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screamlet · 2 months ago

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FYI some of these i love so much that if you're thinking of reading outside your fandom, lmk and i can provide you with some "here's who these dumbasses are" links to get you some visuals

"old school" comfort fic recs

tagged by @liminalmemories21 and @rcmclachlan

What are your old school comfort fics? The ones from fandoms that haven't been active in yeeeaaars, but you've read so many times you can practically quote them.

big big BIG caveat: lol. these are not old school fandoms, as such, but the truly old school ones i grew up with died with livejournal and del.icio.us. however!!! all these fics are 5-10 (or more) years old and that's about as old school as my bookmarks get.

i don't have tumblr usernames for these authors, but if they're around let them know? or don't!

fandoms covered: bts, check please, hockey rpf [all archive locked], star trek (aos and rpf), and the untamed

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BTS happy that we met each other (jinkook, @/fictionalmissp, @/pearlowrites)

Jungkook is trying to adjust to life after military service. Seokjin is dealing with his recent divorce and being a dad. Everyone is trying their best.

someday we'll know (rapline ot3, @/fadetomorrow)

Six years ago, Hoseok walked away from Big Hit and an opportunity to debut as part of an idol group. He's worked hard to build a name for himself halfway across the world when he and the people he left behind collide again.

rivers and roads (til i reach you) (namseok, @/undercoverjikooks)

Namjoon is a lonely, anxious businessman who finds comfort and peace in sex worker slash grocery store clerk Hoseok, who's convinced that he's only worth leaving.

Should Never Fall So Easily (namseok, @/murderoustannie)

It’s not that Namjoon sleep-walked into his relationship with Hoseok, exactly. Mostly because that would imply a total lack of pain and embarrassment, giving the whole ordeal a dream-like quality to it that Namjoon doesn’t think it deserves. But if you asked Namjoon how it happened, exactly, he would have a hard time pin-pointing it.

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CHECK PLEASE! for all of the perfect things that i doubt (series) (kent parson centric, mostly kent parson/omc, @/idrilka)

and in that series: no lightning, just thunder (kent parson/omc)

At thirty-five, Kent wins his fourth Stanley Cup. Two months later, he retires from the NHL.

Lord, What a Difference a Day Makes (kent parson/alexei mashkov, @/coffeestars)

Kent time travels (he thinks; it’s either that or he’s gone off the deep end once and for all), gets married to some Russian guy built like a tree, acquires two children, one of whom isn’t even his, freaks out, and grows up. In that order.

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HOCKEY RPF

double digging for the successful transplant of organic cultivars (michael latta/tom wilson, @/rest)

Tom likes working with his hands, but it is a solitary life. He would much prefer to be married. Leaving and settling elsewhere is his surest chance for having that. (aka "The Space Western Mail Order Bride AU")

love on a deposit of frozen pleistocene carbon (nicklas backstrom/alex ovechkin, @/saintsideways)

Sasha is the only person to have lasted more than a year at Wrest Island Arctic Research Station, except, of course, for Dr. Bäckström. Or: Sasha's head over heels, in a slightly more than figurative sense.

human resources (nicklas backstrom/alex ovechkin, @/babygotbackstrom)

Sasha knows he's going to marry the angel who works in the finance department.

i want to belong here (sidney crosby/evgeni malkin, @/cathedralhearts)

“Can I come to Russia with you?” Zhenya’s brain fritzes out for a second. “Sorry?” he asks, thinking he’s misheard. Years of pining can do that to a person -- make you believe that the object of your affections wants something more than they really do. Sid’s gone bright pink and is staring at the floor, so maybe it’s not pining-induced insanity. Sanja will be pleased.

the light through the windowpane (tyson barrie/gabe landeskog, @/underwaternow)

or, the one where Gabe and Tyson fall in love, break up, Gabe gets married, Tyson falls apart a little, they don't speak to each other for awhile, and then they finally make up. colloquially referred to as “sad fic” but there's very much a happy ending

Big Horny's Guide to Finding Love (and Then Some) for the Modern Man (erik johnson/nate mackinnon, @/venvephe)

ExtraJuicy 🍑🍑💦 Both sporty and spicy. Not a horse girl, but likes to ride. Have a sense of humor and we’ll see where it goes. “Is that Grindr?” Gabe gasps out, and EJ elbows him deftly in the side as several heads swivel in their direction. Fucking Gabe and his big forehead and bigger mouth. “Erik Robert Johnson, have you learned how to sext?”

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STAR TREK (REBOOT) strive seek find yield (aka SPOCTORIA) (kirk/spock, @waldorph)

Spock is heir to the Federation throne, Jim is Prince of America because his fucking brother abdicated, and the Klingons are on the verge of blowing shit up--a love story.

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STAR TREK (RPF) merry bachelors (chris pine/zachary quinto, @/therumjournals)

Ten years from now, Zach reads a promising script. (Aka Chris and Zach make a movie about Cary Grant and Randolph Scott)

chris, nicky, and the nanny (chris pine/zachary quinto, @/thedanveresque)

Chris hires a hipster manny for his son Nicky.

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THE UNTAMED all the time in the world to get it right (series) (lwj/wwx, @/belle_abroad)

on a rainy morning wei ying, debut novelist, ducks into lan zhan's bookstore, the quiet room, and never leaves. (lan zhan's heart. he leaves the store, a couple of times.)

#srb #fic rec #reblogging this because it's in my notes and GOD i love these a lot #i'll be honest you don't even need to know the canon well for some of the au's #like the hockey rpf space western mail order bride au #what a sweet and patient slow burn #“someday we'll know” and “light through the windowpane” are god tier agony #reblogged and added some commentary at the bottom

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captain-huggy-bear · 2 months ago

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Guard Dog

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the Washington Capitals game (Jan 2025), anger/conflict, derogatory commentary towards Reader

Summary: You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

Notes: I was ready to throw hands at Dubois for purposefully seeking out and trying to hurt Quinn so...

Apologies to Dubois but he's now my arch nemesis and if I was actually dating Quinn I know I'd hold a grudge, sorry, I'm sure you're a great guy but...not today. Reminder that I am writing a fictional version of these people and what I do write is not representative of them in real life. Don't sue me, Dubois, this is fictional you, not real you. 👀

Also I don't think Quinn is generally violent or aggressive but I do think that if he felt someone he loved was being treated in a way that was disrespectful/aggressive, that he wouldn't avoid conflict. Protective boy in my eyes.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You wanted to say that you were used to watching how violent hockey could get, especially when that violence was directed at Quinn, but that would be a lie.

Watching as Quinn was practically attacked by Dubois, watching him be targeted had you gasping and jumping to your feet in an instant. The way he knocked Quinn to the ground had your heart thudding in your chest and you'd gotten to your feet instinctively like you could physically go out and defend him, like you had any ability to do something when in reality you were completely helpless, stuck behind glass.

That intense feeling of protectiveness had only increased as Quinn was pulled from the scrum by Dubois again like he was being hunted down, targeted. It grew almost unbearable, a protectiveness mixed with anger, as you watched Quinn try to keep his distance, shoving away from Dubois even as he tried to hold him close, as Quinn tried to protect himself while avoiding roughing himself, only to receive a penalty anyway. That anger grew watching the way Quinn was stuck in the penalty box, the way he was desperate, standing, wanting to get out after his 2 minutes, only to be stuck because play was ongoing for another 3 minutes.

You had never hated a player before. Players had upset you in the past, annoyance at the way they'd dealt with something or how they'd behaved towards Quinn, but you'd never seen someone so determined to hurt your boyfriend. It was that sheer targeting, the way Dubois followed Quinn, gunned for him for no reason, especially given he was still sporting a hand injury, that had you hating him immediately. It had you itching to say something, do something for the entirety of the game. You could barely concentrate on the actual game, too amped.

You couldn't help the way your leg bounced angrily the entire game, the way you bit your lip, the way your mind ran through all the things you'd like to say to Dubois about his behaviour. That feeling didn't disappear as the game ended and you waited outside the locker room for Quinn, if anything it grew from how hard you tried to suppress it. You felt a little like a ticking time bomb.

That anger boiled over the moment you saw Dubois coming down the corridor towards you after the game. Dubois was freshly washed and changed, laughing with his teammate, Roy, like he hadn't been trying to hurt your boyfriend for half the game. You tried to keep your comments to yourself, but couldn't keep the angry glare, the deep scowl, from your features as you leant against the wall, arms crossed. You knew you were giving him the evils, that if looks could kill he'd have died five times over, but you couldn't force your face into neutrality, not when you felt that buzz of anger in your chest. It was dangerous for him to target Quinn like that, it was unfair, it made you wish you were 6ft 8 and built like a brick shit house so at least you could throw a punch in Quinn's honour. Instead you had been absolutely helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

You heard it muttered, whispered, an exchange of 'what's her problem?' and 'that's Hughes' girl...', that had you almost vibrating with anger. Dubois should have left you well enough alone, should have read the room and let you cool down. He shouldn't have assumed he could mess with you in that moment. But, since when have hockey players ever missed a chance to chirp?

You watch him stride up to you, a glint in his eyes that spelled trouble and only served to push more adrenaline through your body.

"You got a problem with me?"

"Walk away." Your voice is clipped, short, an attempt to maintain a sense of decorum, to control your anger because the last thing you want is to embarrass Quinn by getting into a fight with a rival hockey player on the same night his team lost a game. The last thing you want to do is make matters worse and in the words of Marie from Aristocats 'ladies don't start fights'.

"Or what? You going to cry cause I grabbed your little boyfriend?" His sneer reminds you of every bully you've ever known your entire life. Brutish, stupid, and with a deep desire for power and control, the sort of desire that causes them to be nasty, be mean, to try to hurt people because it shows that they can. It only makes it harder for you to control your feelings, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you clench your fists tight, like that will help keep you back.

"I'm telling you to walk away because I will not be responsible for what I say or do if you don't. Walk away." It was probably comical to him, the way you stepped forward and squared off with him, a man well over 6ft tall. You were relatively small in comparison. It didn't matter to you though, all that mattered was the fact he'd gunned for Quinn, for your lovely, kind boyfriend who avoided fights at all costs and tried to always be a reasonable, decent player. Your boyfriend who tried to play clean. Your boyfriend who was still injured. Your boyfriend who was under an insane amount of pressure right now. Your boyfriend who had only just come back off of rest for his injury.

"You've got some balls on you, lady, more than Hughes does at any rate."

You're certain your eye twitches, certain you're one bite away from causes your bottom lip to bleed. Certain that you've dug half moon circles into your palms. Certain that murder doesn't seem quite that bad of a crime right now and that you could survive prison.

"Walk. Away. Now."

"So you're the man in your relationship, huh? Is Hughes your pretty princess?" It's the hateful, misogynistic attempt to demean Quinn that causes you to snap. It's his refusal to just walk away, the goading, the pushing, the way he steps closer into your personal space, leers over you in an attempt to intimidate you with his size that finally does it. But, he doesn't seem to realise that you're too angry to be intimidated, you're not really thinking about yourself, about the situation, about the fact he's twice your size. So it doesn't matter that he could break you if he wanted to. It doesn't matter that he should be scary. He's not in that moment, because you're simply too angry, vibrating with rage.

"You're a vile, disgusting human being,y'know that? He's still injured, you fucking knew that and fucking went for him? What the fuck did he do to you? You trip him, you gun for him, you then try to pull him from the scrum?! What the fuck is wrong with you?" You could each infraction off on your fingers as you move into his space and push the two of you further into the centre of the corridor.

Maybe it's how loud you are or maybe it was just good timing, but Quinn and Boeser step out of the locker room just in time to see you yelling in Dubois' face, to see the grin on his lips like he's enjoying it. It's honest to god fear, mixed with a protectiveness that he always feels for you, that has Quinn practically sprinting the short distance to you.

He's pretty sure you don't realise you're shaking with anger or how close you've gotten to Dubois, practically nose to nose, leaning up while he leans down, until his arms are wrapping around you and pulling you back against his chest. Even in his arms you're shaking with adrenaline, eyes fixated on Dubois like a look is enough to put him in the ground.

Dubois' eyes shift to him, and Quinn can't help the set of his own features, the stern glare that he directs to the other man even as he's smirking back at him. If anything the way he seems to be enjoying this makes Quinn's expression sterner.

"Keep your little plaything on a fucking leash, Hughes." The grin Dubois sends his way is toothy, predatory, the sort of grin that tells Quinn he knows what he's saying and he knows what reaction it'll get. It doesn't stop Quinn's shoulders from tensing, it doesn't stop the tightness in his chest and it certainly doesn't make it easier for him to keep his usually cool head.

"What did you just say?" It's almost whispered, low, quiet, and it makes you stop shaking in Quinn's arms because there's something deadly about it, something that tells you not to push him right now even when you're not the one it's directed at. Something that makes you still in surprise.

"I said keep your little plaything on a fucking leash."

There's a prolonged pause, one in which Quinn looks back behind him, eyes finding Boeser, a silent sort of conversation happening between them, an agreement reached.

"Brock?"

"I got her." The blonde man steps forward as Quinn turns you in his arms and pushes you gently to Brock, Boeser pulling you into his own arms and away from the other two men.

"Quinn?" You're not sure what's happening other than the fact that the fear is starting to set in. All that anger, the adrenaline that had kept you so focused on Dubois, had started to fade. It left behind a shaky sort of anxiety, as reality hit you, that this was not just a simple argument anymore.

You gasp and move back into Boeser as you watch Quinn turn back to Dubois and just as suddenly grab him by the collar of his suit jacket, slamming him back against the wall. While Quinn is shorter, he's certainly not small or weak by any stretch of the imagination and Dubois doesn't expect it as he's shoved full body into the wall behind him, his feet struggling to keep up with the harsh movement backwards.

Quinn is nose to nose with him, glaring up at him with a look you can only describe as murderous, "You ever talk about her like that again and I will break your fucking nose. You don't ever talk to her or about her like that. Do you hear me?" The interesting thing about it, is how Quinn doesn't have to yell. In fact, his voice low, but it's the edge to it, the way it feels sharp enough to cut that makes his feelings clear.

"Oh? Now you think you're a big man, what you gonna do with that hand of yours?" Dubois' eyes shift to the brace on Quinn's left hand, the one that you can see trembling under it's own grip. It upsets you, that he's hurting himself for you, that you started this, as much as part of you preens under his protection.

"My right hand is just fine, Dubois. Yours won't be if you don't back the fuck down." Maybe it's the way Quinn's eyes narrow. Maybe it's the way his teeth grind together. Maybe it's the way he shoves Dubois even harder into the wall or maybe it's something else entirely, but something seems to make Dubois realise that Quinn is serious. That Quinn has every intention of fighting for you if he has to, if the disrespect is not corrected, if Dubois doesn't back down.

Maybe Dubois simply doesn't care enough or maybe he's intimidated by Quinn because he mutters, "Whatever...", hands shoving Quinn's away from his collar, one last glare exchanged before he and Roy walk away, whispering the entire time.

You're practically shaking in Brock's arms, Brock who releases you gently once Dubois and Roy walk away, Brock who backs away to the locker room with one last look to Quinn, leaving the two of you by yourselves.

Quinn's shoulders drop, relax as he watches the two men turn the corner and disappear out of sight, before green eyes shift to you, features softening into something affectionate and gentle. A stark contrast with his expression mere moments before.

He's the one who reaches for you, stepping until he's in your personal space, hands resting on the sides of your face like he thinks you might physically be hurt.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, sweet, as his thumbs brush your cheeks, green eyes darting over your features, trying to assess how you are and if he needs to chase after Dubois and teach him a lesson or two.

Quinn will openly admit he's not a fighter nor does he want to be, but the strong surge of protectiveness in him overrides his usual aversion to violence. He'd fight anyone for you, if it meant you were respected, protected, safe. He doesn't care that Dubois gunned for him out on the ice, all he cares about is the way he got into your face out in the corridor.

"Am I okay? Are you okay? He almost took you out on the ice!" Even as you say it your voice is shaky. Quinn knows you better than he knows most people, he can hear that shake a mile off, knows that that shake is a sign you're not okay, that that shake usually comes before a break.

It's why he doesn't answer you, it's why he pulls you fully into his arms, wrapping them around you until you're chest to chest.

So he asks again, "Baby, are you okay?" Only to feel the way your body starts to shake aggressively in his arms, like your body has just caught up to the situation, like the adrenaline has fully left your system, leaving only the after effects.

His voice is soft as he mutters to you, "Oh, you really worked off instinct, huh? Just now realising you nearly fought a 6ft 2 hockey player for me?" Quinn's quick to pull you tighter against him, a full body crush, rocking you side to side as his cheek presses into your hair. His hands rub up and down your back, attempting to sooth you as the reality of it all fully kicks. As you realise how stupid it was of you to do that, how scary the situation actually was, how you should have just walked away.

"Fuck...did I just really do that?" Your voice is shaky, almost wet, like you might start crying.

"Uh huh...yeah, you did, baby." His voice is almost amused, sympathetic, now the worst of it is over Quinn can't help but find your actions endearing. The way that you, of all people, decided you'd go toe to toe with a massive hockey player on his behalf.

"Fuck." You press your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath as he rocks you from side to side. You don't regret it, not really. You'd defend Quinn to the death, you love him and that meant protecting him, just like he'd protect you. But, you have to admit, it wasn't perhaps your smartest idea or your finest moment.

"It was kind of hot, baby, but please don't do that again. I nearly had a heart attack seeing you nose to nose with him." Quinn's actually certain his heart stopped when he walked out of the locker room. You'd seemed so...fragile in comparison to Dubois and while he knew you, knew you weren't weak, it had scared him. The idea of you getting hurt was one of his nightmares, even more so you getting hurt because of him.

You pull back as far as he'll let you which really isn't very far, tilting your head back to look at him, "You nearly fought him for me..." your voice is almost disbelieving like you can't understand why he'd step in like that for you, his girlfriend.

"Yeah, I did.." Quinn's smile is soft, loving, eyes crinkling at the corners as you practically gape at him.

"But you don't fight." You look so confused that it almost breaks his heart because who taught you that you were unworthy of protection, who taught you that the people who love you wouldn't step in when needed?

"I'd fight for you. Any day. Any week. Any time. I'll always fight for you, baby. You're my girl." He says it like it's just a fact of life. Like 2 +2 = 4 or that water is wet. He says it like it is the most natural thing to exist.

"But...you don't like to fight." He hates fighting, you know because whenever he gets in one on the ice or has to break one up, he complains when he gets home. You know because everything about Quinn is gentle and soft, always slow to anger and quick to find a diplomatic solution.

"Yeah, I know." Quinn smiles at you amused, "But I love you and if the choice is between protecting you or not fighting, I'm always going to pick you. That's what you do when you love someone. You'd protect me, right?"

"Of course." You don't even hesitate because it's like breathing, that instinct to look after him because you love him because he's your person.

"Then there's your answer, sweet girl" He watches the way you nod like it is starting click, like it makes sense. His hands brush cross your shoulders, tugging you into his side, twisting so his arm is slung over your shoulders. Your shaking has long since stopped and whatever anger both of you felt has since faded under the sweetness of realising you're both loved, both protected.

"You wanna go back to the hotel? Enough excitement for one night, huh?"

"Mmm, yeah...You're okay though, right? Your hand?" You shift under his arm, eyes looking to his left hand and the brace there, watch the way he flexes his fingers as if to remind himself he can.

"I'm okay, baby, especially knowing I have you to fight my battles for me." Quinn kisses the crown of your head, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he pulls you tighter to his side.

In that moment the hotel room sounds great, home would sound even better, but you think home might actually just be Quinn and wherever he is.

#huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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bitchinbarzal · 19 days ago

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Dad | J Woll

summary: he’s the dad that stepped up.

The first time Joey meets Finn, it’s chaos.

You’d given him a heads-up that your four-year-old was a ball of energy with no filter but you don’t think Joey quite believed you.

Not until Finn comes sprinting into the living room, arms spread wide like an airplane, skidding to a stop right in front of Joey’s legs.

Finn stares up at him, wide-eyed. “Mom says you play hockey.”

Joey, crouching to Finn’s level, nods. “That’s right, bud.”

Finn narrows his eyes. “Are you good?”

Joey laughs, glancing at you. “I like to think so.”

Finn’s head tilts. “Are you the one who stops the pucks?”

“Yep. I’m a goalie.”

Finn’s expression turns skeptical. “That’s a really big net.”

“Yeah, but I make it look small,” Joey grins.

Finn seems to consider this, then folds his arms. “Prove it.”

Your eyes widen. “Finn—”

But Joey is already on board, holding out a hand. “Alright, how about this? We grab a couple of socks, make a ball, and you try to score on me. If I stop it, you gotta call me the best goalie ever.”

Finn eyes him suspiciously before nodding. “Deal.”

Joey winks at you before following Finn to the hallway, where the impromptu game begins. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching as Finn lets out exaggerated commentary about his own skills while Joey plays along, blocking each shot with ease.

Finn, ever competitive, tries harder, but Joey anticipates every move. Finally, Finn huffs, hands on his hips. “Okay. You’re kinda good.”

Joey grins. “Only kinda?”

Finn squints at him before conceding. “Fine. Best goalie ever.”

You shake your head, hiding a smile. Joey catches your eye and winks. And just like that, he’s in.

Joey eases into Finn’s life like he was always meant to be there.

At first, it’s small things — watching cartoons together, answering Finn’s endless questions about hockey, letting him steal his Leafs beanie even though it keeps slipping down over his eyes.

But then it turns into real things — taking Finn home from daycare, carrying him on his shoulders when he gets too tired to walk, knowing exactly how to soothe him after a bad dream.

And Finn? He adores him.

It’s easy to see in the way he lights up whenever Joey walks into the room, the way he tugs Joey’s sleeve at dinner to show him the “coolest dinosaur ever” on his placemat, the way he demands that Joey helps with bedtime stories because “he does the voices better.”

One night, you find them on the couch, Finn curled up in Joey’s lap, completely knocked out. Joey meets your eyes over the top of Finn’s head, his hand rubbing small circles on Finn’s back.

“Guess he likes me,” Joey murmurs.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, brushing a hand over Finn’s messy curls. “Yeah. He really does.”

Joey doesn’t say anything, just presses a soft kiss to Finn’s head before settling back against the cushions. And something in your heart clicks into place.

One afternoon, Finn storms into the kitchen, frustration written all over his tiny face.

“Mom,” he declares, arms crossed. “I don’t like that my last name is different than Joey’s.”

You nearly drop the plate you’re holding. “Oh.”

Joey, who had just walked in behind Finn, pauses. “What brought this on, bud?”

Finn turns to him, serious. “Jack said only real dads help with homework. And you always help me. So you should be my real dad.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air. You glance at Joey, unsure of what to say, but his expression is soft, careful.

“Well,” Joey kneels down, resting a gentle hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Family isn’t just about names, you know. I don’t have to be your real dad to love you like one.”

Finn frowns. “But I want you to be.”

Your heart clenches. Joey’s lips press together for a moment before he cups the back of Finn’s head. “No matter what, I’m always going to be here for you, okay? Names don’t change that.”

Finn studies him for a second, then seems satisfied. He nods, then reaches for Joey’s hand, tugging him toward the living room. “Okay. Can we play mini sticks now?”

Joey glances at you. You nod, offering him a smile, and he squeezes Finn’s hand. “Of course, bud.”

You watch them go, warmth spreading through your chest.

The first time Finn calls Joey “Dad” it’s completely accidental.

You’re in the kitchen, clearing up dinner plates, when Finn runs in, face bright with excitement.

“Dad, can we play mini sticks?”

Joey freezes. You do too. Finn, oblivious, just looks up at him expectantly.

Joey recovers first, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, buddy. Go grab your stick.”

Finn takes off down the hall. You and Joey stare at each other. Your heart is in your throat.

“Did you hear that?” Joey’s voice is quiet, careful.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He hesitates. “Are you okay with it?”

You swallow, stepping closer. “Are you?”

His expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “More than okay.”

That’s all you need to hear.

From that day on, Joey is Dad. Maybe not by blood, but in every way that matters.

And when Finn, half-asleep one night, mumbles, “Love you, Dad,” Joey’s voice wavers just a little when he whispers, “Love you too, buddy.”

#joey woll x reader #joesph woll x reader #joesph woll imagine #nhl imagine #joey woll imagine

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hunterrrs · 1 year ago

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Monday morning, the nerves were long gone, her prep work was largely done and the magnitude of the looming moment finally hit Michelle Crechiolo hard.

That night, when the Penguins battled the Philadelphia Flyers, she would become the first female broadcaster to ever call a regular season Penguins game.

When Crechiolo realized that morning that she would be a trailblazer and perhaps an inspiration to other women in hockey, her thoughts drifted to one of her favorite photos — a picture of her when back she was playing in Mini Mites.

“It’s making me emotional thinking about it now,” she later told the Post-Gazette, her voice quivering. “I’ve got the Jofa gloves, wooden stick. I’ve got on a little pink turtleneck under all my equipment. And I’m just posing and cheesing, and I’m missing a tooth. And I’m just so happy to be a hockey player.

“I’m just thinking about what that little girl would say if I told her that I was doing this, doing color commentary on a Pittsburgh Penguins radio broadcast. It’s just so surreal. It really is. I stuck with hockey because I loved it, and it’s led me here. And I just couldn’t be more grateful to be in this position. It’s wild.”

Around 10 a.m. Sunday, Crechiolo received a text message from Leo McCafferty, the Penguins’ vice president of content and production. He told her they believed she would be a great option to step in for Phil Bourque, who was sick. He asked if she would be up for taking his place on the radio broadcast.

“I was like, ‘Oh, hell yeah,’” she said with a laugh. “That was my response.”

When she hung up the phone, she had a brief moment of nervousness, wondering what she had just gotten herself into. But then she just felt “pure excitement.” She rushed downstairs to share the news with her boyfriend, Chuck.

“That’s when it hit me. ‘Oh my god, I’m going to be the color analyst on a National Hockey League broadcast between the Penguins and Flyers,’” she said.

Not only that, Crechiolo is the first woman to do play-by-play or color commentary on a local TV or radio broadcast for any of Pittsburgh’s three big-league teams.

Once Crechiolo calmed down, she went about her business as usual. She headed to UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex to watch practice, then in the locker room she gathered as many “nuggets” as she could for Monday’s broadcast.

Sidney Crosby, Jake Guentzel, Tristan Jarry and Rickard Rakell were among the players who gave her support and advice — or a good-natured ribbing.

When they began broadcasting her quick hits up on the Jumbotron, Crechiolo was anxious about stepping into an on-camera role. But something coach Mike Sullivan said about a player making his NHL debut resonated with her.

“He said, ‘It’s not about putting pressure on yourself. You’re there for a reason. It’s about getting excited for the opportunity, because you’re just doing something you love to do,’” Crechiolo said. “And that was how I felt about this.”

michelle 🥰🥰🥰

#ahhhhhh #the guys giving her advice/teasing her #so good #pittsburgh penguins #sidney crosby #jake guentzel #tristan jarry

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zyafics · 3 months ago

Note

I love your fics 🫶🏾 do you have any recommendations

hi baby!! omg, thank you so much, and i definitely do have recs!

this isn't an exhaustive list, btw, these r just people i can think off the top of my head. i have a rec account where i reblog my fav fics and whatnot w reviews + commentary @zyafics-recs

@nadvs ONE OF THE BEST RAFE WRITERS, she is the reason why i got introduced into fanfic writing and the reason why i actually wrote today! i love all of her series and her entire masterlist has anything u could ever look for—from fluff, to smut, to angst. it's all there! personal favorites are cam girl and home before dark!

@itneverendshere MY PERSONAL FAVORITE WRITER AND MY ABSOLUTE LOVELY GIGI, i am her biggest fan (will fight u for this position 🔪) and whenever i feel down, or lacking motivation, she is the reason to help me get motivated! she's such a lovely person, and her prose, dialogues and descriptions are to die for. if u like my written fics, i say gigi and have pretty ~similar~ writing style. she also can have ANYTHING ur craving—from canonverse plots, to aus, to fluff, to smut, to angst, EVERYTHING! my personal favorites that got me invested into her work is her thornton!reader with rafe, the other side of paradise (maybank!reader and rafe, lowkey canon, lowkey not), and love you at your worst. also i requested a lot of hockey!rafe from her, so if you love athlete!rafe, she's definitely ur girl!!

@aliyahwritings my bABYGIRL FR—she currently has this series called the contracted heart, which is about model!reader and athlete!rafe and it's to die for. if you love banters—especially if you love witty banter back and forth—this is your girl. if any of you read the addicted series, and loved rose and connor, they lowkey mirror that dynamic. on top of her amazing dialogues/banters, she has such rich representation of desi!reader. like she isn't afraid of portraying explicitly BIPOC readers which i admire so much from her.

@whytheylosttheirminds okay listen, NAT has one of the richest descriptions of storytelling that evokes such a personal level to you. whenever i enter her storytelling, she has such details and beautiful imagery, i actually have to stop reading just to admire it. i'm still digesting her masterlist, but my personal recs are: blue sweater, snooze, and i remember everything!

@starkeysprincess one of the sweetest people on this platform, i absolutely devoured her kinktober fics, but one thing about shania is that she writes every scenario of rafe—from doctor, to handyman, to stepbrother, etc!—and she does it so well. her smut is so fun, and dynamic, especially with their dialogues, and it's so easy to digest her fics in one setting (be warned fr)

@erwinsvow ok i absolutely ADORE the way shea writes, ok?? like everything she puts out, i eat UP!! especially when she written her long fics, aint nothing better for me (toxic!rafe), all mine, bitchy!reader and rafe, and my heart and soul that i religiously reread every week got what u wanted <3

@ilyrafe one of my favorite writing pieces and introduction to analysis of rafe, is by gabi. she has this wonderful mini series (late night and early morning) that perfectly slows down the relationship of rafe and reader and the intensity of his character. if u wanna read more about how he sees the world, and why his character acts the way it does, gabi does is so successful. she also has a hitman!rafe currently in the progress, which i know just released a pt2, i am gonna to read it soon, promise!

@softspiderling okay ELLE HAS EVERYTHING!! she has smaus, to written works, to series, to oneshots, i'm obsessed with everything she puts out, especially because it's so intriguing and the way she writes just leaves me craving more. i would personally rec ocean blue eyes (smau), illicit affairs (best friends to fwb to lovers) and think you’re a genius (you drive me up the wall) <3

if u want more social media aus—

@ghostofwriting has one that is the reason why hb:l is alive today. kildare split is about a band au with rafe and reader and they had drama. and she's also currently writing one about biker!rafe and book influencer!reader, which is so fun, witty, and filled with drama. i absolutely adore kildare split, and it will always have a special place in my heart bc it's my first introduction to smaus <3

@sematarygirls ohmygod, i am currently obsessed with salt & secrets. it's actually magnificent, especially the graphics. the efforts sol puts into them is so detailed and telling, u can see it's made with love. but the PLOT!!! the way the story moves, the way it's a gossip site and reader is a huge instigator. this fun enemies-to-lovers feud between them (that i'm still wondering if the reason reader is targeting rafe means something more 🤨) and the COMMENTS AND BANTERS!! reader is so hilarious. all the characters are so funny and witty, it's definitely something to read to soothe the angst and tension from hb:l LOL 💘

@rafeskai i'm also currently reading this smau about reader and rafe having a little thing before she moved away for college, and she came back! it's so interesting, especially because kai mixes multimedia and written work in one place, so u get to experienced both!

lastly, this is for sarah cameron specifically, but @spellewrites! she's currently working on this smau about sarah cameron and f!reader and i'm excited to see how it goes, especially because sarah is dating(?) topper, reader's brother.

#asks #rec asks

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holy-puckslibrary · 10 months ago

Text

— 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬.

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

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

the nanny (series masterlist) | main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

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

REESE JOHNSON has a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And rightly so, he’d soon find.

"That was quick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kent snorts. “True love…right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reese openly glares, unconvinced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She kicks his shin. Hard.

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

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

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

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

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

He needs… he needs…

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

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

Only two rings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It finally happened.

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

“Reese? Did I lose you, bub?”

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

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

Reese barks out a phlegmy laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

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chatsukimi · 11 months ago

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ʜᴏᴄᴋᴇʏᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ!ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛᴀᴛᴏʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ⤷ genre: nsfw, fluff, smut ⤷ tropes: doing it in the change rooms, kinda enemies to lovers, feral!gojo ⤷ series (jjk men as athletes)- more coming soon..

HOCKEYPLAYER!GOJO who plays with almost superhuman stamina and precision. he eases through matches, no sweat. everyone knows he'll be scouted by the nation's top teams.

HOCKEYPLAYER!GOJO who revels in the cheer of his fan club after each victory (Go Gojo! Go Gojo!) and who's never had a problem with the commentator, until one day he notices a particularly difficult commentary over the speakers. 'second time gojo's missed. is he really worth the clout? who's this gojo, anyway? looks like he's lacking stamina.'

he seethes through his nose.

all throughout the match, it's the same gist. you make some crude remark about the team; he scores a goal and sends you that shit eating grin, whoever you are, behind the speakers; you talk him down; he misses, then gives double the effort to score next time; repeat.

but at the end of the day, though, they lose by a fair margin. his teammate has to drag him away to stop him from throwing a tantrum.

HOCKEYPLAYER!GOJO who learns your ex is on his team. that's why you never said a good word about them. he gets passed a photo and his jaw almost drops.

you're... beautiful.

but it doesn't change the fact you'll be commentating the finals.

HOCKEYPLAYER!GOJO who recognises you an hour before the match starts, standing beside the rink. he sidles on over. 'so this is the one who took my name and drove it six feet underground?' you turn around, raising an eyebrow at the snowy haired player. your ex wasn't on the best terms with gojo, but any bad commentary was good commentary when that cheater was on the same side. 'hey, so, i heard you broke up with a member of the team. you still like the jersey?'

he notices your eyes checking him out as he shifts closer, letting his minty cologne invade your senses. your throat swallows.

gotcha.

HOCKEYPLAYER!GOJO who fucks you hard and fast in the changing room. the door rattles under your weight and you hear curse words and yells at him to hurry up on the other side.

'this doesn't change how i commentate,' you hiss out.

'wasn't expecting you to.' he grits his teeth, pushing you against the wall, ready to fuck you so well it has you switching sides. he bunches up your hands behind your back so the only movement comes from your mouth. 'let me hear you, wanna hear you,' pistoning his hips with the same concentration as when his eyes narrow on the goal. you can't stop the pleas from dribbling out.

look at you, so eager for the enemy to score. he tuts, his blue eyes feral with glee, 'aren’t you professional.’

this time, when his name escapes you in a stutter, so desperate for him to hit that spot it drugs his own mind, let's just say he isn't so bothered.

HOCKEYPLAYER!GOJO who, in the daze afterwards, hovers over your lips with an evil smirk. 'spread the good word for me, love'

he helps you find your clothes, picking up his hockey stick left on the ground, tossing you his jersey from the youth national team as he changes into his gear. he returns to the rink as though he had never left. now that's stamina.

one hearty wink at you before closing the door, as though your legs aren't weak below you and one more when he enters the rink.

guess you're back on the team.

HOCKEYPLAYER!GOJO who secures the win and your number after the match, effectively earning the all around mvp for the day. he is positively glowing when he exits the stadium, and everyone on the team knows why.

... absolutely everyone.

(extra: 'gojo, maybe you went a little far' 'what? i got the commentator back on our side! i won us the game!' 'you screwed naoya's ex' 'it was only for ten minutes! if he's insecure about that, then i think it's a question of upping his game, not downplaying mine-')

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo smut #highschool!gojo #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #athlete!gojo

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hatamighijyab · 9 months ago

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To clarify: "listening" means paying attention to/hearing and processing what they say during play (regardless of if you agree with it). And defining an annoucer as someone who provides live play-by-play commentary during a game, not during breaks (or in addition to during breaks).

Again, what do you GENERALLY do, like 51% percent of the time or whatever your dominate behavior is.

#Hockey #Nhl #Pwhl #Iihf

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 1 year ago

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Times Jack&co were in Y/n's videos

main masterlist

jack hughes x commentary youtuber!reader universe

note: the videos Y/n films is completely inspired/stolen from Brittany Broski, from 'brooke and conner make a podcast', as well as moments from the sturiolo triplets :) go check them all out if you haven't yet, they're all very funny

Since Y/n had just moved in with her boyfriend and his brother, none of her furniture was with her, and therefore she couldn’t film in her new office, unless she wanted to sit on the floor. So she made sure it was alright with both brothers if she could film in the living room. The two hockey players of course said yes, not having a reason not to.

“‘Why don’t you believe Italy is real?’”

Luke had just walked in to get water from the kitchen, not thinking anything of it as he listened in on his brother’s girlfriend’s video.

“Okay, ‘Italy’” Y/n says, making a quotation motion with her fingers, “There’s no way a country is actually shaped that way. That is the dumbest shape I have ever seen. Italy is filled with a bunch of goofy little guys too, number one being the Pope.” She says, both Y/n and Luke bursting into laughter.

“What the fuck?” Luke laughs out looking towards Y/n.

“Sorry about him. Anyway… I wish Italy was real.”

“Listen to me. The best post nut clarity-” Y/n gets cut off by her boyfriend laughing, while entering the front door with Luke, both back from practice. Y/n getting a “WHAT?” from Luke.

“Ignore them- the best post nut clarity is quitting a job you hate, you just think ‘what the fuck was I doing?’ trust me, quit your job. Next question.”

“My supreme court- it’s gonna be like a March Madness type of thing and, hey, maybe I don’t know what that means by the way.”

“You don’t know what that means.” Luke says, from his spot leaning against the kitchen counter, not looking up from his phone.

“Don’t listen to him. We’re gonna do a March Madness thing-”

–

During Y/n’s first visit to the Lake House, Trevor asked if they could do the deaf, mute, and blind baking challenge. And of course Y/n said yes, together they got Jack to agree, as long as Trevor was the mute one.

“I need a towel.” Jack says, his hand covered in egg yolk, and being blind he couldn’t exactly grab it himself.

“Whisk it, love.”

“A towel.”

“Whisk it.”

“Baby, a towel.” The hockey player said, over pronouncing his words, hoping his girlfriend could read his lips. Trevor was just listening, while grabbing the whisk himself and whisking the batter.

“Whisk.”

“Babe. A. Towel.”

Y/n gives a confused look towards, what she calls their peanut gallery, looking towards Quinn for help. He points towards the towel for her.

“Ohhhh. Baby just say that.”

While Y/n was helping a blind Jack wash his hands, Trevor decided it would be best for him to pour the batter into the cupcake trays. All the while getting the batter seemingly everywhere. After drying Jack’s hands, Y/n turns around to see Trevor trying to clean up his mess.

“What the fuck?”

“What?” a clueless Jack asks, “What he do.”

“He got batter everywhere, it’s crazy because you’re not blind. So in theory you should be able to do that.” Y/n says, causing Trevor to nod along.

–

Also while on the Lake House trip, Trevor asked to film a podcast episode with her, which included all the guys. Y/n had to have some structure for the episode or it would just not be usable, the guys would talk over each other.

“Would you rather never cut your hair again, or never cut your toenails again. Never cut your hair obviously.” Y/n said, reading the questions off her phone.

“Yeah, hair.”

“Hair.”

“Never trim toenails again.” Trevor said into his mic.

“Trevor. What?”

“I would file my toenails.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, before saying, “I- yeah.”

“Smash or Pass Smurfette?”

“Pass obviously? She’s a 2 inch Smurf”

“Nah, Smurfette lowkey-”

The group turns to look at Luke, mouths dropped, as Y/n says, “We simply have to move on from that.”

“Ketchup or mustard? Ketchup. But you really hate ketchup.”

“Yeah.”

“He hates it so much, if it’s even close to his meal, he won’t eat it.” Luke cuts in.

“Okay, so how close to your meal could ketchup be where you would still eat it?”

“...Baby tomatoes.” Jack says, before all the boys burst into laughter, Y/n still laughing while saying. “Jack baby, we’re talking distance, sweetheart.”

“Can I ask you something?” Cole asks Y/n, looking from over Trevor.

“Yeah.”

“Who are your top celeb crushes?”

“Just three?” Cole nods, while Y/n needs to think, “Have to be Harry Styles. Duh. Then… Florence Pugh, I love her, and Andrew Garfield.”

“Now fuck, marry, kill those three.”

“No.” Y/n says immediately, causing the guys to laugh, “No… Okay, Marry- No! Kill… I can’t. We have to move on or the rest of the hour will be me sitting here thinking about it.”

“So what do you know about hockey?”

“Trev, to be honest, I can’t say I know much. I know that…”

“So that answers that.” Quinn says, after Y/n pauses for a few moments.

“No, I know somethings, I know that there are only five guys allowed on the ice, plus the goalie. But you know that.”

The guys are quiet for a moment assuming Y/n will name a few more rules she knows, but Luke speaks up when she’s still silent, “You don’t know much, huh.”

“Okay, what do you know about Digimon? We all have our areas.”

“How much money have you spent on Digimon cards?” Quinn asks, from the end of the couch, Jack between them.

“I spent $6,000 on one blister pack.”

“Are you serious?”

“That’s insane.”

“God.. So you’re like a full blown nerd.”

“Thanks Trevor.”

~taglist~

@inejghafawifesblog

#jack hughes #jack hughes x youtuber!reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #new jersey devils #luke hughes #nj devils #youtuber!reader #youtuber #youtube

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tkwrites · 1 year ago

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Before I Meet Your Parents... - Quinn Hughes x Sarah (ofc)

Photos from Pinterest

Title: Before I Meet Your Parents…

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah (OFC)

Warnings: Crying, Grief, Smut (18+ only), oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving)

Summary: As Sarah prepares to meet Quinn’s parents, she’s bombarded with new feelings and situations, as well as trying to manage her own life. A very worried Quinn helps her get to the bottom of it and does everything he can to make it better.

Word Count: 4,600

Comments: I began writing Sarah meeting Quinn’s parents and realized I was missing this crucial step. Stories like these help me process my own grief, and I hope they can be helpful for you, too, even if you’re not experiencing a big loss. Taking care of ourselves can be difficult sometimes. Please remember that self care isn’t selfish - nor is it selfish to ask for what you need.

The holidays have been…an experience, and while I was writing, I wasn’t finding the solid chunks of time I’ve had in the past. With the busiest holidays done, I was able to finish this, and hope to write a lot more with the break from work between holidays.

Thank you for your patience and support and love for Quinn and Sarah and my writing. I hope you enjoy.

Before I Meet Your Parents…

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

The week Quinn’s parents were coming into town turned into a total clusterfuck.

First, there were the Canucks standings. Quinn point blank refused to talk about their position, not wanting to jinx anything. “It’s bad enough that I have to talk to the media about it after every game. I'm not talking about it at home.”

Even without his commentary, Sarah knew enough from reading and following the league stats, to know the Canucks were headed to the finals, bringing playoff hockey to Vancouver for the first time in nine years. It was a huge deal, and if all went to plan, they were expected to clinch a spot in the bracket in the next two games.

His parents wanted to be in the arena for the historic occasion when their son led his team to the Stanley Cup finals in his first year as captain.

In addition to the will-they-won't-they stress of the finals, Lexie Demko had called and left a message for her about getting WAG jackets. Sarah had to look up what they were, and the idea of showing up as an official “WAG” to any game, let alone a playoff game, was incredibly intimidating.

She and Quinn weren’t even officially official yet. She’d been thinking of him as her boyfriend for a few weeks and had no interest in dating anyone else. Unless he was seeing someone while she was in school, she knew he wasn't seeing anyone else either, but they hadn’t formally defined anything about their relationship.

On top of all this, she was prepping for her own finals. Although they were more than three weeks away, the two tests and publication project were looming over her like an albatross. She had to get a B or better, or she would be out of her program, and back home with her education visa voided.

The prospect of the work it would take to finish her semester well, and the possibility of stepping into the world of a WAG and meeting Quinn’s parents had her discombobulated and spending long stretches of time at the aquarium with Walter, trying to wrap her mind around everything.

As she left a couple of nights before his parents were set to arrive, Rick stopped her, “I think your man is at the front desk.”

It felt like she had to suck her mind from a thick fog to even register his words. “Hu?”

“I’m pretty sure your man is up front,” he repeated, “they wouldn’t let him back. Are you okay?”

She waved off his question and walked to the front of the building. Quinn was indeed there, looking distressed.

“Is everything okay?”

“Can I give you a ride home?”

“Sure, if you want.” Didn't he have plans with one of his teammates tonight?

Anxious thoughts dripped into her mind. She knew she hadn't been very communicative lately. Was he breaking up with her?

Quinn took her hand and led her to his car.

Once tucked inside where people couldn’t overhear, he asked, “is something wrong? You haven’t come over to study the past three days, and you didn’t answer any of my texts today.”

She looked at the bag at her feet, feeling far away. “I'm sorry. My phone’s been buried in my backpack all day,” she confessed.

“I just feel like you’re…” he stopped himself, not even wanting to voice that thought. “Is it because you’re nervous to meet my parents?”

A heavy feeling took up residence in her stomach. “No,” she said slowly.

It wasn’t quite the whole truth, but also wasn’t a total lie. Logically, she wasn’t that nervous to meet them, but her emotions ran themselves into dizzy, knotted up circles whenever she thought about it. Things weren’t making sense. God, she felt so… she felt so off. There was more to this mood she was in than nerves, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

His hand, warm and comforting, covered her knee. “Sarah, what’s going on?”

All at once, she was choking back tears.

“Can we go to your place?” she asked, very much not wanting to lose it in his jeep in the middle of Stanley Park, or in her bedroom where Eunice would jump to conclusions and tell her she ought to break up with Quinn if he was making her cry.

The way her voice shook made Quinn gulp. “Yeah, of course,” he said before starting the car and going home.

When they got there, her steps to the elevator were heavy, as if she were dragging some heavy sledge he couldn’t see.

“Sar, what’s going on?” he asked.

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips and willed the tears not to fall until they were in his house.

Just as she suspected, someone joined them once they reached the lobby level. They shared a tense, silent ride for 12 floors as Sarah mentally recited the anatomy of the stingray to keep her tears from falling in front of a stranger.

“You’re kind of scaring me,” he said gently as the door swung shut behind them.

On top of everything else, now she was letting Quinn down. Her hands fluttered up to cover her face as her tears finally broke free.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, taking her arms and gently trying to pull her hands away from her face.

“I don’t know.”

“You…don’t know?” he repeated, a little dumbfounded.

Her hands dropped in defeat. “I don’t know,” she repeated, finding more tears falling. What was wrong with her?

Heart beating faster with worry, he took her backpack off, leaving it in the entryway before guiding her to the couch.

“Are you upset with me? Did I do something?”

“No.”

“I don’t…” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. He was really scared now. If he didn’t do anything, and she didn’t seem to be injured, he couldn’t understand what the problem would be.

“Can you hold me?”

He drew her into his arms.

After a few comforting moments - focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat - she was able to voice something. “I’m so overwhelmed.”

“With what?” he asked, running a hand up and down her back. At least they had a clear direction. He could work with that.

“With everything. With school and WAG jackets and…” oh, fuck. Of course this was what this was about. She should know by now. “And your parents,” she finished, breaking into more tears.

“Are you that scared of my parents?” he asked, pulling back trying to see her face.

He knew meeting the parents was a big, intimidating step, but she’d handled meeting Brady, and that first uncomfortable call with Luke and a very guarded Jack with so much grace, he hadn’t expected her to be nervous, let alone so upset. “I think they’ll love you. I can’t guarantee how they’ll react, but they’ve always been nice to girls they’ve met in the past.”

Her head shook slowly.

“I don’t - Sarah I don’t understand.”

To add insult to injury, she had to say it out loud.

“I’m meeting your parents,” she said, looking into his eyes before her face crumpled and she stared down at her hands, knotted in her lap, “but you won’t get to meet mine.” Her voice was a desperate kind of wailed whisper.

Shit. He should have known. Of course that would come up with something like this. His dad once told him every major occasion was tinged with grief, knowing someone was always missing from the celebration. The fact that this would be hard for her hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Letting herself be pulled into Quinn, Sarah wept into his shoulder. His hands were heavy, warm and grounding on her back.

“I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair.

He’d never seen her so distressed. Even when she’d cried the first time he’d seen her tattoo, it hadn’t been like this. Then, it was no more than a minute of soft tears hitting his shoulder. This was so much more intense. He would probably be weeping too if he was in her position.

She pulled back suddenly, her hands braced on his shoulders, “don’t you have stuff with Brock tonight?”

“I canceled it when I hadn’t heard from you,” he admitted. “I was worried something had happened.”

“Oh,” she said, body relaxing.

The impact of what he said finally hit her. “Oh, Quinn, I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, “don't be. I can have dinner with Brock any time.”

“But, weren't you helping him pick out a ring or something?”

“Sarah,” he said, grasping her shoulders, “it's fine. We're doing it tomorrow after practice.”

“I'm sorry,” she said again, shaking her head.

“You don't need to apologize. When it comes to being moral support for Brock or making sure you're okay, I'd rather be with you.”

She gave him a watery smile, hoping it conveyed how sweet she thought that was.

“I’m sorry I didn’t even think about how hard this would be for you,” he said.

Shaking her head, Sarah reached up to wipe her cheeks. Her fingers came away smudged in black. “Oh, God. Now I’m a mess.”

He laughed a little, “do you want to go wash your face? I know you don’t have your stuff, but you can use mine.”

A shaky breath rattled through her lungs. “Could I actually take a shower?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve kind of been putting things off.”

She hadn’t washed her hair in four days, and couldn’t remember if she’d showered at all that morning.

Even though she’d talked several times with her therapist about coping strategies and patterns to look for, when she couldn’t identify what she was feeling, her first instinct was still to shut down. It was so totally different to talk about it than it was to actually do it. The time it took to realize what was wrong was getting shorter, at least. That was a good thing.

“Do you want some of my stuff to change into?” he asked.

“That would be really nice.”

Her stomach gave a sudden, loud grumble.

A surprised laugh flew out of Quinns mouth.

“I’m not sure I’ve eaten today,” she confessed.

Another part of what had her feeling so terrible. It was all interconnected, no matter how much she tried to pretend it wasn’t.

Quinn’s eyes widened. How did someone forget to eat?

“What do you want?” he asked, jumping onto the problem he could physically solve.

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to think.

“Pancakes,” she said, finally, thinking about how pleasant the fluffy breakfast food would feel in her mouth.

“I can make pancakes. I don’t have any syrup though, I don’t think.”

“That’s okay. Do you have peanut butter?”

He nodded.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

He patted her hip, “let's go then. I'll cook while you're in the shower.”

The fact that he was being so sweet and nice made tears well up in her eyes as she stood.

Leading her into the bathroom, Quinn asked if she needed anything else. When she said she didn’t, he told her he would put some clothes for her on the counter.

The prospect of washing the day off made her breathe a sigh of relief.

The big, walk-in shower was so bright, and opulent. Creamy white and blue tiles made a Moroccan style mosaic on the floor, and white subway tile was in the rest of the…it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to call it a room, that wasn't occupied with the thick glass sliding doors. There was even a tall, thin window right in the shower with a view of the northern skyline and the soft evening light winking off the harbor.

Pushing worries of wasting water or draining the heater out of her mind, Sarah allowed herself to enjoy the rare luxury of a hot shower with no roommates demanding the bathroom.

The water here got so much warmer than it did in her house. Quinn probably had his own water heater, not just access to the building boiler.

Standing under the water, she breathed the humid air and allowed the dam to break.

It was always strange, how giving something a name made it easier to feel and let run its course. Voicing what was wrong was always half the battle.

It had been a long time since she’d felt grief like this. Since it had been so triggered. Things with Quinn were so, so good. Far better than anything she could have ever dreamed up for herself, but being in a relationship still brought up new experiences, and new ways she hadn't yet missed her parents.

Thinking of Quinn made the big emotion in her chest ease. A soft swell of gratitude displacing some of the sadness. She’d never dated someone like him - someone so willing to try to understand. Someone who took her where she was and wasn’t put off by how much she missed her parents.

When Kaleo, her boyfriend in Hawaii, had confessed he didn’t understand why she brought up her dad so much, it had been a slap in the face, and made her feel so alone with someone who was supposed to be her partner. He had basically run away when her mom died, not willing to make the trip to the funeral, despite their dating for more than a year. It had been the final crack in the foundation of their relationship, and a big part of why her return to the islands lasted less than a week before she moved back home.

Quinn was so refreshingly different - kind and compassionate, and willing to listen. The universe had been keeping track of all the sad, frustrating things in her life and finally gave her the good things she was due all poured into one person.

Though she never heard him come in, a pair of blue sweats and a yellow Michigan shirt were waiting on the bathroom counter for her.

When she walked into the kitchen, Quinn felt his eyes go wide. Now was not the time for him to get all lustful over Sarah in his clothes, but it was impossible not to. She was braiding her wet hair, and it made her breasts, so obviously out of a bra, jostle under the Michigan logo stretched over them.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he asked, “did you have a good shower?”

She’d been in there a long time - nearly 45 minutes. When he dropped the clothes off, She’d been crying, so he supposed not all of that time was actually spent bathing.

She tied off the end of the braid as she walked up to him. “I did, thank you,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His arm wound around her waist, and pulled her against him. “Good. I hope these are up to standard. The recipe had good reviews.”

“I thought you said you could make pancakes?”

“I can,” he said, gesturing to the stove where the last of them was cooking in the pan, “I just didn’t have a recipe. At home, we always make them from a mix.”

“And you didn’t have any here?”

A sheepish smile spread over his face, “pancakes are one of my guilty pleasure foods, so I try not to have it in the house.”

She giggled, and a sigh raced through his veins.

A whiff of his own soap hit him, and he remembered what he’d been thinking when he first heard her walking down the stairs.

“Hey, will you message me the kind of shampoo you like and whatever else you need? I’ll order it so you can have the stuff you like here.”

Sarah took half a step back from him, eyes wide.

Maybe he’d overstepped. “Not that you can’t use mine. You’ve just showered here a few times and it seems kind of silly to not have the things you like.”

Also, he was tired of her smelling like his soap. He liked her smell so much, he’d do anything to keep it around.

“Oh,” she said, feeling watched over and considered. “That would be really nice.”

They sat down at the bar counter with pancakes, peanut butter, butter, jam, and a tiny bottle of maple syrup Quinn remembered he had from a gift basket when he'd moved in.

“Thank you for this,” she said, knocking her shoulder into his.

“You're welcome.”

“It’s just been such a shit week, and you’re so…” she paused, thinking and put a peanut butter and syrup coated piece of pancake in her mouth. “You’re so good.”

He blushed and tried to deflect the praise, “so what else are you overwhelmed with? School, and something about jackets?”

A flush flew into her cheeks. “Lexie called me about WAG jackets.”

“Oh,” he said, not really sure what the big deal was.

“I’m just,” she paused, setting down her fork. “Do you want me to wear one?”

“There’s no one else I’d want to wear it.”

“But, are you ready for that?”

“Ready for what?”

“For me to be so obviously… I mean, we’re not even official yet.”

“Right.”

“But you want me to wear a wives and girlfriends jacket?”

“We’re headed that way, aren’t we? I mean, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Even though she felt the same, a huge wave of relief swept through her. “I’m not either but, if I wear a Jacket to a playoff game -”

He winced, not liking her to talk about it like it was a foregone conclusion.

“Or any game,” she amended, “people are going to wonder. Do you know what comes up when you google NHL WAG jackets?”

He shook his head.

She went to dig her phone out of her backpack, finally seeing the ten texts from Quinn, along with a missed call from her brother.

She really needed a pair of airpods or a watch or something she could wear while her phone had to stay in her bag in the lab.

Pulling up the search, she handed her phone to him before going back to her pancakes, now deliciously infused with syrup.

“Go to the reddit listing,” she suggested.

He scrolled down and clicked on the link, already turned gray from her previous visit. The whole page was speculation about which woman belonged to which player.

“If I go with a jacket, and someone posts pictures, that’s going to throw our relationship into this, and I just want to make sure we’re…ready for that.”

“Are you ready for that? Because it’s okay if you’re not.”

She bit her lip, “I’m not sure. It makes me kind of uncomfortable. It makes it feel like I belong to you or something,” she admitted.

Quinn grimaced.

“I can see how you got there,” he said, setting the phone face down. “You don’t have to get one and as far as I’m concerned, you never do, but I think you might want to talk to Lexie about it first.”

“Why?”

“The wives and girlfriends have a kind of support group. They hang out, and they help each other a lot. Lexie had a baby in October, and I know the other partners were really helping. Organizing meals and stuff like that. From what I know, the jackets are more about being part of that club than about -” he didn’t even want to say it, “belonging to someone on the team.”

She hummed. Sarah had sat with some of the wives and girlfriends at games a few times. They were always nice and very welcoming, but she didn’t feel this kind of camaraderie.

“Lexie asked me if you wanted one, and I didn’t know, so I gave her your number. I’m sorry, I should have warned you about it.”

“I just didn’t know what it meant,” she confessed. “Or if you were, like, trying to say something through Lexie somehow.”

He laughed, “no. I just didn’t want to make the decision for you. I’m sorry if it heaped more stress onto your plate.”

“It’s okay, it’s just new, you know?”

“Yeah. It took me a while to transition. If I didn’t have Tanev, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Who’s Tanev?”

“He was my defensive partner my first year. He was traded to Clagary, but he and his then fiance, Kendra, really helped me find my feet.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Emma about it.”

“Yeah? You guys talk?”

“Sometimes, we’re not besties or anything, but she checks in.”

Quinn smiled, relief filling his bones.

“Do you want me to take you home? Or would you rather stay here?” Usually, he wouldn’t have even asked but she looked so tired and comfortable, he wasn’t sure she’d want to make the trek.

Relief swept through her. She didn’t want to overstep - but the last thing she wanted was to go home. The idea of leaving to sleep in her cold, empty bed seemed like a terrible one.

“I’ll let Eunice know I won’t be home,” she said as an answer. The last time she’d slept over, Eunice had called three times in a row to break through Sarah’s do not disturb, worried she had been abducted in the middle of the night.

As they settled in bed, and she scooted herself close to him, he tried to pull in some calming breaths. It didn’t really work. He’d been half hard all night seeing her in his clothes, and now that she was scooting up against him, he slid way beyond half.

“Sorry,” he coughed.

Sarah turned over, “for what?”

Cheeks flaming, he wondered why he’d said anything at all. “I just…sorry,” he gestured down. “You in this shirt is a real turn on.”

“Really?”

She and Quinn were relatively similar sizes overall, but he was far more rectangular than she was. She felt like this shirt pulled over all of her soft bits in the most unflattering way possible, not to mention the yellow color made her look pale and washed out.

“Yeah,” he said with an earnest nod.

Sarah had been wondering all night how she could properly thank him. Now that the opportunity was here, she had to seize it. Capturing his mouth, she rolled on top of him.

His hands went to her hips as a groan fell out of his mouth.

Every time she went to pull away, he followed her, nipping her bottom lip, or stroking his tongue over the roof of her mouth; he didn’t want to let her go.

She broke away all together and sat up, so she was straddling his hips.

Quinn, who was already out of breath from the kissing, felt his chest hitch as she reached for the hem of her (his) shirt, and began pulling it up. She was even doing that arms crossed skin-the-cat kind of move. God, this was - she was a dream come true.

Watching her ease the blue M over her chest, knowing his name was on her back made him dizzy and he felt his erection press more urgently against her.

He wanted to save this vision of her stripping off his shirt into permanent, long-term memory.

“Shit, Sarah,” he moaned into her mouth when she let the fabric fall next to her and leaned down to kiss him again.

She smiled, happy to be getting the response she’d been going for. She didn’t want to have sex, but there were other ways she could thank him.

“Do you want my hands or my mouth?” she asked. Even though he hadn’t come close to going down on her, she was willing to let that rule slide for now.

“God, Mouth, please,” he practically begged.

She really was a dream. She’d never gone down on him before. He figured it wasn’t something she really enjoyed. Maybe she was just saving it for a special occasion. He wasn’t entirely certain what made this evening so special, but he’d take it.

Her lips ghosted over his chin and onto his chest as her hands pushed his pajama pants down. He lifted his hips, eager to please. She didn’t push them down all the way - just enough to let his hard cock spring free.

Taking a straight journey to where he wanted her, there was no preamble or teasing before she was wrapping her lips around him, and taking him deep.

Her mouth was hot and soft, her tongue skilled as she traced the vein on the underside, ending with a flick at the base of the sensitive head.

She pulled back and sucked on the tip like some kind of lollipop. A soft snick sounded through the room when she released the suction to start again.

His left thigh began to tremble. A few more seconds and he'd be done for.

“Oh, fuck,” he said as she took him deep again, making his eyes roll back.

This was a dream save for one thing: her hair was braided back. He wanted nothing more than to sink his fingers into the soft tresses. He wound them in the sheets instead.

Hollowing her cheeks, she pulled back to the tip. His guttural groan had a deep sense of satisfaction curling in her belly.

Stroking her tongue over the slit, licking up his salty precome, she smiled when he swore again.

“I’m gonna come,” he warned.

A small whine left his mouth when she pulled off him, but her hand kept moving, pulling his orgasm out all the same.

When he came, she shielded herself with her other hand, managing to catch most of his release before it splattered all over her. She was too tired for another shower.

Leaving him a panting mess, she went to wash up and wipe off the splatter that snuck past her hand.

Once she was back in bed with his shirt back on, Quinn gathered her against him, “that was amazing, thank you.”

She hummed and scooted a little closer.

“What do you want?”

“A good night's sleep,” she murmured.

“You don’t want me to return the favor?” he asked, humor in his voice. One of his hands was making a slow expedition down her stomach.

"No, you can do that," she hummed.

She felt his laugh against her skin, and his fingers snuck under the waistband of his sweats.

The pleasure that swam into her veins was comforting. She felt so contented and supported, spooned up against him as he stroked her sensitive pearl. She reached back to grab his hip as the sparks became more intense.

He was an attentive student, learning the patterns and pressure she liked as if he needed to ace this test to pass the class. Even going so far as to work his knee between hers to give himself a little more room without making her uncomfortable.

“Quinn,” she whispered.

God, the way she said his name made him feel like he could do anything - hike Mt. Everest, take on the whole Eastern conference, fly to the moon. He’d do anything to hear it again.

He began to kiss her neck, switching his fingers to circle clockwise. The sudden change in pattern made her clench down and a whine escaped her throat.

“Are you close?”

“Yes. Put your fingers inside me,” her breathy whisper made his fingers tingle with power and purpose.

He obeyed.

After a few strokes, she adjusted his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed gently against her clit.

Her hips moved with him, and she let out a little moan, “just like that, Quinn.”

She began to pulse around his fingers and she felt him smile against her skin as he worked her though the orgasm.

She slept soundly that night, curled up with Quinn, awed by the once improbable and yet very real prospect she might not have to face anything totally alone again.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

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