around his body and I found myself staring at his well sculpted torso. I blinked when he spoke, “Peaches? What are you doing on the floor?”

I sighed and leaned into his hand as he stroked my hair, “trying not to wake you up,” I replied in defeat. 

He glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist, “We need to get a move on anyway. We have an appointment to walk to the farm and sign documents at 9 before it gets too hot.” 

With frustrating ease he got out of bed and picked me up off the floor in one motion. As the sheet unwrapped from his body I was left clutching it to my chest staring at his ass as he walked into the palacious bathroom.

His whole house was just like him, annoyingly practical while being exuberant. It was an older home in the established but monied neighborhood of Cherry Creek. It was a traditional style that had been updated from the dated granite and honey oak cabinets. A photo of Erik and his Grandmother from when he first purchased showed the mid nineties decor. It was now clean and masculine with large dark furniture.

I heard the shower start and I felt warmth start in my belly thinking about that thing EJ could do with the showerhead. 

Two hours later, my hair was still damp and hanging around my face, I had a venti triple shot latte cradled in my hands and I was feeling less like a blob of hot jello and more like a human being.

Erik of course had a sensible SUV and he drove toward the Rocky Mountains, the houses getting larger and farther apart. Flat city streets turned into two lane highways and rolling hills. Eventually, we turned and wove our way through the foothills until we reached a small valley. The entrance to the farm was marked with giant stone pillars and a beautiful iron gate that was open. The long tree lined driveway bisected two large pastures. 

A small band of quarter horse broodmares and their foals snorted at the strange vehicle and trotted around the irrigated grass, their tails held high.

The property was well maintained and dotted with large trees, both natural pines and trees that were planted when the place was developed.  The mountains rose steeply to the west. 

I rolled down the window and the air just smelled like mountains, “What’s the elevation here?”

“Ummm..” Erik hesitated fingers, drumming on the steering wheel, “just over 6,000 feet I think? I’d have to check.”

It was a good 10 degrees cooler than Denver and I was regretting not bringing a jacket. We passed the breeding barn and I craned my neck trying to see inside. He chuckled and reached for my hand, “Peaches, you’ll get to see inside, I promise.”

The main barn was a massive structure in the Monitor style. There was a beautiful fountain in the front courtyard with a bronze rearing horse sculpture in the middle. There were ten stalls on either side with long forty foot runs coming out the back. The center of the barn had two clusters of 4 double sized stalls,with a tack room, wash stalls, and grooming cross ties. 

Erik parked the SUV by the front entrance and I clambered out of the car and made my way inside the huge structure waving my hands in acknowledgment of whatever he was saying and not hearing a damn word. The stalls were huge 14x14 at least, with protruding European stall fronts that allowed even more room. The small Quarter Horses hung their heads over the fronts and I came to the conclusion I couldn’t have designed a better barn. Whoever built this place did so with the intent it was comfortable and functional for the horses. 

Beyond the barn was a fully covered arena. It wasn’t the largest, but it was large enough for a full dressage court. It was attached to the barn with a covered walkway and textured rubber bricks for traction. 

Erik caught up to me, “The realtor is just a few minutes late. What do you think?”

I leaned into him and sighed with contentment, “It’s perfect.”

When Erik disappeared into the office to sign papers I once again began to wander. I stopped in front of a sweet looking Palomino gelding, “You seem pretty content to live here, huh guy?”

He sighed and cocked a hind hoof to continue his morning nap. 

“Can I help you?” 

I turned toward the voice and there was a drug store box redhead whose Aquanet style would have made Dolly Parton jealous, “I’m sorry my… partner, just bought the place, he’s signing paperwork in the office.”

Her face changed and her southern accent became a lot more pronounced, “Hi there! I’m Peggy, my husband is Shane, he’s the trainer. Have you gotten a tour yet?”

“Just from the photos on the Internet I’m afraid.”

She scoffed, “Best way to get a tour is on horseback, you ride?”

“Just racehorses every day,” I answered with a smile.

“Think you can handle an old Quarter Horse,” she gestured to the sleeping Palomino behind me.

“I can’t remember the last time I rode something that didn’t want to kill me.”

She gestured to the pink halter by the door, “he’s my daughter’s horse. His name is Earl. Come on, I’ll give you an appropriate tour.”

20 minutes later, Earl was decked out head to toe in everything pink glitter and we were plodding next to Peggy on a fiery chestnut reiner. “How old is your daughter?”

She laughed, “10 and really loves pink in case you couldn’t tell.”

I sucked air through my teeth and nodded, “Yep. Thank goodness Earl doesn’t seem to think it’s an attack on his masculinity.”

“Earl here is the best babysitter I could have ever hoped to get.”

It became clear 5 minutes in that Peggy was a Talker with a capital T. But it wasn’t a hardship to listen to her as we rode the galloping track and she pointed out trail access points into the adjoining state park. 

Suddenly, I could picture my life here and the vision was so clear I felt like I had been thrust five years into the future. Riding Grinder along these very trails, the pastures dotted with Thoroughbred mares and their foals. The main barn full of rehabbing horses and racetrack failures training for dressage and jumping or even out on these trails for endurance. 

My phone trilled in my pocket with William Tell’s Overture and I dug it out of my pocket, “Hey Handsome.”

“Where did you disappear to?”

“Your tenant for the next few months offered me a tour.” Earl shook a rogue fly from his ear. 

EJ gave a sigh, but I could hear his smile, “Are you on a horse?”

“Yes. His name is Earl.”

“You can’t keep Earl.”

“Of course I’m not keeping Earl. I’m not in the business of breaking little girls' hearts,” I scoffed. 

Peggy turned her head and giggled into her hand and the chestnut mare she was on shook her mane.

“We’re on our way back.”

His voice was tinny on the other end, “Good. I don’t think Grinder would be happy if I went back to California without you.”

I rolled my eyes, “See you in a few.”

Peggy and I finished our impromptu horseback tour and I gave Earl a thorough grooming while Erik chatted with Peggy and Shane. I fished a tired peppermint out of my pocket when I returned him to his stall and the cellophane was almost impossible to peel off the sticky treat but he waited patiently.

I gave the golden gelding a pat and ruffled his forelock as he munched, his breath smelling like hay and mint. “Thanks for taking care of me today Big Man.”

Joining the small group I lifted Erik’s arm and slid underneath it. His shirt smelled like horse and sunshine with the faint hint of his laundry detergent. I got lost in my imagination looking around the barn thinking about where I was going to put my equipment, which stall would be Grinder’s, which of Erik’s broodmares I wanted to bring in first. Basically, building my business and the ERJ racing breeding operation in my head.

I got a hip in my side and EJ shook my shoulder realizing I wasn’t paying attention, “Did you like it?”

“Of course, it’s a beautiful property,” I replied nodding.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I took the case off and retrieved a sad and wrinkled business card that was pressed between the phone and the case, handing it to Peggy. “If your daughter ever becomes more interested in boys than horses, you give me a call and you can name your price for Earl.”

The redhead laughed as her husband growled, “She’s not dating until she’s 40.” 

Erik just sighed, “I knew it.”

I gave him an elbow in the ribs, “Grinder will need a retirement buddy.” 

We all shook hands and EJ pulled me toward the SUV, “I’m taking her home before she tries to buy all your horses.”

Peggy offered a wave as we got into the vehicle, “Y’all can come help Earl stretch his legs anytime!”

As we made our way down the beautiful driveway, I pulled one of EJ’s hands off the wheel and wove my fingers through his, giving a contented sigh.

He pressed his lips against my knuckles, “Are you going to buy every horse you fall in love with?”

I grinned and pulled my eyes from the stunning view flying by the window, “We can afford it.”

A small smile curled the corner of his lips and I enjoyed the Colorado Summer air as we headed back into town.

—————

Things started to fall into place as I stopped fighting with Erik, with myself, with the universe. I had decided to just let life take me where it wanted and if it all fell apart? Well I was certainly more wealthy than I had been, I had invested a lot of the money back into equipment to help me help more horses, I had Jesus and it would suck for awhile, but I would build everything back up again.

Grinder continued to train like a machine and we enjoyed our afternoons in the California sunshine.

I was sitting on him bareback as he grazed, just wearing a halter, the lead rope over his withers and dangling loose down his shoulder. My eyes were closed and I was meditating, breathing in and out to the count of his ripping and chewing of the grass.

To the shock of absolutely no one except myself, I found taking some time during my day to focus and center myself just for the sake of myself actually improved my work. Any lingering headaches soon completely disappeared.

EJ was fully on board with this new “Nell Takes Care of Herself” movement and regardless of time he was always pressing some sort of smoothie in my hand before I left the house in the mornings. I never asked what was in them because they were always palatable if not actually delicious and I didn’t want the illusion ruined knowing I was drinking raw blended chicken gizzards or something weird. 

August on the Southern California Coast was absolutely gorgeous, foggy mornings gave way to mid afternoon sunshine and temps in the 80s. Erik was ramping up his training and come the end of the month, I knew he would be spending more of his time in Colorado than California.

My meditation fell apart as I began to worry about what was to come. We hadn’t talked about when I would be joining EJ in Colorado. Peggy and Shane had the property rented through December. But we had discussed bringing some of our horses earlier as they were only using a fraction of the stalls. They were looking for places close by and Peggy and I had a plan to keep their show stock on so they could utilize the covered arena in the winter. I was getting daily photos of Earl from her daughter Daisy and they almost always featured some sort of costume or hat. He really was the best babysitter. 

Grinder snorted and shook his head bringing me back to the present. It was still midsummer and we had time. I pulled the big gelding’s head up from the grass and pointed him back to the barns, enjoying the feel of his large swinging walk.

My phone vibrated on my belt and seeing EJ’s dumb toothless face on my screen I swiped to answer it, “Hey, Grinder and I are just heading back to the barn.”

He cleared his throat, “Would you consider yourself a perfectionist?”

I felt my face scrunch, “Not really, but that’s a weird question.”

He hummed, “Ok what about a planner, would you consider yourself one of those?”

One of Grinder’s elegant black ears flicked back, listening to the conversation, “No more than anyone else? Erik, what’s up with the questions?”

I heard paper rustling in the background, “oh nothing I just found large, to scale drawings of all the barns with the names of horses in each stall, locations of your equipment, you even have a list of where each saddle is going to go in the tack room.”

My throat suddenly felt a little scratchy and I coughed, my voice a little high when I replied, “Um that is normal.”

“It’s not but ok, we can start making a plan after dinner, a lot of these mares I don’t want to haul out until after their breedings next season and we confirm they are in foal. Some I’d like to unload at auction.”

I sighed at having been caught, “Ok. I’ll be home in about an hour, do you want me to pick up dinner?”

Dishes clanked in the background, “Nah, Peaches, it’s lean protein and vegetables tonight.”

Wrinkling my nose, I made a mental note to pick up some Ben and Jerry’s on the way. I didn’t have to worry about being a professional athlete.   

I felt better when I followed EJ’s diet with him, but at what cost?

When I got back to the Del Mar condo, pint of ice cream in my hand, he was in the kitchen cooking away, dish towel swung over his shoulder looking like he was the main course.

I tossed the dessert in the freezer and snagged the big man around the waist for a kiss. He gave me a pouty look, “I suppose you didn’t bring a pint for me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said feigning innocence.

He just raised a brow, and we settled into our little slice of domesticity. I sat at the island going through emails, texts, and pouring over my schedule while he cooked.

After dinner, he spread the plans on the kitchen island,  “Shane and I have been talking, and I think they are going to move into that small house by the broodmare barn for the foreseeable future. We are going to have way more available stalls than we know what to do with for awhile and I don’t think having them on the property is a bad idea for a little extra income.”

I started erasing all the names I had written into the stalls, “I agree.”

EJ put an arm around my shoulders, his voice soft, “When do you want to move in?”

Frowning, I shifted in my chair. I had been expecting this conversation to happen at some point. “I don’t know. I mean there’s so much to do to get all the horses you want to winter out there ready. We have to buy blankets, order feed, bedding, we have to have guys on the ground ready for horses, we have to have guys here ready to pack up horses. There’s so much Erik.”

He kissed my temple, “It’s only August, Peaches, we have time.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I said, leaning into his kiss.

A large hand pulled the elastic out of my hair, “I am happy that you’re thinking about it though.” His voice dropped and the air became charged.

I offered a hum in response as his blunt fingers began to massage my scalp.

——

As August ticked by and we settled even more into a routine, even with EJ starting to spend more and more time in Colorado, to the point, I didn’t know what was going to happen when the season started. It would be questionable if he would even be available the day of the Breeder’s Cup, but first Grinder had to qualify. 

The days marched toward Grinder’s first grade 1 stakes in his entire life and when race day arrived I was an odd mixture of nervous and confident.

Grinder’s story had spread among the race community and there was a feature article in that week’s Racing Forum about our weird little family. The horse no one wanted to take a chance on, the miracle worker, and the hockey player that was entranced by my witchy wiles.

Like all days on the California coast, this one dawned bright and perfect. After an early morning hack around the track property to stretch his muscles, I was banned from seeing Grinder before the race.

I sat in my truck in the parking lot, unsure of what to do with myself. I hadn’t booked any clients for the day, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on them, and I was right. Erik had a handful of interviews to give and he left it up to me whether I was going to be tucked into his side like the dutiful girlfriend or throwing up in a trash can from nerves around the corner. 

EJ climbed into the passenger seat without a word and handed me a large paper cup with a lid. I took the warm beverage gratefully and took a sip. I was expecting espresso mixed with milk and yummy syrup and I got something else entirely. He chuckled when I made a face.

“It’s herbal tea, Peaches. You don’t need anymore caffeine to tie your stomach in knots.”

I took another sip with a generous shrug because he was probably right.

Next, a breakfast burrito and a race program with a $100 bill tucked into it slid onto the center console of the truck.

My brow arched and I got a wiley grin in return. 

“You had a smoothie at 5am. Eat the burrito and then we are going to play a little game.”

“I’m listening,” I replied before taking a bite of the egg-y, cheesy, potato-y goodness wrapped in a tortilla.

His grin got impressively wider, “There’s a handful of claiming races on tomorrow’s card, what you win handicapping with this $100 bill today, you will use to buy the horse of your choice tomorrow.”

I inhaled a piece of potato and started choking, “What?”

Erik gave me a slap on the back and I felt the piece of potato dislodge from my throat, “You need to be distracted and this will be a challenge, even for you.” He settled into the leather seat and reclined it, “better get crackin’ on that program, the cheapest claimer tomorrow is $7500 and the first post is in an hour.”

Staring at the $100 bill tucked into the program, I chewed thoughtfully. Turning $100 into enough to buy a horse with? How did he even get this idea?

Keeping the bill safely between the pages of the racing program I picked it up and thumbed to the first race. 

An hour and a half later, Grinder was only occupying the furthest recesses of my mind as the horses of the first race flashed under the wire, in the exact order I picked them for the straight trifecta. I had just quadrupled my money.

EJ twisted his program in his hands and squinted at me from beneath the brim of his fashionable hat, “Should I call Gabe and just tell him I’m retiring now?”

I smacked him in the chest and disappeared to collect my winnings. 

By the time The Pacific Classic was called to the post, I was up several thousand and I had put the whole kit and kaboodle on Grinder whose odds were reasonable at 10 to 1. 

I had tucked the betting slip into my bra for safe keeping and idly wondered if it was still worth anything soaked in boob sweat. A large hand spanned the small of my back and I could feel the heat of the palm through the dress I had changed into. It was a simple jersey wrap around in a bright royal blue that matched the ERJ Racing silks. I had paired it with a suede heeled bootie and some hammered silver earrings and pendant. It was simple, it was elegant, and as always, it was machine washable. 

EJ kissed my temple and my phone vibrated, it was a facetime from Carlos. I hadn’t apologized for my behavior and at this point I didn’t really know how. He wasn't speaking to me, but when I answered the facetime call, there was Grinder in all his glory, being saddled. Carlos kept the phone on him as they walked around the paddock and the call disconnected as the horses departed to the tunnel and made their way to the track.

“I see you’re still being stubborn and Carlos is still not talking to you.” 

Grabbing his arm, I wrapped it around my middle, “ I don’t even know how to bring it up or what to say.”

I could hear the amusement in his voice, “Well I think you start with ‘I’m’ and end with ‘sorry’”

Heaving a sigh, I wondered if anyone would blame me for crushing his toes under the heel of my fashionable bootie this close to hockey season. “Thanks for the advice, smart ass.”

The horses started filing onto the track, nine gleaming thoroughbreds in various shades of red, brown, and grey. Then there was Grinder, marching across the dirt to the turf, his coat so shiny it almost looked like an oil slick. There were no bad vibes this time. These were good horses, real competition and somehow the big black gelding made them all look like scrawny mustangs gathered from the Nevada desert. 

Large hands closed over mine and Erik pried my phone from my death grip before sliding it into his pocket, “Please try not to destroy anything with your hulk hands.”

Frowning, I looked at my hands, “They’re not hulk hands.” 

“Peaches last time he raced and you held my hand I heard bones crack.”

There were 11 horses in the race, including Grinder. It was a decent field and I started to worry it was going to be too much. Too many horses, too much traffic, and if he did win, what about the Breeder’s cup where the field could be even larger? 

The horses completed the post parade and started to warm up. I watched the horses, looking for weaknesses, lameness, anything that might give me peace of mind that my horse was the best. There was nothing. These were some of the best horses in the country and Grinder was amongst them. 

Time stretched like a lazy cat and the warm up seemed to take forever, but all too soon the horses approached the gate and started to be loaded. Grinder had pulled the first post position and because of his running style, no one was a fan. Everyone wanted to be on the rail, to run the shortest race. That didn’t matter for Grinder, he was fit, he was a closer, but he could get caught in the mad rush. He could get bumped, or worse, stuck in traffic. I didn’t know what the ornery gelding would do if he was forced to run in the middle of the pack, Mikey and I had discussed it and we had both decided it was best to never find out.

Grinder was one of the first horses loaded, and I pressed the binoculars to my eyes watching his feet. They were flat on the ground and he stood like a statue while the rest of the horses were slotted into their spots. What was less than a minute stretched for eternity and finally the bell clanged and the gates opened. Grinder shot forth and I had to pull the lenses away from my eyes to blink before replacing them. 

The big black horse was surging with the pack. He was on the rail and stretching to keep his nose in front of the competition. He broke fast and he was…. Leading? 

“What the fuck?” Erik’s words spoke to both of us. I could tell from the body language both Mikey and the horse were surprised as well. 

I let the small binoculars fall, resting in my hand against the wall of the owner’s box, “I mean, we wanted to keep him out of traffic. This is fine. As long as Mikey stays out of his way, this is fine.”

And shockingly it was. Mikey helped rate Grinder and the fractions were fast, but not otherworldly. The frontrunners in this race were decent but Grinder was faster and he held them off with ease. 

Into the far turn, the field started to challenge him and every time a horse pulled alongside him, Grinder found another gear. The crowd roared as the big black horse headed for the finish, leading the field wire to wire. 

I didn’t remember when I started screaming but I was still screaming when the rest of the field passed under the wire and Erik was spinning me around. 

Time seemed stuck in fast forward as the ERJ Racing team took photos in the winner’s circle. There were interviews galore and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. The whirlwind didn’t cease until the sun had long gone to bed and I was leaning on Grinder’s stall door with my elbows, watching the horse munch his evening hay. 

A warm hand found the small of my back and Erik shouldered his way next to me, “he was spectacular.”

My cheeks hurt but I still couldn’t stop the smile, “yeah he is.” 

“He’s spectacular because of you.” He nudged my shoulder with his.

“No, he was always spectacular. Just no one else saw it. No one else believed.” 

EJ pulled me into his body and kissed my temple, “Come on Peaches, we got a big day of horse buying tomorrow and then I have to be in Colorado by Monday morning.”

And there it was, the kicker to my absolutely perfect day. September was starting and just as I felt I had gotten my footing in my new life, it was going to be changing again.

[kailyn-writes]

congrats on 100 followers!!!!!! so well deserved 💓

may i please request 129 from prompt list 2 (“i told you i’d come home to you.”) with the toothless love of our lives, erik johnson?

thank you, happy writing, and again congratulations 🎉

word count: 1k

warnings: mentions of menstruation, tw pregnancy scare.

The day you left Erik Johnson was one of the hardest days of your life. The two of you hadn’t been doing well for quite some time, though neither of you were willing to admit it. The fighting had become a daily thing, both of you snapping at the other over nothing. It didn’t help that it had been over two months since you had been intimate with each other. 

You told Erik that you were going to spend some time with your family, something you hadn’t been able to do for a couple of years. You packed a bag and booked a flight and left that next morning. Erik dropped you off at the airport, wordlessly saying goodbye with a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“I’ll be home soon. Love you.” It wasn’t a total lie, you loved Erik very much, but was it enough? 

You spent three amazing weeks with your family; Your sister brought her kids over on the weekends and you relished the time with the young children. You’d wanted kids for as long as you could remember, but the timing never seemed to be right and now you weren’t sure you had the right person for it. 

Your mother had known that something was up. You hadn’t really told her anything except that you were coming to stay with them for a bit and the day that you arrived, you spilled everything to your mother. It wasn’t like you to keep something this big from her, she was one of your favorite people in the entire world, she always had the best advice. She always knew exactly what to say to ease your worries. She also always knew when you weren’t feeling like yourself.

For the last few weeks, you’d felt off. You couldn’t pinpoint why or exactly how, just that something didn’t feel right. You were more tired than normal, you’d been craving sweets more than normal and your jeans didn’t seem to fit right, even though the scale didn’t reflect any weight gain. 

Your mother didn’t pester you about these things, until the very end of your trip. You had two days left before you flew back to Denver and you were trying to soak in the last of the relaxation before going back to your crazy schedule. You were napping on their couch, a throw blanket covering your legs, when you felt a bag drop into your lap.

Opening your eyes, you frowned at your mother, who was standing behind the couch. You reached into the bag and pulled out a pregnancy test and a candy bar. Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and dropped both of the items back into the bag.You knew what it sounded like when you told your mom how you were feeling, but you’d had your period just a few weeks ago. 

“Go pee on the stick, love.” Your mother says, patting your hand gently. She walks away and you begrudgingly get up and head for the bathroom, bag in hand 

Peeing on the stick was the easy part. Waiting for the time on your phone to go off was much harder. You couldn’t help the ‘what ifs’ that filled your head; What if you actually were pregnant? What if Erik didn’t want to have a kid with you? What if you went home and before you could tell him, he broke up with you? How would you even tell him? 

The timer beeped loudly beside you, pulling you from your thoughts. You grabbed the test with shaky hands, eyes closed as you took a shaky breath before opening them.

Negative. 

Relief and sadness washed over you. You weren’t pregnant. You knew, though, that you loved Erik and you wanted to have a family with him. You knew that you were going to have to fight for this relationship like you’d never fought before. 

“Honey, is everything okay in there?” Your mom asks, knocking softly on the door. You sniffle, opening it.

“‘M not pregnant, momma.” You say, handing her the stick. She sighs, moving to rub your back gently. 

“Are you sad about that?” She asks and you huff a bit, shrugging.

“A little. I want a baby, but I want my relationship to be solid before I have one.” You say and she nods.

“Smart girl. Now come on, dinner is almost ready.” 

That next morning, your parents drop you off at the airport. Your dad hugs you and kisses your cheek, telling you to be good. Your mom has tears in her eyes as she hugs you, something that happened every time you left their home.

“Go work it out with Erik. That boy loves you so much, I see it in the way he looks at you.” She whispers as she rubs your back. You nod, sniffling. 

Your flight back is easy enough. You’d texted Erik before you took off that morning, asking him to pick you up and attaching your flight details. He hadn’t responded, though he’d opened the message shortly after you sent it. 

You took your time getting off the plane and heading for baggage claim, unsure of what was awaiting you. It didn’t take you long to spot Erik, though. He was waiting near baggage claim, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. He had bags under his eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep. He smiled a soft toothless smile, though, and your heart fluttered just as it always did. You let your suitcase drop as you quickly made your way towards him, jumping at the very last second to wrap your arms and legs around him, koala style. 

“Thank you for coming back.” He whispered into your hair, kissing the top of your head gently. Both of you were crying, holding tight to each other.

“I told you I’d come home to you.” You say, looking up at him. He leans down, pressing a tentative kiss to your lips, which you return. 

In that moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

[tonyspep]

and you can keep up all the chatter bout my happy ever after (cause all that really matters is he’s mine)

a/n: this is for @jostystyles 2.6k top tracks writing challenge celebration. the lyrics i chose were "i've got his name i've got his nights" from the song "bragger" by kelsea ballerini and the player i picked was erik johnson. his love interest is an actress who looks like camila mendes from riverdale, palm springs and do revenge. thanks to @fallinallincurls who helped me brainstorm and is just the best. gif credit goes to @landyskog​

~*~and you can keep up all the chatter bout my happy ever after~*~

(cause all that really matters is he's mine)

pairing: erik johnson x oc

summary: isabel ramos has always tried to keep her private life away from the white hot glare of the spotlight, but with a man like erik johnson on her arm, how can she not brag

rating: t

[red carpet debut]

he ain't from round

this side of town

but he fits into every crowd

and he knows just how to do my body and my heart right

At this point red carpets - for vanity liquor launches, for the latest Netflix drama or superhero tentpole flick to even the Oscars - Isabel had been there and done that. She knew what to expect; the white hot glare from all of the lights, the constant flashes of hundreds of cameras, forty different people shouting her name and of course the dozens of interviews from various entertainment news outlets.

Tonight - walking the white (pun intended) carpet - for the second season premiere of HBO Max's newest crown jewel in White Lotus would be just a little different. She wouldn't be walking the carpet alone. She knew everyone was gossiping about her and her co-star, the handsome British actor, Theo James, but tonight she was putting those rumors to bed for good.

Guiding her down the carpet for the first time was going to be her husband (yes, husband you read that right) Colorado Avalanche stalwart defenseman, Erik Johnson. Her lips couldn't help but curl proudly as her long time makeup artist worked her magic. Keeping things private was never easy, not even Ben and Jen had managed to keep their wedding reception from leaking. But Erik's teammates were sweet in respecting their wishes and her friends were all too familiar with things getting out to the public before you wanted them to.

She touched the four point five karat sapphire ring on her finger, her heart picking up speed while butterflies erupted in her stomach. She had done this a hundred times - since she was sixteen and had broken out on the soap opera General Hospital, playing mobster Sonny Corinthos's headstrong daughter whose mother was his former lover and attorney, Alexis Davis - but this was truly different. Even though she had walked carpets with her exes and flings and everything in between, Erik wasn't them. He was everything she had hoped and dreamed of as a girl watching every rom com she could get her hands on.

Slipping her wedding ring from her left ring finger to her right, she laughed softly. There were still some things they wanted to keep for themselves.

"Hola, esposa," Erik's jumbled Spanish made Isabel smile, her own dimples appearing to match his. "Nice try, Blanquito," Her voice was soft and placating but Erik took it in stride, her teasing making his stomach tumble like only she could.

Growing up with Brazilian parents, Isabel learned Spanish before she learned English and could speak conversational Portuguese as well. Erik was trying his hand at Spanish and more often than not he mostly succeeded in making her laugh as he asked why she couldn't just teach him the naughty words.

Once her makeup was finished, he let out a whistle at seeing her full white carpet look. A summery silk maxi dress in a deep green with a plunging neckline and silvery strappy heels while her velvet black hair was twisted into an elaborate braid crown gave her the glam of the star she was and kept with the show's luxury resort theme. It was hard to believe she was his. He was just a hockey player, a Minnesotan born and bred raised in his small town that somehow made it to the league, forget being drafted number one overall and now winning the Cup.

Their first night, the thin Mountain air around them, her sneaking into Denver on a private flight in the wee hours (Erik knew it wasn't his best display of leadership but fuck it, Isabel was too good to be true) on a game day, she told him - their bodies plastered together, sticky with sweat, that's what she liked most about him. That he was the small town boy who made good. It reminded her that she was a small town girl, having left her Brazilian tropical life behind, for a brighter future in the States, her parents wanting to give her everything they never had. That she was just Isabel. Not this international celebrity, a point of fascination for strangers, but a girl who ached for love like any normal person would.

Everything was dimmer with Erik on her arm - the white hot glare warm instead of intense, the shouting not as invasive - except her smile. She knew it was blinding as they posed, his large hand on the small of her back. She missed the cool metal of his ring against her skin but she would make do. No one needed to know everything about her.

The headlines from The Cut to Duemoix to TMZ came fast and furious once they were at the after party at Balthazar with the rest of the cast and director and creator, Mike White.

@IsabelRamosUpdates WE TOLD YOU!!! WE TOLD YOU!!! OUR GIRL DID NOT DISAPPOINT ON THE WHITE LOTUS RED CARPET. SHE LOOKED STUNNING IN VINTAGE CHANEL AND OH YEAH DID YOU SEE HER MAN???? CHECK HER FOLLOWS SHE'S BEEN FOLLOWING AND LIKING THE COLORADO AVALANCHE POSTS SINCE LAST JUNE!!! SHE HAD Y'ALL FOOLED WITH THOSE THEO JAMES RUMORS HA HA HA HA @TMZ @THECUT @VULTURE @USWEEKLY AND WE HAVE THE RECEIPTS

[screenshots of her likes] [video clip of her saying she does not have a man] [posing with fans at the avs playoff games] [instagram comments on @6erikjohnson6's photos/videos]

@IsabelRamosUpdates come to us for the real stuff our girl was slick and got herself one good looking man. 6 '4 235 SIGN US UP AND DOES HE HAVE FRIENDS???????????

@TMZ on the white lotus white carpet dazzling isabel ramos gushes about new man, hockey player erik johnson "he looks pretty good huh?" "i'm very happy" "oh i'm always at every game i can go to just because you haven't seen me doesn't mean I'm not there"

@USWeekly theo james who???? putting to bed those pesky rumors two time emmy nominee isabel ramos debuts hockey player beau on the white lotus red carpet. she jokes with our carrie reynolds "a lady doesn't kiss and tell buuuuut all that time on the ice has its benefits''

Isabel wasn't surprised how easily Erik fell in with the cast and crew, charming them like he had charmed her. She couldn't imagine being any happier and that meant she was entitled to brag, posting a black and white shot of them in a heated embrace in their private car on the way back to the hotel. His large hand slipping under the silk of her dress while her hands were tangled in his soft blonde hair, their lips locked in a steamy kiss.

@isabel life has never been this good @6erikjohnson6

[banner night]

i don't want to be a bragger

but my man's a heart attacker

like mcconaughey and jagger

Tonight at Ball Arena they would be raising the Avs Championship banner and she wouldn't have missed this for the world. Filming for her next project - playing Sue Storm in the upcoming MCU version of the Fantastic Four opposite Henry Golding as Reed Richards - wouldn't start until the next summer, so now she was in supportive wife (girlfriend to everyone else) mode. The custom denim jacket Mel Landeskog had made for herself and the other wives and girlfriends fit well. The burgundy crop top and ripped jeans were more sporty than she normally dressed but the platform sneakers made her feel more like herself, elevating her closer to Erik's towering height like her trustee heels would normally.

The hat she wore belonged to him, the scent of his cologne lingering and that distinctive warm vanilla and woodsy scent he naturally carried made heat course through her veins.

He was too good to be true, stepping out of their bedroom in his well fitted suit, the broadness of his shoulders too much for her to take.

As good as he looked in his suit, when he took the ice in his full pads and jersey, she couldn't resist snapping a picture and if her caption sent people spiraling oh well.

@isabel [picture of erik during warm ups] whatta man whatta man whatta whatta man whatta mighty mighty good man

@ISABELRAMOSUPDATES OUR GIRL IS THIRSTY AND WE SUPPORT IT GET IT QUEEN 

@tonyspep quote tweet STARS THEY'RE JUST LIKE US LOOK AT KRISTINA (she'll always be kristina from gh to me) THIRSTING OVER MY GUY ERIK JOHNSON YOU LOVE TO SEE IT

[live with kelly and ryan]

and he'd never tell you he don't want attention 

but he's just too damn good not to mention

"Now, Isabel…." Kelly started, waggling her eyebrows while Ryan laughed beside her. "Let's talk about this very handsome, very tall man named Erik Johnson. Have you heard of him? I hear you two are close."

"Have I heard of him? Hmmmm. His name sounds familiar. Would you happen to have a picture? Maybe if I saw what he looked like I could answer your question, Kelly." 

"Well, Ryan I do believe we have a few pictures don't we?"

"Yes, Kelly, I believe we do. Just queued up from Miss Ramos's instagram ready to go. Like this one from the night of the White Lotus premiere, you're amazing on the show by the way. There's also this one from Del Mar race track. This one is from their kitchen. People eat on counter tops, young lady. And oh this one is from the night his team raised their championship banner."

"Huh, I guess I do know Erik Johnson. Oh my Gosh he will kill me for this as he likes to think he's all mysterious. He's really a big teddy bear. He throws his weight around on the ice and all that, but when we have down time we're usually with our horses and dogs and he loves those animals so much. We have our five dogs and then we foster Berners and Goldens, too. So it's crazy at home sometimes and that's actually how we met; I ride, I've done it since I was five back in Brazil and he raises race horses. And it doesn't help that he looks very good in his jeans on the ranch."

"And on the ice, too. Judging by this comment on the picture you posted of him. Is this what the kids would call thirsty, Ryan?"

"You would have to ask the kids, Kelly."

"Oh my gosh! Stop it!"

"We'll be right back with more Isabel Ramos after the break where we promise to ask her about the crazy second season of her show White Lotus!"

[one year later]

i've got his nights, i've got his name

there ain't no shame in this girl's game

if he were yours you'd do the same without apologizing

@isabel [picture of her and erik lounging by the pool his hand on her butt, wedding ring on display] [picture of them with her hand on his abs, her ring on display]

now playing "bragger" by @kelseaballerini i've got his nights/i've got his name #itsisabeljohnsonbitch

@ISABELRAMOSUPDATES [SCREAMING] OUR GIRL WENT AND DROPPED A WHOLE NEW NAME!!! WE HAVE TO RUN SCREAMING INTO THE NIGHT AS WE CHANGE OUR @ BECAUSE QUEEN HAD A WHOLE SECRET WEDDING!!! AND OMG LOOK AT THAT ROCK!!! ALSO THOSE ABS ON HUBS WE ARE LOOKING AND NOT RESPECTFULLY WE MIGHT BE BACK IDK WE ARE HAVING A FULL ON MELTDOWN GAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

TMZ newsroom "okay wow wow that is all i have to say!!! wow!!! over the weekend superstar isabel ramos broke the internet with her reveal that she is MARRIED!" harvey yelled.

"you guys," charlie gushed. "this is aaaaamazing. like first of all the pics she dropped were hot af. like look at her! and look at her husband!"

"charlie is plotting how she can reveal jake as her surprise husband," derek joked. 

@USWeekly SECRETLY MARRIED!!!!! [pictures of erik and isabel]

Their phones hadn't stopped buzzing and eventually Erik put them on do not disturb. Rolling over so her lithe frame was pinned under his bigger, stronger body, he started to kiss her neck, slow and sweet the way she liked best.

Her back arches, bare breasts rubbing against his bare chest. She sighs softly, her tongue melting with his own as they kiss. Her fingers rake across the muscles in his broad back while his hands mold to her curves, feeling every inch of her porcelain skin.

"Should we get started on a secret baby now?" He asks, lips sucking at her perky breasts. "Who says we haven't been already?" She arches a perfectly shaped brow.

"Izzy," He's the only one who calls her that and hearing it, so soft and hopeful but still with that growling edge because he wants her so bad, makes her heart skip several beats. "It's too soon to know for sure," Her cheeks flush, soft smile on her pretty lips. "But I'm late." She confesses and by the pool, in the hot Denver sun Erik shows her just how bad he wants to start their family if they haven't already.

[ten months later]

if he were a wine he'd be the shelf at the top (top)

if he were a house he'd be the end of the block (block)

walked up to my heart and went knock knock knock

so i've got to show him off

@isabeljohnson this isn't a surprise @6erikjohnson6 and i could keep a secret matteo "matty" david johnson was born yesterday at mount sinai. he weighed in at 7 pounds and twenty one inches long and we couldn't love him more #mama #daddy

[picture of isabel, erik and matty]

[kniesyswrld]