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holy-puckslibrary · 8 months ago

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— 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.”

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chatsukimi · 9 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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neiptune · 2 years ago

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aot boys x guilty pleasures

a/n: this is me being self indulgent and having a lil fun so forgive the shitposting but also feedback is always appreciated mwah

eren loves the shit out of nature documentaries you'll leave him alone one saturday night and you'll come back to find him sprawled on the couch watching life of mammals or some shit on netflix lmao you'd be on a date and he'd get suddenly excited enough to hit you with random facts like “btw did you know that the average blood pressure of a giraffe is around 300/190?” he'd literally barge in rooms with a “babe omg hummingbirds are like the only birds that can fly backwards” and you'd just be sitting on the toilet with a very unimpressed look but he's cute 12/10 would make a good park ranger or whatever

armin is lowkey obsessed with youtubers like he legitimaly sits down and watches hours on end of unboxing/reaction videos or travel vlogs jfc and it's always the dumb stuff ya know like person x unboxing the same phone in 10 different colors or person y reacting to drake's new single and THAT controversial lyric. it's exhausting really he'd be in bed at 3am still going through chrissy's 27 min travel vlog about some bali vacation gone wrong and don't even get me started on drama and internal feuds or breakups oh my god he has a whole playlist of breaking my silence videos on youtube to keep track of who's said what so he can pick the best side

you've introduced jean to the world of fandoms and fanfiction and at first he was all like nah that's too weird but now he has his own ao3 account and eats the weirdest most hilarious shit up, will also use acquired terms in the wrongest way like you'd be watching bridgerton together and he'd suddenly nod to himself with a OOOO TRIGGER WARNING THEY BOUT TO FUCK lmao he's obsessed tbh his twitter is filled with commentary on random chapters he's screenshot and that I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP titanic gif posted over and over again like no honey you will not we've moved past that 10 years ago

oh god connie is such a chronic playlist creator he'd have one for EVERYTHING and he genuinely spends hours selecting the perfect most appropriate songs and titles for each one, you best believe before you first started dating he's made one for you called “i like you idgaf about your boyfriend” which came with a weird ass mix of sweet stuff like just the way you are by bruno mars and cash shit by megan thee stallion lmaooo he's so random he thinks he's good at it too and you don't have the heart to tell him that “get down dirty bedroom sexy lapdance music” ain't a good title. it's kinda attractive that he's not a music snob tho like he'd be blasting country music classics while cooking, rap mixtapes when he's taking a shower or full on broadway showtunes when driving, he also has a cute voice that cracks on higher notes but it secretly turns you on how deep in the moment he is while screaming to defying gravity in the car

levi gets a weird kick out of serial killer documentaries or real footage of their interviews/trials, also listens to A LOT of true crime podcasts and TAKES NOTES about the most interesting cases to check if he'd be able to solve the unsolved ones and he'd always test you as well? you'd be reading a book in bed and he'd plop next to you with a dead serious look on his face asking shit like “would you help some random guy with a cast on his arm carry his bags?” 🤨 out of the blue like ?????? baby that's kinda weird can you not but it's really just him trying to flex his big big brain thank fuck he's not an actual cop he'd be insufferable (and way less hot)

to absolutely no one's surprise reiner's guilty pleasure has to do with you, the man's all about you (and hockey), you've asked him to take a bath with you once and now not a single motherfucking week goes by without him looking at you big big puppy eyes asking “bath???” most evenings after work. it doesn't even have to lead to anything he's just content basking in warm water and bubbles with you in his lap, he gets to massage shampoo into your scalp if you want to wash your hair and is now a pro at creating the perfect atmosphere with oils and dimmed lights and omg don't even get me started on candles, he's memorized your favorite scents and now also has his own preferences, catch him walking around a yankee candle store at least twice a month, girls working there ask this big scary grumpy guy if he needs help and he'd reply with the softest most polite & specific hi hello yes actually i need to stock up on sparkling cinnamon and snow globe wonderland tyvm

porco 100% checks his naked self out in the mirror lmaooo i know this shouldn't count as something people wouldn't believe he'd do but it's kinda a guilty pleasure i guess??? he finds putting clothes on a lil depressing and knows he's hot. sometimes you'd catch him doing that after showering and the man would be so fucking thirsty for compliments cause what is he supposed to do with muscles and abs and prominent biceps if you won't drool over them a little? he's annoying & also gets soooo whiny if you don't indulge him like :( do you not think your dashing boyfriend is cute :( while flexing, also always tries to convince you to take your clothes off as well for “inspection purposes” to which you simply flick his forehead lol whether you end up pressed against that very mirror 10 minutes later it's between you and him xoxo

#aot #eren yeager headcanons #eren x reader #armin arlert headcanons #armin x reader #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean x reader #connie springer headcanons #connie x reader #reiner braun headcanons #reiner x reader #levi ackerman headcanons #levi x reader #porco galliard headcanons #porco x reader

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pwhl-mybeloved · 15 days ago

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Hello. I'm a hockey fan and also an woman (probably). I love talking about hockey with other hockey people. Specifically, I like talking about the play on the ice and the way particular players and teams go about the business of doing the hockey. However, I've only just recently gotten into women's hockey (thanks YTG) and I don't know enough about the players and the teams to actually talk about the PWHL like that and I want to know.

I know that Kendall Coyne is fast, I know that Kristin O'Neill is a tenacious forechecker, I know that Aerin Frankel is Jusse Saros but...more, and I know that Marie-Philip Poulin is clutch. Beyond that, I don't know anything and I would like to know things.

Can you help me out? What kinds of things should I look for when next I watch a PWHL game? What kind of styles do each of the teams play? How is MPP so clutch when half the time it looks like she skates by falling over?

thanks for this question I’m gonna tag @strawberryblondebutch because my answer is going to be a bit lacking I fear

I spend the hockey games screaming and gasping and pointing at my faves, but I don’t often pay particular attention to the style of play for each player, which is what I think you’re asking about here. I also spend a lot of time watching the goalies over the skaters. Or I just watch the puck because that’s where the action is.

One thing I do like to watch is the special teams, during power plays and penalty kills, watching them set up the diamond in the offensive zone during a pp is sooooo satisfying 👌🏻

MPP is a mystery to me tbh. She has these moments of pure brilliance, and other times she’s kinda all over the place.

Some of my thoughts about players:

Emma Maltais is a ‘shit disturber’ she likes to get in the way & instigates ice crimes

Ann Renee Desbiens likes to go on Adventures more than most goalies, she’s always up to something

Sarah Nurse is great on the breakaway, I’ve loved seeing her succeed in that recently

To my followers, please add your commentary!

PS: so glad you’re here & enjoying the pwhl!!!

#pwhl #ask tag #I’m by no means an expert on the players #but watching the games and learning these things is part of the fun for me #if there’s a player you’re interested in check to see if there are highlight reels on YouTube

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hatamighijyab · 7 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

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes fan fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #tw greif #hockey fic #hockey romance

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hexedwinchester · 26 days ago

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Friday the 13th 2009

so in the honour of keeping the tradition going, I'm watching Friday the 13th on this Friday the 13th (of course, the Jared Padalecki one). And i thought why not do a quick review/commentary

Jason's mother looks nothing like Whitney

speaking of, I see Amanda Righetti and all I can think of is Grace Van Pelt from The Mentalist

Whitney's humidity frizzy hair is so real

is that you Josh Kaminski from Young & Hungry?

i forgot slashers came with a side of unnecessary porno

Bear trap and burnt alive, so far the fun deaths!

Oh my gosh Jared looks so delicious 🤤

Trent, you loser!

Clay is similar to Sam. I'll elaborate on this. He is sweet but determined. Not afraid to take a stand against bullies. Certainly caring and gentle. And yet he doesn't feel entirely like Sam. Probably the one main differentiating factor would be Clay is missing Sam's depth and softness

Did they not realise what it would do to us Jared girls seeing him on a motorcycle?!

Jared is so tall he even drawfs a motorcycle!!! And there goes a joke at his height. "Stretch"

No, seriously why is everyone a dick to Clay? First the gas owner, Loser Trent, the old lady and even the wood chipper guy

i usually don't pay attention to men's wardrobe that much but damn whoever decided to put Jared in that tit tight tee is my hero!

oh Loser Trent you don't wanna mess with that specimen. He will kill you, you idiot!

i do love that scene where they reveal how Jason got his iconic hockey mask

That knife holster hanging on Jared's hip is sexy!

ewwwww did the Asian guy really drink booze out of his shoe?!!

I get why they cast Amanda. She is scream queen

so Loser Trent and friends don't care that 3 of their friends didn't return? And his gf left with a random stranger he had beef with?

Jenna's friends are idiots with zero survival instincts

I'm not mad that Loser Trent died

family reunion!

poor Jenna! She deserved to live

oh no! Jason got Clay! Owww that must hurt

Whitney is a badass too! I like that. I like that a lot

Go Clay! I love how he bear trapped him, strangled with the chain and then Whitney shoved it into the wood chipper

Jason, say hi to mommy. In hell 👏👏👏👏 best dialogue

That anti dramatic kick at the mask

why won't he die?!

Overall, i do like this movie. It has a nice premise and a decent storytelling. I could have done without a lot of nudity that wasn't needed. I mean I don't need every female actress flashing her boobs on screen. I do like the effort that went into setting background for the characters. The open ended ending is a nice touch. Some of the scenes were really well done like Jason wearing the mask for the first time, the picturesque scenes of the lakes are really pretty. The shot where Clay's face is inches away from the wood chipper. The last scene of Jason sinking to the bottom of the lake followed by his mask was great. The movie has good jump scares and dialogues are not as awful as some of the slashers tend to have. And the best part? Clay and Whitney live! Sort of! Open ended ending and all that..

Have you seen this movie? What are your thoughts? Do you like other Friday the 13th movies?

#friday the 13th 2009 #clay miller #Whitney miller #jason voorhees #Jared Padalecki #Jared girl

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ohsunnyboy · 3 months ago

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never again | yoon keeho ˚₊‧⁺˖

you don't know what's cuter. you're boyfriend, lee keeho, or the delusion that the leafs will win the cup in either of your lifetimes.

TAGS: established relationship, toronto leafs fan!keeho, boston bruins fan!reader, screaming and shouting at a tv screen, fluff, maple leafs hockey is its own tw, drinking games!! keeho is lowk ooc

A/N: based off this iconic video. game 6 changed my brain chemistry and gave me hope until... well iykyk... here's the match recap. this is so niche it's entirely self indulgent sorry in advance lmao

WORDS: ~1000

If you're going to be a hockey fan, you should know the number one rule: don't date within the division.

The notorious ad aside, it's pretty clear, once it gets to playoffs with you two, everything's off the table. Especially if you're throwing couch cushions across the room when you're team can't convert on a power play. Cough, the leafs, cough.

Which made it especially weird when you, a Boston Bruins fan ended up dating Yoon Keeho, a fucking Toronto Maple Leafs fan.

"Oh my god are the refs blind?! That's clearly a holding call!" he cries. Ah, it really doesn't get sweeter than this.

"Shut up, he just boarded Lohrei with that! Penalty for both of them," you snarl out, eyes fixated on the tv screen, watching the play-by-play slo-mo of the hit. Lohrei crumpling against the boards as Holmberg practically folds him. "Look! They're not even calling it. Did you see Carolina yesterday? they were calling everything that breathed wrong."

With a sigh, both you and Keeho take a shot. At this rate, you both could be professional alcoholics with how many missed penalty calls there've been this series. You can already feel the regret in the morning trying to sink in with this drinking game.

Keeho hums beside you, but he's been practically vibrating out his skin the entire game. "That's just Svechnikov no? He's massi—OH MY GOD WILLIAM NYLANDER YOU SWEDISH BEAUTY!"

The screen erupts as Nylander finally opens the scoring for the Leafs. A sea of horrific blue and white exploding into cheers. Idly, you think it's the most lively you've seen Scotiabank Arena in years.

"Ugh, really?" And you just have to flop back into the couch corner as Keeho takes his victory lap around the room. Dressed in, of course, his Nylander jersey.

"Oh yeah baby! I could marry that man," he laughs, before very comically and somehow very seriously turning back to you. "After you, babe. Of course after you, love of my life, angel of my univer-"

You hurl one of your last pillows at him. "Sit back down, idiot." The high flush on his face is pretty adorable, even if his alcohol breath stinks when he curls in next to you on the couch. Both of you are going to be crawling out of bed tomorrow for sure.

From above and below your small apartment you can hear the same screams. With the window propped open, you can even hear horns go off in the streets. Capital of Hockey and all that. Moving here to be with Keeho had been hard to do, but so much more worth it for the hockey. Especially when Boston comes rolling into town: being the only Bruins fan for rows on rows was intimidating but so much sweeter if they won.

"I'm your idiot, idiot," he croons into your neck. Peppering you with cute and sloppy kisses across your skin. You finger's curl idly into his hair as you watch the ads spin by on the tv, signalling the end of the second period. His cold fingertips curl around your waist, idly smoothing circles into it. Curled up like this, it's the cosiest you could ask for - and somehow you don't mind the lack of pillows. You both make up for it with your shared body heat.

Carefully, you extract your phone from under him like he's a jenga tower about to fall, but game-drunk like this, he could probably sleep through the Leafs Stanley cup parade if they did win for once.

Twitter's the same as you left it: another TicTacTOmar clip of Lohrei and Holmberg, more Steve Dangle commentary and your Boston moots crowing about how the Leafs will lose it in the third period. Very, very secretly, you don't think they will. Swayman vs Woll as goalies are brilliant – and terribly good looking – but it must be the phase of the moon or something stupid, but Toronto might just win it this game.

Looking down at your sleeping beauty, Keeho is blissfully passed out on your chest. Face semi-flushed, mouth agape and drool leaking out. Yeah, this is going in the camera roll.

A quick snap and a venture into your settings is all it takes to set the glorious picture as your lock screen. And, if you squint, you can see Draisaitl's neon orange Skip ad in the background. Exactly why you're dating him in the first place.

"You really are my idiot, idiot," you murmur and you press a kiss to his hairline, a warm feeling roiling in your stomach.

Stashing your phone away, you ready yourself with a minute on the clock until the third starts. Saying that, you should really wake sleeping beauty up. "Hey... hey, get up. The Leafs lost in overtime again."

His eyes blink blearily as he processes your words. Slowly, then all at once, you can see the panic settle into his eyes as he sees your shit-eating grin. “No they didn't,” he whispers, but it borders on desperate.

You really can't help yourself. "Yup! There was even a line brawl," you sigh dramatically, bringing your hand to your forehead with a flair. "Swayman was even fighting Woll, a whole goalie scrap and you missed it."

"Nope! Not believing it." Keeho finally has the common sense to turn to look at the screen and realise the third's just begun. The stare of disappointment he gives you is cold enough to give Winnipeg a run for its money. "Never again."

You roll your eyes but just pat the space next to you for him to settle down properly on. "C'mon, whoever loses this has to get breakfast."

“You’re so on,” he huffs to agree, taking a bodily effort to sit back against the couch and on your cold feet. There’s a fire in his eyes that makes you regret this already. “I’m so making you drive to Timmy’s.”

Deep in your heart, if you had to choose Boston or Toronto to win the cup, you'd still choose Boston. But no matter how this series ends, you'd still love your boyfriend very, very much.

if this in any way endeared you to hockey come check my sideblog @wannadewar where i lament and fangirl! if you somehow enjoyed this, a like or reblog would be lovely :) ⭒ masterlist

#in honour of the new season starting #so niche its insane #hi 3 people #yoon keeho #yoon keeho x reader #toronto maple leafs #hockey #p1harmony #keeho fluff #yoon keeho fic #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #piwon #p1h keeho #p1h x reader #p1h fic #p1harmony fanfic #yoon keeho imagine #yoon keeho drabble

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