#hockey fic

[puckinghischier]

Taking Nico to Disney: Headcannons

i know this is a little…specific, but as someone who has both grown up going to and has worked at disney world…HEAR ME OUT!!!

- you’ve always wanted to go to disney with nico, but the timing has never been right with off-season training, play offs, his trips back home to visit his family, and whatever else comes up. but this time? this time you’re making it happen.

- the trip has been booked, flights arranged, and your glorious week of magic and quality time with nico was finally upon you.

- he’d be just as giddy as you are. the minute he found out about your love for the theme parks, he told you how he always wanted to go as a kid, but obviously a trip to orlando is hard for a swiss kid.

- he insisted on buying themed luggage, themed shirts, themed hats, and he even bought themed socks.

- when you mentioned matching shirts as a joke, his eyes lit up, excited at the idea. he’d search for hours for the funniest pairs, buying a couple of sets, but not telling you what they were until you were there.

- your first day, of course you’d go to the magic kingdom. you were so excited to see nico’s reactions to all of the fairytales come to life throughout the park.

- you made him walk in front of you as you walked backwards around the corner on main street, wanting to see his reaction to the castle for the first time. you were lucky he was so distracted by the large structure to notice your crying, his amazed eyes and small “wow,” as he stopped walking to take it all in really got your emotions stirred.

- he’d follow your lead all day, trailing behind you with a map while you yapped and explained all about your favorite things to do as a kid. eventually you’d take the map from him, telling him you know exactly how to get around the park. “schatz, i’m trying to see what rides i want to do, give it back,” he’d argue with a huff. “neeks, we’re doing everything, don’t worry about it.”

- you loved watching his excitement and wonder with every ride the two of you went on. your heart melted at his giggles at the scenes on pirates of the caribbean, him singing along to the german (and french) section of small world, his bewilderment at the special effects of haunted mansion, his foot taps to the beat and amusement during enchanted tiki room, his screams on space mountain, his competitiveness on the buzz light year ride, his need to lift dumbo to the top for the whole ride, and his genuine cackles at every joke during jungle cruise.

- he’d also make you stop every time he saw a photographer, wanting every picture he could get from this trip. you’d happily oblige, loving all of the different fun and cute poses the photopass photographers would have you do. and the pictures where they added little effects and characters? nico has every one saved to his phone.

- and the food? good lord nico was in calorie heaven. “what do you mean i can get a foot long hot dog?” “i read about this big ice cream sundae in a mickey sink, can we get one please?” “i can’t eat this pretzel…mickey’s looking at me!”

- speaking of mickey, when it comes time for the two of you to meet the famous mouse? nico is as excited as a kid (more than child in line in front of you, honestly). he’s nearly bouncing up and down by the time it’s your turn, speed walking to the small mouse and engulfing him in a crushing hug. mickey would point out your matching shirts, ‘laughing’ silently at his “we finish each other’s” shirt and your “sandwiches.” shirt. you’d watch nico’s chest puff out, proud he got a laugh out of mickey. your lock screen from that moment on is a candid picture of you laughing and nico’s own dimpled expression while both of you look at the mouse, amused with his implied words.

- when it comes to the fireworks at the end of the night, you’re camping out to make sure nico has the absolute best possible view. guarding your spot with your life as he goes and gets something for to two of you to snack on while you wait. “god, i’m glad you’re back, this women tried to sit her four kids down right in your spot!” you’d sigh in relief while he handed you a fried corn dog. “y/n…you should’ve just let the kids sit here, it’s fine,” he’d laugh out. “no! your first fireworks experience is going to be perfect,” you’d huff, crossing your arms in a pout.

- when the fireworks started, nico would do the cliche of standing behind you while wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder while your own hands rested atop of his wrapped around your waist. you’d hum along to the various songs incorporated into the show while nico watched intently, eyes sparkling with the images in the sky. he’d give little kisses to your cheek and neck during the section that showcases all of the different disney couples, whispering a small “thank you so much for bringing me here, i love you,” into your ear.

- the other parks? nico loved just as much. he spent hours in the star wars section of hollywood studios (and rode tower of terror as many times as you wanted). he enjoyed drinking, and more importantly eating, around the world in epcot, not caring about the amount of time he’d have to spend in the gym once the two of you got home. at animal kingdom, he’d keep dragging you from animal exhibit to animal exhibit, obsessively play carnival games in the dinoland section to win a stuffed dinosaur, and talk about how amazingly intense the avatar ride was for the rest of the day.

- and the second you two got back to jersey? immediately on the phone with his family, already planning a trip next off season to fly them out and take them with the two of you, wanting to experience the whole thing with his family like he wanted to when he was a little boy.

- and the next summer, when that trip came around, you got to watch him play tour guide to his parents and siblings. explaining to them everything you explained to him during his first trip. of course, like you always do, you started and ended your trip at magic kingdom. the last day of the trip with his family, though, he dropped to one knee during the fireworks and proposed to you right then and there. you always told him how even though people say it’s cliche, you always loved watching people get engaged in front of the castle, and now you were the one people were cheering and clapping for.

- and a year later, when the two of you were able to have the wedding of your dreams, the first place he flew you to was disney. you had booked an all inclusive, tropical island getaway for your honeymoon, but nico wanted to surprise you with a couple days in your his favorite place first.

- in true fashion, you started off your honeymoon in none other than magic kingdom. this time, however, any time the two of you would pass the spot where he proposed to you, he’d stop and tell anyone and everyone that walked by “this is where i proposed to her! and now she’s my wife!” while taking your wrist in his hand, holding your own up to show off the shiny ring on your finger. he’d even make you two get the matching bride and groom ear hats, customizing them with your wedding date. and the second he found out about the ‘happily ever after buttons?’ he was rushing to guest services to get a set for the two of you to wear (and he did, proudly, right on his chest).

- don’t even get me started on when the two of you decide to start a family, and your pregnancy is timed up perfectly with your (now annual) trip. you’d not only announce your pregnancy with a recreation of some themed announcement picture you found online, but also do your gender reveal the same trip. you’d take the sealed envelope to mickey, giving him the honor of revealing the gender of your unborn child.

- and the first trip the two of you take as a family of three?? oh god. nico is just…over the moon. he’s showing them everything, as if they’ll actually remember the trip. “and this is where your daddy proposed to your mommy, and this is where we told the world about you, and this is where your daddy ate a foot long hot dog for the first time, which is a really bad idea and he doesn’t recommend it,” he’d speak to your infant in a carrier strapped to his chest, bouncing and bobbing them along.

- and the year he lead the devils to a stanley cup win? you had the BIGGEST surprise waiting on him during the trip he still insisted your family go on. you arranged with the team to fly the stanley cup down to orlando for a day, and managed to get into contact with disney management, ensuring nico and your kids get their own, private meet and greet with mickey and the stanley cup. you worked with tom and the equipment managers and disney wardrobe experts themselves to special order a customized devils jersey for the mouse. so when nico rounded the corner into the large room, thinking it was your normal mickey greet, only to see mickey standing there, in a devils jersey beside of the cup sitting on a large table, the look on his face made all the planning and hassle worth it. the league had even sent representatives out to get their own promo pics, having nico pose with a stick in his own jersey beside the character. to this day, you still laugh at how it’s the league’s most liked picture on instagram.

- and as your family grew, the trips became better and better each year, but you always appreciated the times you and nico got to go without your kids, thinking back to that first trip you were able to show him your love for the place and watching his childlike wonder. he still tells everyone he proposed to you there every time you walk across your spot. he still points it out to your children every trip. he still makes sure your entire family is wearing matching shirts each trip. and he still has that first-trip wonder on his face each trip, still in awe of all the disney magic. but most of all, he’s in awe of you, the life you’ve built together, and your love of this place you poured into him resulting in the memories it holds for the two of you and your family.

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

how different is a heated scowl from a delirious kiss, really; or maybe I’m just focusing too religiously on your mouth.

ax72 x reader: he’s the worst until he isn’t.

(warnings: lots of plot in addition to blasphemous filth (really...i got carried away), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling (hello, old friend), choking (hello, older friend), biting (i can’t write him without it), praise, all my usual stuff (you guys know what i’m about), just be warned.  don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.) gif is not mine.)

(a/n: what's up, favorites? i'm excited to give you back some ax72. this fictional ax72 in particular - something special about people who are nice to your siblings. please note that i don't write what hockey games are actually like, i write what helps move my plot forward (so, yes, he can mouth words to you from the penalty box). it's been so weird reading these back again, especially the earlier ones. how do i say this - i'm just not as horny anymore? like i haven't written smut in a really long time, and i feel no general obligation or desire to. honestly, some of the smut i've written is so funny to me because i don't even understand how it came from my brain. anyways, i'm happy that you guys seem to enjoy it, regardless. i'm glad that you guys can be horny enough for the both of us. love you and your snakes so, so much. miss you and respect you and hope you're doing well. go canucks (i feel like i'm out of touch with the hockey narratives...what storylines should i be following?). until next time, all my love).

you’d been driving your younger brother to and from hockey practice for the last three years, since he first started playing, when his helmet was far too big for his head, so much so that you thought if he leaned forward he would topple over entirely.

and in all those years, he had never come out of the rink like this, posture slouched, face empty, dragging his feet.  his bag of equipment looked like it weighed a million pounds, full of bricks.  his rosy, round face, usually so joyful on the way out of those doors, so eager to tell you about practice, looked positively exhausted, done, physically and emotionally.

you rolled down the window as he walked up.  “what’s wrong, bug?” you asked, tried to make your voice strong-willed so as not to upset him further.

he shrugged, lugged his stuff into the trunk.  “tough practice,” he said, sounding like an adult, which you hated.  the effort with which he spoke settled in your stomach, plumed into volcanic anger.  “new coach.”

you furrowed your brows as he shut the trunk and climbed into the front seat.  “new coach?  i liked your old coach.”

“he’s still there,” he said, “but we have a new assistant.  he’s a little-” he took a breath, again making him look older than he was.  “tough.”

you searched his eyes for some kind of meaning, found only the resigned bitterness you so despised whenever you saw it in yourself.  without another thought, you drove to the nearest open spot and put the car in park.  

“why are we parked?”

you made to get out of the car.  “you look tired, bug.  just going to go get you a gatorade, okay?”  something lighter flashed across his eyes, making you smile.  little by little, you would do what you could to undo whatever this coach had done, unload this burden he had so carelessly thrown onto the shoulders of your brother.  “don’t open the door for anyone, yeah?  i’ll be right back.”

you locked the car behind you and made your way into the rink for the first time this season, found it practically identical to how you remembered it.  you scanned the ice for the older man you knew, then locked eyes with him and waved him over with a smile, one you didn’t have to force.  this coach had always been kind to you as well as your brother.

“hey, kiddo!” he said fondly as he approached.  

“hi, coach,” you replied, the chill in the air tinting your cheeks.

“your boy should be out already, yeah?  practice ended about fifteen minutes ago,” he said, looking at his watch.  

you nodded.  “he’s in the car.  i just need to talk to this new assistant he was telling me about.”

understanding flashed across the older man’s eyes.  “right, xhekaj,  he’s helping us out during the rest of his off season.  part of this program his club set up.”  he turned in the opposite direction.  “xhekaj! want you to meet someone,” he called out.

the man across the ice turned from where he had been collecting pucks, set them on the bench, and skated over.  as he got closer, you observed how he was impressively graceful for what may have been the most physically imposing man you had ever seen.

he was tall, almost menacingly so on skates, and so broad that you had to remind yourself not to cower back.  his dark hair, which looked so soft, curled at the ends is a just barely feminine way.  you told yourself that you did not notice the way his sweatpants strained over his legs, or how massive his hands were, or how sharp his jawline was.

you were here for your brother.  you would not be intimidated.  nor, you amended, would you be distracted.

he glided to an effortless stop in front of you, a motion that looked as simple as breathing.  

“this is our new assistant coach, arber xhekaj,” the head coach said, gesturing to the wall of a man next to him.  “xhekaj, this is sixteen’s sister.  i’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of her this season, if you behave,” he said with a lighthearted smile that lit up his weathered face.  

you forced your gaze to meet arber’s for the first time, found his eyes running over your frame, making your exhale come out short and choppy.  you crossed your arms as his eyes finally locked on yours, something like shameless mirth shimmering over his face.  his lazy smirk shook you off balance and set a slow-burning fuse aflame in your stomach.  you cut your gaze back to the older coach.

“i’ll leave you to it.  good to see you, kid.”  the familiar man said as he skated off with a nod.

when you turned back to face arber, his eyes were already on you.  maybe they hadn’t left.  “what can i do for you, darling?” he asked, that slow smirk playing on his full mouth.  you suffocated the sparks his address ignited, instead funneled them into your anger, letting it simmer and grow.

“you could start by telling me why my little brother looks like he’s been kicked in the stomach,” you offered.

any playfulness was gone from his eyes in a moment.  “there’s always one, eh?” he asked no one in particular.  

“what?” you snapped.

he crossed his arms across his expanse of a chest.  “there’s always one.  parent, or sister, or whatever, who can’t handle their kid actually being pushed in practice.”  he said, sounding bored.  he looked you up and down, again.  you didn’t find it any less unnerving.  “least i know who it is.”

“i can handle him being pushed!” you bit out.  

“yeah?” he asked, tilting his head.  “this is you, handling it?”  he gave a look of false understanding.  “the picture of calm and poise, truly.”

you pursed your lips.  “hockey is supposed to be fun first.  and he did not have fun today.”  you did not back down, nor let your posture falter.  “so next practice, i expect to see him smiling when he walks out.”

you could have punched that smirk off his face.  “yeah?  or what, darling?”

“or you’ll be seeing a lot more of me than you’d like,” you said.

“promise?” he asked, his voice overripe with teasing.

you turned to leave, beginning the walk back.

“so you came in here just to whine at me?” that deep voice called from behind you.  you could feel his eyes burning into you.  “don’t waste your time.  i’ve got lots of pretty girls asking around for me, darling.”

“oh, don’t flatter yourself.  you just happened to be here,” you called back.  “i only came in to get a gatorade.”

you smiled at his lack of response before grabbing two yellow gatorades from the snack bar and getting back into the car.

“that was long,” your brother said, barely looking up from the game on his phone.  

“sorry, bug,” you said, placing the bottles in the cupholders before pulling away onto the road.  “line like you wouldn’t believe.”

luckily, he seemed to be in much better spirits.  

still, later that night, as you tried to fall asleep, you couldn’t help but look up the name “arber xhekaj.”  it was so you could familiarize yourself with your opponent.  that’s how you rationalized it.

and of course his stats were impressive, if not especially physical.  but even if he was a professional hockey player, he had messed with the wrong family.  you refused to let him forget that.

so, the next day, when your brother came out of the rink again looking defeated, you could have growled.  

“bug,” you said, parking the car, “i need to talk to your coach, okay?  do you want to wait here?”

“i’ll wait here,” he said.

you located arber immediately, your gaze fixed to him almost magnetically.  but he found you quickly, too, without any signal, that smirk materializing as he skated over to you.  

“let me guess,” he said, sliding to a stop and leaning on the side of his stick, almost comically long.  “baby brother didn’t think practice was as fun as disney land?”  he gave a theatrically dramatic pout, drawing attention to his lips.  your attention, that is.  “listen, darling, i’m not making eight-year-olds fight to the death.  they’ve got a coach for the fun stuff.  i’m here so they actually get better.”

that actually made sense.  you licked your lips.  “i’m all for getting better,” you said, trying a more gentle approach.

“that’s great to hear,” he said monotonously, anticipating a “but.”

“but there doesn’t need to be a good-coach bad-coach dynamic.  you can push them and still be nice.  be positive and fun.”

he gave a low laugh before turning away, obviously done with this conversation.  “maybe some people can, darling, but not me.  that’s not me.”

you felt his laugh like a seismic wave, throwing you off balance.  again.  “and who’s this ‘you’ you mean?” you asked, growing heated at his dismissal of your simple request.  “the blank scoresheet except for penalty minutes?  the pretty boy who can’t play?”

his laugh this time came from deep in his chest.  you hated how it made your stomach turn. 

“aw, darling,” he cooed, voice deep and lazy.  “you really think i’m pretty?”

you huffed before turning to walk out of the rink, unsuccessful.  it irked you how he could make you so uneasy, but you couldn’t do the same to him.  

“try not to get too hot and bothered when you watch my highlights tonight!” he called out after you.

you clenched your teeth at the obvious joy your anger evoked in him, and vowed that you would not engage with him again for the rest of the season.  it didn’t get you anywhere, and if you were as kind as you could be to your brother, maybe you could help prepare him to stand up for himself instead of trying to fight his battles for him.

so, for the two weeks, you didn’t go into the rink.  you stuck to your routine of dropping off and picking up, no funny business, no extracurriculars with certain assistant coaches.  

“make your own fun today, okay, bug?” you told him before he got out of the car.  

and slowly, he stopped dragging his feet on the way to your car.  his smile came quicker, easier, lighting up the round, rosy cheeks that you so loved.  and so the image of those quicksand brown eyes faded to the back of your mind.

until one afternoon, when the very figure you were trying to forget was carrying your brother’s hockey bag, walking right behind him.  you rolled down the window after your brother had gotten into the front seat and arber had easily swung the bag into the trunk.  

he then walked around and leaned on the side of the car, his forearms resting on the open window.  

“say thanks, bug,” you nudged your brother.

“thanks, coach,” he said, a but of a smile in his voice.  

arber waved a hand as if to dismiss it.  “no problem,” he said, his hand resting on the window again.  your eyes widened momentarily at the sheer size of his hand, of him.  when you tore your eyes up to meet his, he was smirking.

“distracted, darling?” he asked, false innocence drenching his gaze.

you rolled your eyes, but you felt yourself blush.  “i’m glad to see everyone in good spirits,” you said, hoping he would catch onto the meaning.  “really.”

“well,” he drawled.  “i think i might have to start being especially tough.”

“what?” you said, all business in tone.  “why?”

“because i can’t have you staying out here in the car, darling,” he said, tilting his head.  “and you only visit me when you’re mad.”

you shook your head, felt your blush deepen.  “i do not visit you, arber,” you said.

his face lit up at the sound of his name on your lips.  “right, you just ask around about me and read my stats to help you sleep.” he said through a cocky grin.  “you’ll be at family skate, yeah?”

you bit your lip, noticed how his eyes followed the movement, stopped immediately.  

“you’re always at family skate,” your brother observed, not looking up from his phone.  you slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

“then i’ll see you there,” arber said, handing two yellow gatorades to your brother.  he slapped the side of the car twice before pulling back, his smile that of a school boy who charmed his way into extra dessert at lunch.  

you put the car in drive so he wouldn’t see your face, completely vulnerable, completely touched.  “i’m still mad at you,” you called out the window as a last resort.

“good,” he called back, running a hand through his hair.  “like you mad.”

you groaned and slapped your hand on the steering wheel as you pulled out of the parking lot, trying to stop yourself from becoming endeared.  trying.

family skate came faster than you wanted.  but, soon enough, the day was here, and there you were, in the family locker room, already cold, and failing miserably at tying your rental skates.  

“bug, how you you do this?” you asked to your right, but he had already gone out to the ice.  you huffed, reached for the laces again.

“need some help, darling?” 

you looked up to find him leaning against the doorframe, face lit up with amusement.  you didn’t have the time or patience to turn him away.

“yes, please,” you said, and watched his eyes grow dark, if only for a second.  he cleared his throat and made his way over, touching one knee to the ground in front of you.

suddenly the air felt hot, the chill completely melted away as he looked up at you.  a welcome change of pace from you always looking up at him.

“can i touch you?” he asked, looking at you through his lashes, dark and full.

you coughed.

his laugh was a grumble.  “just to tie your skates, darling, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

you felt yourself flush across your nose.  “i know,” you tried, “and it’s fine.”

he smirked at your response as he gently tugged one of your legs towards him by your calf, his grip firm and warm, so much so that you felt a loss when he took his hand off of you, used both hands to pull the laces of your skates taut and tie them up.

the silence only made things worse, heightened the heat that was growing in your stomach, the heat you were sure he could feel radiating from you.  

he finished one skate by tying a bow.  “how’s that feel?”

was he doing that on purpose?  “perfect,” you said, as confidently as you could.

he hummed in affirmation as he began to tie the second one, tugging your other calf towards him and shifting forward on his knee. 

you trained your gaze on the ceiling as he finished up.  

“something interesting up there?” he asked as he tied a bow, looking up at you.  “are they projecting my sports center feature on the ceiling?”

you rolled your eyes, actually happy that he was lightening the atmosphere, which had grown uncomfortably heavy and expecting.

he smiled at your reaction, then knocked the toes of your skates together twice.  at your inquisitive look, he pushed himself off of his knee.  “superstition,” he explained, then extended a hand to you.  “let’s go, your bug will be wondering where you are.”

you hoped he thought your flush was from the cold as his hand enveloped yours and pulled you to your feet.  

you shook off the effect he had on you as you stepped onto the ice, not necessarily a talented skater but good enough to move slowly and not hold onto the boards.  your brother found you quickly and began to skate circles around you, literally.

“alright, alright,” you said, a smile on your face.  “let’s keep in mind that you actually play hockey, and i very much do not.”

for the next half hour, you skated around with your brother, engaging in polite conversation with the parents and kids on the ice with you.  you did, however, remain crucially aware of arber’s presence, could still feel his hands on your calves, his grip on your fingers.

eventually, you decided to lean against the boards to catch your breath.  before long you felt him next to you.  “had enough?” he asked.  

you pushed yourself off the boards.  “nope,” you said, willing stability into your legs.

he grinned, easily gliding alongside you as you moved forward.  “are you sure you’re related to your brother?” he said.  “he’s such a natural skater.”

“and?” you pressed, pretending to be offended.

he laughed before spinning to face you, skating backwards in front of you, his hands in his pockets.

“show off,” you scoffed.  

“you can’t take your eyes off me, darling.  it’s okay, you can be honest with me.”

“don’t be cocky,” you said.

“like you don’t love it.”  at your reaction, his smirk only deepened.  “keep rolling those pretty eyes, darling, not foolin’ me.”

you shook your head, tried to will the blush away.  “you’re a defensemen.  it’s literally your job to skate backwards.”

“i forget you research me in your free time,” he said with a small scrunch of his nose.  you shook your head, to which he did the same.  “that’s a lie,” he added, “i think of it often, actually.”  fire blossomed between you.  “of you.”

the truth in his eyes made you stumble, falling forward, right into him.  one of his arms steadied your hip, the other reaching all the way around your back to hold you up, both of your hands flat against his chest.  you tilted your neck back to look at him, found exactly what you were afraid of.  what you were feeling, reflected back at you.

you were sure that when he let you go, there would be a scorched imprint of his hand on your hip.  

“you can let go of me, now,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper.

a meaningful pause settled between you before he replied.  “you’re right,” he said, his thumb making circles on your hip.  “i could.”

you swallowed, feeling your eyes grow drowsy, almost intoxicated with the feeling of him so close, all around you.  your gaze dropped to his mouth, slowly made its way back up to his eyes, so dark and deep.  his embrace around you tightened.  was he leaning forward?

a cough from beside you snapped you out of your trance.  you practically leapt out of his arms.  

there your brother stood, holding his helmet.  “ready to go?” he asked, looking between the two of you.  

“yup,” you croaked, clearing your throat.  “let’s go, bug.”

you sped through the process of returning your skates and getting back in the car, desperate to avoid arber.  on the drive home, you worked to come up with a plan on how to avoid him, as you knew he was a terrible idea.  a terrible, horrible idea that would only leave you hurt and unable to enter the rink ever again.

so, you decided you would give it a couple weeks, give whatever you were feeling time to fizzle out, give yourself time to forget about him, your body some time to adjust, forget this temptation.  you would park your car in a different place than usual, tell your brother to carry his own bag, that it was good for his independence.  

and, for a while, it worked, at least well enough.  but, one day, when your brother got back into the car, he said, “coach arber asked about you today.”

you tried to ignore the reaction even his name stirred up within you.  “yeah?  what did he say?”

“asked why you haven’t been in,” he said, looking out the window.

you maintained your composure.  “and what did you say?”

“just that you usually wait out in the car now.  in a different spot.”

“fuck,” you mumbled before you could stop yourself.

so, the next day, you weren’t necessarily surprised to see arber trailing behind your brother on his way out.  

you looked at your hands, gripping the steering wheel.  had it always been so hard not to stare at his lips?  when had the spark in your stomach ignited into something devastating?

you were still staring straight ahead when his laugh cut through the air.  “what’re you doing out here, darling?” he asked, leaning on the side of the window.  “watching a compilation of my fighting majors?”

you shook your head, choked out a laugh, let yourself look at him in the eyes, finally.  it felt like water after a drought.  did you sigh in relief?

he smirked at your reaction, and you knew you were gone.  “i know you’re avoiding me,” he said.

“i’m not,” you protested.

he cut you off with a look.  “you are.  and i know why.”

“yeah?” you asked, moments of his arms around you and his lips, so close, flashing across your mind.

he nodded, leaning forward, straining his forearms.  “which is why you’re going to come to my home opener this weekend.”

you scoffed.  “i’m not going to that.”

he grinned, a real one full of teeth and joy.  you melted.  “you are,” he said.  “i have a ticket for you, and a jersey.  your bug has them both.”

incredulous, you shook your head, suddenly jittery.  “arber.”  this smile could have convinced you to do terrible, terrible things.  “i’m not doing this.”

but he just slapped the side of the car twice and began to pull back.  “i can’t force you to,” he said.  “but i want you there, darling.  i want you there, for me.”

you groaned as you put the car in drive.

“please?” he said, his tone telling you that he knew he was victorious.  

“i’m not,” you called out.

he only laughed as you drove away.

and just as he expected, you found yourself at the game, early enough to see warm ups, right by the glass.  every couple of minutes you would groan internally at yourself.  what did you think you were doing here?  in a jersey with his number on your back?  

you couldn’t just say yes to everything he asked because he had a pretty smile, and because he was just so big, and because making him laugh felt like a prize you were so determined to win.  or because of the heat that so frequently now seared across his eyes when he looked at you, or because his forearms were impossible to ignore when he rested them on the window of your car.

you were lost in thought when the team finally skated out onto the ice for warmups, but lucidity found you immediately, as he was better in real life than he was in your memories, in your imagination.

you watched with admiration as he skated and shot a couple pucks, swallowed when he stretched near center ice, your eyes never straying far from his number, not expecting him to acknowledge you at all.

but as the clock counted down, after one lap around their half, he stopped, faced away, before moving backwards and hitting his back into the glass, directly in front of you.  and he wasn’t even looking at you, but you knew he was there, and you knew he knew you were, too.

you didn’t know what to do, until you knew exactly what to do.

after a moment, you reached forward and gently slapped the glass twice, like he had done to your car so many times before.  you smiled to yourself as he immediately took off, moving full speed towards the bench and down the tunnel.

a ritual that you both understood, wordlessly and perfectly.

the seat that arber had reserved for you was not with the other guests of players.  instead, you found yourself sitting directly next to the penalty box.  you breathed out a laugh as you sat down.

the game was fun to watch.  arber was breathtaking.  his size, his speed, his brutal physicality, it was all on full display, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

especially late into the third period, when one of the wingers on the other team landed a nasty hit on one of arber’s teammates.  you had a feeling you knew what was coming, but you had never seen a fight in person, never mind seen this side of arber before.

as soon as his gloves came off, your breath caught.  the other guy didn’t stand a chance.  you squeezed your legs together as he threw a hook that upended both of their helmets, winced as the other skater landed a hard blow to his jaw, bit your lip as arber grabbed the winger’s jersey and threw him to the ice.

you exhaled a deep breath as the refs skated both players off into their boxes, your eyes trained on arber’s face as he ran a hand, cracked and bleeding, through his damp hair, then stepped into the box and sat down.  

you let your gaze drip over him like a melting popsicle.  it was some kind of cruel punishment to be so close to him, only separated by a pane of glass.  partially because he was in a sort of pain, that was obvious.  his chest was heaving, his lip was split, swollen, his jaw was already beginning to bruise. 

but the heat inside of you, now too powerful to ignore, that was a different urge entirely.  an urge to sit across his lap, only further tempting when he spread his knees wide, as he was doing now.  an urge to hold his face in your hands, to kiss away his pain, to give him something else to focus on, to make him focus on you.  

how badly you wanted him to be able to focus on nothing but you.

an urge to know what his lips felt like on yours, what his hands felt like around your neck, what he felt like inside of you, that was becoming the more pressing urge.  you crossed your legs tighter.

you should probably look back at the ice, at the game.  you wouldn’t want to give yourself away.

before you could turn away though, you noticed that his mouth was forming words, but he wasn’t talking to anyone.

and that smirk had only ever been just for you.

“you’re staring, darling,” he mouthed.

you flushed, turned away abruptly, didn’t need to see his cocky grin grow wider still.  

the game ended, and you still felt like you were on fire.  if you didn’t do something about it, would this torture last forever?  would you go forever wondering?  forever, wanting?

possible outcomes flashed across your mind.  but the longer you thought about it, the more your willpower dissolved into something else, something weaker, more forgiving, until you couldn’t quite remember why you had disliked him so much when you had first met him.  until any negative consequences seemed deliciously inconsequential.

so, when he came out down the tunnel, ready to go home, you were there, and his smile was a dream.  the smile of a person who knew they had won, finally and entirely.

“darling,” he greeted as he walked up.  “glad you came.”

you nodded.  “me too,” you said, stood in front of him, practically chest to chest, looking up at him, electricity humming between you.

“yeah?” he reached out, tilted your chin up further to search your gaze.  a pause filled with meaning settled.  “you have something you want to say?”  

you bit your lip, relished in the way his next breath came out shallow, nodded.

“tell me, darling.”  you couldn’t refuse him if you wanted to.

your exhale came out shaky.  “just want you so bad, arber,” you all but mumbled.  “can’t take it.”

his eyes flashed, dangerous.  one arm came around your back and tugged you closer.  “fuck, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he rasped.  “pretty girls like you never have to wait.”

you whimpered at the sensation of him pressed into your front, felt him hard against you.

“gonna give me a kiss?” he asked, rough and low, before you pushed yourself up on your toes to meet his lips, tender and bruised.  he moaned into your mouth at the only-just painful pressure, you wrapped your arms around his neck, grasped at the hair at the nape of his neck, the soft, damp, curls you had been dreaming about since you first saw him.

you whined as one of his hands squeezed a handful of your hip, felt that burning need only intensify.  he angled his hips so you could feel what you were doing to him, which only made you whimper.

“please, please,” you breathed, “i need to feel you, arber.  need you, now.”

he smiled into your mouth, and your lips would never be the same.  “oh, pretty baby, so needy, hm?”

you nodded, twisted his curls around your fingers, long past feeling embarrassed.  

his bandaged hand enveloped yours.  “come on, then,” he said, pulling you towards the exit, through the doors.  “fuck, don’t think i can wait, either.” 

you finally reached his car, parked far from the venue, far from any other car.  every second without kissing him was a second lacking.   he opened the car door, reached an arm underneath you, and picked you up, holding you against his front as he lowered you both into the backseat.  

you immediately buried your face into his neck, letting your lips leave your mark on him like he had more permanently, less physically done to you.  he groaned, tilted his hips up into you, gripped your hips and led you in a rhythm across his lap, the friction making you devastatingly impatient.

“‘m ready for you,” you mumbled into his neck, taking one of his hands from your hip and guiding it down so that he could feel you.

he moved your clothes aside, ran his thick fingers through your folds, making you gasp.  “so wet, darling,” he rasped, “what made you so needy, hm?”

he wrapped his other hand gently around your throat, squeezed only slightly, pulled you back to look at him, the gaze between you liquid metal. 

you whimpered, which made him increase the pressure around your neck, just a bit.  “i know you want to be good for me,” he rasped.  “so, tell me.”

“you did,” you breathed out.  “seeing you.”

“yeah?  pretty baby likes it when i fight, hm?”  he let go of your neck, tugged his own clothes aside to free his cock, groaned when you spit into your hands and immediately began to stroke him.

“not just the fight,” you said, “just you, arber.  fuck, you make me like this.”  he let out a sound like a growl, grew impossibly hard and thick at your words, at your hands.

“you make me crazy, darling,” he bit out as he reached an arm under you again to lift you up.  “have been since i first saw you.  ready?”

you answered him by sinking down onto him entirely, the stretch euphoric, both of your noises even more so.  you tilted your head back, mouth falling slack.

“hm, feel so perfect,” he rasped, pushed two fingers into your open mouth, groaned when you bit down on them gently.  “good girl, so perfect for me.”

you scrunched your eyes shut and focused on his fingers in your mouth as he began to thrust up into you, making that stretch feel even deeper, like he was becoming a part of you.  “so big,” you whined, the words distorted by his hand.  “don’t know if i can, arber.”

he didn’t stop, if anything thrust harder.  “you can, pretty baby,” he cooed.  “you’re gonna make me feel so good, yeah?”

and you couldn’t help but nod, overwhelmed with the desire to do just that, to be the person to do that.  you began to fuck back into him, brought your hips back to meet him thrust for thrust.

you whined as you clenched around him, wrapped a hand around his wrist and guided his hand from your mouth down to your clit.  he immediately began to tease you, adding to the sensation.

“hm, arber, you fuck me so good,” you said roughly, snaking a hand into his hair and raking your nails down his neck.  “fuck, so good.”

he gave a thrust that was slow, deliberate, making you feel him in your teeth.  “yeah, darling?  better than how you imagined?”

you nodded before you knew what you were confessing to, couldn’t find it in yourself to care when his smirk told you that you had been found out.  you just lowered your mouth to his shoulder and bit into it to muffle your moans.  he hissed.

“‘s okay,” he said, his thrusts speeding up, his motions on your clit drawing you closer.  “you’re better than i imagined, too.”

you clenched around him at his words, felt yourself flush, grow so dangerously close.  

he moaned into your hair.  “fuck, darling, look so fucking pretty like this.”  he took his other hand from your hip to your stomach, placing pressure there so you felt him even deeper.  you winced, just there, your rhythm on top of him faltering.  “be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?”

you collapsed into his chest as you reached an angelic high, gushing around him and pushing him to his own orgasm, his moan a desperate rasp as he stilled inside of you.  his breathing was hard and hot as you caught your own breath, fisting his shirt in one of your hands as the other rested around his neck.  

he brought one arm around your back, held you to him as the other grasped the back of your neck and snaked into your hair.  the windows of the car had fogged up like a rainy day, and both of your faces were rosy with exertion and satisfaction.

you hummed as he rubbed circled into your lower neck with his thumb.  

“like my number on you,” he murmured, breaking the comfortable silence that could have been a decade.

“me too,” you agreed, a small smile playing across your mouth.  “like you on me.”

“yeah?” he asked, a lazy grin on his swollen lips.  “me too.”

and you let out a sigh, so content.  and he kissed the top of your head.  and both of you would have been happy to stay here forever, watching the fog drip from the windows like thinning honey.

fin.

[lee-laurent]

Beaten and Bruised - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke and Sylvie struggle to find their soulmates

content: soulmate au! injuries, bruises, blood, fainting, a bit of angst, fluff!

wc: 5.6k

notes: enjoy guys!! trying to get back in the groove of writing :) not proofread

Sylvie Williams had always wondered what kind of person her soulmate might be. The thought of having someone out there--a complete stranger with a connection so deep they could feel each other's pain--was thrilling yet terrifying. She had gotten used to the faint bruises, and occasional sharp stabs that would catch her by surprise--reminding her of their existence.

She could still remember when she first learned of the bond. She was a little girl, waking up with a nasty gash on her cheek, blood on her pillow. She'd stared at herself in the mirror before bursting into tears. How could that have happened in her sleep? She had sprinted down to her parents room, barely able to contain herself between sobs. Her parents knew exactly what it meant, though. They'd sat her down and explained what was happening to her in the way only parents could.

"Somewhere out there," her mother said softly, "you have someone who will be with you for life, someone who will be there through everything. Thick and thin. You're meant to be together."

At first, it sounded magical--a storybook kind of connection, where she and this mysterious other person were linked to live happily ever after. But over the years, as the scrapes and bruises began to add up, Sylvie learned that fate wasn't always gentle. Her soulmate was clearly living life in the fast lane, and they seemed to collect injuries like they were Pokemon. Sometimes it was as simple as a dull ache in her side that lasted a few hours. Other times, she'd wake up with sore ribs or throbbing knuckles, feeling as if she'd just lost a fight. And one time, she woke up with a broken ankle... that one was fun.

She used to try and imagine what he was doing. Had they been in a car accident? A bad fall? She'd picture them as an adventurer or someone with a dangerous job. But was time went on, she learned not to dwell on it. She couldn't stop them from getting hurt, and the constant worrying became exhausting. Instead, she liked to think that each bruise was a sign that they were out there living their best life.

The constant random injuries had become so much a part of her that her friends had adapted to joking about it, especially her roommate Mia.

"Another bruise?" Mia asked, spotting a fresh mark on Sylvie's shin as she emerged from the bathroom. Sylvie looked down, barely surprised.

"Oh, yeah. Probably nothing," she replied with a grin, rolling her eyes as she rubbed at it. "They must be busy this week. Either that or they've taken up skateboarding."

"Or cliff diving," Mia smirked. "Maybe they're a stunt double."

Sylvie laughed, though it did seem her soulmate had a limitless capacity for injuries. It didn't bother her most days, it made them feel real. She felt them in the faintest aches and though it did hurt, the mystery was comforting. They were out there somewhere, even if they felt worlds away.

For Luke Hughes, pain was something he'd come to tolerate pretty well. As a hockey player, a professional one at that, taking hits and bouncing back was part of the game, an occupational hazard he gladly accepted. But for all the pain he endured on the ice, there were always the other bruises--the ones that weren't his.

It wasn't something he talked about much, even to his brothers, who had all grown up experiencing the same thing. They would occasionally joke about it, but Luke rarely mentioned it. He tried not to think about his soulmate too often, chalking it up as one of those things that just came with being human. But when he was alone, on late nights or long flights after away games, he couldn't help but imagine what they'd be like.

He figured they had to be as accident-prone as he was--maybe more. He remembered his first high school game, how he'd come home sore, only to feel a strange, unearned ache in his ribs a few days later. It seemed like they'd traded injuries without even knowing it.

"You got a twin out there taking hits for you, Rusty?" Nico teased as Luke winced, a dull pain radiating up his side like he'd just bumped into the corner of a counter.

"Must be my soulmate, I guess," Luke shrugged. "Either that or I've got a ghost that keeps beating me up."

"Poor girl," Nico snorted. "I'd hate to be the one taking all your hits."

"I'll try not to break anything this season," he muttered as he tied up his skates. He really wished he could apologize for the pain he'd caused her, but then again... she was serving it right back at him.

~~

Sylvie wasn't the biggest sports fan ever. She'd gone to occasional football game in high school, but hockey was foreign to her, something she associated with people fighting just because they felt like it. It had never occurred to her to watch a professional game, but this was about to be about "new experiences"--Mia's words, not hers.

"C'mon, Sylvie!" Mia pleaded, pulling her along outside Prudential Center as they joined the sea of red-and-black jerseys streaming into the arena. "You never do stuff like this! It'll be fun."

Sylvie laughed, letting herself get caught up in Mia's excitement. "All right, fine. But if I get hit with a puck, I'm holding you responsible."

"Oh, relax. We're nowhere near the ice," Mia dismissed her. "Besides, the only thing you'll get hit by is a serious case of hockey heart eyes. I mean, have you seen these guys? Just wait 'til you see Luke Hughes. You won't regret it."

"I think you underestimate my resilience to heart eyes," Sylvie joked, pulling her jacket a little closer to her body. The arena was packed and she couldn't help but make a face as she was jostled trying to walk through the doors.

They made their way to their seats, a decent section with a clear view of the rink, but not close enough she'd get hit. Sylvie had never experienced the atmosphere of waving foam fingers and signs with players' names on them, and she began to think she might actually enjoy herself.

"Look, there he is!" Mia said, nudging her roommate and pointing toward the players on the ice.

Sylvie squinted, watching the players skate in circles. They were like video game characters, moving so fast she could barely keep track of who was who. But then she noticed him--Number 43, Luke Hughes, the tall denfenceman with light brown hair curling under his helmet. He stood out, as if he demanded her attention without even trying.

Mia leaned over, whispering excitedly. "Total dreamboat, right? Wouldn't you be lucky if he was your soulmate!! I mean, yours is always getting hurt, right?"

"Please. What are the chances he's a pro athlete? Knowing my luck, he's probably a rock climber or something."

But Mia's words did plant a tiny seed of curiousity in her mind. Hockey was an incredibly physical sport, filled with endless risks and injuries. Her soulmate always seemed like he led an active life. She shook her head, laughing it off. It was ridiculous to even consider.

The lights dimmed, and the music kicked up, rattling the arena. The fans roared as the game officially began and Sylvie felt the excitement ripple through her. The players skates carving up the ice with sharp precision. She tried to keep track of who had the puck and where it was going, but her eyes kept drifting to Luke. He moved awfully gracefully for such a rough game, his every move controlled.

Then, it happened.

Sylvie didn't even see the first hit coming. She was finally watching the puck when Luke collided with another player, slamming hard into the boards. A loud thud that made her wince--and then, a sharp sting in her shoulder, a burst of pain that caught her off guard. She gasped, reaching up to rub the sore spot.

What was that?

She tried to ignore it, shaking her head. Probably just a coincidence. Maybe she'd slept funny. But a few minutes later, Luke took another hit, this time falling to the ice as he scrambled for control of the puck. And again, Sylvie felt an ache in her side, like she'd fallen over.

She shifted in her seat, her fingers absently brushing the spot that throbbed with pain. No way, she thought, her heartrate picking up. She tried to dismiss it, but the connection was too uncanny, too perfectly timed. She looked at Mia, who was busy cheering.

"Mia," she whispered, trying to sound casual. "Do you... do you ever feel pain when someone else gets hurt? Like, weird, out-of-nowhere pain?"

"Uh, only when my soulmate is being clumsy. But he's usually fine," she paused, noticing Sylvie's uneasy expression. "Why? You feeling something?"

She nodded slowly, not wanting to seem insane. "It's just... Every time that guy--Luke Hughes--takes a hit, I feel it too. Like... really feel it."

"Oh my god. You think he's your soulmate?"

"No! No, it's probably just a coincidence. It has to be."

But it became impossible to ignore. Every hit that Luke took, every time he went down or got tangled with another player, Sylvie felt a corresponding jolt of pain. By the second period, she was clutching her seat, trying to process it.

"This can't be real," she mumbled, though the evidence was impossible to deny.

"You okay?" Mia asked, watching her with growing concern.

"I... I don't know." She looked back at Luke, watching him as he skated down the rink. Part of her was exhilerated, the idea of her soulmate being someone so cool, so driven. But another part of her was scared. If it was real, he had no idea how much he was putting her through.

And then, as if on cue, everything fell apart.

In the third period, Luke took an extra hard hit. Sylvie saw it coming--she saw the player rushing at him, the brutal speed of the collision as Luke went down. The crowd gasped as Luke lay on the ice a moment, collecting himself.

But Sylvie didn't see what happened next. The instant he hit the ice, a searing, white-hot pain flared in hre chest, unlike anything she'd ever felt. The shock of it ripped through her, consuming every thought, every sense, until all she could feel was pain.

She barely heard Mia's shout of concern as her vision blurred, the edges of her world fading into darkness. The last thing she remembered was the sting of the hit, and then everything went black.

~~

The next time Sylvie opened her eyes, she was lying under bright, sterile lights, quiet beeping filling the room. She blinked, trying to piece together what had happened. Her body felt heavy, her chest aching as though she'd been run over.

"Oh, thank god. You scared the life out of me."

"What... happened?" her voice was hoarse.

"You fainted. At the game, after Hughes took that hit," Mia explained. "Sylvie, I think he's really your soulmate. The timing, the pain--it all lines up."

Sylvie's cheeks flushed, and she tried to laugh it off despite her shaky voice. "You think Luke Hughes is my soulmate?"

"Just saying that it makes total sense! I mean, think about it. The hits, the pain, the last one that made you fucking faint, Sylv!"

Sylvie laid back, trying to take it all in. Deep down, she knew Mia was right but she didn't want to believe it. His life was a worlds away from hers. And the thought filled her with exictement and dread. Lots and lots of dread.

~~

After Sylvie was discharged, she and her friends gathered at her apartment, eager to plan their next move. Mia, Jenna, and Casey were practically bouncing in their seats as they went over ideas, each one wilder than the last.

"So, first thing's first," Mia began, "we need to get you close to him. Figure out if your bruises match."

"Yeah, but how?" Casey chimed in. "Not like we can just show up at the rink and expect him to be all, 'Oh hey, you must be my soulmate!'"

"What about a fan event?" Jenna scrolled through her phone. "The Devils do meet-and-greets, right? I bet we could get tickets to one of those."

Sylvie's eyes widened. "Are you serious? You guys actually want to try and... meet him?"

"Why not? Mia grinned. "It's perfect. If he's really your soulmate, we can test it out in person. See if he reacts the same when you're face-to-face."

Sylvie laughed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I don't know. I mean... it sounds a little... stalkerish? Like, we don't know if he'd be open to this at all. He has no idea who I am."

"Come on, Sylvie! This isn't some stranger," Jenna argued. "This is literally your soulmate. Fate, destiny, all that shit. You can't just sit here and wait for him to stumble across you, can you?"

Part of Sylvie wanted to dive in, to test the bond, to finally meet the person she'd been connected to for so long. But she also felt grossly unprepared, like stepping into his world would be an invasion.

"I just... I don't want to freak him out. If he's really my soulmate, I want to meet him naturally, not... not like some crazy fan ambushing him."

"We get it, Sylv. But there's got to be some way to find out for sure."

After a moment of silence, Casey perked up, snapping her fingers. "What if we watch another game? You know, see if you feel anything. That way, we're not being weird or invasive... just testing the theory. You can watch from a safe distance, and if it happens again, we'll be sure."

Sylvie's eyes brightened as she listened to her friend. "That actually sounds... reasonable."

"There we go! Next game's on Saturday. We'll grab snacks, make a night of it. And if you start flinching or passing out again, then we'll have our answer."

~~

That Saturday night, the girls settled into the couch, snacks and drinks ready, the Devils game queued up on the TV. Sylvie tried to relax, though her nerves were super on edge. She wasn't sure what outcome she was hoping for. Maybe neither. Maybe she'd just got to bed and pretend none of it ever happened.

The game began and the camera panned to the players, the crowd roaring, and Sylvie felt her heart skip when she saw Luke, tall and confident.

"Look at him," Jenna said with a wink. "You got lucky in the soulmate department."

"Shut up," Sylvie blushed.

As the game progressed, Luke took a few minor bumps, the usual hockey stuff. But each time, Sylvie felt it.

Mia's eyes widened when Sylvie winced, giving her arm an excited squeeze. "It's him. It's really him, isn't it?"

Then, toward the end of the second period, Luke took a fall, tripping over nothing in particular. Sylvie gritted her teeth as pain shot through her ribs. She doubled over, clutching her side, her breathing shallow until the ache subsided. Her friends hovered around her, their concern mixed with awe.

"You okay?" Jenna gently rubbed her back.

"Yeah... just hurts like a bitch."

Mia leaned back, her expression triumphment. "Well, I'd say we got our answer. Luke Hughes is most definitely your soulmate."

It was real. He was real. The constant reminder of someone else's presence had a face, a name, and a story. And now, all she had to do was find a way to tell him.

~~

Luke's ribs were still sore from his stupid fall as he leaned against his stall, unlacing his skates with careful, slow movements. The hit he'd taken the other night was beyond brutal, even for him. He'd gone down hard, and though he'd been able to shake it off, falling again just made it worse.

The locker room buzzed with their usual post-practice chatter, but today there was a new current of gossip, something that Luke couldn't ignore.

"Did you guys hear about the girl that fainted the other night?" Jack said, dropping onto the bench next to him.

Luke raised an eyebrow. "What girl?"

Jack leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. "So get this--apparently some girl in the stands fainted right when you took that hit. Like, right in the middle of the third period. Security had to carry her out. Everyone thinks it was from you getting rocked."

The rest of the team chuckled, but Luke rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Maybe she just had a thing for seeing people get hurt. Or blood."

"I'm serious," his brother insisted. "I'm telling you, man, she saw you hit the boards and dropped like a rock."

Luke tried to laugh it off, but it made his pulse quicken. He was used to having fans--hockey was a thrilling sport and people loved watching it. But the timing was... strange. He'd taken loads of hits before but he never imagined anyone fainting at the sight of it, not unless there was more to it.

"Come on, guys, lay off 'im," Nico clapped him on the back with a wink. "She was probably just some hopeless romantic. 'Oh, my hero, Luke Hughes, so tragically thrown into the boards!'" He put a hand on his forehead dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Luke muttered, half-listening as his teammates continued to crack jokes. Fainting at the exact time he hit the boards? The coincidence as uncanny. It was probably nothing, but... what if?

Could she be...? No. The odds were so small, and it was crazy to even consider it a possibility. Jack was just pulling his leg. It was all just some stupid joke at his expense. There was no way... unless...

~~

Luke couldn't shake the idea for the next few days. He thought about it during practice, while watching film, even on the drives home. His usual routine felt off, as if something was missing, and he found himself looking out into the stands during games, scanning the sea of faces for one he wouldn't even recognize.

It was strange, looking for a person he knew so intimately without having met. The idea of meeting her, of actually seeing her face and finding out who she was, was... terrifying.

In the days that followed, he took any excuse to be where fans would be, hoping he might spot her. He'd sign autographs after practice, spend longer at fan events, stand near the entrance after games. Each time, he'd hope for a sign, an instinct that would pull him to her. Tell him, there she is. That's her. But the crowds just blended together, each face unrecognizable and not comforting in the slightest.

His teammates started to notice. Jack in particular seemed to find it hilarious, trailing after Luke wherever he lingered, making sly comments.

"Looking for someone, Rusty?" Jack asked with a knowing grin as Luke craned his neck to look at the fans leaving the stadium. "Maybe that girl from the game?"

"Yeah, yeah, keep laughing." Luke felt the frustration gnawing away at him. The whole thing felt ridiculous. He didn't even know if the story was true, if the girl was really out there, but he couldn't let it go. No matter how hard he tried, he felt a pull as if she were waiting for him to find her.

Jack laughed, clapping him on the back. "Dude, I get it. You think she's your soulmate, don't ya?"

Luke looked away, trying to play it cool. "I don't know, maybe. I just... I just want to know who she is."

Jack gave him a sympathetic smile. "Hey, don't worry. If she's out there, I'm sure you'll find her. And if not, we'll get a whole fan campaign going-- hashtag find Luke's soulmate or something. The media would love it."

"Please no campaigns. The last thing I need is to look like some desperate romantic."

"Who's desperate?" Nico chimed in. "Looks to me like you're finally taking an interest in finding your soulmate."

"Alright, alright," Luke shook them off. He wanted to believe his teammates were right, that somehow, fate would make this happen without him forcing it. But each day that passed without a glimpse of her only made him more determined.

~~

Weeks went by, and his hope began to wear thin. He tried to push it to the back of his mind, focusing on hockey, his training, his routines. But every so often, he'd find himself searching the stands during warmups. The spark of excitement he'd felt at first had faded, leaving a persistent ache that had nothing to do with injuries.

"Maybe she's playing hard to get," Jack mused one afternoon. "You could always start hanging out at local cafés. Who knows? Maybe she's right under your nose."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'll just put an ad in the paper: 'If you fainted during that one game, meet me in section 103.'"

"That could work. You'd have half the girls in Jersey showing up though."

"Not really what I'm going for, but thanks."

By the end of the month, Luke had begun to accept that if might be a long time before he found her, if he ever did. Some people never met their soulmates, spending their lives with only the reminders of someone else's existance. In fact, Luke knew people that got married even though they weren't soulmates because they'd given up. He didn't want to worry about that, but since the fainting incident, it was hard to ignore.

~~

Sylvie hadn't expected much from a girls' night out, but that was part of the appeal. After the last few weeks of "Operation Find Luke" (or "Operation Don't Stalk Luke" as she called it), she was ready to leave the soulmate drama at home for the night. The recent bruises had done nothing to calm her nerves, and she was desperate for a break. Tonight, it would just be her friends, drinks, and lots of laughter.

The chose a cozy bar, crowded but not packed. Sylvie ordered a cocktail, letting herself sink into the moment, a little thrill building at the idea of forgetting everything for a night.

Mia nudged her as the drinks arrived. "Here's to no more swooning over mysterious hockey players," she teased, raising her glass.

Sylvie laughed, clinking her glass with Mia's. "To a drama-free night."

The girls settled into a fun night, oblivious to anything outside their circle. But, as fate would have it, that peace didn't last long. Not ten minutes into their second round of drinks, Jenna's eyes went wide.

"Oh my god," Jenna whispered, elbowing her friends. "Isn't that... Nico Hischier?"

Nico Hischier, captain of the Devils, was leaning against the bar with a group of friends. Seeing him there made everything feel real for Sylvie again, like the whirlwind of the last few weeks had come rushing back at once.

"Oh god," she muttered, quickly looking away. "Act normal. If we ignore him, maybe he won't notice us."

"Fat chance of that," Mia teased. "D'you know what the chances are? This is fate!"

Before Sylvie could stop her, Mia slid out of her seat and strolled over to the bar, striking up conversation with Nico like they were old friends. Sylvie watched in horror as Mia introduced herself, gesturning back to their table with a smile. Nice glanced their way, nodding politely.

"Mia's actually talking to him," Sylvie whispered half to herself. "We're fucking doomed."

Jenna giggled. "Relax. What's the worst that could happen?"

A few minutes later Mia returned with a triumphant smile. "Okay, ladies, don't freak out, but I invited Nico and his friends to join us."

"You did what?"

Mia shrugged casually. "What? He was nice! And it's not everyday you get to hang out with the captain of an NHL team. Besides, I may have mentioned that we've been trying to get in touch with a certain Luke Hughes..."

Sylvie's jaw dropped. "Oh my god, Mia. No."

"Hey, thanks for letting us crash girls' night," Nico smiled. "Mia tells me you're a fan of the team?"

"More or less," Jenna said with a grin, shooting Sylvie a look. "Sylvie might be a little more invested than the rest of us."

"Oh, you know... casual fan." She shot a look at Mia, who merely smirked in response.

Nico chuckled, catching on with a knowing smile. "You know, Mia mentioned you've been looking for Luke. Something about... maybe being his soulmate?"

"Oh, I... I mean..." She fumbled for words, feeling horribly exposed. She hadn't planned on spilling her entire, complicated soulmate saga to Nico Hischier in a bar.

Nico's expression softened. "Look, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but... if this is legit, I think Luke would want to know. He's been looking for someone, too."

"He... has?"

"He doesn't say much, but he's been acting... different. Like he's got something on his mind. We all just thought he'd met someone who might be his soulmate."

Before she could process any of his words, a new voice joined the conversation. "Hey, Neeks, you're hogging all the fun over here."

She turned and froze. Standing next to Nico was Luke himeslf, towering and unmistakably familiar even in regular clothes. He wore a small, curious smile.

And then their eyes met.

It was like the rest of the world faded away, the chatter and music melting away. There was something pulling them to each other. It felt like meeting someone she'd known her whole life, someone who lived happily in the quietest corners of her mind. A look of recognition crossed Luke's face.

Neither of them moved, too caught up in the intensity of the connection. Then, almost as if compelled, he took a step forward, reaching his hand out.

"Hi... I'm Luke."

"Sylvie," she managed, her hand slipping into his.

A current ran between them, a strange, electric feeling filled the space between them.

"Wow," he murmured. "This... this is real, isn't it?"

She nodded, too overwhelmed to say much, a giddy smile breaking across her face. "Yeah... I think so."

"We'll leave you guys to it," Jenna smirked.

"Wanna head somewhere quieter?" Luke offered, earning a nod in return.

Luke held Sylvie's hand, leading her through the crowd and out onto the quiet sidewalk. The air was cool, refreshing compared to to the warmth inside. Outside, things felt a little more real.

This was Luke--her soulmate, her literal other half--and he was standing there, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

"So," Luke began, "I guess we should start by saying... it's nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, mystery man. I can't believe this is happening."

"Me neither. I was wondered who you were. I mean, I grew up with all these bruises and aches. Half the time, I thought I was making it up." He chuckled, shaking his head. "But it was you. It was really you."

"Same here. I tried to imagine you, what your life was like, where the bruises and cuts came from. And then, when I started to piece it together, I kept thinking I'd never actually meet you. But apparently, fate had other ideas."

"Guess we didn't have a choice, huh?" Luke teased, grinning down at her. "You've had your fair share of bruises, too, you know. It was like trying to keep up with my own clumsy twin."

"Hey! I'm not clumsy... usually. But you--my god. You have no idea how many times I've had to explain away your injuries to my friends. They practically staged an intervention."

Luke laughed and the sound made her heart skip a beat. "You can blame the Devils for most of the recent ones. If you've seen me on the ice... Sorry I haven't made this easy for you."

"I survived. So did you. I guess that means we're both pretty tough... what did you think I'd be like?"

"Honestly? I thought you'd be... well, I guess I thought you'd be someone strong. But I didn't think... I didn't think I'd feel this connection, this fast. It's like I've known you forever"

"I know exactly what you mean," she whispered. "It's like... everything just makes sense now."

Sylvie felt an undeniable pull toward him, something so deep it was impossible to resist. She knew, without a doubt, that this was where she was meant to be. As if reading her mind, Luke stepped closer, his hand reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. She shivered as his fingers lingered against her cheek.

"Can I ask you something?" he whispered.

She nodded, her breath catching. "Anything."

"Do you feel it too? Like everything's perfect?"

"Yeah. I do. I've never felt this way before. I didn't think I ever would."

Luke's gaze flickered down to her lips. "I... I've wanted to do this since the moment I saw you."

The moment their lips met, it was fireworks, filling her with a sense of belonging she'd never known before. It was soft at first, a delicate brush of their lips that quickly deepened as he pulled her close, cradling her cheek. Each moment was a silent promise, a confirmation of everything they couldn't put into words.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless and smiling, she looked up at him. She felt weightless.

"Wow," she mumbled. "That was..."

"Amazing?" he finished for her.

"Yeah. Amazing."

"I can't believe you're real."

"But I'm here. And I'm not going anyway," she reassured."

"So," he smiled playfully, "what's next? Do we just... walk off into the sunset now?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I don't know. But I'm not ready to say goodnight yet."

"Good. Because I want to know everything about you, Sylvie. All the stories, all the moments... everything."

~~

The city had grown even more quiet as Sylvie and Luke walked side by side, their hands intertwined. Luke's mind was racing, still reeling from the evening's events. Finding Sylvie, feeling the spark, sharing their first kiss--it felt like a dream he was afraid to wake up from.

"Wanna come back to my place?" he asked tentatively. "I mean, only if you want to. I just... I feel like we could talk for hours."

"I'd love that."

They continued toward Luke's apartment, each step filled with quiet excitement, and just as they reached the building's entrance, Luke spotted a familiar figure leaning against the wall: Jack. Jack's head perked up when he noticed them, his eyes flicking between the two of them, taking in their clasped hands with a look of surprise.

"Whoa, hey, Lukey! Didn't know you were bringing home... company." Jack's tone was teasing, but his eyes were curious as he looked at Sylvie. "I don't think we've met?"

"Hey, Jack," Luke rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "This is, uh, Sylvie. She's..."

Sylvie chuckled, "Hi, Jack."

"Well, hi, Sylvie. Nice to meet you, I guess?" He turned to his brother, a sly smile on his face. "So, are you going to fill me in, or is this a mystery?"

"It's... kind of a long story." He glanced at Sylvie, who nodded encouragingly.

Jack crossed his arms, examining them. But just as Luke was about to open his mouth and explain, Jack's gaze dropped to Sylvie's arm, where a faint yellow-ish bruise matched one on Luke's forearm--a mirror image, perfectly aligned. Jack's eyes widened, glancing back and forth between their arms, piecing it together. His mouth fell open, a look of astonishment spreading across his face.

"No way. No fucking way!" He practically shouted, pointing an accusatory finger. "Don't tell me... she's the one? Your soulmate?!"

Luke's cheeks flushed but he smiled. "Yeah, Jack. This is her."

Jack whooped, throwing his arms around Luke in a brotherly bear hug. "This is insane! Dude, this is... you found her! Your actual soulmate!" He turned to Sylvie, eyes still wide. "You're real!"

"Last time I checked, yeah," she giggled.

"Oh my god, Quinn's gonna lose his mind!" Jack practically vibrated with excitement, pulling his phone from his pocket and frantically dialing Quinn. Luke barely had time to react before he heard his oldest brother on the other end.

"Jack? It's like past midnight there. Why are you calling me?"

"Quinn!" Jack yelled, making Luke wince. "Guess who found his soulmate?!"

There was a beat of silence, and then Quinn's voice came through, more alert than before. "Wait... you're serious? Luke found her?!"

"Dead serious. She's right here. Her name's Sylvie. And she's awesome."

Quinn laughed. "No way. Luke, man, that's... that's incredible."

Luke could hear the genuine happiness in Quinn's voice and his own excitement bubbled over. "Thanks, Q. And yeah... she's real. She's... she's here."

"Can't wait to meet her. Take care of her, okay?"

"I will," Luke promised.

Jack finally hung up, eyes still wide as saucers. "Okay, I just need to say it--you seem like the coolest! I mean, it's so weird to meet you. You guys were like... made for each other."

She chuckled nervously. "Thanks, Jack. You're... not exactly what I expected."

"Glad I can surprise you," Jack replied, throwing an arm over both of them as they headed for the elevator. "But seriously, I'm so pumped for you guys. You're about to be the most iconic couple in hockey history. Imagine the headlines!"

Luke rolled his eyes, shrugging Jack off. "Alright, alright, Jack, that's enough. This isn't gonna be a media circus."

"Oh come on," he was unfazed. "This is huge! People love a good soulmate story!"

Luke grabbed Sylvie's hand, leading her down to his bedroom, where they settled side by side on the bed. They talked well into the night, sharing stories, dreams, and quiet laughter, each word solidifying their futures together. And as the city lights flickered outside, they held each other close, knowing that all the bruises, all the years, had led them here, to where they were meant to be. Together.

[comphy-and-cozy]

Playing Pretend - Tyson Jost

Pairing: Tyson Jost x OC (f)

Summary: When Delaney Taylor needs a date to her family reunion, Tyson Jost volunteers his services. As they navigate their fake relationship, the line between what’s real and what isn’t begins to blur.

Word Count: 9.8k

Author's Note: Happy birthday, @senditcolton! Surprise, I was your Little Women anon 🤓🥳 I had a blast creating this and infusing the March family into the characters - I hope you enjoy! S/O to @wyattjohnston for helping to beta and to @smileysvech & @jostystyles for the extra details because I'm insane. 🖤 The birthday bingo prompts I selected were: Fake dating / Drunk confession / Argument Scene / She's oblivious / Free Space (Inspired by... Little Women)

Warnings: Angst, language, alcohol use. NHL Masterlist

A buzz on the coffee table alerted Delaney Taylor’s attention away from the television. Beside her, the gentle hum of a Theragun sounded over the low volume of an Avalanche game. She was at Tyson’s house, having accepted his invite to hang out and get takeout on his night off. They’d met through friends, and after finding a mutual interest in The Lagoons and bad reality TV, their friendship naturally veered off to form a branch and blossom on its own.

The phone buzzed again, prompting Delaney to lean forward and grab it upon seeing a text from her sister. 

“Fuck,” she said, “Alyssa just texted asking for a final count for my family get together in July.”

“And that’s a bad thing… why? You love your family,” Tyson said, confused. He set down his Theragun on the ottoman, reaching for his water bottle. A car dealership commercial flashed on the screen.

Across from him on the couch, Delaney sighed. “I know. It’s just… I’m kind of the disappointment of the family.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’m poor, in a mass amount of debt, and working at a Kohl’s instead of at the Met like I was supposed to by this time,” she said, counting each sin on her fingers. Lifting a fourth, she added, “Oh yeah, and I’m single.”

Tyson rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. They don’t care about that.”

“Maybe not, but I’m only 26 and they make me feel so pressured to get married, start having babies,” she sighed. “My older sister, Alyssa? Happily married with three kids. Violet? In a long-term, happy relationship. And Rachel—she’s not even married but she still has a baby who is basically the light of everyone’s life. Even both of my little sisters have ‘made it’ more than me. I’m just a grad school dropout who broke up with the boyfriend that everyone loved. They spent all of Christmas asking me if we were going to get back together.”

“Yeah, well, did you tell them that Mark was a fucking douche?” Tyson asked, to which Delaney snorted in amusement. You’re the only other person who seems to think so. He let the moment settle before adding, “Delaney, you don’t have to check all of the same boxes as your sisters. You’re literally the smartest person I know.”

“Dropping out of grad school does crazy things for your self confidence,” she said, heart heavy with defeat. It was over halfway through the semester, but saying it out loud never got easier. Delaney wondered what her former classmates were studying, if they missed her absence. 

At the end of the fall semester, she’d been crushed to make the decision to pull out of her classes for the spring. Between work, schoolwork, and trying to balance the rest of her little free time between having a social life and having a healthy sleep schedule. her stress levels skyrocketed at the same rate as her student loan payment. It was a painful, but necessary, goodbye. Though she knew she made the right decision, she still felt sad and disappointed when her mind drifted, doing her best to quiet the what ifs that ran through her mind.

Delaney forced herself to focus her thoughts back to the present. “I just… I can’t stand to be a disappointment anymore. I already failed at being a grad student. I don’t want to have to fail at finding a boyfriend, too.”

“I’ll be your boyfriend.”

He blurted it out so quickly that Delaney stared at him for a moment before the confusion seeped in. “What?” 

“I mean,” he said after a gulp of water, a slight tinge coating his cheeks, “I’ll come with you. Pretend to be your boyfriend. That way at least there’s one area they can’t rip on you for.”

“Tyson, I can’t ask you to do that,” she said, ignoring the swell in her heart at the image of Tyson Jost holding her hand. She didn’t have time to unpack that yet. 

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” His voice was confident, like he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer, but gentle, like he’d back down if she really vetoed the offer a second time.

Delaney considered. She felt guilty at the thought of subjecting him to her entire family, making him put on the doting boyfriend act without anything in it for him. That was just how he was, though; generous, giving, willing to do anything for his friends. It really was such a kind gesture of friendship, it almost made her heart ache.

On the other hand, it would save her a headache—she couldn’t deny how much she dreaded the hopeful look in her dad’s eyes when he asked if she was seeing someone—and she did think Tyson would get along with her family. And who wouldn’t want Buffalo’s cutest resident to be her arm candy?

“Okay,” she agreed. “But you need to promise to tell me if you change your mind.”

“Deal,” Tyson said with a grin, holding out his hand. Delaney accepted, shaking it; she ignored the warmth of his palm pressed against hers. “What’s our story, then, babe?”

Heat instantly rose in her cheeks at the pet name. “Okay, rule number one, don’t overdo it with the nicknames. It’ll be too obvious.”

“So no snookums? Honey pie? Sugar plum?”

“No, no, and double no.”

“Aww man,” he pouted. “I was even gonna let you call me ‘cupcake.’”

Delaney rolled her eyes before returning to his original question. “I think our story is the same, for consistency’s sake: We met through friends.”

“Our first date was putt putt and dinner,” he supplied, nodding along. “Kissed you outside your apartment after the second.”

Again, warmth melted over Delaney’s face at the mention of kissing; she felt like a teenager getting teased for having a crush on a boy in her class. And then she realized that she would, in fact, probably have to kiss him on the trip, if they were really hoping to make it believable.

Judging by the way Tyson’s face turned a shade of crimson, she assumed he’d come to the same realization she had.

Maybe they were in for more than they anticipated.

Six weeks later, after creating an entire relationship backstory and studying Delaney’s family tree, Tyson was on a plane to Boston, Bose headphones snugly over his ears. How I Met Your Mother was playing on his iPhone, propped up on the tray table in front of him. Seated beside him was Delaney, lost in her Kindle. Her elbow rested against him on the armrest, her long braid tucked between their arms.

When they landed, Tyson knocked his knee against hers with a grin. A strange flare of nerves and excitement radiated in his chest for a moment, then was gone again. 

“C’mon babe, I’ll get your bag for you,” he said. Delaney chuckled, shaking her head with a teasing roll of her eye.

He followed her to the rental car booth, waiting patiently while she sorted out the paperwork for a red Toyota Camry for the hour-long drive to Cape Cod. She nominated him road trip DJ, a title he wore with honor, and the two chatted comfortably as she made her way down the MA-3 South.

Nerves began to flutter again when the GPS had them exiting the highway and indicated he only had about eight more minutes to prepare for his new role as Delaney Taylor’s boyfriend. If she could tell, she didn’t say anything, and he did his best to hide it. He could handle being surrounded by reporters with cameras and phones shoved in his face, peppering him with the same questions about his career and his future; if he could handle that, he thought, he could handle meeting his pretend girlfriend’s family. 

Soon enough, they were pulling into the driveway of a large white house, and not thirty seconds after Delaney put the car in park, a small blonde head was running down the front porch steps to greet his new girlfriend. Tyson smiled as he watched Delaney throw the door open and scoop the little girl into her arms before spinning her around in a hug.

Olivia. Delaney’s seven-year-old niece—and favorite one.

“I mean, of course I love all of my nieces and nephews,” she’d explained, “but Olivia and I are soul bonded.” “Liv,” she said gently after setting her down, “there’s someone I want you to meet.” When two wide, inquisitive eyes peered up at him, Tyson instantly understood why she was Delaney’s favorite. He crouched down to meet her gaze as Delaney introduced him. “Olivia, this is Tyson.”

Olivia eyed him and he smiled, waving. She studied him thoughtfully, then said, “Hi. Are you Aunt Delaney’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Is that okay?”

The little girl looked over to her aunt. “Do you like him?”

Delaney’s eyes flicked over to Tyson’s, an amused smile on her face. Heat lingered in his cheeks after her gaze returned to meet Olivia’s. “Yes, I like him.”

“Like-like him?”

“Yep.” Tyson felt a flutter in his chest, like he was a kid on a playground finding out his crush like-liked him too. He hoped it didn’t show on his face.

Olivia turned back to Tyson, observing him keenly for a moment before sticking out her hand. “Okay. It’s okay.”

Tyson laughed again, relief unexpectedly washing through him at her instant approval. “Thank you. I’m really so honored to get Princess Olivia’s blessing.”

The other introductions were easier—Alyssa and Ben (Olivia’s parents), Rachel (Delaney’s sister) and her eight month old daughter, Isla. Tyson smiled warmly at everyone, feeling almost instantly at home amongst the easy way they welcomed him in. Inside the house was the rest of the family: Delaney’s sister Violet, her girlfriend Preethi, Hailey and Noah (Olivia’s older siblings), and Delaney’s dad.

Though he knew it didn’t matter much if he actually made a good impression, as he’d likely never see her family again, Delaney’s father was the person Tyson was most nervous to meet; he knew firsthand what growing up in a single-parent home was like and how close the bond can become with the remaining parent. Based on everything he’d heard about Delaney’s relationship with her father, he knew it was an important impression to nail.

“Mr. Taylor,” he said, extending his hand for a firm handshake. He was surprised at the way his voice trembled slightly, though he did his best to hide his nerves with a smile. “Really great to meet you.”

“Call me Dean,” he said with a wide, genuine smile. It put Tyson at ease, even as he registered how much larger Dean’s hands were than his own.

They exchanged pleasantries, and Tyson was happy with how the first meeting was going. He was impressed with himself, though he couldn’t deny that it was Dean’s easygoing, warm nature that really made it seamless. As a single father of four girls, Tyson wondered how many people had come through the door with the intention of dating one of his daughters—how many people had Dean had this exact interaction with? He wondered what Mark’s was like. He wondered how he measured up.

Tyson told himself it was just his competitive nature, but he found himself hoping that he was at the top of the list. 

After introductions, Tyson and Delaney brought their bags in and settled into the third bedroom on the left, their home for the week. Once the door closed, Delaney turned and asked, “How’re you doing out there?”

Tyson laughed, unzipping his bag to hang up a few of his shirts in the wardrobe. “Are you kidding? Your family is great, Delaney. I think we might have to get married. I want to come here every summer.”

“Relax, cowboy. You haven’t even had a single meal with them yet,” laughed Delaney. She was grateful her face was hidden as she knelt to pull her toiletry bag out of her suitcase. Heat burned in her cheeks even as a grin spread across her face. Then, eager to change the subject, she added, “You passed Olivia’s inspection.”

“Dude, I think I fell in love with her. Those eyes!?”

Snorting, Delaney nodded as she walked toward the bathroom to set her bag on the counter. “She does have beautiful eyes.”

She thought she heard him say something like, “Must run in the family,” and she opted to wash her hands in the sink in order to will away the burn on her cheeks before returning to the bedroom to finish unpacking.

They returned downstairs a little while later, having unpacked and changed out of travel clothes to something more beach-friendly. Though it was nearing the end of the day and the sun was beginning to go down, the kids were not ready to give up swimming and making sandcastles for the day. Delaney gestured for Tyson to make himself comfortable when they sat down in the chairs on the deck. A few others trickled out, giving Delaney the opportunity to sit and catch up with a smaller group at a time; she spoke with Rachel about Isla’s new daycare, asked Violet about her anatomy final, and told Preethi about the latest book she read. She was grateful that no one seemed to be interested in asking about her future career plans; for now, it seemed, everyone was content with her handsome, charming boyfriend.

Rachel’s eyes flicked over to Tyson, who was smiling as he took in the conversation. He didn’t have much to say or contribute, but he seemed perfectly happy just listening. It made Delaney’s heart twist a little bit at the thought.

“How you doing over there, buddy?” asked Rachel. Delaney cast an appreciative glance over at her sister, grateful that she was making an effort to include him.

“Me? Oh, I’m doing great,” he said with a grin after a sip of his Labatt. “You guys kind of remind me of my mom, sister, and cousins when they’re all together.”

“Wait, that’s really sweet,” Preethi cooed. 

“Okay, you’ve heard us yapping,” Violet said after agreeing with a nod. “Tell us about this infamous Tyson—who I’m still pretty pissed that I only just learned about your existence.” 

Delaney offered her sister a sheepish grin and a shrug as Tyson recited the story they’d concocted about their relationship, peppering in details about their first date and their transition from friends to more. Violet seemed skeptical at first, but she seemed to warm up when he shared that he’d harbored a crush on Delaney for months before he asked her out—somehow, that was enough to explain the lack of talk about him.

“We wanted to keep things light in the beginning,” she peppered in. “Just in case things didn’t work out. Didn’t want to make things weird with the rest of our friends.”

Tyson nodded, going along with her ad-libbing and taking it a step further by reaching his hand over to hold hers on the armrest of her Adirondack. His thumb stroked her knuckles, a quiet and subtle gesture of affection that sent warmth flooding to Delaney’s heart. “Fortunately, it worked out and we still have friends.”

It wasn’t long after that Rachel went inside to put Isla to sleep and Violet and Preethi left to pick up Chinese takeout for dinner, leaving Tyson and Delaney alone. The other kids had gone inside to shower, which left their view of the beach unmarred as the sun went down, oranges and purples dancing across the surface of the water. Warmth splayed over her legs, the cool breeze making an otherwise warm evening quite pleasant.

This, she thought, is pure happiness.

“Wow,” Tyson awed, “I mean, I believed you when you said it was beautiful, but this is… it’s insane.”

Delaney laughed, nudging his foot with hers.

“Thank you for coming,” she said softly after a pause. “It really—I can’t say how much it means to me that you really came and did… all this. For me.”

Tyson smiled, the chocolate of his eyes warm as his hand reached over to give hers another squeeze. “For this view? I should be thanking you.”

Though Delaney was sure he was referring to the glowing horizon in front of them, she found herself wishing that wasn’t all that he meant.

—

Dinner was simple, casual, and perfect, with everyone scattered around amongst the dining room table, kitchen bar, and coffee table in the living room. Delaney could feel her heart contract at the sight of it, her family, the sound of their voices and their laughter filling the room of her most favorite place on planet Earth. Every time she looked over at Tyson, he seemed to be laughing, that contagious, bright smile etched across his face. He flitted around, too; one moment, she’d see him at the table with Olivia, Noah, and Dean, the next, at the bar with Rachel, Alyssa, and Hailey.

She was surprised at the way in which he fit in with her family as if he’d been around for years, the way Ben and Preethi had. It was so natural; she was impressed at how well he was selling their fake relationship without missing a single beat. Not a single person, she mused, had any suspicion that it was all a sham.

It sure didn’t feel like a sham to her when he tugged his white t-shirt over his head, tossed it in his bag, and crawled into bed beside her later that night. Delaney did her best to keep from gaping, but she’d never even seen that many abs on a person, let alone the shape of his bicep and the tempting dip of muscles that disappeared into the waistband of his plaid pajama bottoms.

“So how’d I do?” he asked, pulling her out of her head—the one that was imagining exactly where those lines ended beneath the cotton material. Heat flushed to her cheeks, realizing how blatantly she’d been staring, darting her eyes away.

Delaney plugged her phone in on the nightstand and regained her composure before turning to face him. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

“Aw, thanks, buttercup,” he said, tapping her on the nose with a fingertip. “I’m ready to play so much Marco Polo with Olivia tomorrow.”

“You better get some beauty sleep if you’re planning to be the entertainment for the day. The girl’s got stamina.”

“Baby, I was born ready.”

When Tyson woke, it took him a moment to register where he was. The blue paint on the walls, the wooden beams, the spinning fan overhead was all unfamiliar, but there was something sweetly scented that he recognized.

Delaney.

She was sleeping beside him, hair disheveled and falling out of her loose braid. Her breathing was steady, soft, so quiet Tyson could barely hear it. He smiled, watching her for a few moments, appreciating the quiet simplicity of the house’s aura and the effect it had on Delaney; she seemed so at home, so comfortable, like she could take off the armor and be unapologetically herself. He liked seeing that side of her, like it was a privilege to be able to witness her at her most authentic self. He couldn’t wait to see more.

Delaney shifted, causing a strand of hair to fall into her face. Tyson felt a tug in his heart when she nuzzled into his warmth, exhaling softly. 

He was her boyfriend now, and as much as he’d bonded with her family the night before, it was still early and he didn’t fancy an awkward conversation over coffee with the few people who had awoken. So, he gave himself a mental shrug and let her sink into the crook of his arm, savoring her warmth.

The subtle floral scent of her shampoo made its way into his nose, and the steady rise and fall of her chest lulled him back into a cat nap, morning sun warming the ocean-cool air. It was her stirring in his arms later, after the sun had risen higher in the sky, streaming light and buttery warmth through the window, that woke him again.

“You were snoring,” she said. Her freshly-awake voice was sleepy, softer than usual. “It was so cute.”

Tyson hummed a soft apology and his cheeks warmed, heat weaving its way through his body when he realized how much of her was pressed against him. He found himself both disappointed and grateful when she stretched and rose first, padding quietly into the bathroom. The bed beside him felt cold, empty, and it was only then that he realized how much he’d been relying on her body heat for warmth.

Breakfast was casual, everyone helping themselves to the assorted bagels, fruit, and yogurt in the fridge. Delaney’s leg brushed against his when he sat back down after a coffee refill, answering Noah’s earnest questions about how to become a professional athlete. He wasn’t sure how he did until he received a grateful look from Alyssa after he told Noah that he always made sure to eat all of his vegetables at dinner.

Since he didn’t need much time to prepare for a beach day, he offered to help Dean clean up the kitchen and load the dishwasher—he was confident he’d made a good first impression, but wanted to solidify a spot on the Good List. By the time he’d started the cycle, Delaney had returned from their shared room and Tyson nearly choked on his coffee when his eyes landed on her. He’d never seen her in anything less than a t-shirt and jeans, and the expanse of her golden skin wasn’t something he had prepared himself for. 

Of course he’d noticed the way her eyes bulged when he took his shirt off before bed; he’d bitten his lip to keep from smiling. She had told him to act normal and be himself—it wasn’t his fault he preferred to sleep sans shirt. But after seeing her in beachwear, Tyson’s confidence in his ability to manage his emotions as Delaney’s fake boyfriend was starting to waver. The black linen pants she sported were enough to have him sweating for a moment before he collected himself, tearing his eyes away from the curve of her ass.

Fortunately—and unfortunately—for him, he didn’t have much time to dwell on how well her pants fit her hips and her ass, for Olivia was barreling down the dock, followed closely by Noah, both of whom were calling to Tyson to help them build the world’s largest sand kingdom. Delaney grinned at him, offering a sympathetic shrug before he was being tugged to a spot on the beach by Olivia.

Right away, she directed him to dig the moat, while she and Noah worked on starting the base. Tyson kept the conversation going, asking them both about school and letting them ask him questions about life as a hockey player. Every so often, he’d glance over at Delaney, sitting on the deck with Rachel, Isla, Violet, and Preethi. He smiled at the light in her eyes as she sat, chatting and laughing with her family that he knew she missed dearly. For the first time in a few weeks, she was smiling, the weight on her shoulders temporarily lifted.

This was why he came. Why he traveled 500 miles from home, voluntarily staying in a house full of strangers and was now elbow-deep in wet sand: To take away a pressure point so that she could enjoy her weekend with her family without the unspoken still-single? narratives. She thanked him more times than he could count, but it honestly hadn’t even occurred to him as something that was worth thanking him for.

She was a friend, and she needed something from him. Simple. There was no decision to make. If she needed him, he was there. When a friend asks for help, you help ‘em.

Even if it meant he had to spend an entire weekend with her loud, large family and pretend to be her boyfriend.

Something about playing that role, envisioning himself as the man beside her in her life, made him feel… warm? And kind of fuzzy? Prior to arriving, he’d been a bit anxious at the immense pressure of being able to act the part and pull it all off, but being Delaney’s boyfriend was easy. Her warmth attracted everyone; it was only natural to be drawn to her. 

“Tyson?” Olivia’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Are you gonna marry Aunt Dee?”

Tyson felt his cheeks tinge with pink heat, stuttering for an answer; he got the strange sense that Olivia had been reading his thoughts. His gaze flicked over to the girl in question, gently rocking Isla in her arms. For a brief moment, his brain conjured the idea that she was holding their daughter, and he couldn’t keep up with the surge of emotions in his chest.

He cleared his throat, blinking away the thought. “Um, yeah. Maybe. Do you think I should?” 

“Yeah,” she said after a moment of introspection. “She smiles a lot with you.”

“She does?”

“Duh. You’re her boyfriend.”

Tyson hummed, letting Olivia drop a handful of sand into the bucket he was holding. He packed it in before helping Noah place the next section of the wall.

He’d be so lucky to marry someone half as wonderful as Delaney.

The sun warmed Delaney’s skin, amplified by Isla’s body heat, sleeping soundly in her arms. She smiled down at her newest niece, drinking in her tiny features.

“You got yourself a good one, Del,” Rachel said, causing Delaney to glance up at the use of her name. “He’s wonderful.”

Delaney swallowed the urge to respond that Tyson wasn’t hers, that he could only ever be hers in her dreams—or, in this case, in an entirely fake scenario. Even in the first 24 hours, everything had come so naturally to them, she had to remind herself that he was only there out of pity, not out of any sort of inkling of real feelings for her. The thought stung, but she pushed it aside to unpack later.

“It’s actually so sweet how in love with you he is,” Violet agreed. “I love watching him look at you.”

“Oh my God, right?” Preethi gushed. “Every time I look over at him, he’s staring at you with that dumb little smile on his face. It’s so cute.”

The thump of her heart quickened at her family’s words. She’d never seen the looks they were talking about. In fact, she’d never even seen him looking in her direction when she’d sneak glances at him across the room, keeping tabs on his whereabouts and if he generally appeared to be enjoying himself.

“Do you loooove him?” Violet asked. Her sing-song voice made Delaney roll her eyes.

“No, of course not,” she said, far too quickly, before she realized that being in love with her boyfriend is kind of the end goal when in a relationship. “I mean, not yet. It’s not been that long.”

She ignored Rachel’s glance, allowing Violet to nudge her knee with her own. “Alright. Well, no time like the present.”

“Judging by the way he looks at you, I think your boy is already there,” Rachel said.

Heat surged to Delaney’s cheeks. She knew it wasn’t true, but they had every reason to believe it. It was strange to be at the center of a lie, watching as the strings began to weave an intricate pattern—all because she couldn’t bear to disappoint her family again.

And Tyson had been more than willing to jump in and help her; in fact, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was overwhelmed with his generosity, his kindness. The display of friendship made her heart ache. And now, here he was, convincing everyone in her life that he was her boyfriend—so well that her sisters were convinced that this wonderful man was in love with her.

She made a mental note to compliment Tyson on his acting abilities. “Stop. He’s not.”

“Girl,” Violet said disbelievingly. “You go off to la la land with that dopey-ass smile on your face when your sister says he’s in love with you, and you think you don’t love him?”

“Let her get there on her own, Vi,” Preethi said, resting a hand gently on her girlfriend’s arm. She winked at Delaney before saying, “You’re right, though.”

After another roll of her eyes, Delaney glanced to the sparkling water beyond the dock for a reprieve from her interrogation. The waves softly rolled toward the shore, whispering her name on their breath. She nudged Isla into her sister’s arms before rising from her seat, stretching. “It’s time.”

Rachel’s “Have fun!” followed Delaney as she headed down the dock, slipping her linen cover-up down her legs and tightening the straps on her bikini. At the end, she wasted no time diving in, letting the water surround her.

Delaney swam around, letting the coolness of the water soothe her warm skin. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d been coming to this place, and something about the feeling of the water on her skin was cleansing; purifying even. The weight of the world seemed to melt away in this place, pressures and stressors and everything else muted while she was there with her people. 

This time around was different. This time, her life back at home was in shambles, unable to catch a break. But this time, she also had Tyson by her side, there to alleviate the pressure so she could have an escape. His presence was different from how Mark’s had been, despite the fact that Mark was actually her boyfriend. Tyson seemed to understand her, listened without judgment, supported her without question.

Tyson saw her in a way that Mark never had—maybe in a way that even her family never had.

—

Tyson was helping Olivia put the final touches on the sandcastle, which included a garage for her Barbie Jeep, when movement on the porch steps caught his eye. His throat went dry when he saw what—or who—was making their way toward the water.

Delaney, stripping out of that linen outfit, excitedly speed-walking down the dock. He felt heat rush to his cheeks, his heart thudding in his chest. Unable to help the way his eyes traveled over her skin, he let his gaze drag up her legs, over her curves. Fuck. She looked good.

A shriek sounded beside him, and Tyson’s eyes went wide as his head whipped to Olivia. Only when he saw her smiling did he realize that she was shrieking with joy, presumably at the sight of Delaney jumping in the water, if the cheering was any indication.

“Aunt Dee! Aunt Dee!” she squealed, dropping her sand shovel and running back toward the shed. She handed him a Frozen floaty, indicating for him to help her blow it up. Once she was situated, the floaties wrapped securely around her upper arms, she was bounding down the dock toward her aunt. The sound of a splash, followed shortly by a squeal and laughter informed Tyson that she had successfully made it.

He smiled fondly, making his own way down to the end of the dock where Delaney was helping Olivia make a whirlpool.

“Incoming!” he shouted, tossing his t-shirt and sunglasses to the side before he cannonballed in amidst screams from both girls. Rising to the surface, he was met with splashes from Olivia’s tiny feet, which he quickly grabbed and tugged her toward him to lug her over his shoulders. Another squeal left her mouth as he launched her—safely—out of his arms, crashing into the water.

Delaney laughed beside him, watching Olivia’s triumphant smile as she rose to the surface. Moments too late, she realized that she was Tyson’s next target, her eyes going wide when his hands found her waist. He ignored the feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips and the way she fit in his arms as he lifted her, too—much to Olivia’s delight, who was chanting for him to toss Delaney. 

“One, two—”

“Tyson, put me down!” Delaney shrieked.

With a wink at Olivia, he shrugged and said, “You asked.” With that, he launched her and watched her land in the water with a satisfying splash. When she emerged, Olivia was laughing so hard that Tyson couldn’t help but join in. Delaney spluttered, sending a splash of ocean water toward him that he quickly dodged.

He turned to Olivia, still giggling, and ignored Delaney’s sharp protests beside him. His eyebrow raised and he leaned in to Olivia. “We playing mermaids next, or what?”

Prior to arriving at the Taylor family cottage, Delaney had taught Tyson the family dynamics and the Annual Family vacation rules. First and foremost, to relax and spend time with family. If you weren’t having fun, you weren’t required to participate in anything—and there was usually so much going on that it wasn’t difficult to find something to do.

Another rule they’d developed early on was that each couple gets a guaranteed, guilt-free date night. Established after Hailey was born so that Alyssa and Ben could have a night to themselves, it had simply stuck as each sister added a significant other to the ever-growing Taylor family.

When Violet announced that Tyson and Delaney’s assigned night was Wednesday, his faux girlfriend was quick to assure him behind closed doors that they didn’t have to do anything crazy— “like a real date, or anything.” Tyson, though, brushed her off and was determined to commit fully to the bit.

It took a fair bit of wrangling and no shortage of dawdling to get himself alone with Alyssa to ask where he should take Delaney on a date. He couldn’t explain why his cheeks were so warm talking with her, taking note of her suggestions like he was in a Calculus class. While their relationship was a farce, he reasoned, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t take Delaney out for a memorable evening.

When the night arrived, Tyson fought a flutter of nerves in his chest. He had to actively fight the feeling of being a 16-year-old boy nervous for his first date, despite the fact that he was well into his twenties and had quite literally been sharing a bed with his date for three days. Waiting downstairs with Preethi, Violet, and Hailey, he did his best to act normal like it wasn’t his first-ever date with Delaney.

Like a scene from a movie, he felt his heart leap into his throat when she made her way down the stairs. She was stunning, despite having thrown on “just a sundress”; the body of the dress fit her torso like a glove, the skirt flowing at her waist. A milkmaid dress, he was told it was called—whatever it was, he liked it.

Dinner was simple, one of Alyssa’s top recommendations at which he somehow managed to snag the last remaining reservation. Once they arrived, he understood why: the wall facing the beach was made entirely of windows, leaving the entire restaurant a gorgeous view of the bay and the subsequent sunset. The room was already beginning to fill with the rich oranges and pinks as the sun slid closer and closer to the horizon.

“How romantic,” Delaney commented with a smirk, nudging him with her elbow. “Candlelit dinner at sunset? Should I be expecting a proposal later?”

Tyson’s face split into a grin, patting his pocket. He could’ve sworn his arm radiated warmth when she pulled away from him. “Shh. Don’t ruin the surprise!”

“Aww, you’re so sweet, honey bee.”

The meal itself was good—homemade pasta and some kind of whipped eggplant that had him contemplating ordering a second helping—but the highlight was sitting across the table from Delaney, talking freely and feeling on top of the world when she laughed at his stupid jokes. The flickering flame of the candle on her face, illuminating her skin, her smile, the glint of her necklace resting on her collarbones; her thick hair falling in loose waves, the strands around her face soft and so very Delaney. All of it—all of her—had completely sucked him in, fully underneath her spell and he couldn’t have been happier.

Tyson didn’t realize how much he’d been craving her individual attention until he had her uninhibited attention: her eyes locked on his, so in tune and in touch with everything he was saying, nodding along enthusiastically with every word out of his mouth. It was intoxicating to have her all to himself, immersed in him as he was in her.

He was addicted.

Tyson saw the waitress lingering out of the corner of his eye, praying she wouldn’t interrupt Delaney’s story—something about a new exhibit at Buffalo’s art museum; honestly, he was mostly just consumed by the spark in her eyes. Instead of checking in, the waitress approached the table silently, refilling water glasses and wine without a word before walking away.

I’m tipping you 50%, he thought to himself, leaning right back into everything Delaney, Delaney, Delaney.

Eventually, the waitress did return and burst their bubble, but Tyson was already on cloud nine, suggesting a walk on the boardwalk to get ice cream just to prolong the feeling for a little longer. The evening breeze paired with the lack of sun had goosebumps dotting Delaney’s arms, and it was all too easy for him to slip an arm over her shoulder and tuck her into his warmth. 

Driving home was like a scene from a movie, her phone plugged into the aux cord and Taylor Swift’s You Belong With Me blaring from the speakers. With a grin, Delaney cranked the volume up and Tyson found himself loudly singing the words alongside her; fortunately, the sound of his off-tune serenade was drowned out by the music. She sang to him, using her fist as a microphone as she danced in the passenger seat of his car.

Pulling in the driveway didn’t stop Tyson from continuing his performance, instead throwing open the door and running around to open Delaney’s, tugging her out to spin her in a circle at the instrumental break. He pulled her back into his arms, relishing the laughter she let out when he dipped her backwards.

The song faded to its end, the sound replaced by a softer one, the melody sweet and lulling. A faint beachy breeze blew past, and Tyson found himself pulling Delaney’s body closer. Her eyes were warm, looking up at him with a softness that made his heart melt and time stand still.

Tyson told himself it was gravity that drew him in, pulling him closer to her lips, suddenly yearning to know what her lip gloss tasted like. The world came to a spinning halt around him when he pressed his mouth to hers, like the universe wanted him to savor the moment. He kissed her more firmly, a strange tug in his chest letting his tongue flit against the seam of her mouth. She tasted sweet, like the strawberry ice cream he’d bought her on the boardwalk.

His hand moved up to her neck, cupping the side of her jaw to deepen the kiss, savoring the next sigh she expelled. He didn’t want to ever stop kissing her, not now that he finally knew what her lips felt like against his own. It warmed him from the inside out, like a buttery sunshine spreading through his veins, pulsing in time with the beat of his heart. 

Tyson forced himself to pull away, consciousness seeping back in through the Delaney-infused haze surrounding him. The expression painted on her face was dreamy, her eyes unfocused as she blinked them open, a little hitch of surprise in her throat as reality seeped back in around them. He swallowed the urge to kiss her again.

—

Blinking, Delaney stood in shock. A rush of cool air hit her face from the space that Tyson had just occupied. She blinked again, lips tingling.

Once Delaney managed to get her wits about her, she did her best to keep her voice level. “You didn’t have to… we don’t have to—”

Tyson’s smile was nearly enough to make her knees wobble—though she was stabilized by his hands firm on her waist. He didn’t seem to be nearly as impacted as she was—heart thumping rapidly in her chest, mouth dry, fumbling to right herself on shaky legs. “Violet and Preethi have been spying on us from the upstairs window for ten minutes.”

“Oh.”

In an instant, Delaney deflated. She glanced down at her feet, trying to hide her embarrassment—at both the idea of her intimate moment being impeded on, and at her own stupidity for thinking that the entire evening hadn’t been just an act. He’d been so sweet, so perfect, that she’d allowed herself to really believe in their lie, even for just a few hours. She could’ve sworn there was something so genuine about the way he held her hand on the boardwalk, the way his eyes watched her lips—

And that kiss. She really needed to ask him where he’d learn to be such a good actor, because he was convincing.

“C’mon, pookie,” Tyson said, taking her hand. Her thoughts vanished upon hearing his voice. “We’ve given them enough to look at.”

Back in the house, they were greeted by a few people in the sitting room, gathered on the couches watching a movie. Ignoring the barely-hidden grins from Violet and Preethi, Delaney offered a quick ‘hello’ and exchanged a few words about dinner before heading upstairs—“I’m tired,” was her excuse. 

She hoped her family didn’t notice that she couldn’t get upstairs fast enough.

Inside the locked bathroom, she turned on the faucet to imitate washing her face. Instead, her face crumpled as a sob wracked her body, warm tears spilling freely out of her eyes. The shift from on top of the world after the kiss to the fall in realizing it was all for show was jarring; she knew what she was agreeing to when he offered to pose as her boyfriend, but she hadn’t thought of the tease it would be for her heart to have Tyson be hers for the week. It hurt more than she’d expected to have him openly acting, to know what it felt like to kiss him and have it be all for show.

The little smiles, soft touches on the back of her arm as he’d pass in the kitchen, the brush of his fingertips on her waist in the lake. All of it so natural, sly, clandestine, like he wanted it to be a secret just for the two of them—and because it wasn’t an elaborate public display to uphold the falsehood for her family, it had only naturally drawn her to the conclusion that maybe there was some truth behind it.

That kind of thinking was too good to be true, she told herself. She wasn’t the main character of some romance novel; she was just Delaney.

And guys like Tyson didn’t go for girls like Delaney.

The next few days passed peacefully: jet skiing, swimming, and plenty of mermaids. If Tyson could sense any change in her after their date, he didn’t show it. In fact, if anything, he’d doubled down on his affection, brushing her cheek with his lips when he walked by, falling asleep with an arm loose around her hip, stroking the back of her hand by the fire. 

It was wonderful and infuriating all at once. Delaney couldn’t help but lean into him, unable to resist his touch, even though she knew it would crush her even more once Sunday rolled around and it was time to leave. She could barely even think about telling her family they’d ‘broken up’—but she was getting ahead of herself.

She knew she should bring it up with him, tell him how she felt, but she couldn’t bear to make things weird and ruin the rest of the trip. For the rest of the week, she reasoned, she’d let herself live in the fantasy. Enjoy another few days of blissful ignorance. And she’d deal with the consequences of her actions later. 

Hurt feelings were future Delaney’s problem. 

It was Friday when the kids announced that everyone was cordially invited to a play performed by them that evening. Both Delaney and Tyson helped them to construct a few of the props necessary—including a reindeer made out of a tarp and a bike and multiple paper crowns. 

Before the show, Delaney followed Tyson into the kitchen to retrieve a beverage for the show. As she poured herself a glass of wine, Tyson passed behind her, hand brushing against her waist when he reached past her to grab a High Noon from the fridge. They turned at the same time, bumping into one another, causing her white wine to spill down her front.

“Shit, I’m sorry—” she said, only to have him interrupt with a sudden kiss.

Initially caught off guard, it only took her a few moments to recover before she was kissing back, addicted to the feeling of his lips against hers. That same beautiful warmth filled her, a kind of light that she only experienced with him. She wanted to devour him, to have him devour her, to think and feel nothing but Tyson—

And then he pulled away. Lips wet, cheeks flushed, she could see the emotion swirling behind his beautiful brown eyes. “Delaney—”

But, with her wits about her now that he wasn’t making her dizzy with his kiss, she knew what came next. She interrupted him before he could finish. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Tyson’s brows furrowed together, confusion knitting between them. “Don’t what?”

Delaney shook her head and repeated herself. “Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it. It isn’t fair.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think you’re catching feelings, right? Because you’ve had to act like it all week.”

Tyson blinked, clearly surprised that she’d taken the words out of his mouth. But the surprised expression quickly morphed into one of frustration. 

“So you’re not even going to give me the chance to speak?”

“I can’t hear you say it, Tyson—not unless you mean it,” Delaney said, then added softly, “Not when this has been the best week of my life because I’ve gotten to pretend you were mine—which is all I’ve wanted since we met.”

She watched his eyes soften, and the pity she imagined there nearly made her sick. It was a necessary evil, though; she needed to intercept his confession before he said it out loud. She couldn’t bear to hear him emit those words, couldn’t hear him confirm what she knew to be true: a future with her wasn’t in the cards for him. He’d never say it, probably wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but she knew that he was too good for her, that someone like her didn’t deserve someone like him. She wasn’t ready to burst the final bubble of her beautiful fantasy, leaving her cold and sad and alone.

But instead of sympathy, or a patronizing statement, Tyson adopted a bite to his words. “You think I fell for you on purpose? I didn’t have a choice, Delaney.”

Something about the way he said it felt like a slash to her heart, like he had fallen for her but wished he hadn’t. It stung more than she expected, more than him simply not reciprocating her feelings.

“This was your idea in the first place, Tyson. You committed to this,” she reminded him coolly. “It’s not my fault you’ve never seen a rom-com before. I didn’t force you to do shit.”

“Delaney, that’s not what I’m saying—”

Against her will, tightness formed in her throat, a sting hot behind her eyes. “I thought I could handle it. Having you be mine. I’ve always known it would come to an end, that I’d have to go back to life as it was. But I didn’t realize how much different it’d be knowing how it feels to kiss you, to hold your hand. To have you look at me like I’m the only person in the world.”

“Then you should’ve fucking told me that before you let me be your boyfriend!”

This is going nowhere, she thought to herself. She needed to walk away from him, right now, before the wall of tears threatening to burst through came pouring out.

Delaney took a breath, searching for the words that would wound him the way he wounded her. She steeled herself, feeling a cool exterior blanket her and harden into place like a cast. “Well, I didn’t. Sue me. I just need you to do your job for another 24 hours, and after that, we don’t ever have to speak again. Okay?”

She turned on her heel without waiting for a response, though she heard him say her name as she walked back outside to where her family was gathered on the patio. Her body thrummed as she returned to Rachel’s side, her younger sister casting a glance of concern in her direction. Delaney ignored her, smiling and turning to Hailey, Noah, and Olivia’s performance—Frozen, the musical.

A movement in her periphery told her that Tyson, too, had returned to the group, taking the seat beside the makeshift stage that Olivia had saved for him. She could feel his gaze lingering on her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

“Good?” Rachel’s voice was quiet, subtle, concerned. Delaney nodded, and she knew that her sister knew she wasn’t, in fact, good. She was grateful that Rachel knew her well enough to know to let it be, that she’d talk when she was ready. For now, Delaney wanted to stew a little bit.

So stew she did, staying mostly quiet as the musical wrapped up. The performers received a standing ovation before a fire was started and the usual chatter began. Darkness fell, the moon rising higher in the sky, their voices swallowed by the night air. Delaney offered a few comments here and there and helped Noah with his s’more, watching the group dwindle as more and more of them went off to bed for the night. Tyson, to his credit, remained by the fire too, helping to keep the kindle stocked—almost like he was saying, ‘I can go all night.’

But so could she.

—

The crackle of the wood and the lick of the flames hypnotized Tyson, pulling him in and quieting thoughts running through his mind as he replayed the conversation they’d had. Admittedly, he’d lost his temper a little bit, frustrated that Delaney wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise, that she’d somehow made him out to be the bad guy.

As the kids began to make their way to bed, Tyson indulged in another beer—or three. Not enough to be drunk drunk, but enough to wash away some of the rogue emotions swimming around inside of him. He kept his eye on Delaney, who appeared to be stewing silently across from him and refusing to make eye contact with him.

But he was determined; he wasn’t going to let her slip away—not this time. Not after her confession. Not when he still had things to say that she needed to hear.

So he waited, making casual conversation with those remaining, the chairs around him slowly emptying out until it was only him, Dean, and Delaney remaining. He cast another glance over to her, startled to see her already looking at him. He couldn’t read the expression on her face, but he held her gaze through the tips of the orange flames dancing between them regardless. Something in his heart swelled, even though he was pretty sure he’d fucked it all up—he just wasn’t exactly sure what he did wrong.

“You know, your mother and I looked at each other like that.”

With a blink, Delaney broke eye contact to turn and look at Dean. Tyson had never heard her talk about her mom, save for an occasional memory. Her lips parted—in surprise, maybe—before she said, “Like what?”

“Like there was no one else around,” Dean said simply.

Delaney’s eyes flicked to Tyson’s. He swallowed carefully, suddenly all too aware at Dean’s implication, whether intentional or not. As her boyfriend, he was supposed to want a future with her: that was the end goal.

He didn’t have to feel guilty. 

So he smiled, letting her see the warmth and happiness that Dean’s statement filled him with. He wanted her to know that when he was with her, the rest of the world faded away.

She was his Cape Cod. His escape from the upcoming pressures of free agency, of the already-exhausting training regimen that waited for him upon return home, of his future in the NHL on the line. With Delaney, none of it seemed to matter so much. As long as she was by his side, everything seemed like it’d be okay.

“Goodnight, you two,” said Dean’s amused voice. In his inner monologue, Tyson had completely forgotten that Dean was around, and he jumped slightly when he’d interrupted his train of thought. “Put the fire out when you come inside, will you?”

“Yeah,” Delaney called after him, glancing back at Tyson. “Goodnight, dad.”

Tyson waited until the crunch of Dean’s shoes on the sand disappeared up the lighted walkway to the house. “Delaney…”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I was being selfish. I shouldn’t have— it wasn’t fair of me to not even let you say your piece.”

“I didn't know how you felt. I… I wish you’d told me,” he said, gently. “I wouldn’t have wanted to tease you.”

“I didn’t want to make things weird between us,” she confessed. “I didn’t really think about anything being different after this.”

Tyson nodded in understanding. The fire crackled beside him, burning bright in the cool darkness around them. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or his proximity to Delaney that made everything seem so damn beautiful. Probably a mix of both.

“You can say your piece now. I won’t interrupt this time.” She smiled, following where his gaze had just been, watching a spark pop beneath one of the logs.

“It’s not much of a piece,” he said. “I didn’t really think about how I was going to say this.”

“So, just say it.”

“I love you.”

Delaney snorted, rolling her eyes. “Tyson, you’re drunk.”

“I know. This isn’t exactly the way I envisioned first saying it to you, but I need you to know,” he confessed, aware that he was on the verge of drunk rambling. He composed himself and repeated, “I love you, Delaney.”

Delaney’s smile faded, staring at him. Her eyes studied his face, almost like she was searching for the truth in his own eyes. Convinced he could prove it, he stood and walked around the fire, moving into the empty seat beside her—only wobbling once en route. Her breath caught in her throat at the new proximity and he reached across the armrest to take her hand in his. 

“You said not to say it unless I meant it,” he whispered. “I mean it.”

He watched as the weight of his words settled in, even drunk Tyson having enough wherewithal to know that it was time for silence. Slowly, a smile began to spread across her features. 

Illuminated by the glow of the fire, Tyson thought it was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her look.

“Are you still gonna mean it when we leave here on Sunday?” she asked, eyeing him. “You’re not going to get back to Buffalo and shake out of this vacation high?”

“Whatever you need me to do to prove it to you, I will,” he said solemnly. “But I really, really would like to kiss you first, if that’s okay with you.”

Her eyes widened with surprise, just briefly, but then she was smiling again and nodding. With a finesse that only a drunk person could manage, he leaned forward to cup her jaw with his hand, nose brushing her own affectionately. He savored the feeling of her breath against his lips and closed his eyes.

As it had both times before, her kiss lit him on fire from the inside out. He poured himself into her, hoping that he could convey his sincerity with the depth of his kiss.

SIX WEEKS LATER

The buzz of her phone had Delaney setting down the Lego instruction booklet to glance at it. Smiling at the contact photo—Tyson, freshly awoken, his hair sticking straight up—she turned the screen to Noah, earning a wide smile with an extra tooth missing. She swiped to answer, letting the camera face her nephew.

“Noah! Hey, buddy,” Tyson’s voice greeted with a laugh. “What’re you up to?”

“We’re making a Spiderman Lego set! Look!”

“Wow, that’s awesome. I wish I could do it with you. You look like a real hockey player with those teeth missing.”

Noah smiled again, showing off the two gaps where his baby teeth had recently fallen out. Delaney started to flip the camera back to herself when a voice sounded from the other room. “Tyson! Tyson!”

Little feet pattered excitedly through the doorway, Olivia’s face beaming as she ran to grab the phone from Delaney’s hands. “Hi, Tyson.”

“Hey, Liv. When are you coming to visit me and Aunt Dee?”

She jumped up and down excitedly, looking at Delaney. “Aunt Dee said we can come and have a sleepover over winter break!”

“That sounds awesome. We can wear matching pajamas,” he said, earning a giggle from Olivia, who launched into an elaborate itinerary for their slumber party, including candy, a makeover, and a Frozen marathon.

“I can’t wait,” he said. “Hey, do you think I could talk to Aunt Dee?”

With a nod, Olivia said her goodbyes and made him promise to text her goodnight. Flipping the camera back to herself, Delaney smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Hi.”

“Hi, muffin,” he said, an easy smile curling up on his own face. He was sitting outside on a porch, curls peeking out from under a gray hoodie. “How was your interview?”

“Really good. We’re going to schedule a final interview at the museum next week once I get back. I’m pretty sure I’m going to get the job.”

Tyson’s smile grew wider. “That’s great news. One step closer to the Met!”

“I’m good with Buffalo’s art museum for now,” she said. “I don’t want to be that far from you.”

“Aww, honey bear,” he teased. Delaney wrinkled her nose, rolling her eyes at him. Her interview had been over video call, taken from Ben’s office at their house in Rochester. If all went well, she would soon become Buffalo AKG Art Museum’s new Membership Coordinator.

Things were looking up for her. And even though life wasn’t perfect, she had Tyson and her family to help her get through whatever came her way.

SIMILAR CONTENT:

Third Time’s the Charm* Adore You Love It If We Made It* One Night Standards

[cheddaryouthanme]

Hockey RPF writers being known across fandoms as literary masters

When I first started reading MattDrai fics on AO3 I remember thinking “wait what the HELL is going on why is this the most consistently well-written fanfiction I’ve read in any fandom? Is this a thing? Do people know??” And apparently it is and they do.

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ oh captain, my captain ] q. hughes

day 2 of kinktober (captain kink w/ quinn hughes)

➾ paring : Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

➾ summary : Quinn’s girlfriend calls him "Cap" after hearing the nickname come from his teammates, and Quinn reacts totally normally

➾ warning(s) : smut !! captain kink, light dom!quinn, nicknames during sex, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), very slight hair pulling (blink and you'll miss it)

➾ author’s note : i am Not gonna lie … this has been living in a word doc unfilnished for months so i thought that this would be the perfect time to finish it and let it out to see the light of day. enjoy :)))

kinktober schedule

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When her boyfriend asked her a few weeks ago to accompany him to an event that the Canucks were holding, she was not looking forward to it at all. It's a very private event that the Canucks hold at the start of every season for new Canucks to get to know their new teammates and for returning Canucks to catch up. She's managed to be busy on this day for the past two years of their relationship so she didn't have to go, but she can't dodge the event any longer. Especially now that Quinn is captain.

The dress she bought for this event is stunning and she couldn't wait to wear it to the event. It's a sparkly navy blue number that hugs her curves. The thin straps hold up a plunging v-neckline that shows off her cleavage in a way that Quinn loves. There's a high slit in the skirt that goes about halfway up her thigh.

She feels like she could've dressed a little more modestly when she walks into the ballroom and finds that a lot of the women dressed in more high cut and full length gowns. She crosses her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover her exposed cleavage.

A couple of Quinn's teammates greet their captain as soon as the two of them walk into the large room decorated in blue, green, and white. She hears the nickname "Cap" thrown around as a few of the veteran Canucks greet him. That's a new nickname that catches her attention immediately.

The significant others of the teammates that greet Quinn greet her. She does her best to hold a conversation with the group of women but her eyes continue to shift toward her boyfriend in his suit. He has on one of his game day suits from last season that doesn't really fit him anymore so it hugs his arms and thighs nicely.

"Your dress is beautiful, by the way," Lexie Demko compliments. She turns her attention to Thatcher's wife. "I mean it. It's stunning. I guess it's to be expected for the captain's girlfriend to sparkle." The group of women laugh and she forces a smile.

Sometimes she questions if she should be the one leading this group of women because she's only 23 and still kind of young. It's one thing for Quinn to lead the Canucks because he's a natural leader and knew he was probably going captain this team one day. He's had a lifetime of experience because he's the oldest of three brothers.

She was kind of thrust into the role of lead WAG with his captaincy appointment last season. Her version of being a leader means being the one that plans the parties and plans the playoff attire. Making sure all the other wives and girlfriends are okay, making sure they catch their flights to make it to whatever city they're following their boyfriend or husband to so she can watch him play. It's no NHL team, but it takes up a lot of her time. Especially party and playoff jacket planning.

Quinn looks over at her and her brain immediately goes blank. He's still surrounded by his teammates, but he's looking at her like that. It should be illegal to look like that.

She excuses herself from the group of wives and girlfriends to approach her boyfriend. She tries not to feel tiny among a group of hockey players, but she is.

"Cap," she teases with a smile. "I'm kinda hungry so can we go grab something to eat?" Quinn's cheeks turn bright red at the use of his new nickname. His teammates snicker around him at his reaction.

All he can do is nod in response to her and grab her hand. He guides her away without a single word, but his cheeks remain tomato red.

She's rendered him speechless. All by calling him "Cap." Maybe she'll have to start doing that more often if this is how he reacts.

They grab a plate of food and head to their table. No one else is sitting at the table but she knows that it's her, Quinn, JT, JT's wife, Brock, Thatcher, and Lexie at the table. Their tablemates are still mingling amongst the players and coaches in the room while they sit and eat.

Quinn leans over to her and says softly in her ear, "I'm going to need you to not call me 'Cap' again while we're here."

"Oh," she breathes out. "So your teammates can call you Cap, but I can't?"

He presses his lips in a line and meets her eyes. "It doesn't sound sexy coming out of their mouths like it does yours," he mumbles. "So, please don't call me Cap or Captain while we're here or you'll find yourself on your knees in the bathroom helping me with my little problem."

A small smirk forms on her lips as she takes a bite of pasta. "It's not a 'little' problem, Quinn," she tells him. "It's a pretty big problem."

Quinn groans and rubs his hands over his face. "You're killing me," he groans. "Oh my God."

She giggles and takes another bite of pasta like the conversation isn't ruining the panties she has on under the dress. Quinn follows suit and begins to eat his plate of food.

Their tablemates join them a few minutes later with their own plates. She converses with Lexie and Natalie Miller while their husbands talk with Quinn and Brock. She laughs with them, but the entire time, she thinks about the little conversation she and Quinn had about calling him Cap or Captain.

She's absolutely trying it when they get home to see what kind of reaction she gets out of him when he isn't surrounded by his friends.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

They leave the event once Quinn gives a little speech to hype up his teammates. Tocchet also gives a speech once Quinn was done, but he needed to stay until he was done talking. He orders an Uber back to their Vancouver apartment before Tocchet is even done his speech so they can leave as soon as he's done.

The Canucks applaud their head coach for his speech and they make a break for the door before anyone can stop them. Quinn has her hand in his as they make their way outside. Their Uber is waiting for them when they exit the building.

Quinn slides in first and she follows him. One of her hands rests on his knee and she leans over to say, "You looked good while you were giving your little speech." She pauses for a beat. "Captain Quinn."

His head snaps in her direction. "What did I tell you-"

"Just wanted to see something," she giggles as she glances down at the growing bulge in his already tight pants. "And I see what I wanted to see." Her voice drops a couple of octaves so only he can hear. "Do you like when I call you Captain, Quinn?"

He gnaws on his bottom lip. "You're playing a very dangerous game right now," he warns her. "I'm not trying to ruin these pants."

She leans into him and says against his ear, "Then maybe you shouldn't like to be called 'captain' by your girlfriend." Her lips touch the swell of his ear as she talks. Quinn shivers under her lips before she pulls back to meet his eyes. She finds his usually bright eyes dark with lust.

She's not sure she's going to make it into the apartment if she keeps playing this game with him.

"You are ..." Quinn trails off with a smile and a shake of his head. She grins while he tries to find the words to say. "Something else." His fingers trace the slit in her dress, leaving goosebumps behind where he touches her skin.

The Uber comes to a stop two minutes later. She doesn't risk saying another word until they're in the building. The elevator is probably not the best place to say anything either.

Still, it doesn't stop her from poking the bear though.

"Captain Quinn Hughes," she pretends to think out loud. "Even after a year, it still roles off the tongue. Don't you think, Cap?"

"Oh my fucking God," Quinn groans as he turns to face his girlfriend.

Before she can react, Quinn cups her cheeks and pulls her into a hot kiss. He steps so her back is pressed against the wall of the elevator. She grips his jacket as he presses his chest completely against hers. Quinn shoves a thigh between her legs, moving the dress to the side so his thigh presses against her already damp core.

This is a side of Quinn she's pretty sure she hasn't seen in their two and a half years together. He's very particular about his touches and his movements. Slightly rougher with them as well. She might like this side of Quinn.

The elevator dings once it arrives at their floor. Quinn pulls back and grabs her hand as the doors slide open. "Let's go, pretty girl," he says to her, voice soft. "You need to help me with my not-so-little problem before it ruins these pants."

She giggles as Quinn leads her out of the elevator and down the hall to their apartment. It's a moment before Quinn gets the door open but once he does, he pulls her inside and pins her against the door to shut it.

Quinn holds her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. "I hope this dress didn't cost a lot," he says. "Because it might end up torn and on the floor tonight.”

“Quinn Hughes, you better not rip this dress because if you do, you’re buying me a new one,” she warns him. “I mean it too. You better not.”

He grins and hooks his fingers around the spaghetti straps that sits on her shoulders. “I guess I’ll be nice,” he sighs as he pulls the strap off her shoulders. Quinn's eyes fall to the fabric that he pulls down to expose her breasts.

There's about one second between when the fabric pools around her waist and when Quinn crashes his lips to hers in a heated kiss. Their lips mold against each other and his hands cup her breasts. She groans into the kiss and he takes full advantage to explore her mouth with his tongue.

She pulls his suit jacket off his body and it falls to the floor with a light thud. She pushes him toward their bedroom without breaking the kiss.

In the very short trip from their front door to their bedroom, she loses her heels and dress in the hallway while Quinn's tie ends up on the living room floor and his button up gets unbuttoned and untucked as they enter their bedroom. She jumps and wraps her legs around his waist. He kicks the door shut and walks toward their bed.

"What do you want me to do, Cap?" she questions between kisses.

"You know, every time one of my teammates calls me Cap, I'm going to think of you and it's going to end in endless teasing for me," Quinn points out as he sits on the mattress. He pulls back to look at her. "If my teammates mess with me because I get hard after one of them refers to me as Cap, it won't end well for you since it'll be your fault."

She feigns being hurt. "Ouch, Quinn," she says. "I guess I'll never call you Cap ever again."

"I didn't say that," Quinn very quickly replies. "Just letting you know what will happen."

“I’m so scared,” she teases.

“Shut up and get on your knees, pretty girl.”

His stern voice when he says that shoots straight down to her core. She bites her bottom lip as she slides off of Quinn’s lap and to her knees on the carpeted floor below her.

Her fingers work at unbuttoning his dress pants. She pulls them down along with his boxers. His hard dick stands up against his stomach when it’s free from the confines of his underwear. She takes him in her hand and looks up at him. She gnaws on her lip before she says, “Whatever you say, Cap.”

Quinn groans at the same time she wraps her lips around the fiery red tip. She tastes some precome that has leaked as she takes more of his dick in her mouth. His fingers curl in her wavy locks as she hollows her cheeks and sucks. She looks up at him as he throws his head back in pleasure.

"Fuck," Quinn breathes out. The reaction she gets out of him causes her to speed up her actions. Her hands are splayed over his thighs so she has something to hold on to. Not to mention that she just loves his thighs.

She manages to take all of him in her mouth without choking, and Quinn loves every second of it. He gnaws on his bottom lip and soft sounds rise from his throat. It's music to her ears as she takers him completely in her mouth and hums around him.

Quinn can't seem to get enough.

When her knees start screaming at her from being on the carpet for too long, she ignores it. What Quinn wants, Quinn gets. She's done this so many times that the pain doesn't get to her like it used to, but sometimes it .

She hollows out her cheeks and Quinn hums before he pulls her off his dick by her hair. She hums and looks up at her. His thumbs brush her probably swollen lips and she kisses the pads of his thumbs.

"Was that okay?" she questions like she always does after she sucks him off. Quinn raises his eyebrows at her and she grins. "Cap."

He nods and leans down to kiss her. His kiss is softer this time as he helps her back up so she's straddling his thighs. She runs her fingers through his styled hair and Quinn falls so he's lying on his back. His dick pokes her thigh and she wiggles her hips to tease him.

"These need to come off, pretty girl," he mumbles against her lips at the same time he taps the waistband of her panties. "I'm sure they're ruined at this point anyway."

She stands up to push the ruined fabric off her body. Quinn moves back so his head rests on the pillows. She presses her lips together in a line as she crawls back onto the mattress. She straddles his waist and leans over to press a long, deep kiss to his lips. Quinn hums and cups her jaw with his hands so she can't go anywhere.

Without breaking the kiss, she lifts her hips and rests the tip of his dick at her entrance. He slips right in because of how wet she is. A grin forms on her lips as she says, "Wanna ride you, Cap. Please."

"You don't need my permission, pretty girl," Quinn replies between hot kisses.

She hums as she lowers herself onto him. The familiar and welcomed stretch greets her. Quinn's hands land on her waist so she doesn't lose her balance. He bottoms out in her and she allows herself a few seconds to adjust before moving her hips.

The room is quickly filled with her soft moans as she rolls her hips. He helps her keep a steady pace that works for both of them. The kiss breaks but she doesn't go very far. Her forehead rests on his and her lips ghost his every time she moves.

Despite how they got here, she loves when she falls into bed with her boyfriend. No matter the reason, Quinn always focuses on both their pleasure. He makes sure that both of them feel good for however long they go.

Adding a little spice in the bedroom, like this captain thing that Quinn has going on right now, is one of her favorite things too. She's never against trying new things. She's not against this captain thing that he has going on.

Quinn starts moving his hips to match her pace. She groans and pushes herself up so she's sitting on his waist. She keeps her pace though. Her head is thrown back in pleasure and Quinn's hands roam her body.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out. "You look so good riding my dick, pretty girl."

He moves one of his hands until he's rubbing her clit. She cries out his name and rests her hands on his torso. "Quinn," she gasps. "Oh my God." He stops. "Cap. Captain. Captain Quinn. Don't stop. Please." Those words pass her lips before her brain processes what she wants to say, but her end goal remained the same. Quinn continues rubbing her clit and she hums.

Her movements get frantic and inconsistent as she gets closer to her orgasm. Quinn wraps his arms around her waist and rolls them over so her head is on the pillow. He throws her legs over his shoulders and begins moving his hips.

The new angle has her legs shaking because his dick hits her favorite spot. She grabs his arms and cries out his name. "Oh my- fuck," she gasps. "Quinn, Quinn Quinn. Oh my God." He doesn't stop this time, but he slows down. "Cap, I'm so close. Please."

"Come for me, pretty girl," Quinn pants. "Want you to make a mess on my dick."

It's not very long after that when she comes. Her entire body clenches and she cries out Quinn's name so loud that their neighbors absolutely heard her. Her vision whitens and she's in cloud 9 from how hard she comes.

She's so out of it that she doesn't realize that Quinn pulls out and comes on her thighs. She has no idea that he cleans her up, only that he touches her sensitive core with a wet cloth. Her body melts into the mattress as she recovers.

When she comes to, Quinn is crawling back into bed. She musters up enough strength to turn her head and look at him.

"You okay?" he asks with a smile on his swollen lips. "Lost you for a moment."

She nods and rolls so she's curled up next to Quinn. "You really like when I call you Cap," she teases him. His cheeks turn red. "It's fine, Quinn. You don't need to get all flustered about it. If it's your thing, then it's my thing too. I wouldn't mind doing that again. It showed me a whole new side of you that I think I like."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Then we might have to do that again," Quinn tells her. "But please. For the love of everything, do not call me Cap or Captain around the team. It's going to take me a second to get over tonight, or get used to those words leaving your mouth."

She giggles and throws her leg over his waist so she's laying on his chest. "You say the word and I'll start using your nickname," she tells him. "Cap."

Quinn rolls his eyes, but she knows he loves it.

༺──────────────༻

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[hischierhoney]

Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Quinn gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!

[puckinghischier]

Cart Girls & Curly Q’s

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke has a crush on the cart girl

notes: for once, i feel like i didn’t really struggle while writing luke. this probably isn’t one of my best works, but i loved the idea and i’m so glad i was able to try to bring it to life. hope you enjoy!! happy reading! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say yes.” with Luke and maybe a cart girl at the golf club close to the summer lake house?

[3k]

Most of your friends absolutely hate going to work in the summertime. They hate being stuck in an office or storefront all day, no chance to enjoy the high UV and prime lake hours.

You, however, never wake up dreading your work.

During the cold, Michigan winters, you work as a bartender at your college’s local bar. You attend your classes in the morning, do your homework in the afternoon, then clock into your shifts at night. You have the routine down to a science.

During the summers, though, you found a job as the cart girl at the uppity country club closest to the large community of expensive lake houses you drive by every morning.

The tips are amazing, and getting paid to drive around in the sunshine and watch attractive men play golf all day is what you call a small piece of paradise. Not to mention you’re off by five o’clock every day, allowing time to join your friends and family out on the boat for night swims and evening rides.

Today was especially good, with it being one of the hottest days of the summer, your sales were sky high.

You’ve already had to restock your beer cooler three times this morning, and it’s barely even noon.

Your boss has really been pushing the sale of liquor, so you inform every group you pass about your buy a double, get a single shot half off deal, but nothing calls to a man more than a cold beer on a hot golf course.

Many of the men you’ve served today have given you a tip simply because you’re out working in the heat, delivering beers ‘like an angel’ one middle aged man told you, handing you an extra ten.

You just laughed and told him thank you, pocketing the cash. You always loved weekend mornings, locals and vacationers alike all over the course, upping your sales, and as a result, your tips.

As you’re leaving the club house after yet another restock, you see a group of guys that you assumed were around your age.

They were being loud, but not obnoxious, as they piled into two carts and sped their way out to the course, eager to get their game started.

You wondered when you would see them, having been told not to bother people until they’re at least on hole two. Apparently, people get mad when you try to sell them alcohol in the middle of their first stroke.

Making your way around your normal path, you start at hole eight and work your way in a circle until you get back to the clubhouse, the later holes being your big money makers. People are either celebrating their lead or mourning their loss at that point, wanting a drink either way.

You sell a few shots, making your boss happy no doubt, but run out of beers for the fourth time that day around hole sixteen. You stop and offer to each group after that, selling a few more liquor items, but were mostly told to come back when you had beer again.

Flying down the cart path, you see the same group of guys from earlier around hole seven, one out of the group flagging you down as you speed by.

You slow your cart down to a stop and they walk over to meet you, grabbing their wallets from their carts as they approach you.

“Sorry, boys, out of beer. On my way back to the clubhouse now to restock if you want to wait a few,” you tell them once they’re within ear shot, not wanting to get their hopes up.

“Well, do you have anything you can sell us? I’m getting beat pretty bad out here and need a pick me up. Don’t really care what it is,” a brunette pleaded.

You tell him about the shot deals, and he hands you his I.D., requesting a double shot of crown and ginger-ale before turning and asking his cart buddy what he wanted.

“Jack, what do you want?” he calls over to a guy that looked similar to him, thinking to yourself that they could be brothers.

He explains the discount to the other brunette, saying he’s already paid, just to pick what he wanted.

After viewing the second player’s I.D., your brother theory is confirmed by their matching last name.

Jack, you learned, asked for a simple, funnily enough, Jack and coke.

“Alright, gentlemen, anything else I can do for you?” you ask, turning to face the last member of the group.

You make eye contact with a tall, curly-headed boy, noticing the pink tone of his cheeks when you catch him staring at you.

“Anything for you, curly Q?” you ask him, taking note of how attractive he was. You always play up the flirting a little when you find a player on the course attractive, figuring it’ll help your sales while simultaneously allowing you to have a little fun.

His cheeks turn an ever-deeper shade of red when he realizes you’re talking to him, freezing up and averting his eyes. You feel a little bad for putting him on the spot, but you find his shyness endearing.

“Nah, Lukey here isn’t old enough, is he Quinny? Still got a few months till you can drink with the big bros. Isn’t that right, Luke?” the brunette named Jack slaps who you’ve now learned is Luke on the back.

You let out a chuckle, witnessing the deadly glare Luke shoots at his older brother.

“Don’t worry, they picked a cart girl that isn’t even old enough to drink, either. Won’t be able to drink the concoctions I make until next spring,” you tell him, hoping to alleviate a little of the embarrassment you caused him.

“Oh, wow,” is all he utters out, bringing out another laugh from you.

“Alright, well, I’ll let you boys get back to your game,” you tell them, walking back over to get back into your cart.

You ride off, thinking of the tall, curly brunette the whole time.

Three hours later, you’re tending the clubhouse bar.

When you came back in for restock, your boss told you it was too hot for you to keep your role as cart girl all day, insisting you switch out with one of your coworkers.

You weren’t too upset with the trade off, now in air conditioning but still getting tips from buzzed players after their game, either nursing their loss or celebrating their win.

The clubhouse gets busier as the day goes on, people dipping in for a quick cool off after playing eighteen holes in the heat.

“Hey, new body down on the end. Care to get it for me?” your co-tender, Brady, asks you, the two of you working in tandem.

You nod at him as you finish pouring the beer in your hand, walking down to the other end of the bar.

“Hey, player, what can I get for ya?” you ask the stranger, not looking up as you place a coaster in front of the patron.

“Just-Just a water, if you don’t mind,” he asks, slightly stumbling his words.

You look up to see the curly brunette, Luke, from earlier.

“Oh, it’s you. Curly Q,” you say, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice.

“Name’s Luke, actually,” he tells you, the redness from earlier returning to his cheeks.

“Yeah, I remember. Just think Curly Q fits you better,” you smirk at him, placing the glass full of water on his coaster. “I’m Y/N.”

He mumbles a small thanks, taking a sip from the glass.

“Anything else I can get for you?” you ask him, glancing down the bar to see if any new customers have sat down.

He stares at you, his eyes caught like a deer in headlights.

You wait patiently for an answer, letting out a small giggle when he just continues to stare at you.

“Alright, well I’ll let you think about your answer and be right back,” you laugh as you start to walk away.

“Wait!” Luke startles you, stopping you in your tracks. “Uhh..do you…come here often?” he stutters out, closing his eyes tightly in embarrassment as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Your eyes shine at him with amusement. “Well, I work here, so I think I’d have to say yes,” you respond, smiling.

Luke peeks one eye open at you, seeing your amused expression and sighing, letting his body sag.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I asked that,” he runs his hand through his curls nervously.

You rest your arms on the bar in front of you. “Ehh, don’t worry about it,” you tell him, scrunching your nose as you shake your head.

Luke gives you a nervous smile, sliding his water towards his body and running his finger around the rim of the glass.

“I’m sure you talk to all kinds of idiots like me when you’re serving drinks, huh?” he asks, making your face fall a bit at his defeated tone.

You stand a little straighter. “Nah, not really. Most of the idiots I talk to are just old and creepy, not my age and charming,” you tell him, finally earning a laugh from him.

His laugh was more of an amused scoff, but you already want to see the shy smile that makes its way onto his face afterwards, again.

“Yeah, cause a guy that asks you if you come to your job often is the epitome of charming,” he looks up at you.

“Well, it’s kept me here talking to you so far, hasn’t it?”

Luke blushes, making you think the man in front of you is unable to go two minutes without his face turning red.

“Yeah, I guess it has,” he casts his eyes towards his lap.

“So, Luke, you a local or here on vacation?” you ask him, glancing down at the quickly clearing stools. You know Brady is getting all of your tips right now, but you can’t bring yourself to move from your spot.

“Well, a little bit of both. Technically on vacation because I live in New Jersey now, but my parents have owned a lake house here since I was a kid, so I claim the title of a local,” you finally get him to loosen up a little, his body language relaxing. “Plus I went to U of M for a little while, so I’ve spent quite a bit of time over in Ann Arbor.”

“Ahh, a city boy,” you tease, grabbing a glass to wipe down, making it look like you’re at least partially doing your job. “Why’d you leave Ann Arbor?”

“Got a…uh…job offer in Jersey,” he tells you cryptically, eyes darting around the room.

“‘A uh…job offer?’ What are you, in the mafia?” you ask him, mimicking his words and poking fun at his nervousness at telling you about his job.

“Well, not quite,” he starts, laughing a real laugh this time, causing you to mentally record the sound and store it in your brain. “I…ahhh…I play hockey up there.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Like, professionally?”

He sinks back into his seat, looking like he wants to hide.

“Yeah. For the New Jersey Devils. My brother, Jack plays for them, too,” He tries to pass some of the attention off of himself.

“Wait, you and your brother both play in the NHL?” the impressed tone of your voice gives Luke a little boost of confidence.

“Well, both of my brothers, actually. But Quinn plays for the Canucks up in Vancouver. Jack and I are both in Jersey, though.”

You let your mouth hang open at him, not being able to hide your shock.

This earns another laugh from Luke.

“What kind of superhuman DNA do your parents possess?” you ask him.

“Not sure. We’re still being studied as we speak,” Luke leans closer, whispering like he’s telling you a secret. “The big wigs in the NHL haven’t found out yet that they grew us in test tubes in their basement.”

You let out a laugh so loud that you gain the attention of several men on the other end of the bar, slapping your hand over your mouth.

Luke leans back in his seat, a fond smile on his face as he sees your embarrassed expression.

“Hey, Y/N, you gonna come help me do your job or what?” you hear Brady yell, annoyed that he’s been working the whole bar alone for the past ten minutes.

You roll your eyes while still facing Luke, removing your hand from your mouth and turning your head to respond. “Yeah, don’t get your club all bent, I’ll be right there.”

Luke’s still smiling at you when you turn back to face him.

“Guess that’s my cue to get back to my job and quit talking to cute boys sitting at the bar, huh?” you spew, realizing what you just said a second too late.

Luke’s eyebrows shoot up, his back straightening in surprise.

You pause all movements, staring at Luke.

“Uhh…anyways, gotta go do my job. Y’know, the thing I come around often for?” you make a call back to Luke’s attempt at a line earlier, hoping it take some of the attention off of what you just said.

Luke chuckles at you. “Yeah, I need to go meet back up with my fellow lab rats, anyways,” he tells you, reaching for his wallet, placing a twenty down on the bar.

“You do realize water is free, right?” you tell him, sliding the bill back to him.

“Yeah. Figured I’d try to make up for the tips I caused you to lose, though,” he shrugs his shoulders, standing from his chair.

“Nope, I’m not taking your money. Feels like you’re just paying me for talking to you,” you tell him, holding the money out towards him and shaking it around, trying to make him take it.

Luke shakes his head at your stubbornness. “C’mon, just take it. Your coworker collected all kinds of tips while you were over here.”

“Nope,” you shake your head, leaning over and grabbing Luke’s arm, placing the money in his hand.

“I need to do something, though. I feel bad causing you to lose out on money that should’ve been yours,” he insists.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you make it up to me,” you start, watching him try to lay the money down again and shooting your arm out, preventing him from doing so. “By giving me your number,” you decide to be bold.

Luke goes still. “Uhh, y-yeah. Sure,” he snaps out of his momentary freeze, fumbling for his phone, handing it over to you.

You put your number in his phone, sending yourself a text before handing it back with a wink.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later?” Luke asks, pushing his stool in.

You nod your head yes, turning to go back to your job duties.

You turn back around after you take a few steps, seeing Luke walking away with his back turned.

“Hey, Curly Q!” you call after him, causing him to turn to look at you. “I get off at five, in case you were wondering,” you shout towards him, flashing a smirk before you walk away.

Luke smiles and shakes his head, making his way towards the other side of the clubhouse.

You watch his figure as he moves across the room, stopping to make small talk with a man, shaking his head before joining his brothers at a small table on the restaurant side of the clubhouse, picking up his menu and browsing the food selection.

You smile to yourself and go back to stacking glasses.

As you’re transferring a new stack of clean glasses to the cooler under the bar, you hear someone call your name from above you.

You stand, rattling off your typical greeting to the new customer.

“Someone named Luke asked me to give this to you,” he tells you, handing you the same twenty-dollar bill Luke had tried to hand you a few minutes prior.

You pick up the bill as the stranger walks away, looking down at it before raising your head and looking for the curly headed culprit.

You meet Luke’s eye, raising a brow at him while lifting the paper money, pointing at it.

Luke shrugs his shoulders and grins from across the room.

Months later, when you’re attending your first ever Devils game in support of your newly titled boyfriend, you watch him skate out on the ice for warm ups, making a bee-line to the seat he provided for you.

He looks at you in his Jersey, a sight he pictured from the moment he first saw you on the golf course last summer, wondering how he managed to impress the pretty cart girl he embarrassed himself with, what feels like so long ago.

Your smile took up your entire face as you waved at him, excited to finally see him play in person. He smiles back, pointing down to the ground, asking if you wanted a puck.

You nodded your head yes, watching him pick up a puck and take the cover off of a small cut out in the plexiglass separating the two of you.

When he slides the puck through the hand sized hole, you grab onto his glove, replacing the puck with a piece of paper before pushing his hand back towards him.

He looks down at his hand, confusion written all over his face. He opens his glove, looking down at his hand, his head snapping up to look at you once he realizes what you had done.

“There’s your tip, hot shot!” you shout at him through the glass, smiling in amusement, seeing the same twenty-dollar bill from the first day you met him resting in his red glove, never imagining that the nervous, bumbling boy sitting in front of you at the bar that day would make you feel like the luckiest girl in all of Michigan, and now New Jersey.

[capquinn]

Sunday | Q. Hughes

summary: A lazy Sunday morning... pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: nothing but tooth rotting fluff word count: 1k ↪masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice low and a little raspy from sleep, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.

A smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “Just admiring."

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The morning light slips through the blinds, casting soft, golden stripes across the room. It dances on the walls, wrapping you both in a warm, quiet glow. It’s the kind of light that only comes in the last days of summer, when the air feels just a bit cooler in the mornings, but the days still stretch long into the evening. There’s something almost ethereal about the way it floods the space, filling every corner with a peaceful stillness.

You’re both wrapped in the tangled mess of white sheets, limbs entwined. Quinn's chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm, the gentle warmth of his skin brushing against yours. The world beyond the window might as well not exist; here, in the cocoon of soft linens and golden light, it’s just the two of you, wrapped in the last days of lazy summer, sheltered from the chaos of life outside.

You glance up at Quinn, his face half-buried in the pillow, hair slightly tousled and falling in soft strands across his forehead. The sunlight dances on his face, illuminating the faint freckles scattered across his nose. His expression is soft, radiating the kind of peacefulness that only comes when you know you don’t have to be anywhere else but here. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, lashes casting gentle shadows on his cheeks, but there’s a contentedness in the way he looks at you and a lazy, easy smile playing at the corners of his lips that makes your heart flutter.

You shift a little closer, pressing your cheek against the pillow and propping yourself up slightly on your elbow. Your hand moves instinctively, fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble that’s grown in over the weekend. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed briefly before opening again, meeting yours in that sleepy, comfortable silence.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice low and a little raspy from sleep, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.

A smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “Just admiring."

His brows quirk, but he doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a curious gaze. The warmth of his eyes pulls you in like it always does, the mix of green and hazel almost impossible to decipher. They’re mesmerizing... The way the morning light catches in his irises, turning the hues of green and hazel into something almost magical. They shift with the light, as if the exact colour of them depends on where you’re standing, or how close you are.

Luckily, you’re the only one who gets to see them this closely.

That thought makes your heart swell. This quiet intimacy between the two of you, tucked away from the world in the soft glow of the morning. His eyes, those incredible, ever-changing eyes, are just for you in this moment. A warmth blooms in your chest, a sense of comfort and belonging that’s almost overwhelming in its simplicity.

“You have such pretty eyes,” you say softly, the words slipping out without much thought.

A faint blush creeps across Quinn’s cheeks, and he shifts slightly under the covers, glancing away for just a second. His reaction is almost bashful, as if no one’s ever said something like that to him before.

Quinn opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it again, a soft chuckle escaping him instead. His cheeks flush a deeper pink, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“Stop,” he mumbles, his voice muffled, laced with that shy, nervous laughter. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until you’re pressed up against him.

You laugh lightly, brushing your fingers through his messy hair as you feel the heat of embarrassment radiating off him. “I’m serious,” you whisper, leaning in just a little, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “They’re like... impossible to figure out. Sometimes they look green, sometimes hazel... So pretty.”

He groans softly in protest, his face still buried against your neck. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not,” you insist, your voice playful, trying to keep the moment light. You feel the soft rumble of his laughter against your chest, his body vibrating with the sound. “They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

His breath hitches slightly at the words, and for a moment, he just stays there, his face hidden in the curve of your neck, as if he’s too shy to even look at you. But then he shifts, lifting his head just enough to press a soft kiss against your collarbone. His lips linger there for a second longer than usual, his lips warm and tender against your skin, as if he’s gathering the courage to speak.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, your heart swelling at the softness of his confession. “Well, then they’ve clearly never looked at you the way I do.”

He glances up at you finally, his eyes catching the light again, and for a second, neither of you say anything. There’s no need to. The moment is so simple, so mundane in the grand scheme of things, and yet it feels like the most intimate thing in the world. Just you, him, and the quiet of a lazy summer morning.

Quinn’s lips curve into a small, shy smile, his face still flushed as he leans down to press his forehead against yours. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you murmur back, your fingers brushing lightly over his arm. “But I’m right.”

He laughs again, this time a little more freely, and pulls you closer into him until your legs are tangled together beneath the sheets once more. There’s no rush to move, no urgency to do anything but just be. You have this one last weekend together before everything picks up again — work, hockey, life — and for now, that’s more than enough.

[kozylife]

—  MILES APART, HEARTS TOGETHER

quinn hughes x reader | wc 1105

summary. quinn tells you that he hasn't been sleeping lately after reuniting with you content. fluff, slight angst, reader's in college, lowercase intended author's note. this was very lazily proofread

long distance was hard.

very hard.

especially when your boyfriend was captain of his hockey team based in vancouver while you finished up college in michigan. in total, you and quinn were almost 2000 miles and a different time zone apart.

but since you had an upcoming free weekend, you were able to fly to vancouver to surprise him!

luckily, this friday night, quinn arrived home at a normal hour and you two were able to facetime before you were eventually too tired to stay awake.

"hi baby," you greet him before asking how practice went.

"it was really good, i feel great about our game tomorrow," he says as he repositions his phone, already laying in bed shirtless.

you hum, staring at your phone screen with adoration. his hair is tousled and he's smiling at the jokes you've made after asking about how your day went.

"it's been so long since i've seen you..." quinn almost whispers.

and as much as you wanted to reveal your surprise, you kept your response simple, "i know quinny, i miss you so much."

afterwards, he tells you how much he loves you with nothing but sincerity, warmth, and hints of exhaustion in his voice. you knew he was excited to be captain of his team, but there was a great deal of responsibility and stress that came with it, even after his first season in charge had passed.

you two converse a bit more, catching up since you've both been busy with school and hockey over the past few weeks. and as you glance up at the time on your phone, you notice it's midnight and that you need to go to bed for your early morning flight. after exchanging "goodnights" and "i love you's," you hung up the call.

-

it’s now the next evening and you’re getting seated in the family area of the ice rink, settling in with some of the other wags and their children. you made sure to sit in the front row so quinn would actually be able to notice you. unable to stop fidgeting, excitement bubbled in your chest as you saw your quinn skate out onto the rink to warm up. you watched him glide effortlessly over the ice, his gaze intense.

"so how's your time back in vancouver?" one wife asks you, happy to see you again.

"oh it's great! quinn doesn't know i'm here yet, i wanted to surprise him since we haven't seen each other in a while," you say, unable to stop grinning.

as the game commenced, your heart raced every time quinn touched the puck. the energy in the rink was infectious, and you found yourself caught up in all of the excitement, especially since quinn hadn't spotted you yet.

however, this changed when a break was called and both teams made their way to their respective benches. as quinn sat down and scanned the rink, your eyes met and his face instantly lit up with a wide grin and a sparkle in his big green eyes. his teammates poked him, asking what he was cheesing so hard at before he pointed towards you, wearing his jersey proudly.

the game continued, and you cheered louder than you were before, watching quinn assist a goal.

the final buzzer sounded, signifying a victory for the canucks. you felt a rush of exhilaration shoot through your body and you couldn't wait to finally get your hands on him.

when quinn stepped off the ice, he looked around, searching for you in the crowd. when he spotted you, he broke into a wide smile, and you waved frantically, immensely proud of your boyfriend.

“hang tight! i’ll be right there!” he shouted, his excitement palpable.

you could hardly contain your own as you waited, heart racing at the thought of wrapping your arms around him again. the distance had been tough, but moments like this made it all worthwhile.

-

after the post-game celebrations and interviews, quinn drove you two back to his place with his hand comfortably resting on your thigh, squeezing every now and then. entering the apartment, you took your shoes and jacket off, ready to finally rest after a long day of mostly traveling.

“can we talk?” quinn asked behind you, his voice low.

“of course,” you replied, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

you both settled on the couch, and the excitement from earlier faded into an intimate silence. quinn ran a hand through his hair, a habit you recognized when he was feeling overwhelmed. “i haven't been sleeping well,” he began, his eyes meeting yours with a weight that made your heart skip a couple of beats. “between the games, the practices, and all the pressure… it’s been a lot. i thought i could handle it, but it’s just… hard being away from you.”

your heart ached at his words and you reached out, placing your hand on his. “oh quinn, i wish you had told me. i’ll always be here for you, even when i'm not physically present," your voice laced with sympathy.

“i know,” he said, his voice softening. “but i didn’t want to worry you. i thought i could push through it, but seeing you tonight reminded me just how much I miss you, how much I need you.”

you intertwined your hands with his as tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes before you spoke again, “you don’t have to do this alone, you know. we’re in this together, so it’s okay to lean on me. whenever you need to."

“you’re doing your best, quinny, and i admire you for it. i’m proud of you, and i love you.” you reassured him once again.

as he looked into your eyes, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “i love you too,” he whispered, “more than you know.”

you moved closer, wrapping your arms around him. quinn buried his face in your neck, and for a moment, everything felt right. the distance and the struggles all faded away, replaced by the warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin.

“i’m here for the weekend,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, "let’s make the most of it. you don’t have to worry about anything else.”

his eyes brightened at the thought, and a small smile crept back onto his lips.

with that, you both sank back into the couch, and as you talked late into the night, sharing stories, laughter, and a few quiet moments, you knew that no matter the miles between you, your love would always bridge the gap.

author's note. this started out as something completelyyy different but i'm happy with the direction i took lol. tomorrow i'll post my about me page !!

[lee-laurent]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn had never considered himself the jealous type until the girl he loved could be getting married.

content: angst!!!

wc: 3.14k

notes: not sure what this is! but enjoy!!

Summer at the Hughes' lakehouse was loud, messy, and full of life. The days were humid and sticky, the nights cool and thick with stars. Quinn Hughes often found himself sitting on the porch steps, watching Jack and Natalia dart across the yard in their own little world. Natalia Cooper was just a kid back then, hair in a tangled ponytail, freckles dusting her sunburned cheeks. But somehow, even at ten years old, she could command attention like no other.

She into their family so seamlessly it was hard to imagine a time before her. Nat had moved in two doors down the summer she and Jack turned nine, and from that moment on, she was part of the family. Quinn often wondered how she managed to make herself so comfortable--bursting through their backdoor unannounced, diving headfirst into arguments with Jack over video games, or sitting at the dinner table for family dinners.

Quinn was 12 then, awkward and trying to navigate his soon-to-be teen years. He didn't pay much attention to Nat at first; she was just Jack's best friend, loud and bossy and always challenging Jack to do something stupid like jumping off the dock into water that was clearly too shallow.

But Nat made her presence known, even when you weren't looking for it. She was stubborn and quick-witted, the kind of girl who didn't back down from a fight but still cried when they accidentally broke her favourite bracelet during a game of keep-away. Jack teased her mercilessly, but Quinn saw the way she always came back for more, how she could give as good as she got.

The first time Quinn noticed her--really noticed her--was the summer he turned 15. Jack and Nat had been inseperable for years by then, their bond stronger than ever. They were out on the lake one afternoon, paddling around in an old canoe that was more duct tape than wood, when the thing finally gave out.

By the time they made it back to the shore, dripping wet and covered in muck, Nat was laughing so hard she could barely stand. Quinn had been sitting on the dock, book in hand, but he couldn't stop watching her. She had a gap-toothed grin, one her braces hadn't fixed quiet yet, but it was the kind of smile that made you want to smile back.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a moment.

But then there were more moments.

Like the time she sat beside him on the porch steps, picking at the splinters in the wood with a stick while Jack sulked inside after losing a game of street hockey. "You're not like Jack," she said out of nowhere, her voice soft. "You notice things more. Like, you really see them."

He didn't know what to say to that. He just stared at her, his throat tight, and nodded.

Or the time she came bounding into the kitchen, still in her muddy cleats from soccer practice, to grab a glass of water. She didn't even look at him as she told him his shirt was on inside out, her voice matter-of-fact, like it was perfectly normal for her to walk into their house and call him out on his absentmindedness.

She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

By the time Quinn was seventeen, it was no longer a question of whether he liked her. He knew he did. The real question was what he was supposed to do about it.

The answer, of course, was nothing.

She was Jack's best friend. She was practically a sister to all of them. And even if none of that had been true, she'd never given him a single reason to think she saw him as anything more than "Jack's older brother?"

So he did what he thought he had to: he buried it.

He let himself smile at her jokes and listen to her stories, but he kept a careful distance. He made sure he was always just a little too busy, a little too preoccupied, whenever she and Jack invited him to join their adventures.

It was easier that way. Safer

Then Trevor Zegras entered the picture, and everything got harder.

The first summer with Trevor was the beginning of everything. Jack had invited his new teammate to the lakehouse for the weekend, and by the time Sunday evening rolled around, Trevor had woven himself seamlessly into their lives.

Nat, of course, loved him immediately. She teased him relentlessly about his messy hair and his tendency to trip over his own feet, but there was something about the way she looked at him. It was as if she'd finally met her match.

Quinn hated it. Not Trevor--he couldn't hate Trevor, not really. The guy was too likable, to good at making everyone laugh, even Quinn. But watching Nat light up around him, seeing the way her attention shifted completely, was like swallowing shards of glass.

That weekend stretched into weeks, and by the time summer ended, it was clear Trevor wasn't going anywhere. He and Nat weren't dating, but the shift seemed inevitable. Quinn could see it in the way Trevor found excuses to sit next to her, the way Natalia lingered a little too long when she playfully shoved his shoulder.

And when they finally did get together, just a few months shy of their eighteenth birthdays, Quinn told himself it didn't matter.

The truth was, Quinn had been preparing for this moment for years. Ever since he'd realized his feelings for Nat weren't something he could shake, he'd been practicing the art of pretending.

He smiled when Trevor made her laugh, even when it felt like someone had his heart clenched in their fist. He offered polite congratulations when they officially became a couple. And he did everything to focus on anything but the girl who was now completely out of reach.

It wasn't easy.

There were nights he'd lie awake in his room at the lakehouse, staring at the ceiling as he listened to their muffled laughter through the wall. There were moments when Nat would sit beside him on the dock, her shoulder brushing his, and he'd have to remind himself to breathe, to act normal, to not let her see the way his hands were shaking.

But he managed.

Because what was he supposed to do? She was happy, and that was all that mattered.

The hardest part wasn't seeing them together. It was the moments when Nat still treated him like he was special.

There was one night, a week before her high school graduation, when they all sat around the firepit, trading stories and laughing at Trevor's horrible impressions. Nat had been sitting beside Trevor, her hand resting on his knee, but at some point she'd turn to Quinn.

"You don't talk much, but when you do, it's like always the smartest thing I've heard," she told him, and it took him a second to realize she was serious.

Trevor had laughed, clapping Quinn on the shoulder and joking that they couldn't all be philosophers. But Quinn hadn't been able to look at Natalia for the rest of the night.

By the time Trevor and Natalia turned twenty, Quinn had become an expert at hiding his feelings. He could sit across from them at dinner, join in on their conversations, and even laugh at Trevor's jokes without letting anything slip.

It wasn't easy, but it was necessary.

She was happy with Trevor and that was that. So he stayed quiet. He stayed in the background. And hoped that someday, it would stop hurting as much.

~~

Nobody dared to miss the lakehouse trip, no matter how busy life had become. This year was no exception. Quinn arrived late on a Friday afternoon, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he walked into his favourite place in the world (besides maybe the rink).

The familiar sounds of summer greeted him: laughter spilling from the kitchen, the faint hum of Jack's playlist in the background, and the echo of waves lapping at the dock.

"Finally!" Jack called from the living room, throwing an arm around Quinn the moment he entered the room. "We thought you were gonna bail on us!"

"Never," Quinn said, scanning the room for her.

And there she was. Natalia, leaning against the counter, a glass of white wine in her hand and her face lit up with a laugh that made his chest feel tight. Trevor stood beside her, his arm around her waist.

It was the same scene he'd witnessed a hundred times before, and yet it never got any easier.

~~

By the second day, Quinn had slipped into the rhythm of the lakehouse. It was easy to lose himself in the comfort of routine, to pretend, if only for a moment, that things were simple.

Nat was as radiant as ever, her energy contagious as she pulled the group into games of volleyball in her family's backyard and paddleboarding races. She was competitive to a fault, yelling at Jack when he missed an easy spike and high-fiving Trevor when he landed a perfect serve.

Quinn stayed on the sidelines from time to time, watching from the safety of the shade. He told himself it was better that way. She was happy, he wouldn't ruin that.

But every now and then, she'd catch him off guard. Like when she walked up behind him, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they sat on the dock.

"You okay, Hughesy?" she asked.

"Yeah," he forced a smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She frowned, tilting her head in a way that said she didn't believe him. "You've been quiet, even for you."

He shrugged, not trusting himself to say more.

~~

It was the fourth night of the trip when Trevor let it slip.

They'd all gathered around the firepit, smell of burning wood mixing with the crisp lake air. The guys had been drinking--nothing excessive, just enough to loosen their tongues and bring out the usual round of embarrassing stories.

Trevor, always the life of the party, was on a roll, recounting a ridiculous tale from his time at college. Nat was asleep upstairs, the day having taken it out of her.

And then, out of nowhere, Trevor said it.

"I mean, hell, if she said yes to dating me back then, maybe she'll say yes to marrying me now."

The words hung in the air for a moment, too casual to feel intentional, yet heavy enough to bring the conversation to a halt.

Jack was the first to react, his grin splitting wide as he clapped Trevor on the back. "Wait--are you serious? You're proposing?"

Trevor laughed, a little nervous, but nodded. "Yeah. Been thinking about it for a while. I've got the ring in my suitcase. Figured this trip might be the perfect time."

Quinn felt the world tilt beneath him. His chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

"That's huge, man," Jack said, raising his beer. "Nat's gonna freak--in a good way."

Quinn forced a smile, tightening his grip on his beer. "Congrats." The word tasted bitter on his tongue.

Trevor didn't seem to notice his tone though, too caught up in the attention as the group peppered him with questions about his plan.

~~

Trevor's announcement echoed in Quinn's mind long after the group dispersed. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the sounds of the lakehouse settling around him. Trevor was going to propose to Nat.

It shouldn't have hit him so hard--they'd been together for five years. But the idea of her with someone else forever was suffocating.

He threw back the covers and slipped out of his room, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. He needed air.

He'd made it all the way to the end of the dock before his emotions really took over. He sat down, staring at the black water. For years, he'd convinced himself he could live with just being her friend, that watching her with Trevor didn't hurt that badly. But this had shattered that illusion.

"Damn it," he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. He slammed his fist against the dock, ignoring the burning in his hand.

"Quinn?"

He turned sharply to see Nat, wrapped in a blanket, her brow furrowed in concern. "Hey," she said softly, stepping closer. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he lied.

"You don't look okay." She lowered herself to sit beside him, her blanket brushing his arm. "Trevor said you dipped from the fire."

"I just... needed some space," his voice was clipped.

Nat didn't press immediately. She tilted her head, studying him like she always did when she knew he was holding back. "If something's wrong, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

Her voice was gentle, genuine.

"I'm fine, Nat," he said, harsher than he intended. "You don't have to worry about me."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You keep saying that, but it doesn't feel true."

Quinn exhaled sharply, looking away. He couldn't do this, not now, not with her so close, her concern so obvious.

"Why are you even out here?" he asked defencively.

Nat blinked at his change in demeanor. "I couldn't sleep," she said carefully. "Then I saw you leave, and... I wanted to check on you."

"Well, I don't need checking on," he snapped, immediately regretting the bitterness in his voice.

She stiffened but didn't move. "Okay. So you're just out here punching the dock for fun?"

The hint of sarcasm in her voice surprised him, but it also stung. He turned back to her, his jaw tight. "You don't understand, Nat."

"Then help me understand," she said, her tone sharp now too, frustration bleeding into her words. "You've been so closed off, Quinn. You never let anyone in. But I'm here, trying--"

"It doesn't matter! Nothing I feel matters!"

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

"What are you talking about?"

Quinn clenched his fists, staring out at the water. He'd held this in for so long, he didn't even know how to start explaining.

"I've been trying to ignore this for years," he said finally, voice low. "To bury it, to be okay with the way things are. But tonight... hearing Trevor..." He trailed off, throat tight.

"Hearing Trevor what?"

Quinn looked at her then, his eyes searching hers. He could see the confusion, the worry, the way she was leaning in, waiting for him to explain.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. "He's going to propose to you," he said flatly.

Nat froze, her eyes wide. "What?"

"He told us tonight. At the fire."

The silence that followed was deafening.

She sat back, her blanket slipping from her shoulders. "I didn't... I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, now you do."

She stared at him, trying to piece together why he was telling her this. Ruining the surprise. "Quinn, why are you--"

"Because I can't do this anymore!"

Her eyes widened, and the dam finally cracked.

"I've been in love with you for years, Nat," he said, words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. "And I've spent every one of those years pretending I don't feel anything, pretending I'm okay with being just your friend. But I'm not. I never have been."

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Quinn stood, running a hand through his hair as he paced the dock. "And now Trevor's going to propose, and I have to sit here and watch you say yes. I have to act like I'm happy for you, like it doesn't kill me every time I see you with him."

He stopped, his shoulder heavy. "I can't do it anymore, Natalia. I just... I can't."

"Quinn," Nat whispered.

"Don't," his voice broke. "I know this doesn't change anything. I know you love him. I just... I couldn't keep it in anymore."

She stood slowly, stepping away from him. "You should have told me," her voice trembled.

He let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And what would that have changed?"

Nat didn't answer.

"I'm sorry, Nat. I shouldn't have said anything."

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone on the dock.

~~

The sun was setting, casting golden rays across the lake. Trevor stood at the edge of the dock, a nervous grin on his face as he addressed the group. Natalia was at his side, her laughter ringing out as Jack made some teasing comment, completely unaware of what was about to unfold.

Quinn lingered near the back of the group, hands shoved in his pockets. Every breath was laboured as he watched Trevor reach into his own pocket and pull out a small, velvet box.

"Guys," he started. "I just wanted to say... this place, this trip, it means a lot to me. And you all mean a lot to me. But this is the place I met my best friend. The one person who's made my life better than I ever thought possible." He turned to Nat, his voice softening. "Natalia, you've been my best friend, my girlfriend, my everything, and--"

Quinn's heart thundered in his chest. He couldn't breathe.

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Stop!"

All heads snapped toward him, Trevor freezing mid-sentence. Nat looked confused and... concerned.

Quinn stepped forward. "I can't... I can't let you say yes, Nat. You... you know how I feel. I--"

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Nat moved. Slowly, deliberately, she stepped away from Trevor, her gaze locked with Quinn's. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. For the first time in years, the weight lifted from Quinn's shoulders. He--

A loud cheer erupted, shattering the moment. Quinn blinked, the blood rushing in his ears as the sound brought him back to reality.

Trevor was on one knee, the velvet box open in hand. Nat stood frozen, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her hands over her mouth.

"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, Trevor, of course I'll marry you!"

Quinn hadn't said a word. It had all been in his head--a desperate, hopeless fantasy.

He watched as Trevor stood, slipping the ring onto Nat's finger before pulling her into a kiss. The group erupted in applause, Jack whooping loudly as Cole practically bounced with excitement.

The group surrounded the happy couple, offering hugs and congratulations, Quinn slipped away unnoticed. He made his way up the dock, his footsteps heavy and breaths shallow.

She'd made her choice.

And it wasn't him.

It would never be him.

He was too late.

[goldfades]

shower sex with luke hughes help

✮ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, lh⁴³

♡ ─ word count | 1k

♡ ─ warnings | NSFW under the cut! unedited (no one is surprised) unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it kids), p in v action, pretty vanilla lol, jack being a cockblock HA

♡ ─ taglist | @dancerbailey3 @valluvsu @daisysnhl @dasiysthings @iminlovewithtz11 @literatureluster @lvrzegras @lxvleyzoe @bowen-power @ru-kru @jackhughesily @hearts-for-luke

♡ ─ ev's notes | i haven't written a full blown smut in a while i hope i'm still good at it LMAO, hope y'all will enjoy!!! also requests are open so PLEASE SEND THEM IN! ya girl is trying to get out of a really bad writing rut rn :((

The warm water was rolling down the curves of your body as you relaxed, feeling all the stress from the week running down the drain with the water. Your fingers worked themselves into your scalp as you washed your hair with your coconut scented shampoo, washing it thoroughly.

You were too engrossed with washing your hair, you didn't hear the bathroom door open and close swiftly. You heard the glass bathroom door open and quickly turned around to face your boyfriend, who had invited himself into the shower.

"Hey," Luke spoke casually as his racked down your body, not even trying to hide his smirk. His eyes took in every curve of your body, feeling his face warm up in the process. "How was your day?"

You laughed at how casual he was acting, despite being in the shower. But you didn't really care, you had missed him. "Busy. How was yours?"

"Stressful?"

You nodded, sighing.

"Maybe I can help with that?" He answered smoothly, the smirk evident in his expression as you laughed. He looked down at you, his eyes focusing on you and your body. Despite your bashful expression, you couldn't help but feel your stomach twist in desire as you gazed up at your boyfriend.

It had been a while since you two had sex with your busy schedules, the only downside to being adults. And you weren't busy, Jack was always around being a cockblock, which both of you hated.

"I'd love that," you answered, breathlessly as he smirked down at you. He instantly leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, taking your face in his hand. The kiss was gentle but very needy but it escalated into a sloppy make-out session as the water dripped down both your bodies.

Luke's hands wandered further down, clasping your neck in an attempt to bring you closer. You let out a moan into the kiss as he pushed you against the tile, taking control of the kiss.

"Been thinking about you all day, Y/N." Luke's lips traveled down to your chin and then to your neck, planting harsh kisses everywhere. Your eyes shut in pleasure, as you let him touch you. "Couldn't focus because of you, princess. All 'cus of you."

Your mind had turned into mush the moment he started sucking on your sensitive spot on your neck, a nasty moan coming out of your mouth. All you could think of was Luke, Luke, Luke.

His hands then grabbed your hips, pushing them closer to his. Your arms naturally crossed around his shoulders as he came up to give you a rough kiss, his hands bruising on your hips.

The water was still running as he pulled your legs up, crossing at his hips. "I missed you so much, baby."

"Missed you too." You responded breathlessly as he pulled you into another kiss. One of his hands travelled down to your soaking cunt, his fingers teasing.

Your back arched against the tile as he kept touching your cunt, but careful not to enter. He was teasing and both of you knew it, you hated it. "Fuck Luke, come on."

"What? I wanna take my time with you baby, is that such a crime?" He spoke and you could feel his smirk against your neck as he kept playing with cunt.

You whined as he kept leaving teasing touches on your cunt before he finally entered one long, slim finger in you. Your whole body jolted at that, clenching around his finger. He kept it there for a few seconds before he began thrusting it in and out, slowly.

"Luke, please." You whined, his pace was slow and excruciating, you hated it.

"Please what?"

You hated when he did this, but you knew it made the O better. "Just fuck me, Luke."

He let out a laugh before he stopped completely, taking his finger out of your sticky core. Before you could complain, you felt him push in his tip inside your cunt slowly. Your back arched in response, your head falling back on tile from the pleasure. He was only a quarter in and you felt so full, he was so big.

He stretched you out so well, you felt like your head was in the clouds. As he bottomed you out, you felt like your whole body was on fire. You loved how well he filled you up, it was like he was made for you.

Your arms hung off Luke's shoulders as his hands were still holding on to your hips as he began thrusting in and out of you, slowly at first. But you knew that pace wouldn't last. Before you knew it, Luke was fucking you into the wall as you held onto to his shoulders for dear life.

"Luke!" you cried out as he kept his pace brutal and quick, just like you liked. His head fell on your forehead as he kept pounding into you, your whole body shaking with each thrust.

You felt the familiar burning sensation in your lower stomach as he kept his pace and you knew you were close. Your walls clenched around Luke's cock, he moaned at that. You were so tight and so warm, he loved how you felt.

He moved one hand from your hip and went down to your clit, rubbing the nub as he kept fucking into you. Both sensations made you cry out in utter pleasure, your whole body began twitching. The knot was getting tighter and tighter and finally, it snapped. Your moan echoed throughout the bathroom, your vision blurring momentarily as Luke chased his own high. His hips snapped against yours roughly, fucking you through your orgasm.

And before you knew it, he was spilling his seed into you. You both breathed heavily, trying to regain your composure after that. But before neither of you could say anything, you heard some knocking on the door.

"Could you guys fuck quieter please, I'm trying to take a nap." Jack's voice was muffled on the other side of the door as he spoke. Luke immediately let out an agitated sigh.

"Jesus Christ." Luke mumbled before he continued, "Whatever dude, go back to sleep."

"Are you guys using protection or am I gonna be an uncle soon?" Jack teased before you and Luke let out annoyed groans.

"Go back to bed!" You both shouted in union.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[chukys-mouthguard]

rubberband

featuring -> luke hughes x female reader

word count -> 2.8k

genre -> fluff/angst

summary -> luke comes back to umich, but he can’t avoid seeing you

note -> italics are flashbacks

The start of another school year meant another fall semester filled with football, house parties, and memories. You and your friends had just finished moving in the day before, Saturday being blocked off on your calendar as the day of welcome back parties all over campus. Typically you would have one house in mind to go to, but since he’d left Michigan, you weren’t a fan. Not that the other guys that were still around weren’t great, but the memories that remained after Luke had moved on to New Jersey were still so fresh for you. Though it was your Senior year, and you were trying your best to make it a great one.

You and your friends headed down the sidewalk, closing in on the hockey house and you could feel your palms growing sweaty. The house still looked just as it did the first night you’d shown up there Freshman year, not a clue of who you would meet that night.

-

“Can I get you anything?”

Looking up, your eyes met those of the curly haired Freshman you’d heard was named Luke. He smiled softly down at you, noticing how shy you’d become looking over the large amount of alcohol they had covering their kitchen counter. Your freehand scratching at the skin of your wrist, a nervous habit Luke surely noticed but found cute, smiling down at you as you nodded.

“Um, sure.”

“We’ve got beer, vodka, tequila. Though I would not recommend that unless you’re actually trying to die tonight.”

You laughed at his joking as he gave you the grand tour of the bottom shelf alcohol that the boys could afford. Though no one minding as they more so cared about being drunk than what the liquids tasted like.

“What are you drinking?”

Luke looked at his solo cup, making a face before returning eye contact.

“Beer, but if I’m honest I wouldn’t recommend this either. It’s awful to be blunt.”

The two of you laughed together, your eyes scouring the options once again as the only logical choice remained, vodka. Luke poured you some into a cup, letting you decide on what you’d opt to mix into the alcohol. Though he mentioned he wouldn’t judge if you drank it straight, but surely it would taste worse that way.

“I’m Luke.”

“Y/n.”

“Well y/n, can I give you the tour?”

-

Little did you know it, but at the time Luke was using the excuse of a tour as a way to get away from the party. He wasn’t the biggest party animal his Freshman year, enjoying the opportunity to sneak away with you for a bit and relax. His favorite spot was to sneak up onto the roof, not many people knew how and it was often quiet up there.

But it was clear that had changed as the roof was currently crowded with tens of people seated around, some chugging beers and tossing them to the ground below. Others shouting at the crowd below over the music that was blasting from the house.

-

“So Luke Hughes, how long until people discover our secret spot?”

The two of you had been keeping up the routine of sneaking to the roof for several weekends now. No one ever seemed to notice, and even if they did they made their own assumptions of what the two of you were doing.

“Hmm, well, I would hope they never do. I’d love for this to stay our spot. But, I would say maybe two more weekends and we will get kicked out.”

He sipped his beer as the two of you watched the party taking place below. Always loving to watch his teammates try their luck with different girls; some succeeding, others striking out.

“Can I ask you something?”

You looked to Luke, his smile fading as he looked more sincere, nodding his head as his way of asking you to continue.

“Do you, are we…sorry, I just. I don’t want to read too much into anything, but, what would you say this is? Like with us?”

Luke sighed softly, sipping his beer as he tried to find the right response. Making you nervously scratch at your wrist as you were immediately regretting even asking the question. Surely he didn’t see this as anything, he was focused on hockey not relationships.

“I think this is, comfortable? It feels right? I don’t know, I just really like you being here with me. I can’t describe it, but it feels natural. What do you think?

He nervously sipped his beer while you now tapped the side of your seltzer, nodding slightly in agreement as you were thinking of your own response.

“I agree. It feels right, whatever it is. I just enjoy the time I get with you, always. And, I’m happy here.”

“Me too.”

Luke’s smile faded as he slowly moved closer to you, his hand tucking some of your hair behind your ear before resting on your cheek. You could feel his breath against your lips he was so close to you. Your eyes darted from his lips to his eyes as time felt like it was frozen before he’d finally kissed you. The two of you tangling your hands into each other's hair, the taste of alcohol mixed with your chapstick. Neither one of you fighting for dominance, simply letting the moment happen how it may.

Luke finally pulled away, a blush on his cheeks as he scratched his head. Slightly embarrassed at his forwardness, but appreciating that you didn’t seem to turn down his actions.

“Still feels right?”

“Mhm, definitely.”

Luke smiled as he looked down, messing with the bracelets on his wrist, pulling a simple rubberband type off and grabbing for your hand.

“Here.”

He placed the bracelet on your wrist with a smile, admiring how it looked despite its simple nature.

“Whenever you’re feeling nervous, when you’re missing me, or whatever the case may be. I’ll be there.”

You smiled at the rubberband, lightly snapping it against your skin. Realizing that not only was it a reminder of Luke, but something to help your nervous habit he’d obviously picked up on. Appreciating the gesture and that he’d noticed the small quirk about you.

-

That bracelet was your source of comfort during numerous finals weeks, a stress reliever during all of Luke’s home games as you’d snap it against your skin. And even with Luke leaving for New Jersey, the bracelet remained as a symbol of his promise to always come back.

Things between you and Luke had continued similarly to how they’d started your Freshman year. Though never putting a label on things, it was common knowledge that you were certainly more than nothing, you were something.

You watched the group of girls from across the way, crowding around in hopes to get to see the guys after their big win. It was a normal occurrence, especially with girls from opposing schools. And while you and Luke were definitely secure in your relationship, you still couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Watching how the girls all flocked to him, asking for pictures, trying to create small talk. Luke of course too nice to ignore them, simply smiling through it all.

Looking up, his eyes met yours, his smile growing wide as he excused himself from the group of girls. Immediately wrapping his arms around your waist as he picked you up, stealing a kiss before setting you back down.

“You’ve got some groupies huh?”

Luke rolled his eyes with a short, placing an arm around your shoulder as you two started off towards the exit.

“Only one groupie I have eyes for babe.”

-

Things were great with Luke, that was until he’d gotten drafted by the Devils. You knew the day was likely to come at some point, but you never thought about what it would be like when it finally did.

The conversation hadn’t really taken place regarding what would happen for the two of you if and when he made the move to New Jersey. But once things were official, and he was leaving, you were faced with the inevitable.

-

“So, you weren’t gonna tell me until the day you were leaving?”

You looked to Luke through tear filled eyes. While you wanted to be happy and excited for him, having just signed his entry level contract with the Devils. You were heartbroken that in the same day he’d achieved his dreams, he was also telling you goodbye.

“I know, it’s the worst possible way to tell you. But, believe me, this is all happening so fast there was no right time for any of this. I hate having to just up and leave you. I won't be that far, you can come visit me, we will see each other in the summer. This doesn’t change anything.”

Luke looked down to see you nervously pulling at the rubberband that was on your wrist. Smiling softly as he knew you hadn’t once taken it off since he’d given it to you over a year ago.

Taking your hands in his he tried his best to relax your mind that he could see was racing with a million and one thoughts.

“Look at me, I promise, this doesn’t change things okay?”

You wanted to believe him, that him only being a few states away wouldn’t change anything. That you’d continue with your relationship exactly how it had been. That you could snap the rubberband on your wrist whenever you were sad, anxious, or missing him, and it would all magically get better. But you couldn’t help but be nervous about what this next step meant for him. Leaving you behind at school, while you knew it was bound to happen, didn’t feel any less shitty than all the times you’d tried to prepare yourself for it.

“You promise?”

Luke cupped your face as he brought your lips to his, the kiss nothing more than a longing peck, but enough to make your racing thoughts cease for even a moment.

“I promise”

-

But his promises fell short, and those summer’s at the lake house never happened. One trip to New Jersey was all you’d gotten, and soon enough Luke had become mostly a memory.

Text messages and calls were here and there, his schedule keeping him busier than he ever was at Michigan. You’d tried your best to hold out hope, telling yourself that he’d made a promise to you. But as more time went on, you’d begun to realize that maybe all this relationship was with Luke, was nothing more than a casual thing. That despite how much he cared about you, and all the promises he’d made, he wasn’t looking for something serious. That he wasn’t serious about you.

Making your way up the stairs of the hockey house, you’d noticed several familiar faces along with several new ones. The freshman players were easier to spot, as they reminded you of Luke on the night you’d first met him. Timid compared to the veteran guys who were screaming about games of pong and beer die that were set to start in the backyard.

You felt yourself growing a bit anxious, wondering why you’d come back to a house that held so many memories. While they were mostly good, they made you think of Luke.

Heading out to the backyard, you found comfort in the sea of people. Knowing that you’d easily be able to get lost among them, distract yourself from the familiar faces while you hoped the alcohol you planned to consume would ease your nerves.

Following behind your friend, you found yourself subconsciously snapping the band at your wrist, trying to distract yourself from any Luke related thoughts that crept into your mind.

Taking a solo cup from her hand, your friend began talking about the way the girls at the party seemed to flock to all the hockey guys as they stood on the back porch. The two of you laughed, knowing you once were like them. Drooling over the shirtless boys at the house, thinking they were the hottest thing on campus. Wanting to be able to say you’d gotten the chance to talk to one of the hockey boys at the party.

“Oh my god, y/n, please don’t look at the porch.”

Your friend reached for your arm, turning you to face her so your back was to the group of men on the porch. Naturally you looked over your shoulder as you were curious what she didn’t want you to see. But the moment you saw him, you felt your heart sink.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. We can leave.”

Obviously, Luke had every right to be there. He did go to Michigan and played hockey for the school. But you weren’t expecting to see him back since he’d moved on to the NHL. Especially not expecting to see him shirtless at the hockey house looking more amazing than ever. Girls crowded around him, all hoping to get even just a touch of his hand on their skin to be able to brag about for the next month.

Before you could make a decision about leaving, Luke’s attention had turned in your direction. Slightly lowering his sunglasses from his eyes, they met yours as he stood shocked to have seen you.

You could feel the goosebumps beginning to cover your skin, your heart racing as Luke began to make his way over to you. Instinctually, you headed through the crowd, wanting to be anywhere but this house. Luke set down his beer as he took off after you.

“Y/n, come on. Please y/n!”

His hand grabbed your arm as he caught up to you, stopping you in your tracks as you turned to face him.

“What?”

Your tone was harsh as you tried hiding the pain in your voice, but the tears in your eyes of course gave it away. Luke’s heart sinking seeing you hurt, never expecting this moment to happen, otherwise he might have prepared better. But for the moment, he was at a loss for words.

“I, I’m sorry. For everything. I know that’s not specific, but I’m honestly just shocked to see you.”

You laughed as you wiped your tears that were threatening to fall. Shaking your head you searched for the right words, trying not to start a fight in the alley next to the hockey house. People occasionally walking by, a scene not something that was needed, especially for Luke.

“You’re shocked to see me, on the campus of the college I go to? Interesting…”

“Oh come, don’t be like that y/n please! Look, I get it. I fucked up, in so many ways. The summers at the lake house, you coming to New Jersey, all of it. I broke my promises to you, and I wish I could go back and change it all.”

Luke’s eyes fell to the band on your wrist, watching as you snapped it against your skin. Hating that he was making you nervous or anxious, wishing that things could go back to normal for the two of you. But he knew he’d ruined that.

“Look I get it, if you didn’t want something serious. If I was just a casual fling or something. Then fine. But why waste my time? Why make me think you liked me?”

Luke grabbed your wrist, stopping you from snapping the band any longer.

“Y/n, none of that is true. It wasn’t that I thought you were a casual fling. I just, I couldn’t be the person you needed. With signing with the Devils and leaving here, leaving you. I just couldn't keep my promises. And it was wrong, to make you think I could. To keep you holding on if this wasn’t going to happen for us. And I’m so sorry to do that to you.”

You looked up at him, seeing the pain in his eyes, believing his words as you pulled the band from your wrist. Setting it in his hand as you nodded your head with a sigh.

“I appreciate the apology, but it doesn’t change anything that happened. It doesn’t change how I feel, how hurt I am by all of it. So, you can take that bracelet back. I can’t keep it anymore and think about you every time I see it. That was a promise, that I could think of you and find comfort anytime I snapped it or saw it. But, I think that I need to move on. Because it’s just another broken promise at this point.”

Luke bit his tongue, knowing that despite what he wishes he could say, you don’t want to hear it. Holding the bracelet tight in his hand, he watched as you pushed past him. Heading back to the party, leaving him with only the bracelet as a memory. Slipping it on to his own wrist, immediately snapping it a few times to calm his emotions before returning to join the guys on the back porch.

[chewingcyanide]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

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

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

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x fem!reader

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

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

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

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

You never imagined you’d lose him.

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

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

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

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

For you? It was an embarrassingly different story.

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

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

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

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

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

Not Brooke.

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

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

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

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

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

You should’ve said no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just weren’t sure if you did anymore.

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

Beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

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

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

Then again, maybe he didn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

What did he possibly have to be annoyed about?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke scoffed. “Hookups exist.”

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

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

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

All you offered in response to Luke was a shrug.

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

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

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

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

Yet he’d still chosen Brooke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Bee.”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Wait, I thought you talked to Jack?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you were an idiot. A fucking idiot.

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

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

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

Then, your eyes fell to your seat.

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

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

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

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

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

“Get up.”

Then, the attention went to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No more.

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

“What if—”

“Let her go, babe.”

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

You. You. You.

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

Let her go.

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

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

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

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

Not trusting your words, all you did was nod.

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

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

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

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

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

The latter seemed more fitting.

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

me

at my dorm

j :)

ok good. u ok? u seemed off @ dinner

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

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

The mess you’d made of your life.

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

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

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

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

You felt dirty, filthy with shame and guilt.

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

Unfortunately, Kaylen did notice.

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

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

Two days of moping resulted in Kaylen’s intervention.

“Get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like Jack always did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

me

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

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

j :)

ofc. my place tn?

me

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

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

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

j :)

not a problem. we broke up.

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

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

me

shit j. i’m sorry

j :)

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

me

yeah, that’s fine. see you soon, j.

j :)

be safe. i’ll text you when i’m home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The axe struck down.

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

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

That wasn’t the issue.

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

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

Jack.

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

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

So much for closure.

So much for being broken up.

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

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

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

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

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ honeymoon avenue ] n. hischier

day 6 of kinktober (breeding kink w/ nico hischier)

paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico and his new wife celebrate the first night of their honeymoon

warning(s) : smut ! breeding kink, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk

author’s note : better late than never ig

kinktober schedule

༺──────────────༻

It takes everything in her to not jump her new husband the moment they open the door to their suite at the hotel they're staying at for their week-long stay in Cancun while on their honeymoon. Nico tosses their suitcases and carry-ons into the room before he turns toward her.

Without warning, Nico leans down and picks her up bridal style. She gasps and wraps her arms around his neck. "Nico!" she giggles as he crosses the threshold into their suite. "That was not necessary."

"I just want to make sure my new wife gets the whole experience," he tells her as he sets her back down on her feet while a huge grin forms on her lips. She doesn't drop her arms though. She plays with the hair she can reach on the back of his neck.

Nico kicks the door shut behind him without his eyes leaving her. He studies her face like it'll be the last time he'll ever look at her. "You can take a picture," she teases. "It'll last longer."

"Just trying to get used to seeing you as my wife," Nico replies with a small smile. "Because you're my wife now. You wore white and I put a second ring on that finger. Said 'I do' in front of our family and friends then kissed you. We did the whole thing, and now you're my wife."

She giggles at Nico's words. "You're such a sap," she tells him.

"Mhm," he hums. His hands slide around her waist and he dips his head down so his forehead rests on hers. "All for you so you better not go telling my teammates because I'll never hear the end of it."

"I think they figured it out by the way you looked at me and danced with me when 'Little Things' was playing for our first dance," she tells him. Nico rolls his eyes with a smile. "Just preparing you for when we get back to Jersey and your teammates start messing with you."

He shifts his head to try and kiss her, but she holds him back for a second. "What?" he asks.

"I just want to shower off the travel," she explains. "I smell like plane and I don't exactly want to start our night wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. I have something I packed especially for tonight that I wanna show you."

Nico smiles and nods. "I'll let you take your shower then," he tells her. "But after, I am not responsible for what happens when you come out of that shower. If you come out of the shower in some sort of clothing then I'll be buying you new whatever because I will get my hands on you as soon as you walk out of that bathroom. Full disclosure."

She laughs and grabs her carry-on that contains Nico's surprise. He sheds his jacket as she heads into the bathroom to wash and shave her body. She ties her hair up into a bun so she doesn’t have to wash then blow dry it and postpone their night even more. She quickly makes sure the water is at a comfortable temperature before getting in.

If she's going to do anything, it's make sure she looks good and feels soft for the first night of her honeymoon. She shaves every necessary part of her body and washes every crevice as quick as she can.

She made sure to get a lot of sleep on the plane from Switzerland to prepare for the night because she will not be getting any sleep tonight. Nico can, and will, go all night if she let him. He really does have the stamina of a hockey player, and she thinks she’ll let him go as long as he can.

Once the water gets cold, she gets out. She towel dries her entire body and lets her hair loose. She digs through the bag to pull out Nico's surprise.

It's a white, silky nightgown that falls just below her ass with thin straps on her shoulder. There's a lace trim on the plunging v-neck that matches the lacy white panties she pulls on underneath the nightgown. She puts on some mascara before she leaves the small room and goes back out into the main room.

Nico sits on the bed scrolling on his phone when she makes her way back into the room. She clears her throat to get his attention. He looks up and his eyes widen immediately. She gnaws on her bottom lip and takes short steps toward her new husband.

"You like it?" she asks as she does a little twirl to give Nico a full view of the set.

"It'll look better on the floor," he tells her. His comment earns a little smile from her.

She reaches the bed and crawls up to meet Nico. She climbs onto his lap and straddles his thighs. Her lips ghost the swell of his ear when she says, "Then take it off."

His hands slowly slide up the back of the nightgown. She feels goosebumps rise behind his fingers while she cups Nico's jaw. They share a quick eskimo kiss when she leans back a bit and meets his eyes. Then Nico surges forward to capture her lips in a deep kiss. She hums before she returns the kiss with the same passion.

Before she realizes she does it, she ruts her hips against his. Nico lets out a soft groan and grasps her waist. She keeps a slow pace at first before she gets needy and quickens her pace a bit.

Nico pushes the silky fabric over her head. She puts her arms above her head and breaks the kiss so he can pull it off. The nightgown hits the floor with a soft thud and Nico's lips are on her chest. She runs her fingers through his hair and hums. He's always been a tit kind of guy, and he loves hers. He pays some extra attention to them and she can’t help but smile as his tongue swirls around one nipple while he uses his fingers to play with the other. She can’t help but hum at the sensation.

She reaches down and slides her hands up the t-shirt he has on. Her fingers trace his toned stomach for a second before she starts to push the cotton fabric over his head. Nico pulls away from her breasts for a second to get the shirt over his head.

Her hips rut against his again and Nico grins at her. “So needy for me, liebling,” he mumbles.

“Always,” she tells him. “I always need you, Neeks. Now more than ever because it’s hot that I get to call you my husband and I have your last name.”

Nico tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and she leans onto his touch. “It’s hot that you have my last name,” he replies. “So hot. Makes me wanna fuck you full of my babies so they can also have my last name.”

They’ve talked about having kids, but they both wanted to wait until after they were married. Well, now they’re married and the idea of Nico giving her babies sounds like the best idea in the world.

“Fuck me full of your babies, Nico,” she tells him. “Fill me up and fuck me.” She drags a finger over his cheekbones and jaw.

“That what you want, liebling?” Nico asks as his fingers slip into her already ruined panties. “Want me to fill you up with my babies and stay inside you so my come keeps you filled?“

She hums at his words, which shoot straight to her core. “Please,” she sighs. “Please, Nico.”

He starts to pull off the lace she’s wearing and she gets on her knees so he can get it off of her. She kneels between his knees so she can pull off his jeans and boxers. His hard dick springs free and stands against his stomach.

This would be the time that one of them would reach for a condom, but instead Nico flips them over so he’s hovering over her and lines himself up with her entrance. She lets her knees fall to the side so Nico has full access to her.

He slowly pushes into her and she welcomes the familiar stretch. She gnaws on her bottom lip and stares up at her husband. Nico’s hair is on the longer side so it falls into his face. She pushes it back with her fingers and holds it in place. He kisses her wrist as he bottoms out inside her.

Nico lets her adjust for a second before he slowly starts to roll his hips. She lets out soft sighs and hums as he moves. He keeps a steady pace, and it drives her crazy with how slow he moves.

“Nico,” she whines. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“We have all night, baby,” he reminds her. “Gonna take my time with you right now.”

Yeah, she’s not getting a wink of sleep tonight.

She tries to match Nico’s pace but he grasps her waist so she stops. He leans down and kisses the sweet spot right under her ear. “You’ll get what you want, liebling,” he mumbles. “Gonna fill that pretty pussy and fuck you til you’re full of my babies. You’d look so good with a swollen belly, baby.”

Her entire body shudders at his words. “Nico,” she sighs. “Please. Please, please.”

He grins and captures her begging lips in a deep kiss. He quickens his pace again but continues to move deeply into her. The bed creaks gently as his pace gets a little bit faster.

Her fingers curl in his hair and doesn’t let him get too far. She pulls him down so their chests are pressed together. Nico deepens the kiss and hooks one of her legs around his elbow so he can move even deeper into her.

“Oh, fuck!” she cries out against his lips. “Nico. Neeks.”

Nico smiles into the kiss that follows. “You can’t wait to be filled with my babies,” he mumbles between kisses. “You want to carry my kids, don’t you?”

“I do,” she says for the second time in 24 hours. “Fuck, Nico.”

He lifts himself up so he can move quickly.

Signs of a pending orgasm show themselves soon after. Her legs begin to shake and a knot forms in the pit of her stomach. Both of their breathing becomes labored as they both chase after their respective climaxes.

She ruts her hips against his, slowly working her way up to match his pace.

The room is filled with the sounds that pass their lips and the sound of the bed hitting the wall behind their heads.

Nico slows his pace but continues to move deep inside her. He hits her sweet spot and cries out, "Fuck! Nico. Oh my God. Don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, liebling," Nico pants. "Come for me. I wanna feel you make a mess on my cock."

He keeps his pace and it's not long after when she clenches around his dick. Nico's name falls from her lips as her entire body shakes as she comes. Her vision whitens for a split second.

Despite being half out of it, she feels Nico fuck her through her orgasm. She feels when he comes deep inside her and she hums at the feeling. Nico slows down and his pace gets erratic as he comes down from his own orgasm.

She lays in bed while Nico goes to get a cloth to clean her up. She can't feel her legs, and finds just enough strength to lift her head up. She looks down between her legs to see Nico's come dripping out of her. The sight is nearly enough to rile her up again so she puts her head back down and lets out a soft sigh.

Nico gently cleans her up when he gets back with a cloth. She winces when he touches her already sensitive clit. "You okay?" Nico asks.

"Mhm," she hums. "Give me a second. That was definitely a nice way to start our honeymoon."

"There's a lot more where that came from."

"Oh, I'm aware," she giggles.

༺──────────────༻

MAIN HOCKEY

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[itsjusthockey]

Hughes Your Daddy? - Jack Hughes

hahahaha finally

enjoy

request

If I get 10+ comments/asks ill make a part 2

Yes, that's me bribing you, I want more interactions

w.c: 3,007 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)

Pt.2

The last few weeks of college are the worst weeks of a student's life. There’s nothing but studying, finals, and pure hell. Yet, when Ellen Hughes calls and tells you to get on a flight to Vancouver to be present at the Hughes Bowl, you fucking get on a flight to Vancouver.

The flight itself is terrific; you study a bit of your flashcards, drink some hot cocoa, and even get in a solid half-hour nap. You honestly feel a little sad when the intercoms go off, and they announce your descent into Canada.

The sadness washes away quickly when you clear the clouds and realize how excited you are. This trip, tomorrow’s game, is a very, very special event. Each Hughes brother will be playing on the ice tomorrow night, and you’ll be sitting, as requested, in the Hughes box overlooking it all.

As soon as the 737 touches down, you’re quick to switch your phone off airplane mode. You appreciated the few hours of bliss without endless notifications, but life has to go on. As soon as the iPhone gets service, a flood of messages rolls through. One from Ellen, to which you respond. Two from Quinn, which you answer. And 36 messages from Jack, which you ignore.

You should respond, and you will, but first, you have to get off the plane and find your favorite chauffeur.

Without further delay, you exit the plane, grabbing your carry-on and swinging your backpack over your shoulders. You smile at the few flight attendants on the way out and throw an extra thank you to the woman who gave you some extra cookies when she saw your flashcards.

The Vancouver airport is bustling, and you can’t help but feel the positive vibes radiating from the space. The entire airport is decorated for Christmas, and you’re reminded why it’s ranked one of the best airports in North America.

You make your way to the baggage claim, checking your phone to ensure you’re heading toward the right spot. You are, and while you’re walking, you pass all the cute little shops. You see a couple of little knickknacks, and you make a mental note to pick up something on your flight back. Now, however, you must focus.

The baggage claim area is pretty full, and you’re dodging people left and right. You’re unsure in the sea of people where Quinn might be hiding until you hear your name shouted from somewhere to your left. You turn your body, and there he is, waving a bit and standing with a small smile.

“Oh my god, is that Quinn Hughes?” You say in mock shock as you get within his earshot. “The newest captain of the Canucks and Vancouver's most precious gem?”

He rolls his eyes back as far as he can when you approach, but nonetheless, he pulls you in for a hug.

“Please stop.” He groans out as your part and takes your carry-on from you.

“Never.” You smile as he leads you out of the airport.

It takes mere minutes to get to the car, and you both catch up about whatever. It’s been months since you’ve seen Quinn, and whenever you’re with him, you’re reminded why he might be your favorite besides Ellen and Jim, of course.

As soon as you are settled into the passenger of Quinn’s car, he reaches back behind him and pulls out a small gift bag.

“Here, before I forget.”

You give him a questioning look, and he just gives you a slight smirk.

“Just open it. It’s more of a gift to everyone else.”

You squint your eyes a bit suspiciously but pull the tissue paper from the bag. As soon as you do, you see the familiar blue and white colors, and a laugh burst from your lips.

“Oh my god.” You shriek out, laughing, pulling the Canucks jersey from the bag.

You both immediately start laughing, and you can hardly contain yourself.

“Of course, you don’t have to wear it for the game.” Quinn says. “but he’s gonna flip if he sees you wearing it when they get here.”

You scan the Jersey and agree with the boy next to you. Your boyfriend is very possessive when it comes to jerseys, and he hates everything that isn’t red, black, or white and doesn’t have Hughes 86 plastered on the back.

“Oh, this is gold, Quinn.” You say, tucking the jersey back in as Quinn moves the car out of the lot.

“Ma and I thought so, too. She said it might humble him for the night.”

Speaking of humbling your boyfriend, you reach for your phone and go to text him back. You scan the many messages and roll your eyes at a few. Most of them are him just wanting attention, but the last one catches your eye.

we’re 2 hours behind ur flight. No fun or smiling before I get there

You read the text allowed to Quinn, who rolls his eyes at the statement, and you’re quick to shoot a response back, telling Jack that it’s too late and you’re having the best time ever.

————————-

As soon as you step through Quinn’s front door, you hear a happy yell, and Ellen is pulling you in for a long-awaited hug. You practically melt as she squishes you, and the happiest of laughs exits her.

“Oh, my sweet girl, I’m so happy this worked out.” She says to you, pulling back just enough to look at your smiling face.

You look behind her as Jim is standing nearby, waiting his turn. You give Ellen one less squeeze and then turn to the original Hughes and give him a big hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” He says. “Glad you’re here.”

As soon as you say your hellos, you move to get your stuff settled into your room. As quickly as you can, you throw your stuff down and pull on the New Jersey, making your way back out to the kitchen.

As soon as you enter, Jim laughs, and Ellen raises her hands to her mouth.

“Oh, Jack is gonna hate it.” She turns to Quinn and laughs, using him to steady her.

“Oh, we know.” You say, high-fiving Quinn as you grab a cup of some water.

As soon as you get your water, you all settle into the living room, and questions are flying left and right. You talk about school, work, and whatever else comes to mind about the time you’ve spent away from them. They hang onto every word, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always been close to Jack's family, but when the one-year mark passed, it’s like they fully accepted you as one of them. Now, almost two years in, Ellen and Jim treat you like the daughter they never had, and they tell you often how much more they like you than any of their sons. You always laugh, but you know deep down that you are special to them. And that fact alone makes you consider yourself one of the luckiest girls.

“They just landed,” Quinn announces. “Almost showtime.”

Ellen winks at you from her space on the couch, and you settle deeper into the comfortable space, counting down the seconds until your boyfriend walks through the door.

—————————-

About half an hour later, you hear loud commotion as the door swings open and Jack and Luke enter the building. It takes less than three seconds for Jack to yell.

“Where is she?”

You laugh at him and yell back from the living room. “I’m in here.”

In mere seconds, Jack is in the room, making a beeline toward you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in a month, and you won’t lie; he looks pretty good.

You make your move and step off the couch, going to hug him, but he halts in his place a few feet away, giving you a once-over.

“Get that shit off you.”

As soon as that leaves his mouth, everyone busts out laughing, and Jack gives you a less-than-impressed look. You feel a bit bad, so you give him a small smile and lift the jersey off your frame, revealing a Devils t-shirt underneath.

As soon as you throw the jersey away, he takes two long strides and engulfs you in a hug. You thought that nothing could beat Ellen’s hug, but Jack's grip nearly breaks your back.

You pull away after a second and pry him off of you. You love him more than anything, but you’re not about to show massive amounts of PDA in front of his parents, who are sitting a few feet away.

He gets this because he lets you go and gives his parents and brother a quick greeting, then leads you away from the living room. Everyone allows it to happen, and you find yourself in the privacy of the bedroom.

“You’re funny, but you better have my jersey for tomorrow night.”

You let out a small laugh and cross the room again, linking your hand behind his head and pulling him closer to you. His hands find home on your waist, and his fingertips dip under your shirt a bit, gently squeezing.

“I promise, J,” you grin. “I’ll do my best to show support to the losing team.”

He releases a soft gasp and gives you a slight look of betrayal.

“Losing team?”

Your grin goes even wider. “Check that stats, bud. You’re in a bit of a losing streak.”

He narrows his eyes a bit, and with one quick motion, he grabs your frame and tosses you on the bed. He enters attack mode, lays his entire weight on you, and begins grabbing at your sides. You, of course, go into defense mode and fight to push him off. You fight for power for a minute before you pull your defining move. He gets close, too close, and you give him your best doe eyes. The second he catches your stare, he folds, and he puts himself at your mercy.

For the first time in a hot minute, you pull him to meet you; the second his lips are on you, you implode. It’s been too long, and there is nothing more comforting and familiar than the boy lying nearly on top of you. You kiss him for a minute, your lips molding perfectly together before you pull away, gently patting his face.

“I think your family would like to see you.”

You push him away again as he rolls his eyes.

“I see them enough.”

He goes back to try to kiss you, but you push him away, putting a finger to his lips and shaking your head.

“Come on.”

He lets out an annoyed huff and removes himself from the bed, pulling you up along with him. You make your way back to the family room and laugh yourself into the family events.

Soon, you’re all playing board games, and you find out very quickly reminded about how sore of a loser your boyfriend is. You play board games cards, and when it gets late enough in the night, you all make your way to the living room for a movie.

You watch something light-hearted, and you can’t help but feel bliss as you’re tucked into Jack's side, surrounded by the entirety of the Hughes family. It’s a nice moment, and it’s the times like this that have you thankful you’ve stuck with the boy at your side.

——————

Before the sun rises, Jack's alarm blares next to you, and you can only groan at the noise. Alarms are truly nothing but an escape from bliss, and you wish you could stay forever in this little bubble. You’re warm comfy, and you don’t mind the boy you’re cuddled next to.

But alas, he is a slave to hockey, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips and swings himself out of bed. You follow a few minutes later, moving at a sloth pace. Instead of getting fully ready, you make your way downstairs to where the smell of bacon is wafting through the house. You’re almost giddy as you see Ellen and Quinn making breakfast, and you get even happier when Ellen places a steaming mug of coffee in front of you.

“You’re an angel, thank you.”

She gives you a big smile and pours another cup for herself. As soon as you catch the time, you offer to take Quinn’s place with the cooking, to which he gladly accepts and runs off to shower and get ready for the big game.

As soon as all the Hughes boys are out of earshot, you get down to business.

“I’ll raise to fifty on the Devs.”

Jim scoffs at your bet. “I love ‘em, but I disagree. Offense has been a bit sloppy. I’ll raise to a hundred on the Nucks.”

You quirk your eyebrow, then turn to the Queen, who seems to be pondering.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), but I think I’m gonna say Nucks too.”

You let out a soft groan but hold your ground.

“Alright. Final bet is a hundred. Winner takes all.

You all shake hands, sealing the deal.

As if you weren’t up to gambling, you act as naturally as possible as the three boys enter the kitchen. Each one is clad in a suit, and it warms your heart to see them all together. They look adorable, and you can’t help but laugh when Ellen demands a picture. They oblige, but like every other photo they take, it slightly looks like they’re being held at gunpoint. But you win some, you lose some.

Eventually, you’re all fed, happy, and once another alarm goes off, you know it’s time. You say your goodbyes to the boys, wishing them the best of luck. You hug Quinn, do your secret handshake with Luke, and press a quick kiss to Jack's lips.

Once you finish, they say their goodbyes to their parents and make their way toward the door, but they don’t get far before Jack pulls you toward him one last time.

“You ready to watch me destroy Quinn?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, pushing him away with a laugh. Nonetheless, you give him one last peck, swat his ass, and yell one final encouragement as he heads out the door.

“Don’t embarrass me!”

He flips you the bird as he gets into Quinn’s vehicle, and you smile and give him one back as you head back into the house.

You sit back down to finish talking with the parents l, and time ticks by faster than you’d like. Soon enough, it’s time to get ready, and you throw on your devil's jersey. You say a little prayer and hope they all do good. Things like this don’t happen often, and you hope it’s simply a good game.

———————

You smiled as wide as you could as the three Hughes brothers posed for a couple of pictures. You could see the distaste on all their faces, but they did it anyway.

Once they do the appropriate media, the game begins, and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat. It’s a good game, no, a great game. Soon, the first period is almost over, but not before your boyfriend has to remind everyone who he is, and he scores a goal.

It’s known that the Hughes parents don’t show much emotion at the games, and even more so when it’s their sons playing on opposite teams. So you control yourself, but you don’t miss when Ellen squeezes your hand.

The game continues, and it’s a nail-biter. Each minute you watch, you get more and more tense. Maybe it’s because you’re just nervous, or perhaps it’s the fact you have a hundred bucks on the line. But either way, you pray the clock ticks faster.

It doesn’t, but once Luke scores, you can’t help but start to think that this might be the end of a losing streak. You laugh on the inside because, of course, all it takes is a little brother rivalry to get the Devils back into motion.

———————

When the clock hits zero, and the Devils win, you practically die in your seat. You’re so thrilled for Jack and Luke, but a small part of you is a bit depressed for Quinn. But you know, if anyone can handle a loss like this, it’s the eldest Hughes, so you’re not too worried. Instead, you focus on your boyfriend, who, even from the box, looks the happiest he’s been in a while. He was given the title of the first star of the game, and you absolutely love it when he’s like this. You know he’s going to be in one of those unstoppable moods. You love it, but he can be a cocky little shit, and you know he’s going to be almost insufferable. You’ll take it, though, and embrace every part of it.

A few minutes later, the area starts clearing, and you’re all getting ready to leave the box, but you almost forget what is happening when Jim slides you a crisp hundred-dollar bill and winks at you.

“Jack really pulls out the stops when you’re at a game.”

You let a blush creep onto your face as you take the bill. You’d be lying if you said that you felt bad. This isn’t the first game you’ve bet on against Jim, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Alright, you two gamblers, let’s go see the boys, shall we?”

Ellen leads the three of you down to where you’ll see the men of the hour. You feel the happiest you’ve felt in a while as you follow behind them, and when you get close enough, you can hear your boyfriend laugh from a short distance. Your heart skips the noise, and as soon as he spots you from across the room, he moves as fast as lightning to get to you.