#in order to get the home playoff game

[allpromarlo]

no way bengals fans are complaining about the coin toss solution lmao

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ get you home ] m. rempe

pairing : Matt Rempe x fem!reader

summary : Matt makes sure his best friend gets home safe after going out with him and a few of the Rangers after a win, but his plans change when she tells him how she feels about him

warning(s) : alcohol use and drunkenness, a heavy makeout, some suggestive comments

author’s note : got drunk so i started to write a fic and finished it while sober lol :))

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One of the things she loves about going out with Matt is the fact that he deters every guy from approaching her. Everyone views him as this scary guy because he’s a six-foot-seven hockey player but in reality, he’s probably the sweetest guy she’s ever met.

It works to her advantage though since she only ever wants to talk to him when she goes out with him.

Tonight in particular, she wants to stay glued to his side. He scored a goal in his playoff debut and all she wants to do is celebrate. She doesn’t want her attention to be pulled away from Matt.

The Rangers found a booth in a dark corner of the club they came to after game one against Washington and started buying drinks and shots for Matt after his goal that started this season’s playoff run.

She took so many shots with Matt when they first got to the club and kind of regrets it. She wanted to at least be coherent and remember her words when she tells Matt that she’s in love with him.

Tonight might not be the night to tell him though. She doesn't want him to think she's telling him because she's drunk or because he scored a goal.

Plus, she wants to be able to remember telling him and she isn't sure that's possible right now because of the amount of drinks and shots she's had. Tonight shouldn't be the night she tells her best friend that she's in love with him.

Once Trouba decides to leave, a bunch of the Rangers decide to follow him out the door. Once the captain leaves, that usually means whatever is going on is officially over. A lot of the older guys leave, but most of the younger guys like Matt and Braden stay for a little bit longer.

There are about three more rounds of shots before everyone else calls it a night. She stumbles out of the club holding onto Matt's arm so she doesn't fall on the sidewalk in her heels. She leans against his chest while he orders them an Uber to her apartment.

"Mm," she hums. "Comfy wall."

Matt laughs and wraps an arm around her shoulders to keep her stable. "You're so drunk," he comments. "How much have you had to drink?"

"A little less than you," she replies. "I think. How are you not stumbling after everything you've had today?"

He tucks his phone into the pocket of the pants he's wearing. "I'm a foot taller than you and over a hundred pounds heavier than you," he laughs. "Not to mention I have a faster metabolism and can handle my liquor. It's not my fault you're so short."

She looks up at him. "Hey, five-foot-six is not short," she retorts. "You're just freaking tall ." Matt laughs. "Out here having fucking trees for legs like God damn, Matt."

A car pulls up in front of them and Matt helps her get in the car. "Me and my tree legs are trying to get you home safely," he tells her. "You better be nice to me or I'm gonna leave you to get to your apartment by yourself."

"You'd never do that to me," she giggles. "You like me too much."

Matt slides into the car next to her and she immediately moves as close as she can to him. She rests her head on his shoulder before she shuts her eyes. Being drunk and being in a car is not the best combination. She'll gladly use Matt's shoulder as a pillow until they get to her apartment building. They're a good fifteen minutes away so she has time.

The Uber driver realizes who got into the backseat of his car so he and Matt talk about the game. The driver mentions Matt's goal and says what an amazing goal it was. She doesn't say anything but she agrees a thousand percent.

His goal was a beauty. It's something that he'll never forget for sure. She'll never forget celebrating it when it happened. Hearing his name announced during the next play will be something she'll remember hearing forever.

She listens to the conversation and smiles while they talk about the game. She doesn't chime in because she's afraid to open her eyes. The last thing she wants to do is throw up in an Uber.

About fifteen minutes later, the Uber pulls up to her apartment. The driver wishes Matt luck during the rest of the playoffs as he helps her out of the car. She thanks him as Matt shuts the door. Matt wraps an arm around her and helps her into the building.

As she walks through the lobby, she stumbles and loses her balance. With a groan, she slides out of Matt's grip and lands on the floor to pull off he heeled boots that she's wearing. "Stupid shoes," she says to herself. Matt laughs and holds a hand out to help her up when she is ready to stand back up.

"Why did you even wear heels to the game?" he asks as he pulls her up from the ground. "I mean, it's a hockey game."

"I wanted to look nice and dress up the jersey," she replies. Matt lent her his Stadium Series jersey. She might have to wear it for every game now since he scored a goal while she was wearing it. "Sorry I wanted to look nice. Good thing too since we went out afterwards."

It's easier for her to walk now that her feet are flat on the ground. She carries the shoes onto the elevator, where she leans against the wall for support.

"Are you still super drunk?" Matt asks. "I'm asking because I need to know if you'll be okay if I leave."

"We'll see," she mumbles as she drops her head to her left to look at him. "Can you stay anyway? Just in case?"

He nods and smiles as the elevator dings and the doors open.

She stumbles down the hallway to her apartment, dropping one of the shoes in the process. Matt picks it up and she uses her key to unlock the door. Somehow, she gets the door open, but she stumbles inside. Matt quickly wraps an arm around her waist before she can go crashing down to the floor.

The door closes behind them and she looks up at him. "Thanks," she says.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna stay," he comments. "You just fell into your apartment." She giggles and stands back up. Matt wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Do you want to shower or anything before you go to bed? Want a snack? You're going to drink at least one glass of water before going to bed."

She looks up at him and says, "I should probably shower since I got a drink spilled on my pants." That was Cuylle's fault and she wasn't very happy that she smelled like beer for the rest of the time they were at the club.

"I'll get him to apologize for that tomorrow when he's sober," Matt tells her. "For now though, bath or shower? Think you can shower?"

"I think I can shower," she replies. "A cold one might sober me up a bit. Some of the clothes that you've left here are all in a drawer if you want to pull something together, or I can give you this jersey since it's technically yours."

Matt smiles and shakes his head. "That jersey is yours now," he says. "I'll find something. Go shower the beer smell away."

She sticks her tongue out at him and stumbles her way to her room. She pulls out a large t-shirt and a pair of slightly too small Lululemon shorts to sleep in before walking into the bathroom for her shower.

The water is ice cold in hopes that it sobers her up enough for the conversation that's going to happen after her shower. She wants to make sure she remembers the entire conversation and whatever she says to Matt. She wants to remember his reaction and what he tells her when she tells him about her feelings.

It's going to go really well or really bad. She has no idea how it's going to go. He may just tell her that it's bad timing since the playoffs just started, or he'll fully embrace it. Maybe he'll tell her that he feels the same.

The unknown is what scares her.

After a short and sweet shower where she only washes her hair and body, she hops out and dries off. She shivers from how cold it was and dresses quickly.

When she walks out of the bathroom with her wet hair French braided down her back, she finds Matt laying on his back on her bed on his phone. He's typing away, probably replying to people that he didn't get to yet about his goal or the win. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants and one of his Rangers hockey shirts that he found in the drawer.

Matt notices her standing in the doorway between the bedroom and her bathroom. "There's a glass of water on your table," he tells her. "I left some Advil for you too for the morning."

Just rip off the bandaid. It's time to get this over with.

"I have something I want to say first in case it chases you off," she tells him. "I don't know what your reaction is going to be when I say this but ... I love you."

"I love you too."

"No, Matt," she sighs. "I'm in love with you. I have been for months, maybe close to a year at this point. I know my timing isn't the best but I couldn't not tell you anymore. I'm not saying this because you scored a goal or because you won a playoff game or because I'm still slightly drunk but I am genuinely in love with you."

He stares at her while she talks, but as soon as she's done saying what she has to say, Matt gets up out of bed and walks up to her. "I knew what you meant," he comments. "I've been waiting for you to say something to me before I did this."

"Do wha-"

Before she can finish her question, Matt gently cups her jaw and leans down to press a light kiss to her lips. It's so light that she feels like he's just testing the waters.

It barely feels like a kiss when he pulls back.

She takes a step closer to him and looks up at him. "Can you please kiss me like you mean it?" she questions.

"Gladly."

He crashes their lips together in a more definitive kiss that makes her heart beat out of her chest. She presses herself against him and fists his t-shirt in her hand to hold him close to her. Matt's thumbs trace her cheekbones and she sighs. He takes full advantage and licks past her parted lips.

She presses her hands against his torso and pushes him toward the bed. She has to tilt her head up to kiss him and it's starting to hurt her neck. So she pushes him down until he falls back and is sitting on the mattress. She crawls onto his lap so they're at a more even level.

This isn't the reaction that she was expecting. Maybe Matt saying that he loves her too or some cuddles. She thought that kisses would wait until morning when they're both completely sober.

That being said, this is what she thought their first kiss would look like. Rough, needy. She kisses him like she craves him, and he kisses her back like he's been holding back. She's seen Matt kiss former girlfriends before and studied the way his lips move, but experiencing it is something completely different.

Her heart is in her stomach and her body shakes with anticipation. She truly cannot believe that this is happening right now.

She slides her hands down his chest and stomach then slithers her fingers up under his shirt. Matt hums and pulls back from the needy kiss. “Clothes are staying on until we’re both sober,” he tells her. She nods but is very distracted by how red and swollen his lips are.

All because of her.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t touch,” she replies. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Matt sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and looks her up and down in his lap. She reaches up with one of her hands and touches one of the scars on his cheek. He turns his head and presses a kiss to her wrist.

He trails kisses up her forearm and she smiles as he pulls her flush against his chest. She wraps her arms around his neck and Matt flips them so he’s pinning her down against the mattress.

She smiles and looks up at him. “You do know that I love you too, right?” Matt asks. “I mean, I knew what you meant when you told me that you love me. The timing couldn’t have been any better because I thought I was going to genuinely lose my mind if I held back from you any longer.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Matt replies. “I love you. I think I’ve loved you for literally ever. I probably realized it in February when you were in the crowd for my NHL debut. Seeing you in that jersey tonight, oh my God. I thought I was going to actually lose it at the club.”

She smiles and grabs the bottom of his shirt. She fists the fabric and holds him close. “You could’ve made a move whenever you wanted and I probably would’ve been okay with it,” she admits. “I hated seeing you with random girls or old girlfriends. They never wanted you like I do.”

“I know,” he says. “I think I see that now. I’ve had a few girlfriends, but none of them have stuck around like you have.”

“By your side always,” she promises.

Matt leans down and kisses her again. The kiss almost feels like her sealing the promise.

Because she’ll never leave his side. Ever.

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[hugheses]

Jack Hughes devoured Canucks playoffs, surprised Quinn before Game 7

Luke Fox

His shoulder recently repaired by season-ending surgery and his arm in a sling, Jack Hughes plopped himself on the couch this past April and binge-watched the Stanley Cup playoffs.

The New Jersey Devils star would fire up two TVs at once so he could catch the end of the Eastern Conference tilts and not miss a second of older brother Quinn's shifts in Vancouver.

"I was mostly watching Canucks," Jack told Elliotte Friedman and Kyle Bukauskas Tuesday during a recording of their 32 Thoughts podcast.

"The playoffs are the best. That's why you want to get back to 'em. When you're on the couch watching, you feel like a loser. You want to be in the mix."

But after Quinn's Canucks knocked off the Nashville Predators in a low-scoring first round — "just lock-it-down playoff hockey," Jack enthuses — simply watching in 4K wasn't enough.

Jack never forgot Quinn's effort to fly to New York attend Jacks' playoff games against the Rangers in the 2023 post-season and wanted to return the favour. Show his support.

So, Jack and his fragile shoulder made plans to jet to YVR for games 1 and 2 of the Edmonton series and cheer on the Canucks in-person, a la Brady Tkachuk representing big bro Matthew.

Alas, there was a snag.

"Bro, I can't find my passport," Jack told Quinn over the phone, prior to Round 2.

A disappointed Quinn didn't want to make his brother feel guilty for forgetting his passport in New Jersey while he rehabbed in Michigan.

Plus, he had their mom in town to cheer him on.

Following the morning skate of Game 7 of the Canucks-Oilers series, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes asked Quinn to bring home some extra pasta for lunch.

Quinn found that strange. Mom had never requested pasta in the five years he'd been a Canuck.

When Quinn returned home with lunch and prepared for the most important game-day nap of his career, Ellen told him she had to go downstairs and fetch a coffee order.

She returned with Jack, who'd arranged to have his passport shipped in time for him to fly out for Game 7.

"I was shocked. I couldn't believe it. Obviously, the pasta was for him," Quinn chuckled. "I didn't want to go for my nap. I just wanted to stay up and shoot it."

Of course, the Canucks lost a 3-2 heartbreaker to the eventual Western Conference champions. But Quinn was grateful to have his brother there for him postgame.

Jack assures his shoulder is now fully recovered (enough to beat Quinn heads-up in the family golf contest), and both brothers expressed their hunger to return to the playoffs.

At the same time, for the first time.

Jack admits that his Devils took a "step back" from '23. Defensively, they were looser. Gave up too many chances.

"We weren't a hard team to play against," said Jack, encouraged by the Devils' off-season injection of talent and the arrival of coach Sheldon Keefe.

"You know, you get a taste of the playoffs, you win a series, and you think you're going to be in the playoffs every year. It doesn't work like that. It's hard to get back to the playoffs."

Heck, sometimes it's hard just to attend the playoffs.

[puck-luck]

Forever yearning for a jealous, dominant Luke Hughes. I mean spitting in your mouth, edging, mirror sex, etc. I need the filthy, down bad luke.

Scenario: maybe you’re becoming close with one of the other players (completely innocent-just forming a friendship) but Luke doesn’t see it as that way…

👉🏻👈🏻

warnings (in no particular order): spit(!!), jealousy, dom!luke, edging, mirror sex, one (1!) slap to the face just for the enjoyment of my friend jo, spanking, drinking (technically underage hiii luke turn 21 already stop being lame), beating yourself up, pet names and nicknames as FUCK (always bro do y’all even know me), road head, face fucking, unprotected p in v, dare i say breeding kink, implied subspace, allusion to size kink (probably established size kink to be fair), I THINK THAT’S IT BUT I’M NOT SURE! pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader summary: the one when luke gets jealous at the bar and doles out a bit of a punishment (code: luke is insecure about his performance on the ice, so when his gf starts talking with another teammate who is her friend, he gets jealous and feels like he has to prove himself by making her feel good, but he’s still a dom bc HOTTTT) wc: 6416

The Devils’ last game of the season was at home this year. There was no chance that they would make the playoffs and Jack was out in Colorado for his shoulder surgery, plus Luke’s parents weren’t able to make it from Michigan for his final rookie game. He was depending on you to be there, so there you were. You were cheering, you were yelling at the officials when they missed a call, you were laughing at Luke when he took a trademarked Hughes spill on the ice with barely anyone around him. Yeah, you were disappointed at the end of the game when the Islanders won (and it wasn’t even close), but it was just one game. It wasn’t the end of the world. It was a disappointment, but it wasn’t life-changing.

Luke, however, was much more upset with their performance when you met up with him after the game. He drove the two of you to the bar where the team was meeting for one last celebration before the off-season and he tried, he really did, to keep his complaints inside. He was stewing, just letting it well up inside of him and fester in the silence between you, until it spilled over.

“It should have been a better game,” Luke finally said, the harsh edge in his tone rubbing you in all the wrong ways. “We could’ve done more. If I had just–”

“Lu, baby,” you interrupted, voice soft. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was out there the longest, other than Jake,” Luke argued. “They depend on me and I let them down.”

“You were only on the ice for one goal, Lu. You couldn’t have done anything about at least the other three.”

Your statement was not something he wanted to hear. Your boyfriend, sweet as he was, always saw the best in everyone else and the worst in himself. Where he could have been blaming Brendan for the loss, since Brendan was on the ice for three of the four goals, he was instead blaming himself. He was never one to hold a grudge against his teammates or his friends or his family, which was part of the reason why you were so in love with him.

He grunted instead of giving you a real response, but you knew it was coming from a place of knowing you’re right but still feeling hurt.

“I love you,” you told him, just a reminder that his performance would never affect your affection towards him. 

“I love you too,” Luke replied, and you two fell back into silence. It was less tense this time, but his shoulders were still tense and he was frowning, almost pouting. He was so pretty, even now, but you hated how this expression marred his face.

When you pulled up to the bar, you were met by Luke’s teammates. While some of the men had gone home after the game, it was mostly the ones who had families. You knew their wives and girlfriends would have encouraged them to go out with the team rather than stay home with the kids, but you understood. If Luke had wanted to go straight home after the game, you would’ve gone with him and cuddled him until you fell asleep.

“Do you want to get out and get me a drink, baby, while I find parking?” Luke asked, always so considerate. 

“Yeah,” you agreed easily, leaning over the center console to peck his lips before you left the car. 

Waiting outside the entrance of the bar, Nico and John smiled as you got out of the car and walked over to them. You hugged each of them before entering the bar, Nico walking in ahead of you and John following you with a hand on your back. 

It didn’t mean anything to you or to John, but when Luke watched John guide you into the bar before he drove away to search for a parking spot, something sharp and green poked at his heart.

Luke finally made his way into the bar about ten minutes after you walked in, and your face had lit up when you saw him like it had been much longer. He didn’t see you at first, so you had the chance to watch him scan the room. His brow was furrowed as he scanned each person’s features. You knew that he was trying to spot you without looking for the other boys at first, but it was proving difficult with how crowded the room had become.

Timo appeared at his side and patted Luke’s shoulder in greeting. Luke talked to him for a minute before Timo pointed your way. Luke’s face split with a smile when he saw you and he gave Timo a pat before beelining towards you.

You looped your arms around Luke’s neck when he joined you, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Gross,” Nico complained from next to you. “It’s only been a few minutes since you’ve seen each other.”

“You’re not in love,” Luke replied, snarky and sarcastic like he tended to be when it wasn’t just the two of you. He then turned to you. “Where’s my drink?”

“What a priority,” you teased, rolling your eyes at him. He pinched your side. “I sent Johnny to go get it.”

Luke’s expression changed for a split second before he schooled his features. You wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t so in tune with his emotions, experience that comes only after years of dating a person. 

You let it go, knowing that it can’t be too important, or Luke would have said something. He knew you were friends with guys on the team. After being around them for almost a year, having moved out here with Luke at the start of his rookie year, it was bound to happen. Plus, Luke wasn’t the jealous type. He knew that you loved him and you’d love him forever, saying yes in a second if he chose to propose.

But to him, there was something about the way you said “Johnny” instead of John. It was that and John’s hand on your back as he guided you into the bar, on top of an already hard night, that had Luke questioning himself.

“I asked him to get you a rum and coke,” you said, tilting your head up to poke Luke’s nose with your own. “Is that okay?”

“It sounds good, thank you,” Luke replied. 

You resume conversation with Nico, turning to face him but staying tucked into Luke’s side. He had a hand on your hip and the other accepted the drink that John handed Luke when he returned. He nursed it quietly for a while, engaging in conversation here and there, but mostly just enjoying his time with his friends. 

The game was the last time that his whole team would be together like that, but this night out was the last time that his team, his friends, would be together in the way that mattered. Even if no one was traded, if no one changed in the slightest (except Jack, coming back from injury), things still wouldn’t be quite the same. It wouldn’t be his second year, his presence wouldn’t be new or exciting. He would have to try harder, do better, and be consistent to show that he wasn’t just an example of beginner’s luck.

He clutched you a little tighter to his side at that thought. He was comforted by the way that you melted into him, moving to lean back against his chest. Your hand covered his and the other polished off your drink. He took the empty cup from you and kissed your cheek before pulling away to toss your cup, and his, in the trash can behind him.

When he returned, he was taken aback by the sight before him.

You had stepped forward and were carding your fingers through John’s curls and Luke saw red before he saw the thoughtful look on your face. John had just said to you and Nico that he thought his hair was getting too long, too unruly. You didn’t agree– it was a good length, the curls were just settling into their shapes.

“I don’t think you should cut it, John,” you were saying before Luke grabbed your other wrist and yanked you towards him. “Luke!” You exclaimed, startled by the movement.

“Time to go,” Luke announced, loud enough that the other boys could hear. He clutched your wrist, not your hand, your wrist, and pulled you along as he stomped toward the exit.

“Luke, what is going on?” You asked, voice resounding in your ears like it’s much louder than it actually is. 

Luke kept walking like he didn’t even hear you, pushing through the door and leading you down the block to the car. He opened your door for you and helped you in, but he slammed it shut once you were buckled into your seat. He rounded the car and opened his own door, glaring at you in a passing glance before settling into the driver’s seat.

“Lu,” you implored, pressing your hands against the top of your thighs. 

When he didn’t reply, you tried again.

“Babe, talk to me–”

“I don’t want you to speak unless you’re spoken to,” Luke said. He refused to look at you. “You think you can touch John’s hair the way you touch mine? You’ll let him guide you into the bar the way I would? I’m not enough for you, huh, baby?”

You blinked, suddenly shifting up to sit a little straighter. Luke, your sweet angel Luke, the baby of his family who would never hurt a fly, who avoided hockey fights at every cost, had flipped his switch.

“Answer me. I asked you a question.”

“No, sir,” you said. Your eyes flickered down to where Luke’s knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. You inhaled sharply as you made eye contact with the veins decorating the back of his hand.

“No?” Luke repeated, mocking. “I’m not enough for you?”

“No! Lu, you’re more than enough, you know you’re the only one I need.” Your words came out scrambled and you tripped over them. 

Luke clicked his tongue, disapproval written all over his face. “Can’t even speak, can you?” He scoffed, reached down with one hand, and popped the button on his jeans. “Let’s put your mouth to a better use until you can find your words.”

“You’re driving,” you pointed out, casting a worried look at the road ahead of you.

“It wasn’t a question,” Luke threw you a glance. He looked back at the road, then back to you, this time holding your gaze. He cocked his head to the side, eyes softening for a moment. “Was it?”

“No,” you breathed out. 

“Good girl.” A smile spread over Luke’s face and he turned back to the road. “Get to it.”

You clenched your thighs together and unbuckled your seatbelt so you could twist towards Luke and lean over the center console. You reached out to unzip his pants, but he knocked your hands away.

“I didn’t say use your hand. I said,” he paused, grabbing your hair and tilting your head up so your eyes met his, “Use your mouth.”

The noise that escaped you was involuntary. You moved forward that extra inch and carefully took Luke’s zipper in your mouth, dragging it down. His boxers were revealed by the action, but that was the extent of it. 

“Come on,” Luke encouraged, growing impatient. What you couldn’t see from your position was the smug tilt of his mouth, knowing there was no way to get his cock out of his pants with just your mouth. “Take it out.”

“Can’t,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you can’t?” Luke mocked, feigning sympathy. “Poor baby needs my help, yeah?”

You nodded and hummed an agreement.

Luke’s grip tightened on your hair and he gave it a sharp tug. “Use your manners.”

“Please, Lu, help me,” you conceded.

“Help you what?”

“Help me take your cock out so I can suck you, please, sir.” Your voice was close to breaking, you were itching to get your mouth on him and make him feel good. 

Luke obliged, revealing himself to you. You opened your mouth and he pumped himself twice just to tease you before slapping the lip of his cock on the flat of your tongue. He fed you his cock, returning his hand to your hair when you had taken as much of his length in your mouth as you could. He gathered your hair into a messy ponytail with his one hand, the other still on the wheel, and began to guide your head up and down. 

You gagged when he guided you to his base, nose touching the fabric of his boxers around his cock, but the groan he let out made the discomfort worth it. It was low and desperate, just pure relief.

“Wanna fuck your mouth,” Luke breathed out, pulling you up so just the tip of his cock remained in your mouth. 

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, swiping your tongue over his slit and relishing in the taste of his precum in your mouth. 

He moaned aloud, the sound seeming to echo throughout the car. You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips. You let out a sigh, suddenly overwhelmed with contentment for your situation. Luke was perfect. He was the perfect boyfriend, whether he was his soft and cuddly self or this dominant version of him that wasn’t afraid to tell you what to do, to communicate what he wanted. 

“Would if I weren’t driving, too,” Luke mumbled, mostly to himself. “Fuck, baby, make me come. You know how.”

Luke returned both hands to the steering wheel and allowed you to move your head freely, to go at your own pace. You bobbed your head with enthusiasm, spit dripping down his shaft and soaking the fabric around him. You gagged at times, but the tight squeeze of your throat around him just added to Luke’s pleasure. He wasn’t shy about telling you how good you felt, either, making you more determined to make him come.

“Fuck, pull off,” Luke said, his voice a little shaky.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t, not when he was so close. The idea of having his come in your mouth, on your tongue, the manifestation of how you made him feel, was too alluring. 

“Y/N, pull off,” Luke commanded, reaching down to yank you off of him by your hair. He clenched his jaw as he held you just far enough off his cock that you thought, with just one bump in the road, you could capture it again. He steered out of the lane and parked on the side of the road. “You don’t want to listen? You’re so cockdumb that you can’t follow my orders?”

All you could do was look at him, eyes wide. 

He spoke through his teeth, never once blinking or breaking eye contact. “Since you want me inside you so bad, I’m gonna fuck your mouth until I come. You’re gonna take it. Even if you gag, even if you cry, I’m not going to stop until I come. Then, you’re going to sit back and buckle yourself in and I’m going to finish driving us home. You will not swallow. You’re going to hold my come in your mouth until I say so. Do you understand?”

Your jaw dropped at the words, the tips of your ears growing hot. “Yes, sir.” It’s nearly inaudible and you can feel your panties growing damper with just the thought of it– minute after minute ticking by, Luke’s come coating your tongue, not being able to speak or swallow. You’re completely under Luke’s control.  

He leaned back in the seat and motioned toward his cock. 

You allowed him to guide you onto his length again, getting comfortable with its size. You hollowed your cheeks and looked up at him, pausing your movements and staying statue-still.

A smirk took over Luke’s face. “That’s my girl.”

He took your head with both hands, keeping your hair out of your face and keeping you from moving an inch, and began to thrust into your mouth. It was sharp and hard and you tried to create a vacuum-type suction around his cock, as tight as you knew he liked it, but it was hard with the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat with every buck of his hips. You ended up gagging, and crying, and drooling all over his cock, just like Luke had said, and he fulfilled his promise that he wouldn’t stop.

“Look at you, making such a mess of yourself,” Luke scoffed. “Such a mess all over my cock, just to make me feel good. You’d let me do whatever I wanted, wouldn’t you, baby? You’d never let anyone else take you like this, just me, yeah? No one else gets to see you just leaking all over my cock because you’re mine.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at that and the moan you released around Luke’s length caused his hips to stutter, made him unable to hold back his orgasm any longer. He came in stripes all over your tongue, some of it leaking down the back of your throat before you could stop it. He pulled you off of him and crashed his lips against yours, a close-mouthed kiss because you wouldn’t dare disobey, couldn’t handle the idea of disappointing Luke.

“My good girl,” Luke cooed when he pulled away.

You offered him a lazy smile, head foggy and bones mushy. You were sated, an elevated version of just happy, and so, so comfortable. You loved him. He was everything.

“I’m not done with you yet, am I?” Luke asked softly, thumbing over your bottom lip. 

You shook your head.

“Open,” Luke said. “I want to see my come on your tongue.”

You hesitantly opened your mouth, pushing your tongue out so he could see the milky white substance coating the muscle. 

Luke captured your cheeks with one hand and leaned in with the other holding your head in place. You stared at his eyes, which were watching your tongue as a line of his saliva mixed with the come in your mouth. When his eyes rose to meet yours, it was the embers of desire that made your head roll back and the instinct, the pure instinct of having something in your mouth, that caused you to swallow.

Your head snapped forward, eyes wide and not doe-eyed, not purposefully innocent to make Luke’s heart jump. No, your eyes were wide with worry because you disobeyed him. It wasn’t something you did to spite him or push him further over the line. 

“I’m sorry.” The words leaked from your mouth and you scrambled to take Luke’s hand in yours, clutching his right with both of yours. “Luke, it was an accident, you know I’d never–”

His mouth was open in shock, briefly, before it snapped shut and his eyes twinkled with something downright predatory. His hand was limp in yours (though not pulling away) and he was still.

“But you did,” He interrupted. “You did.”

“I didn’t mean to.” You were trying to reason with him, but you knew the damage was done. Whatever he had planned for you when you got back to the house, it was going to be ten times worse now.

Luke just shook his head and removed his hand from your grasp, pulling back onto the highway and resuming the drive home. You weren’t far, the area around you looking more and more familiar with each passing second. The minutes stretched for what seemed like hours with Luke’s silence. You held your own hand nervously, pinching at the skin of you knuckles and avoiding Luke’s face. You couldn’t handle seeing the disappointment etched into his features.

Luke pulled into the garage of the apartment complex after just about five minutes. Suddenly, it hits you– you have the apartment all to yourselves tonight. There’s nothing to stop Luke, or you for that matter, from being as loud or as public as he wants. There’s a window in the living room, one that Luke mentioned after your last session. A spark traveled up your spine when you realize that tonight might be the night that he fucks you out in the open, for anyone to see.

When he shifted the car into park, Luke turned to you expectantly.

You apologized again, softly, once he looked at you.

His features softened then, seeing your apprehension. He reached out and took your hand. “Are you okay?”

“I feel bad that I didn’t listen,” you replied. Your eyes fell on your shoelaces, which were an off-white color after plenty of use. You made a note to yourself that maybe you should wash them soon. You wondered if they’d return to their original color. The shoes were much more interesting than looking up at Luke and meeting his eyes.

He tilted your head upward with a guided hand anyway. “You’re still my good girl,” he reassured. “Are you okay to keep going? Or do you want me to stop? I won’t be mad. Whatever you want, we can do it. We can leave this in the car and I can take care of you, baby.”

You could cry at his words, how great he is about your slip-up. You did want him to be sweet, but you knew that he needed this. He needed to work through whatever was going on in his mind and if he could just be in control of this, just for a little while longer, it would be so much easier for him later.

“I want to keep going,” you admitted.

“You know your word?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me?”

“Flower.”

“That’s right, baby.” Luke pecked your lips, but when he pulled back he was back to business. “Now, are you ready to listen to me?”

You nodded, eyes trained on his. Neither of you blinked, a silent contest that he ended up losing (something that would normally cause you to gloat, but now doesn’t seem like the right time).

“When you get to the apartment, you’re going to strip. You’re going to sit on the edge of our bed. You’re going to touch yourself while you wait for me and I want you to watch yourself in the mirror. If you come, and you know I’ll know if you do, you’re not going to come at all tonight. I want you to bring yourself right to the edge and stay there. Can you do that for me?” He spoke slowly and clearly, his voice gravely and dominant. He didn’t stumble over his words or pause and “um” like he did in interviews. No, this was when Luke was at his surest. This was when he knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say.

“I can do that,” you agreed, unbuckling your seatbelt and gathering your things.

“I’m going to give you a five minute head start.”

You nodded at Luke, opened your door, and left the vehicle. When you got up to the apartment, you didn’t bother to hang your coat or purse on the hooks Luke put up just for you. You didn’t put your shoes neatly like the door like you normally did. Instead, you dropped your belongings and kicked the shoes off one by one on your walk to the bedroom. You shed your clothing in a similar manner, leaving a trail behind for Luke to chuckle at when he walked in the door. 

Fully naked, you stared at yourself in the mirror that faced your bed. You read once that it was bad luck to have a mirror face a bed, that your reflection could like… capture your soul, or something, but you kept the mirror there anyway because if there was anything Luke enjoyed, it was seeing himself fuck you in the mirror. He liked to watch you ride him in reverse cowgirl, so he could see your ass jiggle as you bounced on his cock with his own eyes and your whole body in the reflection. 

Sometimes, his hands would drift up and he would hold your tits, watching how he could envelop them in his palms. You tilt your head to the side, watching your own hands slide up your body to do the same. 

For everything you could imagine Luke doing, there your hands were trying to satisfy yourself. If you closed your eyes, you could convince yourself that it was him instead.

His cock would disappear into your pussy, thrusting in and out and causing you to whine. His fingers would circle your clit or pinch your nipples. He would palm your ass, or reach up to wrap his hand around your neck. He would reach just that spot…

You didn’t ever hear it when Luke opened the door and joined you in the room. He thought you knew he was coming, with the way you were whining his name and begging for him. Your eyes snapped open as he closed the door behind him and you quickly pulled your fingers out from inside of you.

Luke walked over to you and sank onto his knees between your legs. “Gimme a taste, love.”

You offered him your fingers, which he took into his mouth. He sucked on them softly for far too short a time, in your opinion, with the way his cheekbones became more prominent as he cleaned your fingers of your wetness.

“Tastes good,” he told you with a smile when he was finished. 

“Thank you,” you replied, practically a whimper. Your chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing your heart in your chest. You were waiting, just waiting, for Luke to tell you what was next.

He rose to sit on the bed next to you, guiding you to shift over so you were sitting on his lap. “I’m going to spank you,” he whispered against your lips. “Just ten times. That’s all. It’ll go fast, but I’m not going to go easy on you. I know you can take it.” Luke kissed you again, snuck his tongue into your mouth for a quick, far too quick pass, before pulling back. “Turn over, baby, and lean over my knee, yeah?”

Your movements were slow, your brain turning foggy again like it was in the car. Luke helped you over his knee, still clothed. The contrast between how clothed he was and how naked you were almost made you drool. It was nearly embarrassing, being this down bad for Luke when he seemed to be completely fine, unaffected.

Luke snapped you out of your thoughts with a spank. The pain was only there for a split second before Luke was rubbing soothing circles over your skin. You shivered when he dipped his hand lower and trailed a finger through your folds.

“So wet,” he murmured.

You clenched down and he pulled away, only to deliver a second slap to your cheek. You shivered, goosebumps rising over your arms.

“So, baby, tell me,” Luke began, bringing down his hand again. “Why am I spanking you?” He waited for you to answer before bringing his hand down again. “Because I swallowed– oh– when you told me not to.”

“Mhm. Why else?”

Another spank. Now, it was starting to sting. Your ass had turned a pretty shade of pink that caused Luke to bite his lip and run his hands over your skin, feeling the heat radiate off the surface.

You were quiet. You weren’t quite sure. Holding his come in your mouth had been the punishment for not pulling off when he told you to. You had been slow to say please in the car, but that wasn’t ever something Luke would punish you for, just something he’d remind you to do. “For, um…” You trailed off, not sure what to say.

Luke scoffed and spanked you three times, harsh enough that his handprint stayed imprinted on your body for longer than it normally did when he spanked you. You cried out, your head dropping and tears welling up in your eyes. 

“‘For, um,’” he mocked. “You don’t know? You’re that fucking dumb that you can’t remember what happened less than an hour ago?”

“Lu, please,” were the words that escaped your mouth instead of an answer to his question. They were teary and he almost stopped, almost, just because of how your voice shook. 

“Please what?” He spat, another slap echoing throughout the room. 

“I don’t know,” You sobbed. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me.”

“Five more,” Luke warned you and you nodded. 

It took a lot out of you, agreeing for five more, but Luke wouldn’t do anything he didn’t think you could handle.

“How about this, baby?” Luke said. Slap. “For touching John’s hair the same way you touch mine?” Slap. “For letting the boys guide you into the restaurant like you’re their girlfriend, not mine.” Slap. “For sending John off to get me a drink when I told you to do so?” Slap. “For not listening?” Slap. “For being a fucking brat?”

You wailed, slumped against Luke. He got a good look at you in the mirror, boneless over his knee. He took in the red skin of your ass, tracing the line of his raised handprint. 

“You’re mine,” Luke continued, sounding off. You turned your head towards the mirror, eyes hazy but still able to make him out. He was waiting for you to look at him, for your eyes to meet his. “You can’t– you can’t treat him like he’s special.”

And suddenly, it all clicked. Luke was jealous because he was scared of the same thing you’d skated around in your conversation right after the game. Luke wanted to be special, wanted you to see him and need him. He needed you to need him, to let him take control and take care of you and decide things for you, all because he didn’t want to be the person who lost everything because he wasn’t good enough. Even the idea that John could possibly take Luke’s place, as preposterous as it was to you, sent Luke into a spiral.

“Fuck me, Luke,” you said, voice shaky and light because of the headspace you were in. “Take me. I’m yours. Prove it.”

Gently, so gently in contrast to his prior actions, Luke helped you up and lay you down on your back on the bed, placing a pillow under your hips. You lay there for a few minutes, blinking slowly and watching as Luke shed his clothes and rummaged through his dresser drawers for something. His back was to you and you smiled to yourself, too fucked out to let out a giggle, at his backside. When Luke turned around, two of his gameday ties in hand, he cocked his head to the side at your smile.

“What are you smiling about?” He asked.

“Boy butts are so funny,” You answered. “They’re just so small. Like… where are your hips, Lu?”

Luke blinked a few times, then shook his head. “Oh my God, you’ve lost it.”

“I’ve been thinking it. We need to get you in the gym.”

“You’re being a brat.”

“And your butt is small.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Luke scoffed. He had walked to the bed and was tying one of your hands to his headboard.

“I’m waiting.”

Luke huffed out a laugh at your response. “You’re making it hard to dom you, baby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was the road head not enough?”

Luke shushed you, moving to your other hand and tying that one with the other tie.

“What about the spitting in my mouth and spanking me?” You continue, goading him. 

Luke crawled up your body, kissing up your stomach and chest and neck as he went. 

One more sentence, and he wouldn’t find it so difficult to dominate you for this final stretch. 

He’s hovering over your lips, his breath fanning out over them.

“I bet Johnny could do it better.”

Luke pulled back, jaw dropped. His mouth returned to a strait line and his eyes turned murderous. There it was, there’s the dominance that he thought he lost.

 You smirked at him, proud of yourself for the comment you made, until Luke’s palm made contact with your cheek. Your head turned with the impact and you swore your heart stopped. You were too surprised to say anything. As the seconds of silence passed where you and Luke just stared at each other, same shocked expression on your face, you realized: huh. That’s not so different from when he spanks me.

Then, another second after that: That was kind of… hot.

“Are you okay?” Luke breathed out. He’s practically frozen in place.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Oh my God, Luke, yeah.” You pulled on the restraints above you, itching to get him inside of you. You circled your legs around his waist and raised your hips, trying to make contact with him. “Fuck, Lu, that was so hot, please fuck me.”

Luke blinked twice and searched your face for any discomfort, anything that would show him that you were upset or hurt by his slap. He hadn’t even done it intentionally, just driven by the pure rage of you mentioning John, saying that John could be better for you than Luke was.

It wasn’t until your wiggling hips caused his cock to make contact with your weeping pussy that he began to move.

He started by pinning your hips down.

“Greedy,” he chastised. 

“I need you in me, don’t treat me like I’m made of glass,” you whined.

Luke positioned himself at your entrance and snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one fell swoop.

It knocked all the breath out of you. Even after dating Luke for ages, his size still surprised you.

“How’s that, huh? Can you feel me? Do you think I’m treating you gently?” Luke asked, grinding his teeth as he fucked in and out of you. His skin was slapping against yours and he moved one of our legs so your knee was thrown over his shoulder. “You think Marino could fuck you like this?” He practically spat out John’s name, disgust coating each syllable.

“Probably,” you quipped, your voice snarky. You were itching for Luke to slap you again, or something, because he wasn’t giving it everything. He was still shaken up by the fact that he hit you at all.

“‘Probably,’” He repeated, incredulous. “You’ll never know, will you, baby?” He snaps his hips harder, faster. “This is my pussy. It only gets wet for me, you only spread your legs for me, you can be a slut all you want but only in the confines of these four walls. You can be bad, only right here… where I’m able to fuck. it. out. of you.”

You moan, wanton and long in the back of your throat. Your hands are aching to grab his hair, to twist the curls between your fingers. “Lu, my hand,” you told him.

“What about it?” He asked, not slowing his pace.

“Untie it, please!”

Luke looked down at you, confused. “Why?”

You whined, keening as your back arched and you squeezed his cock. “Need to get a hand on you, Lu, fuck. Wanna pull your hair. So pretty, so much prettier than John’s.”

“Oh,” he whispered, his stomach turning. He reached up to undo the knot, trying to continue to fuck you and untie it at the same time. When your hand came free, it immediately found purchase in his curls. Your fingernails scraped his scalp and his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he bucked into you with uncoordinated thrusts. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. “Gonna make me come.”

“Please,” you begged. “Inside me, inside me–”

Your vision went white and your pussy was like a vice around him as you came.

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke agreed, voice strained. He watched the bliss wash over your features and whined. “Fuck you til you’re full, show everyone you’re all mine.” 

It’s the thought of pumping his seed into you, making you round with his child, that sends Luke over the edge. No one would think to take you from him then, not that you’d ever go. No one would ever be able to call you theirs like he could call you his, not when he’s fucked you full, not when you’re carrying his baby.

“So perfect for me,” Luke mumbled in your ear, collapsing on top of you as he came down from his orgasm. 

“Just for you, Lu.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You paused, rubbing his back. “You know we have to talk about this, right? You’re more than enough and I don’t want you to feel insecure anymore.”

Luke pulled himself out of you, wincing at the sensitivity. “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I think we could both use some rest.”

He got up from the bed and walked into his bathroom, grabbing a towel and coming back to wipe you clean. 

“Can it wait that long?” You fixed him with a look of concern.

“Baby.” Luke cut his eyes at you, then finished wiping you down. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

You shrugged. “Okay,” you agreed, then made yourself comfortable, pulling the covers over your body. You turned over, back to Luke, and spoke like it was an afterthought. “I loved it when you slapped me, you know.”

Luke groaned, leaned over to give you a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

“Mmm, mean Luke gets me hot just like sweet Luke,” you replied. You turned your head and kissed his lips. “I like sweet Luke more, though. Sweet Luke cuddles me while I’m asleep.”

Luke laughed, going to toss the dirty towel in the dirty clothes hamper. “Sweet Luke will be back to cuddle you after he brushes his teeth,” he said.

When he returned, your breath was even and you had already fallen asleep, the ghost of a smile still gracing your lips. Luke bit his tongue, joined you under the covers, and threw his arm over the curve of your waist. Within just a few minutes, he was fast asleep next to you, softly snoring with his nose pressed into your hair.

notes: so, I, uh..... got a little carried away. I just kept having ideas. And I hope it worked out for me, to be fair. Hiiiiiii anon I hope this was good for youuuu love you bigggg I felt so awky-tawky writing some of this because as much as I would looooove a man to treat me like this, it feels so silly to write. Anyway. Loving y'all.

SEND MORE REQUESTS! I'LL GET TO THEM EVENTUALLY (they might not all be this long LOLLL)

[mikkomacko]

Dad!Nico x Reader

A/n: For all my Devs fans that need some soft thoughts tonight 🫶

————————————————————

Thinking about Jersey Leeds Nico coming home from the game tonight all head hung low and droopy eyes.

Jersey is already asleep, the two of you having left the arena early tonight in order to keep her sleep schedule going smoothly.

Nico finds you in the bedroom, dragging his feet until he’s in the doorway and you look up from where you’re doing laundry on the bed to his sad pleading eyes watching you.

“Oh come here my darling,” you coo, immediately holding out your arms for him. Nico curls into you, lets you hold him as he just sags under the weight of the season. You coax him into the bathroom, peeling him out of his suit and shoes with tender fingers before running him a bath.

Nico pouts as he lays in the warm water, feeling pathetic with you sitting on the tile floor beside the tub. Stroking through his over grown hair, you don’t push him to speak and instead allow him to wallow and sink into that empty feeling in his tummy.

A moment passes, the baby monitor on the counter crackles and Nico glances over at it with wet eyes.

“She’s fine,” you assure him, but he knows that. Jersey’s developing the habit of babbling in her sleep and it always disturbs the monitor.

“I’m sad,” Nico finally mumbles. “Wanted a cup for the team, for her, for you . . . M’just pouting in a bathtub now.”

You don’t say anything, just let him speak. By the way his gaze has unfocused you know he’s just venting his thoughts, the things he couldn’t say to media today.

“Last year was the best year of my life. We were good, I was playing and feeling good. Jersey, god don’t get me started on Jersey. She deserves so much better-“

Frowning, you cup his jaw and make him look at you. “Jersey loves her daddy,” you insist “she’s so proud of you and loves watching you play. There’s always set backs Nico, always mistakes and failures, but you have not failed at being an amazing father to our daughter.”

Blinking softly, Nico sniffles and nods, pressing into your palm. “I want to see her,” he tells you “but I don’t want to wake her.”

Shrugging, you get up and motion for him to get out of the tub. You wrap him up in a towel, draining the water while he dries off and slips on some boxers and shorts.

Then, on careful tiptoes you sneak into the nursery where Jersey’s little snores are filling the air. The ballerina nightlight casts silhouettes of dancers and bows on the roof and walls, bathes the room in a peaceful glow.

Nico sneaks up beside her crib, grips the side of it in his hands and peers down at her. You press into his side, an arm around him to rub up and down his bare back.

Jersey is sleeping peacefully, thick eyelashes brushing her cherub cheeks and her lips quiver as she coos little noises to herself.

“That’s your fault,” you whisper fondly “all those bedtime nonsense stories when she was in my belly and now she can’t sleep without talking.”

That empty part in him shrinks, fills up with the love swelling in his heart. Everyday she gets bigger and bigger, and with that his adoration and devotion to being her father grows with it.

A year later and she’s his proudest accomplishment. And he thinks that no amount of Stanley Cups, goals, medals or playoffs appearances can ever top that.

Nico Hischier didn’t win on the ice this season, but he won at everything else.

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter TWO.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, gojo being gojo, cringe contact names. || sfw. 2.6k words. all teams made up (only using cities without real NBA teams). also, i know #6 is a retired jersey number, but it's gojo. so #6 is his.

YOU WERE RIGHT.

You’re always right, and Fushiguro looks your way knowingly when the Sorcerers land third seed in the playoffs two and a half weeks after the Fangs game. A few murmurs spread throughout the team as Kusakabe pulls the bracket up on the screen in the team’s common room, Yaga pacing in front of it with his hands clasped together.

It’s not the third seed that’s the topic of discussion, though.

It’s the first. In both conferences.

“I know,” Yaga starts, “you’re all off your rockers about San Diego. Here’s what I’m gonna tell you: don’t fuckin’ think about San Diego.”

A tall order, not to think about the Curses.

Gojo, sprawled on the couch with Fushiguro on one side and Yuji on the other, groans. He’s wearing a pair of dark, rounded sunglasses indoors, because he’s an idiot who wears sunglasses indoors.

Yaga snaps his fingers and Gojo shuts up. You so, so desperately wish you had that superpower.

“We don’t get to the finals and the Curses don’t even matter, you understand me?” Yaga barks. "You don't think about them 'til you win twelve games minimum. And that's if you're dreaming. We aren't sweeping all the way to championships." Yuta nods solemnly. Ino cracks his knuckles like he’s ready to fight his way up the bracket. Fushiguro doesn’t even blink.

"And are we thinking about the Samurai?" Hakari asks, and Yaga glares at him.

"Again. We don't make it to conference finals, that doesn't matter."

"Yes, sir," Hakari mutters quietly.

Yaga starts laying out the game plan for the first round match against Manhattan, set to be played at home April 15. It’s a Saturday. You think, idly, that maybe you should have chosen a job where you actually have weekends off.

The Sorcerers will probably sweep. Manhattan's sixth seed. Sat against the wall with your laptop propped on a chair and your clipboard in hand, you start jotting down names, emails, people to call to set up press for the team and the coaches, Manhattan's manager to make sure their accommodations are set up. Oh, and you need to set up travel and lodging for the Sorcerers, too, when they play in Manhattan for games three and four. You think they’ll win four straight, but you should have a contingency plan anyway just in case the series goes to game five, or even further. You already know Zenin and Panda are set to commentate again, at least on your home network, which is good—they’ve always been fair, and fair commentary doesn’t create unnecessary issues with the press. You’ll have to look into the usual Manhattan commentators.

You’re so focused on your work that you don’t even notice that the meeting has adjourned until someone plucks your pen from your hand. You protest and look up to see Gojo grinning at you, twirling the pen in his ridiculously large hand and smiling like he’s done you a favor.

“Don’t work so hard,” he says playfully. “You’ll drive yourself into the ground, and then who’ll I steal my pens from?”

“What do you even need pens for?” You scoff and snatch it out of his hand, shoving it into your pocket before he gets any ideas. “If I don’t work so hard, you don’t get press interviews or sponsors or lucrative Nike merchandise lines. Careful what you wish for.”

“So serious,” Gojo chides, leaning against the wall and effectively blocking your view of the rest of the team leaving the room.

“Gojo—”

“Ah! She knows my name!” he crows victoriously, and you groan, raking a hand through your hair. This man is going to be the death of you.

“You’re gonna be late to training,” you say flatly. You know, because you scheduled the gym space. Because you schedule everything. Because you essentially run all of the details of Gojo’s life, and he and the team would be lost without you, and they know this. But Satoru Gojo has no discipline or regard for anyone else’s effort, so here he is, lingering. “Did you need something, or are you just wasting both of our time?”

Gojo presses his lips together in a thin line, tilting his head down at you. You find yourself shifting under his gaze, uncomfortably attentive, his eyes always catching you off guard. Even standing, he’s got more than a foot on you, and though you’re used to being towered over, sometimes you wish you could be the one to look down on Gojo, put him in his place.

“I just—I was gonna tell you you were right.” He clears his throat. “About the seed, I mean. Sorry to doubt you, Miss Manager.”

And strangely, despite his ever-present smirk, he sounds almost… chastened. Apologetic isn’t the right word, but the corners of his lips are turned down just slightly, his tone of voice a little more subdued than usual.

“But you already know that,” he says. “So. I’ll stop, uh, wasting your time.” He tips a nonexistent hat at you, winking over his sunglasses before taking his leave.

It’s the weirdest phenomenon—not Gojo turning his back to you and walking away, but you feeling almost sorry as he does it. Part of you wants to call after him, tell him you didn’t mean to be so harsh, but that’s not necessarily true. You did want to be harsh. You just… might have taken it too far, this time.

But it’s his fault for being careless. Late to practice, careless about the work that keeps his career on track. A buzzing pulls you from your reverie and you spin toward the noise, confused until you locate the phone going off on the couch cushions where Gojo sat only minutes before.

In theory, the phone could be Fushiguro’s or Itadori’s, but the case is bright blue. You’ve never known Megumi Fushiguro to have color anywhere on his person unless absolutely necessary, and you know for a fact that Yuji’s phone case has a cat on it.

When you get closer, you see the outline of the Nike swoosh with the Limitless print laid over it. Of course Gojo would wear his own merch. Jesus.

“Irresponsible,” you mutter as you walk over to it, plopping down on the couch and sighing as the notifications swarm Gojo’s lock screen.

gumi: you coming?? gumi: if you need a minute i can cover for you gumi: you seemed off. one of those days?

The first thing that strikes you is the name. Gumi? The team uses first names often enough, but this isn’t a nickname you’ve ever heard for Megumi. Not in public, at least.

captain kento (derogatory): Fushiguro said you had to take care of something. I’ll fill you in on the drills we ran later. Take care.

You frown.

You seemed off. Did he? Gojo seemed just as obnoxious as ever to you. And it’s not as though this is your doing—even if he’d seemed downtrodden after your conversation, the rest of the team had already gone.

The screen lights up with a new message.

gumi: call me when you can

You slam the phone face-down on the cushion beside you, suddenly feeling like you’ve been intruding. It wasn’t your fault, you reason. He’s the one who left it here.

As another incessant buzzing starts up, you jump, and it takes you a moment to realize it’s your own phone this time with an incoming call. You don’t recognize the number, but you know 212 is a Manhattan area code. It’s the Phantoms manager, responding to your earlier email.

You answer and press the phone to your ear, grabbing Gojo’s as you stand and cross the room to the mess of jackets the team left along the wall. You find the one with the blue 6 embroidered on the sleeve and tuck Gojo’s cell into the pocket, then retreat to your office as the Phantoms manager exchanges pleasantries.

Whatever those texts were about isn’t your business, or your problem. You have work to do.

—

You don't see much of Gojo in the week leading up to the playoff game.

You’ve been so wrapped up in work, in hectic travel and games and organizing everything with Manhattan and the press and the coaches and the sponsors, in planning all of Gojo’s appearances, that you haven’t really realized he hasn’t made many appearances of his own lately.

You’ve seen him around, sure, but he hasn’t cornered you or stolen your pen or teased you the way he’s so prone to. It’s almost unsettling, this sudden absence of his antics.

Almost.

Unfortunately, you have to seek him out now, because Nike wants to renew their contract, and you need Gojo’s signature.

“If you want my autograph so bad, you can just ask, y’know,” he says with a shit-eating grin when you finally find him, talking to Fushiguro near the gym doors.

Gumi, your mind supplies unhelpfully. He raises a brow when your gaze lingers on him a second too long, and you quickly turn back to Gojo and shove the clipboard into his hands. God, he does have really big hands. No wonder he can palm a basketball and make it from past the three-point line.

“I want your cooperation,” you correct, raising a brow. “Unless you don’t want the Limitless line anymore?”

Gojo scribbles his name on the paper with a new urgency. You smirk.

“So, how’re you feeling?” you ask, and though you’re looking at Fushiguro, you know Gojo will answer too, because he’s Gojo.

“Just wonderful, now that the great Alley-oop has graced us with her presence,” Gojo says, handing the clipboard back, and you roll your eyes at the nickname. Someone clears their throat at the doors to the gym and Gojo turns to see Kento.

“Gojo,” Kento says. “A word? I want to go over the new screen one more time.”

Gojo grins at you. “Don’t wait up.” And then he’s off with Kento, and you’re left with Fushiguro, who’s looking at you strangely.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you point out.

And he still doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, leaning back against the wall, like he’s considering something.

“He’s not a bad guy, y’know,” he finally says, leveling you with that even stare only Megumi can pull off. You click the pen closed (because Gojo didn’t, because he never does) and slip it into your pocket.

“I didn’t say—”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “And I also know you don’t like him. And I get it. But listen. Gojo is cocky and annoying and loud. But he’s also a good guy, when it comes down to it. You know why he left the Curses, don’t you?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah?” You were there, after all.

After the first few years of your career in management, you’d honestly considered leaving. Maybe you should have tried harder in college, followed some of your D1 teammates to the WNBA.

The Curses were intolerable—stuck up, presumptuous. Your first year actually hadn’t been so bad, but after Gojo left, it was like Suguru Geto became a whole different person. He was brash and rude and commanding, and the whole team suffered for it, and you honestly thanked god when your contract was up. You were about take a huge pay cut for a WNBA job in the Midwest, just to get away, when Yaga reached out.

The Sorcerers aren’t like that. They’re nice to you, appreciative; they include you like you’re an actual, valued team member. You get to work with Ieiri, you’re compensated well, and you have more autonomy under Yaga and the team owners than you ever did with San Diego.

You figure Gojo just takes the environment for granted. Or at least, you did, but Megumi’s looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what you know, and you suddenly aren’t sure you know anything at all.

“He got into that fight with Geto,” you say slowly. “And then he said if the Curses didn’t trade him he’d break contract and just—quit.” You called it a hissy fit when you explained it to your friends. They’d fought like teenage boys, right there on the practice court, shoving and shouting.

“You know that’s when I was getting drafted?” Megumi asks. You frown. You didn’t really put the timeline together, but it makes sense. “Suguru Geto essentially blacklisted me from the Curses. Said he’d make my life a living hell if they recruited me.”

“What?” You’re floored, scrambling for words you can’t find. “Why? Why the hell would he do that?”

Megumi shrugs. “Didn’t want to share his best friend, I guess. Felt threatened? I don’t know. But Gojo wouldn’t stand for it. He, uh. Knew me before, and so did Geto. He’s known me for a long time, actually.” He scratches the back of his neck self-consciously. “Apparently, they got into some huge fight over it. Over—me, I guess. And Gojo said if Geto was so hellbent on not drafting me, he’d go somewhere that would.”

You’re stunned straight into silence. You thought their fight was about superficial shit, or fighting for their shared position as centers. Not about a person. Not about Megumi Fushiguro.

“Fushiguro!” someone shouts, and he pushes off the wall and gives you another one of those looks. You can’t entirely decipher what it means, but there are suddenly so many thoughts fighting for dominance in your mind you don’t know what to do with them.

Fuck.

You shake your head like you can dispel all the cognitive dissonance with the motion, and then you sigh and turn down the hall with the intention of finding Ieiri.

But the woman who rounds the corner and nearly smacks right into you isn’t Ieiri. It’s the new marketing and media coordinator, and suddenly you’re cursing yourself out because you can’t remember her name. She grins at you.

“Oh, hey!” She sticks out a hand and you take it. She’s younger, probably around Yuji’s age, and a recent hire. “Kugisaki. Uh, Nobara, if you want.”

“Nobara.” You smile, glad that she reintroduced herself, and give her your name again in turn. “You’ve met all the guys? Liking the job so far?”

“Yeah! They’re great. And I think we’re gonna have a lot of good video ops during playoffs.” She glances at her watch. “I’ll probably try to catch some of them on the sidelines after.”

You snort, thinking of Gojo and his affinity for being on camera. “That won’t be a problem,” you assure her. “You seen Ieiri anywhere?”

“Shoko?” Nobara tilts her head. “Yeah, she’s in the training room.”

You wish Nobara good luck with her sideline interviews and head back to Ieiri’s home base, where you find her leaving the room with her med bag. “Why do you look like someone kicked a cat?”

“I do not,” you grumble, but she’s always been able to see right through you. She walks in step with you toward the gym, side-eyeing you until you give in. “It’s just—you’ve known Gojo for a while, right?”

Ieiri hums in confirmation and you find yourself tapping your fingers against the clipboard. “I just—do you think I’m too hard on him?”

“On Gojo?” she snorts. “Nobody’s hard enough on Gojo.” But when you don’t respond, she registers your levity and sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s obnoxious. He’s a little shit. But he’s a good guy.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, bitter. “That’s what everyone seems to be saying.” An assistant passing you and Ieiri presses headsets into your hands, and you thank him absentmindedly and loop them around your neck.

Ieiri doesn’t press the matter, and you have no more time to. The team runs past you into the gym, a few of them patting you on the back or high-fiving you as they go. Gojo hollers something at Kento as he runs through the doors with his arms spread wide, greeting the raucous cheers of a packed gym once again.

“I need a smoke,” Ieiri mutters, and yeah, that sounds real damn nice.

“Well, we get what we get,” you sigh, and pull on the headset.

Zenin is already spewing both teams’ season records at full speed, Panda chiming in with more player-specific notes.

“And here come our visitors, the Manhattan Phantoms in full force!” she announces. “Buckle up, folks. It’s time for playoffs!”

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[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

trent frederic.

word count: 5.0k

warning: explicit content

"can you blow my mind?" — tyla

A/N: i recently received a request for trent and a leafs fan. i was given creative freedom and this is what i came up with. hope you like it, nonny <3

- - -

Bruins win Game 7 in OT.

The headlines came out at a rapid rate, informing the rest of the world that the Boston Bruins made it out of the first round and turned the Toronto Maple Leafs into mulch. Again.

Trent Frederic, along with a few teammates, were on too much of a high to return to their rooms at the hotel they’d been staying in just yet. Though they were home in Boston, coach Jim Montgomery thought it would be smarter to have the guys stay in a hotel instead of going back to their homes and apartments. Team bonding, he said.

The bunch set off for the bar inside the hotel, only a few blocks away from TD Garden, waiting a few hours before slipping in nonchalantly. They weren’t trying to get outed too fast, and they usually didn’t. Even once they were recognized, not much came of it. Most people were too drunk by then to make a scene, anyway.

So they sat down at the bar and ordered a few beers, celebrating accordingly and talking amongst themselves. They would finally let loose for just a night before the inevitable start of round 2 in just two days. They’d be having practice the next morning and flying down to Sunrise, Florida to face the Panthers, who were on their extensive break after knocking the Lightning in just 5 games.

Trent decided he’d had enough after his fourth beer, so he left his share and stood up to make his way out. As he turned around, his body hit something with a thud. He looked down and saw what it was that he came into contact with; a thin blonde woman with her arms out, jaw slack, and an empty hand that once held her drink.

Oh, and a Maple Leafs jersey.

“Oh, shit,” Trent muttered, compressing his lips.

You scoffed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I can get you a new one.”

You looked up, a look of guilt on your face as your hands fell back down to your sides. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going, too—”

You paused.

“Where do I know you?”

He remained silent, shooting you a look as if to tell you that it should be obvious. It wasn’t long before your face dropped and it hit you. He suppressed a grin at your realization and parted his lips to speak.

“Name’s Trent,” he spoke smoothly, “but something tells me you already figured that out.”

“Well, you’re one of the last people I’d like to see right now,” you rolled your eyes, arms folded. “What’s a guy like you doing at some random bar at,” you looked at your watch, “12 in the morning after the game where you just knocked my team out of the playoffs?”

“Had to celebrate somehow,” he winked.

“Oh, god,” you grimaced. “I really do hate you guys.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he laughed, putting his abnormally large hands on his hips. Your eyes subtly followed their path.

“Lighten up,” he teased. “C’mon. What’s your name? I know you’re not a,” he pinched the fabric of your jersey and pulled it to see the numbers, “Marner. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

You sighed at his remark and told him your name, but he made a face afterward.

“Too long.”

“Too long?”

“I think I’ll stick to Marner,” he told you, much to your dismay.

“Gross,” you replied irritatedly. “I don’t particularly feel like giving you the privilege of using a nickname. Just use my real name like everyone else. ”

“I’m all set, actually. I think I’ll stick to mine.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“You gonna let me buy your drink or keep bitching about who I am?”

“Fine,” you sighed, “buy me the damn drink.”

He and you made your way to the other side of the bar, far enough away from the rest of the guys and the few friends you went with that you wouldn’t be noticed. You sat next to each other on the bar stools, Trent talking your ear off and you reluctantly replying with mostly one-word responses.

“You can’t be that angry with me,” he finally spoke, breaking another silence. “I’m not the whole team, you know.”

“I can and I will,” you shrugged, sipping your almost-empty drink.

“If you won’t talk, then I’ll just have to make you talk.”

He put his elbows down on the table and turned his head to face you, “Why’d you decide to come out in public after that game? I wouldn’t have even bothered to show my face in a bar wearing that. You here with other people or something?”

“I came with a couple of friends.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

You looked down. “They wanted to come down here. I told them it was probably a bad idea because of the fact that we’re, you know, Leafs fans. They did it anyway so I just tagged along.”

“Bet you didn’t expect to run into me,” he nudged you with his shoulder, bringing a faint smile to your lips. “There you go,” he teased when he noticed your expression. “See? I’m not so bad.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy is a bad look for a woman like me,” you retorted, a playful undertone to your words. It was uncharacteristic compared to the closed-off manner you had with every other response. You wouldn’t admit that, however.

“Oh, she jokes,” he took the final sip of the drink he’d bought himself upon sitting with you, even after deciding he’d had his last beforehand.

“Shut up, Frederic.”

“We’ve regressed to my last name now? Can’t even call me by my first?”

“But you won’t use mine at all,” you rolled your eyes, “Trent.”

You looked at him for maybe a tad longer than you should’ve, eyes slowly moving down his body. He wore a white collared shirt that hugged his arms and gray dress pants that looked awfully tight around his thighs. You couldn’t help but notice the facial hair he’d grown since the start of the round, giving him a gingery mustache with a somewhat patchy beard. You’d seen what he looked like before that and were undoubtedly intrigued by it, regardless of whatever grudges you held against him. But you couldn’t let him know that.

So you turned to face the television above the bar, watching the commercial in a quiet trance as if nothing happened.

“Hey,” he tapped his finger on the bartop, diverting your attention back to him. “Tell me something,” he softly requested as you looked back, adjusting his body to face yours. “Why did you let me buy you the new drink if you weren’t going to talk to me, hm?”

You swallowed, “I wasn’t going to be rude.”

“The real reason,” he pressed.

“There is no real reason.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “so why were you staring at me before?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lowered his voice and brought his face just slightly closer, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I mean,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders, “unless I didn’t see you looking for a while there. But I’m pretty sure I know what I saw.”

“Just…just shut up, Trent, alright?”

“Sounds like I hit a nerve,” he noted and you rolled your eyes. “You know, you’re cute when you’re irritable.”

His grin widened when you shook your head again, promptly informing him of how annoying he was once again. “But if I’m really being honest here,” he lifted his fingers and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think you’re pretty.”

At this, your hardened exterior softened. Your head turned just slightly so that he was in your field of view and you sighed gently. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

“I, um,” you cleared your throat, taking a breath, “I was looking before.”

“I know,” he softly responded, hand slipping down until his palm rested on your thigh. Initially, you flinched at the contact, but your muscles relaxed when you realized it was a warm gesture rather than one with malicious intent.

“You don’t have to be so cold,” he told you. “No matter who I play for, I’m just a guy.”

You were more attracted to him than you wanted to let on, and it surely didn’t help that he was being nicer to you. You suppressed a smile and faced him fully.

“It’s not that, it’s—it’s the point,” you flatly responded.

“You can look at me again,” he teased, thumb rubbing your thigh. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Your gaze lingered on him again, eyes flitting down to his lips before you looked away. It wasn’t hard for him to see through you—after all, you allowed him to keep his hand where it was, even after refuting his words. He took notice of your wandering eyes and finally pieced it together.

“Like the new look, eh?”

Your brows furrowed and you swallowed, “What new look…?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” he replied with certainty. “You have a thing for the scruff?”

“Please. I don’t even know what you looked like before that,” you lied, taking an unsteady breath.

“Doesn’t change that you were looking at it, does it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, lips parted as you tried to think up an excuse. “No,” you finally gave up, letting your head hang down. “It doesn’t, because I have seen you before and I do have a thing for it. For you,” you shook your head, laughing at the reality of how weak you truly were. How stupid you must have looked to him. “So tease me all you want, say that you told me so—you’re right.”

A ringed finger slipped under your chin and tilted your head toward him, his face mere inches away from yours.

“I’m not going to tease you.”

You swallowed, expression falling as your eyes locked with his. They were brown, you noticed. And they were…warm. They largely contrasted how he looked at you previously. It brought you to an entranced sort of state.

His touch was soft, comforting. But in a way that made you want him more. Caused your mind to wander to places you knew it shouldn’t have gone. It felt good. Really good.

And you had no business wondering what the rest of him would feel like on you.

“Where are you staying?” you blurted out.

“Upstairs.”

“Take me,” the words left your mouth before you could protest.

An eyebrow raised and his grin turned to a smile. “Gladly,” he whispered, lowering his hand and standing up.

He held his hand out and you hesitantly took it, allowing him to discreetly walk you toward the exit of the bar. You ducked when you saw your friends, praying that by some miracle they didn’t see you walk out with Trent Frederic.

“Trent,” you whispered, clutching onto him harder now that you couldn’t be hidden by the darkness of the bar any longer. “What if someone saw?”

“You would’ve known by now. Trust me,” he reassured you as the elevator doors slid open. You walked in and the doors shut, enclosing you in the small space. “And if anyone did,” he started, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck, “it’s none of their business, anyway.”

“Mhm,” you agreed softly, eyes beginning to close when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

“See? Not so hard to agree, is it?”

“Mm…no…”

He laughed softly in your ear and pressed a tiny kiss to the skin behind it. He intricately placed a few more on the exposed skin, prompting a faint hum from your lips as the doors slid back open. His hand found its place on your waist as he gently pushed you out, guiding you down the hallway and finally stopping in front of his door.

By now, you’d become urgent—urgent to feel his lips on yours no matter how much you told yourself it was a stupid idea. You lived in Toronto; a whopping 500 miles away. And he played for Boston, the team you hated with a passion so strong that you vowed to never let yourself be endeared by them. Yet there you were, standing next to the forward who contributed to your favorite team’s loss, wanting nothing more than for him to make you feel oh, so good.

And he would.

The door clicked open and he pushed the lever down, stepping aside to let you in. He was quick to pin you to the door with his body, arm coming up behind your head to lock it and toss the room card to the side.

“I can’t believe I let you charm me.”

“What can I say,” he rasped, leaning in closer, “I know how to get a girl in my room.”

His lips finally connected with yours and you immediately reciprocated, hand flattening against his chest and gripping the material of his shirt. You pulled him closer, slipping your free hand around his neck before tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The hair above his lips rubbed against your skin, the feeling eliciting a faint hum from your mouth into his. He grinned at this and hooked his fingers under the blue jersey you wore, pulling away promptly and carefully lifting it up.

“Taking this shit off,” he mumbled, pulling the fabric over your head and discarding it to the floor. “You’d look much better with mine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Not going to happen, Trent.”

“We’ll see,” he grinned, moving his lips to your neck and marking up the skin, drawing whimpers from your mouth.

Your hand snaked into his hair, fingers threading between the dusty ginger strands as you pushed his head closer. He kissed up to your jaw, sliding his hand up to your neck, the other placed on the bare skin of your hip. His fingers pressed into the nape of your neck and his thumb rested just under your chin, hand pressing the back of your head against the door as his lips kissed a path down your jawline.

“Shit,” you moaned breathily, reaching for the buttons on his shirt as his mouth returned to yours hungrily.

You worked your way down, the material of his shirt parting and exposing his skin as each button fell open. His tongue slipped between your lips, grazing your teeth before rolling over yours languidly. Soft fingers untucked his open shirt from his pants and began to trace his stomach, moving slowly up to his firm chest. The action caused the large hand around your neck to tighten its hold, prying a moan from your throat.

“Didn’t know,” you panted, “—didn’t know you wore a chain.”

“Like it, mm?”

The way he grinned down at you brought a lump to your throat. He made you nervous. Weak, even. And the height at which he stood compared to you surely didn’t help. So you nodded curtly in response, hoping he’d take the hint and not press you further.

But he took it and instead removed his hand from your neck to slide it down and meet the other at your lower back, promptly hoisting you up. Your hands moved to his face and held it while you continued to kiss him, him walking the two of you away from the door and in the direction of the bed. You kicked your shoes off just as he grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall outside the bathroom and laid it lazily atop the sheets. He then lowered you onto your back and let go, allowing you to lie comfortably on the bed as he remained on his knees in front of you.

He quickly shed himself of the torn-open shirt and tossed it toward the empty bed on the other side of the room. His body soon hovered over yours, an arm on the bed on each side of your head as he kissed you again. His lips moved to your neck once again, working the skin until soft moans slipped through your parted ones.

“Trent,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling deeply, “isn’t…isn’t someone else staying here with you? There’s—mm—two beds.”

“There was,” he mumbled into your skin, moving down to your collarbones.

“So couldn’t we get—”

“Was,” he repeated. “He already went home to his girlfriend. And I have both room keys.” He chuckled softly and reached around your back to unclasp your bra, the fabric coming loose on your chest. “So relax.”

You nodded and lifted your arms for him to pull it off, him letting it fall from his hand before kissing a path down the valley of your chest. His body moved down as he continued down to your stomach, then to your waist where his fingers hooked in your pants and slid them down your legs.

You kicked them off and opened your legs, allowing Trent to slip between them. He gently kissed your inner thigh, slowly working his way up until he reached the lacy fabric that covered your skin. He looked up, making and not breaking eye contact with you as he took the waistband between his teeth and tugged the fabric slowly down your legs. As he rose upwards, they and your pants were dropped to the floor.

Warm breath fanned the skin between your aching thighs, awaiting his touch oh, so impatiently. His fingers brushed the area, dragging themselves slowly up and down. His eyes flitted up to you, a faint grin playing on his lips before focusing back down.

“God, you’re wet,” he rasped, leaning down and settling his face between your thighs, your legs atop his shoulders. His hands wrapped around your outer thighs and gripped them, pulling you in promptly.

“Especially for someone who claims to hate me so much.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned, “Think that’ll make me like you any more?”

“No, but maybe this will.”

With that, his mouth wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling around and eliciting a gasp of shock from your parted lips. Your eyes widened as he sucked gently, hands kneading the warm flesh of your thighs.

He then trailed downward, planting small, light kisses on the sensitive flesh, all before his tongue carefully parted your folds and delved slowly inside. Your fingers gingerly threaded into his strands, palm flattening itself on the back of his head as you pushed him down, your body weak with the need for more friction.

The hair that had recently grown above his lips brushed against your skin, rubbing back and forth forcefully and bringing meaning to the term, ‘hurts so good.’

“God, fuck,” you groaned, hands tenaciously gripping the sheets and his curls as his tongue moved in a rhythm that was just enough to make you long for more.

He lapped at you mercilessly, expert movements of his tongue coaxing soft moans from your mouth. A cocky grin stretched across his lips as he brought you to the brink, then pulled away, forcing a whimper from you at the loss of contact.

A large hand was removed from your thigh and brought between your legs, knuckles once again dragging lazily along the sensitive, needy skin, but refusing to give you the satisfaction of doing what you wanted most. He was teasing you; punishing you for the way in which you treated him earlier without giving him as much as a chance to prove himself.

“Trent,” you whined impatiently, hips writhing involuntarily against his bearded face.

“Mm…what?”

You refused to admit the irrevocable attraction you had to him because you didn’t want to let him win. And now he was being a bitch to you, just like you were to him. He chuckled softly and pressed the tip of his finger to your entrance, allowing you to feel the small bit of pressure that came with it. 

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers tightening in his curls.

Enough was enough and he pushed the finger in, drawing a moan from your lips before adding another and thrusting them in and out with no room for complaint. The cold metal of his ring brushed against your sensitive inner walls and you gasped at the initial contact, your rampant mind having forgotten about the jewelry to begin with. And deep down, you loved it.

His mouth returned to your skin, tongue licking small stripes on the mound of flesh above his fingers, the scruff on his chin rubbing roughly against it. You knew you were going to have burns on your skin caused by his facial hair but you didn’t care; you just wanted to keep feeling him.

“Trent, don’t stop.”

He laughed quietly and sped up the pace of his fingers, urging you even closer to the edge. Your thighs closed in around his head, hand still pushing his head down. He hummed in satisfaction, the noise vibrating against your skin as he felt you clench around his long fingers.

His lips sucked on your clit in a steady pattern, causing your release to rip through you, prying a moan from deep within your stomach. You fisted the sheets tighter as your hips writhed against his face and fingers, legs beginning to shake from the pressure. Trent continued to work you through it, tongue lapping up the wetness that accumulated until you sunk back down into the mattress, spent.

Slowly he removed his fingers, first bringing them to his lips to lick them clean before rising back up. You inched backward on the bed until your head pressed against the pillow, Trent following and planting himself on his knees between your legs. His fingers reached down and fumbled with the buckle on his belt, eyes never leaving your body in the process. It wasn’t long before his belt haphazardly hit the floor, then his pants and his painfully hard cock was freed from its constraints. A rough palm placed itself on your knee, rubbing it slowly.

“Trent,” you swallowed, drawing his attention back up to your face. “Con—”

He raised his hand to cut you off, a gold wrapper resting comfortably between his index and middle fingers. The action having rendered you silent, he promptly took the foil between his teeth and pulled, spitting out the excess before taking out the latex and rolling it onto himself. You soon felt the pressure of him at your entrance, legs subconsciously widening to let him slip between them further, then heard the sound of him groaning as he pushed into you.

You swore it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

He leaned forward slowly, giving you just a moment’s time to adjust to his size as he stretched you out. Your breaths were unsteady, eyes screwed shut as your fingers maintained their forceful grip on the sheets around you. Your mind was racing, but you knew one thing for certain—the man was about to fucking blow it. His body hovered above yours as he kissed a path from your stomach up to your neck, hands pressing into the mattress on each side of you.

“Where did you,” you breathed, “get that?”

“Pocket,” he rasped, mustache brushing against your neck.

Eyes wide, you responded, “That’s not—”

“Relax,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. “I put it in there today.”

Then you impatiently lifted a hand to the back of his head and pushed his lips onto yours, kissing him urgently and wordlessly telling him to just move. He obeyed your silent command and pushed his hips into yours, burying his dick into you before pulling back, leaving only the tip inside. He repeated the process at a steady, slow rhythm—tortuously slow, at that—until your back was arching, hand in his hair sliding down to his shoulder blade as the long, coffin-shaped nails dug into his soft skin. The chain that you’d noticed earlier tapped against your cheek, the feeling provoking you to throw your head back against the pillow.

His hand slid up your front, fingers curling around to the nape of your neck and thumb resting under your chin once again, pulling your head back up as he quickened his pace, driving into you with more force. Every inch of his thick cock slid smoothly along your velvety walls, your mouth frozen in its open state as his lips worked at your neck again. And god, you just couldn’t understand what made you hate that guy in the first place. It must have slipped your mind completely.

Upon the first thrust of his hips, he felt just how tight you enveloped him. The immense pressure of you wrapped around his strained length, practically squeezing it. The age-old trick of conjuring up the most repulsive of thoughts seemed nothing but moronic to him in the past, yet for some reason he found himself naming off presidents in his head to prevent from coming so fucking soon. He only wished that he could feel it; really feel it, if it weren’t for that godforsaken rubber that separated him from you.

And he’d make it his mission to do so, whether you lived five hundred miles away or not.

He just hoped he’d last when he finally did.

The hand around your throat closed just slightly, using just enough pressure to threaten your intake of breath without causing any pain. It was delicious. You didn’t have the will to fight it—your body had already submitted to him long before, and there wasn’t much that you could focus on other than the feeling of him roughly thrusting into you, lips marking up one side of your neck while his hand firmly gripped the other.

The sounds of your mixed moans bounced off of the walls and you began to wonder whether anyone could hear it or not; if any of his teammates were close by, walking back to their rooms from the bar. The thought instilled enough fear for you to weakly voice it.

“What if—ah—what if someone hears us?”

“Let them,” he rasped, kissing behind your ear.

“But—”

“God, shut up,” he pushed his lips to yours, swallowing your words, moans, and expletives that threatened to destroy your mediocre attempt to stay quiet. His tongue rolled over yours, low hums reverberating in your mouth and filling your ears.

Finally, he released his hold from your neck, allowing the air to flow smoothly into your lungs once more. The hand reached for yours, roughly threading his fingers between yours before pushing the two forward and pinning the back of your hand to the headboard behind you. You let out a whimper at the sudden contact but quickly gripped his hand with a matching force to his as he hit the sweet spot inside you and a familiar pit in your stomach formed.

“Close,” you panted, back arching off of the bed and forcing your front to press firmly into his.

“I know,” he told you, grip tightening as the taut line in your stomach snapped.

His mouth enveloped yours again to swallow your noises, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. Your inner walls constricted around his length as you hit your climax, nails digging into his back as you grasped desperately at him for stability, support—any sort of strength that he could provide you with. And he did, grunting sporadically as he fucked you through your second orgasm, thrusts growing sloppier.

It wasn’t long before he twitched inside you, hitting his own peak and letting out a deep moan. Your name—to your surprise—left his lips in a slurred form, repeating it softly as if it were a hymn. Sweat coated your forehead, droplets dripping slowly down your face, and the frontward strands of your hair had grown wet. His curls dripped with his own sweat as his lips hovered just centimeters above yours, warm breath fanning your face and gaze aligning with yours.

You finally swallowed, “Wow.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, hand letting go of yours and gently running up and down your side.

He waited a moment and carefully pulled out, the action drawing your eyes shut before he slipped off the used latex and disposed of it. You adjusted yourself as he did so, ridding the bed of the towel and briefly cleaning yourself up before you felt a piece of fabric hit your arm. You looked down to see a large, black t-shirt on the bed and grabbed it, quickly slipping it on as he walked back over. He motioned you under the sheets and you silently obliged.

Your back pressed against his chest, chain pressing into the skin as an arm wrapped around you and a hand flattened on your stomach. His other fingers pushed your hair to the side, exposing the skin to his eyes, and he saw the faint marks his fingers left on your neck. A pair of lips brushed against your ear and the soft rasp of his voice returned.

“You know, that’s a Bruins shirt,” he teased, scruff grazing your damp skin as his lips connected with your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you flatly responded.

“Going against your word pretty fast, eh?”

“Yeah, well,” you started, nuzzling back into him. “I told you I hated you and ended up in your bed, so,” you turned to him slightly, “unreliable source.”

He chuckled softly and brought his fingers up to brush your hair back, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “Night, Marner.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and he laughed one final time before closing his eyes and relaxing into you.

So, against everything that you stood for just hours before, you fell asleep in Trent Frederic’s arms without much forethought. In his shirt and his bed, effectively leaving your friends behind because they’d for some odd reason just slipped your mind completely.

And when Trent woke up the next morning, he was no longer in your company, much to his dismay. Any trace of your presence the night before had perished, down to the towel on the floor. But there was one thing—one saving grace that caught his eye as he scanned the room.

A piece of paper on the nightstand with a phone number scribbled on it and a small note below it that read,

“For the next time you’re in Toronto.”

[larsnicklas]

What is that people don't understand about Barky?

eh i think it's less that he's misunderstood as it's.... idk. that he flies very under the radar by choice and tends to be overshadowed by flashier personalities. on purpose. i guess if there's one thing i'd say — with the caveat that none of us know the guy personally! — i don't really think he's shy at all, which is how he was described a TON when he was younger. he speaks when he has something to say and has always had yappers in the leadership group to balance things out lmao. but he's so funny!!! and tbh the older he gets the more he lets his personality show on camera i think lol

i, a longtime nicke enthusiast, am used to basically all of this and even drawn to these traits, and therefore voraciously consume every longform sasha interview/piece that is available to me in order to kind of get a grasp on what makes the guy tick. here are a few of my favorites + a few highlight videos for fun!

SASHA MINI PRIMER ⬇️ aka an incomplete but lovingly curated collection of required reading/videos/essential moments below the cut!!!

📰 Sushi With Sasha: Barkov jests that all being captain really means is, “I have to open my mouth sometimes.” [...] The fact Barkov cracks wise about his quiet ways, though, is in line with a defining characteristic — knowing how to pick your spots, both with the puck and one-liners. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” says Pittsburgh Penguins defenceman and fellow Finn Olli Maatta. “Definitely not the loudest guy in the room, but when you get to know him he has almost like a sneaky sense of humour.”

🎥 32 Thoughts: Barkov Reminisces About Panthers Magical Playoff Run (he is so cute in this. hair fluffy. smiley. sweet.)

📰 Q&A: Sasha Barkov is home in Finland and discusses his love of chicken wings, Jaromir Jagr and the Miami Heat: How fast does that car go? Well, 65 is the speed limit, right? So, 66. But I think it would hit 200 if you really pushed it.

🎥 Aleksander Barkov Shootout Goals But They Get Increasingly More Impressive (what it says on the tin)

📰 The NHL’s new Patrice Bergeron? Panthers’ Aleksander Barkov fits the bill — ‘He does everything right: Affable as always, Barkov, despite his short offseason, looked noticeably more jacked than he’d even been during the Panthers’ tremendous playoff run. He smiled and extended his hand before discussing his motivation to captain the Panthers back to the spot that had been so grueling to get to in the first place.

📰 Barkov Keeps His Cool: It’s right after one of those long days of work at the rink in November that Barkov, known better around the locker room as “Sasha,” has me on his car’s speakerphone as he works to traverse through a bit of traffic around rush hour. In the background, vehicles can be heard zooming and honking around him. But just like he does on the ice, the Panthers captain is keeping his cool. As he maneuvers through congestion with his foot tap dancing on the pedal, he doesn’t talk much about his extension, but rather of the first time he attempted to traverse the highways of South Florida as a fresh-faced, 18-year-old hockey prodigy during his rookie season in 2013.

🎙️/ 🎥 The Hockey PDOcast Episode: Aleksander Barkov's Defensive Impact and How He Does It (analysis of barkov as a player with accompanying video clips)

🎥 Panthers Celebrate Captain Aleksander Barkov (this video is so fucking funny to me because joe t.hornton just talks for ten seconds about how big sasha is. which. yeah real.)

📰 Dwyane Wade crashes into fan at Heat game -- Panthers star Aleksander Barkov: Barkov said he would like to see Wade at a Panthers game this season. The Panthers play at BB&T Center in Sunrise, which is 35 miles north of AmericanAirlines Arena, where the Heat play. Barkov predicted Wade would get a standing ovation from Panthers fans and said he wouldn't let boards stop him from trying to see Wade during that game. "I'll try my best to fly over him," Barkov said.

🎥 Ask Me Anything | Aleksander Barkov (this is where he says his dream golf quartet is his ex bf his current work wife and his dilf mentor)

📰 Q&A with Sasha Barkov: Fast cars, Miami sports and his first move as NHL commish: Yeah, the palm trees were cool and he really liked the ocean. But he also liked to drive. To do that, he needed to head to the DMV and get himself a Florida driver’s license. “I don’t have a car but I have the license,” Barkov said during his first training camp with the Panthers in 2013. “I failed the first time because I didn’t understand the questions.”

🎥 Laine and Barkov go to town on Finnish chicken wings (literally just a minute long video of them eating chicken wings LOL)

🎥 ALEKSANDER BARKOV VS. PAVEL BARBER | HockeyShot Shootout Challenge! (silly trickshot video... fans throw rats at sasha and he's like thank you :D... it's like an artificial sheet on the beach, sasha is very cute)

[jj-5656]

First and Last With; James Potter

A/N: Hello again! I finally finished that wonderful request, so sorry it took forever. Football (NFL playoffs) and school preparations have kept me preoccupied. Winter break is over and I’m absolutely devastated. For anyone in college, I wish you luck for this Spring Semester. But with that being said, school starting back up means I likely won’t upload as much. So I apologize in advance. Regardless, I hope this makes up for the wait on this request. To the lovely anon and all others, enjoy!

Summary: The one where the Marauders vacation to the Potter’s beach house, and a revealing drinking game ensues...

TW: Descriptions of panic attacks, Sirius is an ass as usual, a lot of mutual pining.

   “Marlene, you have packed half of your house and more, it’s just a week’s vacation.”

“Anything could happen, Sirius. Better to be over prepared than under prepared.”

“I’m just happy James is filthy rich.” Dorcas deadpans, straightening when you and Lilly shoot her a disapproving look. “And so, very generous at the same time.”

“I’m not filthy rich.” James laughs, taking your bags from your grasp and loading them into the trunk for you. Amongst all of your friends belongings, piled high enough to reach the top of the van you’ve rented for the adventure. “We’re just...Comfortable.”

“That’s what all rich people say.” You and Remus look to each other, stunned at your simultaneous blunt confessions. 

“Shush, the lot of you.” Lilly chides, never sparing commonalities. 

“Remind me why we couldn’t just use floo powder? I’m already sweating, and my complexion does not do well in heat.” Sirius fans himself dramatically. James allows you to lift yourself over the mountains of bags with his arm for support in order to reply. 

“When have any of you experienced the adventure of a road trip?” You’re beaming at the thought, James takes your distraction as an opportunity to admire your unusually giddy attitude. Though the real reason you’re so eager to be away from home pulls at his mind, his grin faltering. He pokes your side, grabbing your attention. 

“Miss sunshine gets shotgun, I’ve called it.”

“Prongs, I thought you’d have wanted me to be your passenger princess?”

“Absolutely not, though I’ll miss those luscious locks of yours. I’m driving, so I select my navigator.”

“You’ve been there a million times.” You note, crossing your arms incredulously. James smirks, placing his burgundy and gold quidditch cap atop your head. 

“I’d much rather you keep me company.” He says so only you can hear, unknowing of your flushing when he turns back to Sirius. “Pads, Moons is gonna need a pretty view, it’s fortunate he’ll have you in the middle seat.”

“I’m reading! Reading this entire time, very busy.” Remus teases, pleased with the raven-haired boy’s mock offense. 

You round the corner of the van after checking the trunk for the fourth time, positive you haven’t forgotten any supplies for the trip. James is at the passenger side, holding the door open for you. He’s got a pair of prescription sunglasses on, and looks very different. No less handsome, if anything, the shades accentuate the bravado you’ve always envied. His arms are especially toned after another quidditch season, tanned from the summer sun you’ve missed so dearly. You’re staring. 

“Systems ready, co-pilot?” He beams down at you, pulling his cap over your eyes in teasing. You stick a tongue out at him, pulling his arms away so you can  adjust it right again. 

“I feel silly in this.”

“Nonsense, you look adorable. My clothes suit you.” He defends, so casual you don’t let the words resonate until after he’s shut your door and rounded to the drivers side. 

“Enjoy the passenger seat, princess.” Sirius sneers, pouting despite not holding any true ill-will. 

“Gladly.” 

************

“Are we there yet?” 

“No, Dorcas. Just like we weren’t there ten minutes ago.” James glances at the girl through the rearview, slightly amused with her childish complaints. 

“You know, we could just pull over and-”

“No floo powder!” You and Lilly shout to Sirius, hoping not to have awoken a sleeping Marlene and Remus. Sirius covers their ears, both of them having dropped their heads on each one of his shoulders some time throughout their slumber. You finish fiddling with the radio when a good song comes on, taking a moment to look at the lot of your friends all corralled in the van. 

“Where’s the camera, James?” 

“On my side door here, I’ll pull over if you want it.” 

“Oh, so you’ll pull over for her.”

“Shut it, Pads.” 

“No need, I can reach it.” You lean over the seat, careful not to block his view of the road as you quickly grab it. James swallows, clears his throat to act natural whilst all of his insides begin to burn. 

“Hot?” Is all you ask, studying his discomposure.

“What?” He starts, voice shaky and strained. Sirius falls into a fit of muffled laughter from the back, leaving you confused. “J-Just a little warm, yeah.” Potter recovers, now well aware you were inquiring about temperature. You turn up the AC, taking the cover off the lens and pointing the camera toward the back. Sirius smiles wide for the camera, handsome features lighted by the early afternoon sun. Marlene and Remus drool along on his shoulders as Lilly beams brightly from the back. Looking positively radiant, as always. Dorcas smiles, but holds up her favorite finger to the lens. You grin,full of adoration for the entire lot of them as you snap a couple photos, ensuring they’re all in the frame. 

James admires in increments from the rearview, blowing a raspberry to the camera when you point it at him. 

“Eyes on the road, Potter.” He shakes his head, running a hand over the steering wheel in a mindless habit as he hears the camera snap. Looking over quickly to smile at the lens. Effortlessly handsome, as usual. 

“We have to take as many pictures as possible this week.” You demand, getting excited all over again for the much needed vacation, spent with all your best friends, no less. 

You roll down your window even more, sticking your head to enjoy the warm, salty air. It smells of the beach, grass, all things green and beautiful. You’re so happy your head spins, giggling to yourself as you catch Lilly doing the same behind you. Meeting her eyes in the side mirror and scrunching your nose when she blows a kiss, an embellished hand pretending to capture it in the air and holding it to your heart. 

James does a double take from his view of the road and then you. Trying to stay focused and not find any distraction in your adorably delighted mood. His brows furrow when you shuffle forward, aiming to get even more of your body out of window the feel the entirety of what this beautiful view has to offer.

“Absolutely not.” He chastises, a finger hooking onto your belt loop and tightening. His eyes are on the road, one hand on the wheel as he tugs you back inside. 

“Lame!” You whine, hitting his arm in distaste. 

“I prefer my friends with their pretty heads in tact, thank you.” 

You settle in your seat, still full of delight but a little more contemplative as you think about what got you here.

“Summer vacation!” Sirius throws himself between you and Remus during lunch. Gathering an assortment of food on his own plate. You’ve barely eaten, stomach turning at the thought of being home for two months. You’re nudged from under the table, meeting James’ gaze, whose eyes avert to your abandoned plate. A subtle request for you to eat. You offer a weak smile, shrugging before your friends go on. 

“Two whole months without exams.” Marlene adds, absolutely pleased with not having to spend another second with her nose in a book. 

“We’ll be seventh years, I can hardly believe it.” You’ve considered Lilly’s words the entirety of this last month of classes, absolutely dreading going home. Hogwarts is more home than your house would ever be, and your friends are the only real family you have. You lose your breath at this, biting at the nail of your thumb and wincing when it draws blood. 

“I’m gonna head to the library,” You announce, blinking hard to fight the room from blurring. “Forgot to turn in my potions textbook.” It’s believable enough for the group to nod along, chorusing their farewells as you head out of the great hall. Heart racing and hands trembling. James takes only a moment, eyes following you the entire time. It’s not his business, but he knows that demeanor. He’s seen all of this before, in the boy he calls his best friend. Sirius Black, who leans forward and shoots James a look. Instantly, the chaser is on his feet, mumbling a feeble excuse and heading out of the hall in search for you. 

“I think he left the curling iron on.”

James searches the corridor wildly, all of the students being in the Great Hall makes the search easy, he can follow the sound of your fleeting footsteps with ease in this sea of silence. He follows your distant frame up a set of stairs, cursing to himself when they shift before he can follow your path. He’s searching for a new route, not wanting to shout to you and scare you even more.

There’s a lot of running, a couple instances of tripping over his own feet, but eventually Potter catches up to you. 

You’re sat in a windowsill beneath an overhang of a hallway above, curled in on yourself. James approaches carefully, trying to control his panting breaths. 

“Fuck, James!” You startle each other, studying the other instantly.

“You’re” the athlete coughs, winded, “so fast.” You smile, but it does little to calm you down, because as he gets closer, the view around him blurs, and everything sounds cloudy, distant. 

“I’m,” you try to form words, too loud because you can’t hear yourself properly. “F-fine.” You try to move, try escaping to prevent embarrassing yourself further. Clutching your chest and swiping at the flood of tears that can’t be ceased. 

“You’re not. You’re having a panic attack.” 

“Happened b-before,” you wheeze, staring at your hands to make sure they’re real “I’m good.” 

“And I’m a humble introvert that loves Slytherin, sit down.” You begin to wheeze, rubbing your hands over your legs to stop them from sweating, ground yourself maybe. “I’m gonna hug you, tight. Is that alright?” You nod, because you’re not entirely sure what he’s just said and it’s easier to comply. 

He encloses you in an embrace, loosening for only a second when you fight it. He’s squeezing again, but it’s not unpleasant. You’re shaking, and your breaths are still rapid. James swallows, terrified and unsure. Because all of this usually helps Sirius but he’s still kind of freaking the fuck out.

“Let’s talk about something.” He suggests, wincing when you hiccup for air in reply. “I know you’ll love this. What’s something about me that annoys you?” You’re aware he’s trying to distract you, and you feel like you’re dying, so you give it a go in the off chance it’ll help.

“You’re im-immature.”

“Good. But you’ve done better than that, love.” 

“You’re reckless. You play quidditch like,” you lick your lips, trying to control your trembling. “Like you’re indestructible.” 

“Attagirl, something else?”

“You’re picky, and...And you’re too stubborn to try new things.” James hums, recalling a time you’d forced him to drink pumpkin juice an he hurled in the lavatory minutes later. He rests his chin on your head, pleased when the added pressure slows your breathing. 

“You’d do anything for your friends, no matter the personal expense. It’s self destructive, p-probably exhausting.”

“Ouch. You really know how to flatter a man, love.” 

“I don’t want to go home.” You whisper, so quiet he’d miss it had he not been surveying your every move. The confession shocks even you, and James, for likely the first time in his life, is devastated to be right about something. 

“I’m not gonna let you. We’re going to figure this out. I’m gonna figure this out, I promise.” 

“You’re doing that thing again.” You note, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your robe. Further comforted in the feel of his chest vibrating against you from laughing.

“And you’re forming full sentences.” He loosens, giving you space to decide whether or not you want to separate.  You don’t, not right away, not when you can feel the strong, stable beating of his heart. 

“What am I gonna do? I can’t stay here over break. Even if Dumbledore allowed it, my family would-” You falter, unable to finish. James holds tight again, nauseated. 

“I promised. And I intend on keeping it, love.”

**********

“Land! Sweet, sweet land.” Sirius cries, throwing himself onto the freshly cut grass. 

“James, it’s stunning.” Lilly shades her eyes to admire the shore house. Standing taller than the others around it. 

“It’s home. Away from home, that is.” James shrugs, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. There’s a faint, deep-rooted envy for the blessings your friends hold. Sirius rolls onto his back to look at you, the only one noticing your hunched shoulders amongst the rest of the group beginning to unload the van. 

“Shall we go inside, lovely? Get dibs on the best rooms while these common folk collect our luggage. He extends his arm for you to take, adjusting the sunglasses adorning his face and ignoring the displeased looks of your friends. Stealing a kiss to your temple as he leads you inside. 

“Moony, sweetheart, do be careful with my things. I’ll show you what bed to place them on.”

“Fuck off, Pads.”

“That’s Sir Padfoot, to you.” 

You and Sirius falter, shocked to see an older woman placing the finishings of a homemade meal on the large kitchen table. The inside is even more impressive than the out, but you don’t have much time to appreciate the decorum. Considering you’re engulfed in an oddly familiar embrace. 

“Welcome, welcome!” She beams, holding Sirius’ face and kissing his cheeks with small pinches. 

“How’s my Siri?”

“Alright, mum. Thanks. James didn’t mention you’d be here. Though it’s a very happy surprise.” He looks at the wrinkled, stunning woman that smells of lavender and tea like she’s hung every star in the sky. It’s then you make the obvious connection this is Mrs. Potter. 

“Oh, he doesn’t know either. I’m only here to make sure you’re all settled in and then I’ll be on my way. We haven’t visited here in a while, I wanted to be sure it looked alright for you all.”

“Hard to imagine it ever looks less than gorgeous,” you say without thinking, “thank you for having us. This is lovely.” 

“And so are you, dear. Sirius, tell me this beautiful young girl is with you?” She strokes your hair, and it’s the most comforting touch you’ve likely ever felt. 

“Only in my dreams, unfortunately. Unless dear y/n would like to make a wish come true?” You laugh, swatting away his puckered lips. 

“Y/n? Oh, I’ve been waiting to meet you! Sweetheart, Jamie talks about you so much in his letters!”

“Let’s get waste-Mum!” James drops the bag in hand, yours. Pulling the handle of liquor behind his back in pure shock. “What are you doing here?” 

“Thought I’d have a warm meal waiting for you kids. You must be starving after that drive. Though I’m so happy you did as opposed to powdering here. Shows some responsibility. And Jamie gets so sick sometimes with the powder and all-”

“Mum!” The taller boy repeats, setting the array of luggage in hand down and hiding the bottle behind it. 

“I’m doting, aren’t I? Remmy!”  She stops herself, rushing over to envelop the taller boy in her arms. He, just as Sirius, is absolutely pleased to see her. She goes down the line of girls, putting faces to names and genuinely loving every second of it. James sighs, no genuine distaste in his nature as he observes.

Sirius throws an arm over your shoulder, cheeky as ever. “Mum was just telling us about your letters home.” 

“You’re just as pretty as he said you were. All you girls are so beautiful!” She goes on, blissfully unaware of her beet-red son. 

“She exaggerates.” James scratches his neck, skin burning with embarrassment. 

“Does she?” Siris pulls you closer, basking in your shared humiliation. 

“This food looks wonderful Mrs. Potter. Thank you so much for thinking of us.” Lilly clasps her hands together, rolling her eyes fondly at James’ indebted glance. 

“Call me Euphemia, please. And yes, you all must be starving. Come, fill those bellies with something warm.” You’re in a state of shock as you sit, unaccustomed to such hospitality and genuine kindness. It’s evident where James gets his big heart, undying selflessness. 

The food is amazing, you all go for seconds with a chorus of shared appreciation and compliments. Euphemia beams as she collects her things, pleased to meet the lot of friends her son cares for so deeply. 

“All the beds have fresh sheets, and there’s extra throw blankets in the linen closet. Jamie, your father says go easy on the fire whisky. He’d ask for no drinking, but we all know that’s a long shot. Don’t break anything, and Remmy, keep everyone in check.” The taller boy nods swiftly, no doubt having heard the orders before. James gets up from his seat, kissing his mothers cheek and enveloping her in a hug. 

“Thank you mum, seriously.” She fixes his hair, wiping invisible smudges from his face in a fit of doting. 

“No problem, I’m glad you were all able to make it here. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. All of you.” Theres a quick moment where she meets both you and Sirius’ eyes, the two of you nodding with feigned smiles. Quickly, she kisses both Moony and Padfoot’s heads, stopping for only a moment to caress your cheek with her thumb, a faint sadness in her gaze. Everyone else is enveloped in conversation, passing servings across the table as they would at the Great Hall. 

“You’ll keep an eye on my Jamie, won’t you?” She whispers, touch soothing you with an unknown ease. 

“Of course, though I’m not sure he needs it.” You hold her wrist, somehow not minding the affection whatsoever. 

“So he likes to think. He does, really, speak so fondly of you in his letters. You’re even more lovely than he described.” You want to cry, so overwhelmed with her generosity and love, a maternal energy so strong it’s wiped your mind of any anxieties. 

“Alright, mum. Let the poor girl eat.” James guides her toward the fireplace, while his mother pats his arm and says something to him you don’t quite catch. James’ ears burn bright red, and he nudges her gently so she’ll stop looking over at you. The rest of the group turns toward the fireplace, echoing their farewells and gratuity as she waves. Floo powder enveloping the space around her and sending her off. 

“Does that turn your stomach just looking at it, Jamie?” Marlene mocks, the rest of your laughing through bites of food as he flips her off. 

“Fuck off, the lot of you.” 

“We should start cleaning up.” You suggest, taking your own plate and bringing it to the sink. “This way we can unpack before the sun sets.” Lilly follows, taking her and Dorcas’ plate to you as you begin washing. Sirius groans, grabbing a dish towel from one of the drawers and drying the dishes you hand him. 

“Can’t we just charm the sponges to clean these?”

“Dad had them countered so they can’t be charmed. Said it was supposed to teach me some ‘household responsibility.’” Sirius howls, thoroughly amused.

“I’m just curious about these detailed letters back home.” Remus mutters as he carries his plate past James, dodging his swings and rushing toward the group at the sink for safety. 

*****************

After everyone’s settled in, and you’ve all recovered from the ‘who called what room first’ arguments, there’s an obligatory round of shots. A bin begins to pile high with cans, and you’re all sat around a bonfire atop the Potter���s outdoor furniture. Even the furniture for the backyard looks expensive, so you clutch your drink in hopes not to make any spills. 

You’re buzzed now, skin tingling with an uncommon ease as you lean against the arm of the couch. Sea breeze easing the warm air as the fire pops in front of you. 

“Alright, none of you are drunk enough.” Sirius chastises, shifting in his seat and tossing Lilly another beer. “Never have I ever,” you all groan in half-assed annoyance as the name of the game sounds, “been snitched on by Peeves.” 

You and the rest of the girls take slow, ashamed, sips. The boys all looking over in amazement. 

“We snuck out one time! All I wanted was a bloody butter beer.” Marlene confesses, flushed. James stretches as he approaches, still sore from driving. He passes you his cup, grinning when you cringe at whatever concoction he’s come up with. You move your legs so he can sit beside you, the rest of the couches having been taken. 

“It was a terrible craving, but nonetheless worth the loss of points for Gryffindor.” 

“Is that why we were tied with Ravenclaw mid semester?” Remus laughs over his cup. 

“We still won the cup!” You and Lilly defend, James taking hold of your legs to place them on top of his. He isn’t even thinking about it, too enthralled with the teasing conversation before him as he slides a hand under the cuff of your jeans. Warm hands calloused from quidditch running over your shin. You’ve always found affection with him comes easier than with others, and the touch comforts you, electricity lingering on your skin. 

“Never have I ever, had my first kiss.” Because Dorcas also aims to have the rest of you drinking more, she says what she thinks is the most common proposition. Your stomach turns, and you debate on taking a sip just because it’ll spare you the embarrassment. You must consider it too long, because Sirius’ brows shoot up in shock. 

“Merlin, how?” Is all Sirius manages, the girls’ jaws dropping because you’ve never told them. 

“I volunteer!” Marlene shoots a hand up while you curl into the cushions, wishing you’d just had the drink. 

“It’s not that there haven’t been opportunities.” You struggle through the explanation, tugging on the sleeves of your shirt to fight the cold. “I just, I guess, want the first one to matter. If it’s been this long I may as well make it special.” They all coo in mocking, laughing when you flip them off. 

“I get it.” James pats your leg, taking generous sips of his own drink. 

“You don’t.” Theres an amusement in your tone, no real meanness to any of it. 

“Well what about that Hufflepuff third semester, he was totally into you.” Dorcas inquires. 

“Are we seriously this interested in my love life, or lack thereof?” You roll your eyes when they all agree, giddy from the topic and the alcohol. “I thought he was into me, but I don’t know. We stopped talking after a while.”

“Wait,” Remus narrows his brows, too contemplative to see James’ signals. “That curly haired guy, beater for Huffle?” You nod, giggling because he’s not usually this slow to understanding, clearly inebriated. 

“Wasn’t that the kid that came up to us at Hogsmeade, Prongs?” Potter vehemently shakes his head, chugging his drink again. 

“Nope, I don’t think so.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure it was. You two didn’t get on that well, I think.” Sirius covers his mouth to muffle his laughing, basking in Moony’s drunken confession. 

“You sabotaged me!” You frown, James grabbing your leg so you can’t kick his side. 

“Listen, I overheard him boasting in the locker room. He’s not the type you should be around. Trust me.” He’s sincere, enough to make you relax. 

“He was a bit of an ass, sweetheart. Prongs isn’t entirely wrong.”

“You two are still snog-blocks.” Dorcas is quick at your defense, crossing her arms in solidarity.

“If I wasn’t banished to solitude, I’d kiss you, Dorcas.” 

“Time and place, lovely.” You clutch your heart, feigning a blush in your antics.

*********

“Alright, I need my beauty rest. Someone needs to remain the prettiest of the friend group.” Sirius stretches, tapping a dazed Remus on the cheek to get him up. His actions initiate the turning in of the rest of the group. To which you and James groan. 

“It’s only 2, you’re all lame!” Potter sneers, looking to you for consolation. You nod along, displeased with their departure. 

“You night owls can stay up as long as you want, but we have all week to be sleep deprived.” Marlene ruffles James’ hair and kisses your temple as she stupors inside, giggling all the way with the other girls. 

“And then there were two.” You stretch, moving over when James shifts, moving into a laying position. In order to fit comfortably, you still have to keep your legs over his. “You know, now theres three other open couches.”

“I like it here.” He decides, enclosing his hands over his chest and settling in. You chuckle, letting him tangle his legs in yours. 

It’s confusing, because he chooses you as his passenger, his seat-mate, scares other guys away. Fuck, he planned an entire trip just because you and Sirius have such shitty home lives. Guilt twinges in your chest, and the alcohol allows you to finally say what you’ve been holding in since you first got in the car. “James?” He hums, hazel eyes looking up at the array of stars in the night sky. “Why did you do all this?” Potter sits up, looking over to you in disbelief. 

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you like it here?”

“Like it? It’s a shore house filled with all of my closest friends and alcohol. I love it here.” He laughs, nudging your legs with his own in teasing. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” he starts, answering your question with one of his own. “Would you be willing to spend the whole summer here?” 

This time, you sit up, brows raised in shock. “Sorry?” 

“Instead of having to go home, you could stay here.” 

“James, I couldn’t possibly intrude like that-”

“It wouldn’t just be us two.” He unnecessarily reassures. “I’ve already spoke with Pads, and he’s staying. My mum doesn’t want him going home either.”

“You already talked to your parents about it?” 

“In the chance either of you said yes. They both are more than happy to have us stay here. There’s internship positions at my dad’s company, and he said if we looked after the house and helped him out, we’d be more than welcome to stay.” 

“Are you starting a shelter for the broken homes club or something?” You jest, not in poor taste, but because it’s the only defense mechanism you know. James frowns anyway, upset at the thought.

“I care about the both of you. And...I’d never want either of you going home to- Well, anything other than a place you feel safe. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you. Knowing I could have stopped it. Understand?”

You nod, warm tears brimming in your eyes. Because in a world full of people that don’t, James Potter cares. You tackle him in a hug, overcome with the foreign feeling of being cared about, protected. He falters, wrapping an arm around your waist with a small laugh. 

“That’s a yes, then?” You nod, smile pulling at your lips when he uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. 

“James?”

“Yeah?” He’s soft-spoken now, eyes studying yours as you press your hands to his chest. 

“Is there...Any other reason you told that guy to stay away from me?” He swallows, licking his lips with an unusual anxiety to him. He meets your eyes again, pleading for another hint.

“Would you want there to be?”

“I’d like to have my first kiss.” You play with a pull in his sweater, fighting a smile at his nervous demeanor. “Would you want it to be you?” He nods, slow, and honestly unsure if you’re fucking with him. Considering how embarrassed he’d be if this is some joke, or a dream, maybe. “James?” You move closer, and he snaps out of his daze.

“I would.” He averts his eyes to your lips, back to your eyes again to ensure you’re sincere. “Like to kiss you, I mean.” 

You remove the space between you, putting your lips to his and hoping it comes natural like everyone says. It must, because he’s pulling you into his lap, a hint of a whine escaping his throat. You grin, flushing at his eagerness. He squeezes your sides harder, a warning. 

“Stop it.”  He continues past your jaw, down your neck, hearts thrumming with excitement and uncertainty. He tilts your head with his thumb, grinning when he nips at your skin and you gasp. Pulling back, he surveys his work, kissing you two more times before letting you breath. 

Is that what I’ve been missing out on?” You pant, energy coursing through you and accentuating your buzz tenfold.

“Up to expectations?”

“Exceeded, I’m pretty sure.” You blink hard, taking hold of his wrists and moving them so they can slide under the hem of your shirt. You hold them at your waist, a silent sign to keep them there. Though you’re sure he would have anyway. He kisses you again, more intense this time, finally allowing all the pent up tension between the two of you release. 

James, against every fiber of being in his body, pulls you away from him. Both breathing hard to collect yourselves. “While I’d really, really like to keep this up.” He starts, trying not to reconsider when your perfume envelopes his senses. “I’d like to take you out for dinner first. If you’ll let me.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Potter?” You whisper, teasing him as if it’s the hottest gossip to reach Hogwarts. 

“Are you gonna say yes, pretty girl? Or leave me hanging?” You nod, and James throws his head back against the cushions, absolutely relieved. 

*************

You blink awake, fire still burning brightly after being charmed by Lilly earlier in the evening. In the midst of you and James conversation, filled with recalling old times, plans for the rest of the summer, and a lot more alcohol, you both fell asleep. James’ jumper covers your frame, while the boy lays on the other side with only a sweater to keep warm. 

“Prongs.” You nudge him, wincing when he groans. “It’s too cold, let’s go in.”

“Too tired,” he croaks, voice riddled with sleep, “too drunk. Come over on this side.” He rolls on his back, groaning again when the world spins with him. 

“What, like...Next to you?”

“No, curled up on the floor like a cat.” Your brows furrow at his sassiness, fighting a smile as you crawl over. Muttering a half-assed apology when you nearly knee his groin. 

Hesitantly, you place a head on his chest, letting him grab you under one knee and pulling it up so you leg rests over his abdomen. Immediately, he releases a deep breath, fully relaxed. Your body, though, tingles with that same electricity from before, keeping you awake. 

“Sleep.” He orders, nudging the back of your head with his shoulder, eyes closed but somehow aware.

“Can’t.”

“Is this alright?” He blinks awake, afraid he’s made you uncomfortable. 

“Good, this is good.” You reassure, pulling on his jumper so it covers both of you. He pushes your arm away, tugging on the fabric and covering only you again, stern in his actions. 

“Close your eyes. I need us both to sleep this alcohol off so I can kiss you again.”

“Who says I’ll let you, Potter?”

“I may have been your first kiss, but I’m also aiming to be your last. So please, Dove, shut up and sleep” You’re speechless, he’s stunned you with his confession and simultaneous attitude. 

“I hate you.”

“I seriously doubt that.” There’s a smile on his face, you can hear it in his grumbling voice. Wordlessly, he moves the arm that’s under you so he can stroke your cheek, eyebrows, and jaw with the hook of his finger. Knowing the gentle touch will send you off to sleep. And it does, because you don’t wake again until morning. 

********

“Rise and shine, love birds. If you want to hoot with the owls, you’ve got to fly with the eagles.” Sirius chimes, a click of a camera sounding out after he speaks.

“Any louder, Pads, and I’ll break your jaw.” James covers your ears, shielding you from your friends shrill laughter with an intense glare. His head pounds something awful, and he’s pretty sure he’s never been this hungover in his entire life. He remembers every second, though, memories of last night bringing a dopey smile to his face. Despite the alcohols consequences. 

“Hey.” He nudges your arm, ignoring the gawking of his friends through the glass sliding door as he wakes you. You yawn, stretching atop him and regaining sense of your surroundings. 

“Are we supposed to be spinning?” James rolls his eyes, much too fond of you for his own good. 

“We have to get up, theres breakfast.”

“I can’t eat a single thing right now.”

“Yes you can,” he pushes you again, sighing in feigned annoyance when you rub your face into his shirt. Shielding the morning light from your eyes. In one swift movement, he sits you both up and hurls you over his shoulder, ignoring your squirms of protest with an obnoxious yawn. He sets you down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, grumbling a hello to your astonished group of friends. You’re too hungover to feel embarrassed, smiling a thank you to Remus when he slides his glass of orange juice toward you, Sirius’ sunglasses over his eyes. 

“Gimme those,” you plead, extending an arm that’s quickly swatted away.

“Get your own,” he whines, “I let you have my juice.” You accept this, nursing the glass as though it’ll save your life. 

“Late night?” Lilly teases, putting a plate of food in front of you and James. You both groan, but offer your gratitude for breakfast anyway. 

“Figured you would have at least made it inside.” Marlene chastises, amused with your zombie-like states. You frown when James finishes what’s left in your glass, watching as he leans across the counter to grab the carton and refills it. Sirius places a steaming cup of tea in front of you and Potter, avoiding your distrusting gaze as he clears his throat to speak. 

He’s awfully cheeky all the sudden, hoisting himself onto the counter with his signature mischievous grin. “Never have I ever…Had my first kiss?” His voice tilts in questioning at the end, and you’re momentarily displeased with the realization you’ll be spending the rest of the summer with the shit-starting bastard you consider a friend. 

You’re absolutely flushed, curling in on yourself when a chorus of cheers erupts after taking a swift sip from your mug.

[bagopucks]

T. Zegras - Disheveled Duckling

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning(s): Insecurities, and a tiny tiff

—————————————

“Whose decision was it to make Zegras the cover of NHL 23?”

“Tried and failed to make the new face of the league Trevor Zegras.”

“What an absolute joke.”

“Too flashy. Not enough skill.”

“Good thing the Ducks hired another useless player. I was afraid they might actually make the playoffs.”

“Wonder if he has to hold onto sh** when the wind blows”

“His girlfriend need a man’s man?”

“Holy shit!” I slammed the door to the house I’d slowly grown to love. Trevor and Jamie’s.

Jamie’s head shot up from the couch, startled and frightened by both my abrupt arrival and my anger.

“You good?” I heard him chuckle. No doubt nervous. I took my shoes off, locked the door, and turned to look at my boyfriend’s best friend. Silence filled the air around us. Jamie’s nervous smile immediately disappeared.

“It’s impossible.” My shirt was dripping with water, as were my hands. “And you didn’t even come outside to help!”

“Trevor’s car is really that unclean-able?”

“It’s yours! It’s your Jamie! What are you driving through?” His cheeks turned red. Trevor was out for a hockey game, but when I informed him that my work place was trying to schedule a late night meeting, and we hadn’t known how long Jamie was going to be at the doctors office, Trevor said he’d simply take an Uber. I felt bad when Jamie came home five minutes after Trevor had left. So I decided to go out and wash their cars for them. It was a nice day anyway, a little outdoor time hadn’t hurt.

“I don’t know?” I had managed to get Trevor’s car practically spotless before I had waxed it. But Jamie’s was something else. It had tiny asphalt pieces all over. Which was usual on a car, but I couldn’t scrape them away without chipping paint, and they wouldn’t just wipe away either.

The sun had begun setting mere minutes ago. I had given up on Jamie’s car. I was tired, I’d missed more of the hockey game than I wanted to, and now I was simply angry.

“You’re lucky I have a moral compass that says I shouldn’t hit injured people.” I grumbled as I left the living room, walking through the house to find mine and Trevor’s bedroom. I needed a change of clothes. Something comfortable.

I had been getting notifications for a while on my NHL app. I had only stopped to look at a few, but from what I’d seen, the Ducks were losing. Another reason to be stressed. Another reason to worry about my boyfriend.

I met Trevor when he played for the USA hockey team. We just happened to be in the same town and in the same pastry shop the night it happened. He was trying to order a bear claw, and I had let out a rather exaggerated sigh over the fact that it was the last one. We shared it over two cups of iced coffee.

After that, we became friends and remained so for a long time. The year he got drafted into the NHL, it seemed he’d been on enough of an adrenaline rush to ask me out. I said yes. He pursued his dreams while I pursued my own. Our paths of life ran parallel, but close enough to hold hands along our walks.

I’d been around long enough to see Trevor make records in USA hockey, get drafted, play in the AHL, and eventually join the league permanently. I’d also seen the rise and fall of his mentality as those years went by as well.

I couldn’t pinpoint when it truly started, but I would certainly say when the media began pushing to make him the new face of the league. That was when Trevor began to feel the anxiety.

To everybody else, he loved it. To everybody else, he ate up every second of attention he got. He loved the videos online, the commercials, the sponsorships and free stuff. And part of that was true. Trevor did love all of those things.

But people put so much pressure on you when they expect you to be the poster child of anything. It can change people. Hell, Sidney Crosby’s first year in the NHL was spent screaming at any ref he could over a call he didn’t like. Getting misconducts and penalties he ought not to. Good men can fall long ways under immense pressure. But when the spotlight is on you, all people want is to see you fall and fail. People want to see the hero bend and bend and eventually break.

Trevor loved the attention, but he despised the hate. He didn’t like opening his sports news apps to find articles on himself, and not having the impulse control to not read them. He hated posting something on Instagram, and going back to check a comment from a friend, only to find hate surrounding it. He hated hearing people he looked up to all his life’s putting him down left and right. He hated being misunderstood, but not given the platform to express his grievances. He had no right to discuss his feelings. Nobody would listen.

Perhaps that had been what made him feel like he couldn’t come to me. What made him pull away when I could tell he was tense and disappointed. It took me forever to really understand why he would come home looking so defeated. Looking like a parent who should have expected better from their kid. It took me forever to realize how much Trevor hated himself.

I blamed it on the publicity over and over again. They built him up so much, just to tear him back down. And I knew with each loss, there was a new article. A new post. A new video. A new comment.

My hopes were whisked away when I opened the NHL app to see the score. 5-1. Not a good look for the Ducks. Then of course, upon further inspection, opening the live summary of the game, I realized Trevor had his own ten minute misconduct.

I was never happy that he fought. That he got in people’s faces and picked fights with guys who could have pinned him down to the ice in one shove. But I understood somewhat. Trevor was just trying to look out for himself. Trying in his own short tempered way to be heard in a league that would not listen to him. But we both found through time that nobody was on his side other than his team and few friends.

“Jamie!” I tossed my phone down onto the bed as I grabbed a spare shirt and a pair of shorts. I quickly changed, the lack of response leading me to assume Jamie was ignoring me. I rolled my eyes as I walked back down the hall, stopping once I was in the living area and over the couch.

Not ignoring, somehow asleep. I worried sometimes about him and his pain medication. He was responsible with it, but I still worried. I gently nudged him. Easy to wake, per usual. And he couldn’t have been out that long.

I nudged Jamie again, watching his eyes flutter open. I gestured for him to move, and he quickly cleared a space for me on the edge of the couch. I sat and took the tv remote, turning the screen on.

“Have you had the game on at all?”

“No.. it’s been.. kinda- stressing me out.” I nodded.

“Trevor got into another fight.” Jamie wasn’t surprised. But he knew as well as I did that Trevor was struggling. On his own little broken sailboat, refusing help because he didn’t want anybody else to be caught up in his storm.

“It should be over by now.” Jamie shifted and sat up, leaning against the arm rest of the couch.

I found the channel and flipped it on. Sure enough, Jamie had been correct. I crossed one of my legs over the other, eyeing up the tv in search of my boyfriend. When I couldn’t find him, I assumed they had kicked him out of the entire arena for the last ten minutes of the game. Banished to the locker room.

I used to love games that took place in the middle of the day. Trevor would come home and we’d have dinner together. Then we’d curl up in bed and whisper for hours until we fell asleep. Now, games in the middle of the day meant there was extra time to avoid aggravating Trevor.

We sat in silence until the goal horn sounded, frustrated Ducks players exiting the ice. It was a waiting game now. One Jamie and I were happy to do together, so neither had to worry about Trevor alone.

“He’ll probably be fine.” Jamie broke the silence with a statement we both knew to be false.

“He hasn’t been fine.” I knew that in my mind, but my heart broke at the first confession of the fact. Trevor had been a wreck of emotions and I hadn’t been able to fix even one of his problems.

And he hid it all so well underneath that big smile. And all those jokes.

Jamie and I returned to silence not long after, but when we caught the headlights through the window, he had been the first to get up to leave.

“You should handle this one.. right?” I gave a nod in approval to his suggestion.

“I’ve got him.”

Jamie retreated to his room after that. Always only one call away if Trevor or I ever needed him. I was supposed to be one call away for Trevor too. Why didn’t he ever dial my number?

I waited for what felt like hours for Trevor to come inside. He never did. So I decided to see what was going on. I unlocked and opened the front door, surprised by the sight of Getzlaf’s car in the driveway. I could just barely make out the silhouette of two figures, one pointing at the other in a manner that looked tense.

I leaned in the doorway, and waited patiently before I was spotted. Getzlaf gestured, and Trevor climbed out of the car. He grabbed his gear from the back, and I heard his voice shout something to his old captain before making his way up the short drive to the door. I wasn’t sure what to say, so instead I stood there, staring at Trevor as his eyes met mine. He looked like he was waiting for something.

“Can I come in?” I was surprised by Trevor’s tone. Playful and lighthearted. I looked skeptical, but I nodded and stepped aside nonetheless.

“I was thinking we could do dinner? I miss that. Maybe- we could try.. like steaks? I know Jamie just got a pack the other day.” Trevor’s always been talkative, but this time it feels off. There was a sound in his voice I didn’t know how to place.

“Trevor I can’t cook steaks.”

“Let me do it.” I stared at him as he shut the door. He hated cooking.

“Come on! It’ll be fun! Let me take care of you.” I shrugged. What’s the worst that could happen?

Trevor insisted I sit at the table while he did his thing. I was hesitant, but I allowed him space nonetheless. Trevor tried to talk about the game a bit, but the bitter laugh that occasionally fell from his lips, and the sad sound in his voice usually caused him to stop before he got into any good details. He often stopped his own comments with something like, “guess it doesn’t matter anyway.” And the repetition of the phrase made me feel like it was a media interview. Like he was repeating and repeating just to get me to go away and stop asking questions. I hadn’t asked any in the first place. That’s what he was hesitant about.

“And the misconduct?” I hoped to look disinterested. Like it didn’t bother me, so I looked down at my phone. Trevor never turned to look at me.

“It was bullshit.” I glanced up at him. His shoulders rose slightly.

“What was it on?”

“You didn’t watch?” Trevor turned to look at me, and I don’t know why, but this time he seemed upset. I had missed games of his before… but this was the first in a long time.

“I was a little busy.” I smiled at him, hopeful to keep the clean car a secret until he could see it in the morning.

“No that’s cool..” he shrugged it off and turned back to the stove. It was definitely not cool, not to him, but he wanted to move on. So we moved on.

I listened to Trevor occasionally mumble under his breath about whatever he was making, the sweet smell of cooked meat filling the kitchen along with the sound of the sizzle of two steaks on the pan. I was certain I hadn’t missed out on Trevor learning how to cook.

Once they were finished, my boyfriend beckoned me over, and I was quick to join his side. He cut a piece and I waited for it to cool off before biting the tender piece of meat off the knife he held. At first it was perfect. Then it was oddly sweet. I made a face. Trevor noticed.

“What’s wrong with it?”

My eyes searched the various items and ingredients strewn across the counter. When I noticed it, I giggled.

“Trevor,” I nodded my head toward the container I used for sugar. I never labeled it because I knew what it was, and the boys didn’t use the big box of sugar I had set aside for baking.

“That’s sugar.” His face fell for a split second. Then he started to laugh. I thought about joining him before it all just felt off. Trevor’s eyes quickly adopted a glazed over look, his smile falling into a frown as the laughter ceased and an overwhelming look of grief overcame his features.

Trevor shook his head before turning the stovetop off. I reached for him while he reached for his keys in his pocket.

“Where do you wanna eat?”

“Baby no. We’ll fix this.”

“I don’t want to. Where do you want to eat?”

“Trevor.”

“I said I don’t want to!”

We didn’t get into fights much. We didn’t like to, but I couldn’t keep disregarding his feelings for his comfort. Something had to give.

“I love you, but you’re gonna sit your ass down and talk to me Trevor.”

“Fuck this.” He shook his head, tossing his keys onto the counter and turning to walk away.

“Trevor!” I snapped and followed him. “I am so sick of seeing you so- so sad! You have to talk to me!”

“I don’t!”

“Then who are you going to talk to? Huh?” Because I knew he was horrible at opening up.

“I don’t know! Nobody fucking listens!” I followed him all the way into our room, pushing the door shut behind myself.

“I’m listening!” I was desperate. “Trevor, I’m right. Here.” He turned to look at me. His anger eased into a blank stare, and it seemed my offer brought everything crashing down at once.

We stared each other down. Both waiting for the other to give up or make some kind of move.

“I’m so tired.” Trevor’s voice quivered, his lips pulling into a frown I hated to see. His eyes fell to the floor.

“Everybody’s so…” he drew in a breath. “Too much- it’s all too much.” Trevor sat down on the side of our bed, his head fell into his hands. “They hate me.”

There was a little kid in there. Devastated. Heartbroken that his heroes wanted him gone. That kids parents didn’t deem him a good role model. That he was ruining his own track record by trying to stay afloat. Trying to survive when nobody respected him. When refs pushed him around and legends dragged his name through the mud. Trevor just wanted to live his dream. He had fun before all the publicity. He didn’t need it, but it was forced on him.

“Nobody hates you.” I slowly made my way over, raking my hands through his hair. Trevor lifted his head to look at me, his brow furrowed and his cheeks red.

“Everybody does! I don’t want to be the guy everybody hates!” Trevor raised his voice, but I couldn’t be bothered to be upset. This was only the tip of the iceberg.

“They liked me..” his voice dropped to a mere whisper. My brow furrowed as I rested my hands on his cheeks, prepared to wipe tears as they began to fall.

“Huh?” I met his volume, Trevor closed his eyes tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“They liked me.. and I ruined it.” Sure, he hadn’t been perfect, but even the aggressive egotistical asshole players had fans. This wasn’t Trevor’s doing. This was the media realizing they failed and then deciding to spin his story. To make him a villain.

“It’s all my fault.” His words were interrupted by a broken gasp, I guided his head to lean against my stomach, pushing a sigh past my lips as I tried not to get too emotional.

“Trevor, this is not your fault.” I ran one hand through his hair while the other held his head.

“I just can’t- fuck!” His voice was muffled in my shirt. “I don’t want this.” I glanced down at him again, my hands travelled to his jaw to move his head from my body.

Trevor’s eyes met my own. So sad. So lost. So broken.

“I don’t want hockey if it comes with all this shit.” He tried to bury his head back against my body, but I held his jaw tightly.

“Trevor.” I carefully moved forward, resting my legs on the bed on either side of his own. I sat on his thighs and pulled Trevor in for a tight hug. His hands gripped the sides of my shirt.

“You just have to be patient. They’re gonna test you.” I whispered against his ear as his head buried in the crook of my neck.

“They test me every day.” I sighed. I didn’t know how to help. “I mess everything up.. they don’t want me. They want somebody who can actually get shit done. They want somebody bigger and faster.. and stronger. They want what I’m not.”

I rubbed at his back with one of my hands.

“Trevor, nobody gives a shit about your weight.” I had never heard a single thing on it before. Sure, maybe his mom made a comment or two about how skinny he was, but it was more so commentary when she was trying to feed him. It never had anything to do with his job.

“Yes they do.” He was insistent. I knew this was a projection. Him trying to find a reason to blame himself for something he couldn’t help. Not everybody gained muscle easily. It wasn’t a bad thing. But to him it was. To him, it was embarrassing.

“I think you look great already. If you get too big, then you can’t lay on top of me any more.”

“That’s not the point.” My joke crash landed. It only seemed to frustrate Trevor more. “People just.. they say shit.” I rested one of my hands on Trevor’s forearm while I worked the other through his hair.

“Like what?”

“That I can’t keep up.. that I’m too scrawny. I need to ‘build up.’ But I can’t! I try and I can’t! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” He sounded desperate. Desperate for answers I didn’t have.

“It’s genetics Trev. It’s not something you can help.” I knew he tried a million different things. Nothing ever worked. And I knew how hopeless he could get when he’d go to take a peek in the bathroom mirror, and see absolutely no progress. Trevor never had an issue with his body until people started saying things about it.

He’d always wanted to get bigger, but he was patient before. He was willing to really take his time. Now one comment could leave him in the gym for more hours on end than he ought to be in there for. One chirp left him laid down next to me in bed with a shirt on and a pair of pants, curled in on himself like it would somehow make him and his insecurities any less noticeable.

“Or maybe I just shouldn’t be playing hockey. Maybe I’m just not cut out for it.” His sadness had shifted into acceptance. Like he was ready to give up.

“They drafted you Trevor. People talked about you forever. People were elated to have you in the league.”

“Yeah. Were.“

“They still are.” I sighed. “So you have an attitude? They’ll get over it. You know how many people have said they love you? They love your personality, and your talent? You’re a new version of the game. A new type of style everybody is going to know you for.” I moved my hand from Trevor’s hair. I gently traced his jawline with my fingers, holding my breath at the sight of my disheveled duckling.

“What if it never gets better?” Trevor had thought about this more than I realized. I shook my head.

“It will. There’ll be some new hotshot they’ll idolize and attack. Some new player who takes a downward spiral that they decide to torture. This won’t be you forever.. you just have to stay strong while it happens. Okay?”

“I just wanted to play hockey..” exhaustion was evident in his tone. I allowed Trevor to rest his head on my shoulder again, his breaths were heavy from trying to hold back the tears that hadn’t fallen.

“It’ll all work itself out, Trev.” My voice lowered to a whisper. “They did the same thing to Jack.. they did the same thing to Crosby. You just have to handle it better.. that’s all. You know I love you, I just think they get under your skin too easy.”

“I know.” Trevor sighed.

“You have to remember to calm down sometimes. Nobody’s ever going to listen if all you do is yell and fight.”

“That’s what Getz said.” I had been curious, but at no point did I consider asking what Getzlaf had said to Trevor. It hadn’t been my place. But I was happy Trevor told me nonetheless. It was reassuring to know somebody else was telling him the same things.

“You need a stress ball out there or something.” I joked softly, running my hand through Trevor’s hair one last time before I rested my hands on his shoulders, pushing him back so I could see him.

Trevor mustered a sad smile at my words.

“Maybe you just need to chew on your glove like Jack.” I added, trying to go two for two. It seemed that comment earned a giggle from him.

“Or reach out and talk to him.” My tone took up a more serious sound. Trevor pursed his lips and nodded. “You guys don’t talk as much as you should. He probably gets jealous of Jamie.”

I went three for three the second I noticed Trevor’s smile widen, his eyes squinting as well when he laughed.

Silence enveloped our own little world. I tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. Trevor seemed to finally relax.

“We’re gonna be okay,” I whispered as I gently placed my hands on his chest. Trevor picked up the cue to lay back as I propped myself up over him.

“And I love you.” I added softly, pressing a kiss to his collar. “And Jamie loves you,” Trevor smiled again. “And your mom, and your siblings, and your dad. And all of your friends all scattered about.” I climbed off of Trevor and slipped off the bed. He looked confused before sitting up to look at me, eventually standing as well.

“You don’t have to be perfect.” He stepped closer, resting his hands on my sides as my own slipped beneath his shirt to hold his hips. “Nobody needs you to become a body builder.” I continued. Trevor nodded slowly. “And nobody needs you to lose that attitude.” I wrapped my arms around his body beneath his shirt, gently scratching his back. His weakness. He loved back scratches. “Just keep being the Trevor I know and love. Just be yourself, okay? Everything comes after that.”

And everything did come after that. I didn’t want Trevor to lose himself or his confidence because of others.

After I got him settled, Trevor and I had cleaned the mess in the kitchen and I took him out for a quick dinner. We ate on some curbside, talking and laughing over nonsense. When we did get home, I had checked up on Jamie, prepared to ask if he was hungry before I found he’d been asleep. After that, I slipped back into our room and got settled in bed with him, flipping through streaming services until we found something to fall asleep to.

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[lcandothisallday]

A Shot Worth Taking - Jeremy (WMCJ) x f!reader

Part 2 - First Date

warnings: none

series masterlist!

You sat nervously in the restaurant, waiting on Jeremy to arrive. It was your first date with him and he already wasn't making the greatest impression by being fifteen minutes late. He had offered to pick you up from your apartment but you opted to meeting him at the restaurant, not wanting him to deal with the intense LA traffic--but now you were regretting that decision.

You took a sip of your water and tapped your acrylic nails on the wooden table, letting out a sigh. You looked entirely too good to be stood up and the sympathetic stares you were getting from the restaurant staff were starting to piss you off. 

When your phone buzzed, you scrambled to see who texted you, part of you hoping to see Jeremy’s name pop up with an explanation as to why he’s late or if he was gonna show up at all. Instead it was your best friend Vanessa checking in.

Vanessa: Still a no show?

You: Yeah. Just hoping he’s stuck in traffic or something. I’m giving it 5 more mins

Vanessa: Well good luck and update me💖

You turn off your screen and place your phone down once again. You wait a few more minutes and just as you were about to give up, Jeremy rushes into the restaurant, frantically looking around to find you. Once his eyes laid on you, he let out a breath of relief, coming up to you with an apologetic look in his eyes.

“Y/N I’m so sorry,” he began, his voice breathless. “I had a long day--was training a client then did a few side hustles before I got home and...I really had to shower before seeing you and--”

He was going to continue rambling but you only let out a small laugh and waved him off. “Jeremy it’s fine,” you interrupted him in reassurance, giving him a kind smile. He seemed sincere enough that you believed him and wanted to give him a chance—and his rambling was cute you thought.

Truth be told though, part of the reason why Jeremy was late was because he had forced Kamal into playing an extra pick up to hustle a few extra bucks so that he could pay for the date. Unlike before with Tatiana, since the relationship was quite established, they could each pick up the bill on different occasions, depending on the circumstances. But that was before--and with you, he wanted to impress you so he had to have the money. Of course he wasn’t going to let you know all that though.

Jeremy let out another breath of relief before he pulled out the chair and sat opposite you. That’s when you truly got the chance to take in his appearance properly. His curls were beautifully bouncy and he wore the cutest little white crochet-like open button up that complimented him so well. A complete 180 to what you saw him wear at the pick up. 

Jeremy’s nerves got the best of him and all he could do was stare at you mesmerized, prompting you to talk first. “You um...you look very nice,” you complimented him, your cheeks flaring up with heat as you said it. 

His eyes widened at your compliment and his own cheeks went pink. He licked his lips and smiled at you humbly. Goes down the drain his confidence and all his game. “Thank you...you look absolutely beautiful,” he commented back, his hand gesturing to your everything causing you to giggle.

The waitress came and took your orders—not without giving you a questioning look before she had walked off to put it in. You didn’t quite understand why she gave you that look but little did you know it was because Jeremy and Tatiana used to frequent that particular restaurant a lot when they were still together and the waitress caught on.

“Sooo,” Jeremy began, his arms resting on the table in front of him. “You into basketball?”

You shrugged, “I mean—I’d call myself a casual fan. I follow up during the playoffs mostly,” you explain.

Jeremy hummed in understanding. “What team you got? The Lakers?” he asked, his assumption based off of the fact that you were born and raised in LA.

“The Warriors actually—”

Jeremy groaned, “don’t tell me you crushin’ on Jordan Poole too—”

“What?! He’s cute!” you defended with a laugh. “But I can think of a cuter basketball player,” you flirt, your grin widening as you see him instantly shut up and turn visibly red.

“Aight bet,” he chuckled, nodding before he nervously began to play with his fingers. “Were you uh…were you at the pick up watching anyone in particular though?” he mumbled out in question, wanting to know if there were any other guys in your life, which you easily caught on to.

With a smirk you shook your head no. “Nah…my friend Vanessa—her boyfriend plays baseball in the diamond next to the court. I tagged along for fun,” you hummed in response. “But you definitely caught my eye so I guess I was there watching you.”

Jeremy grinned and his cheeks started to tint pink which thankfully wasn’t too noticeable due to the dim lighting of the restaurant. “M’ glad you came…made it more worth it to win,” he mused.

“Oh I’m sure,” you laughed. “You’re a cocky player, you know?”

Jeremy scoffed playfully, although his expression was one filled with amusement in the conversation. “Don’t act like you didn’t like the attention—plus I’m only cocky cos I’m good,” he shrugged.

“I guess I can’t argue there,” you giggle, before you’re interrupted by your phone ringing, signalling someone was trying to face time you.

You look at the caller ID and silence the ringing to respect the fact that you’re on a date. Jeremy ignored it and continue the conversation with you when it rang again.

“You can answer it you know. It’s fine,” Jeremy reassured with a smile. You instantly wave him off with a laugh. “It’s only my nephew—he forces his dad to give him the phone around this time to call me,” you explain with a chuckle. “But it’s fine. I’ll call him back when I’m back home.”

“How old is he?”

“He turns seven in August—”

As Jeremy goes to respond, your phone rings again which makes the curly haired man laugh. “At this point you have to respond. Can’t keep little man waiting,” he mused.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you pick up your phone and accept the face time. As it finally connected, Jeremy couldn’t help but be mesmerized as he watched your reaction to greeting your nephew. The way your eyes lit up and the cutest smile adorned your features made his heart melt.

“Auntie Y/N!! I called you like three times!” the little boy’s exaggerated voice sounded through the speakers, causing you and Jeremy to laugh. “I wanted to tell you I got an A+ on my spelling test!”

Your grin widened, “that’s very good, Adam! I’m so proud of you!” you exclaim.

The little boy giggled before he looked closer at the screen and furrowed his brows. “Waaaaiiit…where are you?” he pouted, noticing the darker scenery and dim lights, and the fact that you were dressed up with makeup on, instead of home in your pjs.

You bit your lip and your gaze shifted over to Jeremy, seeing he had on an amused smile waiting to see how you’d respond. “I’m having dinner with a friend,” you respond, cheeks heating up. “Wanna say hi?”

You giggle as you watch Adam’s eyes go wide before he bashfully hid his face in his hand as you turn the camera towards Jeremy who grinned upon seeing the little boy.

“Hey little man! I’m Jeremy. How’s it going?” he mused.

His cheeks went red from shyness as he squeaked out a quiet ‘good.’

Jeremy knew if he wanted to impress you, he had to win over your nephew so he kept going. “Is that a soccer jersey you have on?”

At the talk of soccer, Adam’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Yeah! I had a game today!”

“Oh that’s so cool!” Jeremy exclaimed. “I’m more into basketball myself but soccer is cool too…maybe we can play together sometime?” he suggested, causing the boy to grin adorably and nod his head.

“Mind if your auntie calls you back later? We’re…” you watch as he dramatically leans closer to the phone screen and cups his hand up pretending to whisper. “I’ll tell you a lil secret…we’re on a date,” he exaggeratedly whispered. “Hoping she’ll be my girlfriend eventually,” he mused, causing your cheeks to flare up with heat. “But I gotta impress her on this date first.”

Adam went shy again as he nodded his head timidly. “I like you Mr. Jeremy…so okay,” he giggled. Jeremy bid his good bye to the boy before you retracted your arm to say good bye yourself.

“Bye habibi, I’ll talk to you later okay?” you confirm. “Love you, bye.” You end the call and look up at Jeremy with the widest grin.

“You're cute and good with kids?” you ask playfully. “And to think I thought I was gonna get stood up by you.”

“Won’t have to worry about that with me,” he mused, sending a wink your way. “What did that mean by the way?” he asked. “The word you called him when you were saying bye.”

“Oh habibi?” you asked, your demeanour now shy. “It just basically means ‘my love’ in arabic...I don’t speak the language much but a few words sneak out here and there,” you explain.

Jeremy grinned at your explanation before he leaned back in his chair comfortably. “I like that...to be honest—I like the way you say it more. It’s quite...exotic.”

“Oh my god! Don’t ever say that again!” you laughed, shaking your head. Jeremy giggled at your reaction before he leaned in closer to you once more.

“So...you know about me...my passion for basketball and the way I hustle...so what’s up with you?” he mused in question.

You merely shrugged. “Not much to know...I work at a Sephora.”

Jeremy nodded. “You close to your family?”

“That’s...” you take in a breath. “A complicated answer,” you admit to him shamefully. “My brother, he’s two years older than I am--he got his college girlfriend pregnant in his first year and of course that fucked up the whole family dynamic because how could my perfect brother be so careless...but he and the girl managed to work things out up until she gave birth and when Adam was two months she gave up completely and gave up all her rights and literally disappeared off of the face of the earth.”

Jeremy showed that he was listening intently and urged you to continue. “So my brother was gonna drop out, but he had worked so hard to get into UCLA so I ended up deferring going to college myself and stayed home with Adam...but one year led to another and another and I just never got to it,” you chuckled sadly. “My brother graduated, got a big tech job in Silicon Valley and got married to the perfect girl and had another kid and like...I know I should happy for him for escaping that cycle he could’ve gotten into as a drop out single dad but...it just sucks cos they moved hours away and my parents now think I did nothing with my life,” you shrugged, fiddling with the rings on your finger.

Jeremy reached across the table to take on of your hands into his. “Have you ever considered going back to school?”

“College, never. Can’t afford it...I’ve been thinking of community college but...I don’t know if I’m mentally prepared to start studying again after so many years outta the game,” you laughed. “So here I am instead working shifts at Sephora and going to silly little pick up games where I meet cute endearing guys.”

“Ima ignore the fact that you said guys as a plural and focus on the fact that you called me cute and endearing.”

You grinned, “whatever floats your boat.”

[zegrasdrysdale]

I have a request could you do where the reader is dating Jack Hughes and she is a singer and she is on tour and the whole Hughes family pull up to her concert and Trevor and Cole come too and he just can;t stop smiling up at her and after the consent they have a Taylor and Travis moment where he is everyone is waiting for her and she runs up to Jack to hug him

[ the alchemy ] j. hughes

➾ paring : Jack Hughes x famous!fem!reader

➾ summary : after boyfriend Jack, his family and a couple of his friends, reader runs up to him after and confirming the rumors surrounding their relationship

➾ warning(s) : a pov switch, an occasional use of “y/n” in Jack’s pov

➾ author’s note : been wantinggg to write something like this so ty anon for sending this in. also, i’m just using the alchemy as an original song for our reader in this fic. literally no other taylor song will be used lmaooo

༺═──────────────═༻

⦗Jack’s POV ⦘

He hasn’t been back to Jersey since before the shoulder surgery that took him out for the last handful of games of the season. There's a sense of déjà vu when his flight from Michigan lands. Jack feels good though, unlike the last time he was in Jersey, and has been medically cleared to resume light activity.

Light activity means attending his girlfriend’s first show of three at MetLife without his sling on. He has yet to see her play on this insane tour she’s been on for the past few months because of the surgery and watching the Canucks in the playoffs.

Jack’s been good and has been following his doctor’s orders so he feels like this would be a good way to celebrate.

After reaching out to his girlfriend’s security team, Jack got his family and a couple of friends permission to be in the VIP tent for one show. He has full access to the tent being her boyfriend, but he has to get permission to bring friends or family that aren’t her friends or family that is already on the list. He asked for his request to be kept between them since he’s trying to surprise her.

Will she find out anyway? Probably. He’s a big name in the hockey world, especially in New Jersey. Jack’s pretty sure the news will spread when he shows up before her set with his family. Especially with all the rumors surrounding their relationship.

Trevor and Cole even fly into Jersey after Jack told them that they could come to the show if they wanted. He picks them up from Newark International that morning. He goes to Luke’s apartment instead of the apartment he shares with (Y/N) since the two of them might want some privacy after the show. Quinn and his parents are already there when he walks in with his friends.

His mom sits with Quinn and Luke on his couch when he walks in with his friends. Trevor and Cole greet the oldest and youngest Hughes while Jack collapses on the couch beside his mom.

“Does your shoulder hurt?” Ellen questions. “Because I brought your medicine with us-”

“It’s okay,” Jack tells his mom. “I brought some with me and took one before I picked up Trevor and Cole. It feels good right now.”

She nods while Trevor and Cole put their things away in Luke’s only extra bedroom.

Jack has no idea what their sleeping arrangements are going to be tonight but he knows that their parents got a hotel room nearby while Quinn, Trevor, and Cole all stay at Luke’s. He offered them the extra bedrooms in the apartment he shares with his girlfriend but they told him that they weren’t interested in hearing what happens when they get home after the show. He wasn’t going to press on the issue so he dropped it.

Around three, Jack leaves Luke’s apartment with Trevor and Cole. The trio head to his shared apartment because he knows that (Y/N) has left to go to the arena. Jack is very much aware of when she leaves for shows. She likes to get there early to soundcheck, costume try ons, do a little rehearsal backstage, and decompress before a show. Especially one this big.

He changes out of his casual t-shirt and loose sport shorts into something more presentable. He throws on a dark blue button up and a pair of jeans. He puts on a hat and a pair of white sneakers to complete the look.

Of course, his friends tease him about his outfit.

“You could go without the hat,” Trevor says. “I mean, you’re seeing your girlfriend for the first time in how long and you’re wearing a hat? She likes your matted hair for whatever reason.”

He rolls his eyes. “My hair is not matted,” he retorts. “Sometimes a little greasy from sweating and being trapped under a helmet but not matted.”

Cole laughs and Jack grabs his keys from the little table by the door. “Just saying,” Trevor replies. “Just looking out for you, Jacky. All eyes are going to be on you until your girl comes on stage tonight.”

He nearly shuts and locks them in his apartment for the night after that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

⦗ reader’s POV ⦘

Another show, another city. She loves touring and love interacting with the people that gave her this opportunity, but it takes a toll on her after a while. She’s exhausted and she hasn’t even made it to the European leg of the tour yet.

Plus, it’s hard being away from family and friends for weeks and months at time. She hasn’t seen her parents since before she left to tour and FaceTime has become her best friend when she wants to talk to any of her friends or her boyfriend. Especially her boyfriend.

There are no words to express how much she misses Jack and being able to be with him.

She misses their movie nights where they'd fall asleep on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on one of their laps and the next morning it would be all over the floor. She misses the late night cuddles and morning kisses. She even misses when Jack would be late for bed after coming home from a game and he'd just watch film from said game. She loves to join him and he just talks her through every play. It's how she learned more than just the hockey basics that she already knew from watching with her dad when she was younger.

While she's in her dressing room after rehearsals and soundcheck, she pulls out her phone and text Jack since he's been on her mind for a little bit.

hughesy ♡ - 3:04 pm miss you. wish you were here tn

hughesy ♡ - 3:06 pm wish i was there too. you're gonna kill it like you always do (i've been living on tiktok since tour started so i can watch videos people post)

hughesy ♡ - 3:10 pm still. wish you could be here tn. i'd like to see you in the crowd at least once before i leave for the european part of the tour :((

hughesy ♡ - 3:13 pm you will. pinky promise

hughesy ♡ - 3:14 pm can't break a pinky promise, jack

hughesy ♡ - 3:16 pm you know i don't. i love you. see you soon 🤍

With a light sigh at Jack's promise to see her on tour, she puts down her phone and leans back where she sits on the loveseat. Her eyes close for a second and she imagines Jack being in the crowd for one of her shows. Especially after she debuts her new song tonight that she wrote with Jack in mind.

She should probably tell him that she wrote a song about him that will basically confirm their entire relationship. She wrote it to sound like sports in general but everyone will know that it's about Jack. They've all but publicly confirmed their relationship at this point so everyone will absolutely know that the song is about Jack.

The next few hours fly by as she begins to get into her first costume of the night -- a sparkly silver bodysuit made with thin fabric and a pair of matching heeled ankle boots. Hair and makeup come in as soon as she's dressed to get her ready for the several hour show she's about to put on in the hot New Jersey air since it's the dead of summer.

By eight, she's itching to get on stage in front of her hometown crowd. She's underneath the stage with a microphone waiting for her cue to go up.

Her music begins to play and the lights go out. The crowd screams as her platform begins to rise. She pops up right before the lights go on and she opens the show with one of the first songs she ever released when she was literally a 16-year-old out of New York. No one had ever heard her before and a record label took a risk on her after a couple of YouTube covers that got maybe 100 views each.

After her first song, she glances at the VIP tent to see who decided to come. She sees a handful of her Hollywood friends that live in New York City, one or two of her friends that she's made in Jersey over the past few years.

Then she sees Trevor Zegras. Cole Caufield stands in front of him. Luke and Quinn come into view next. Jack is right behind his brothers. Ellen and Jim are with them as well. She can't help but smile when she sees Jack.

The crowd around the tent turns and looks to see what she's smiling at. They lose it and she hears shouts of "Jack Hughes" from that area of the crowd.

Her band begins to play the next song and she jumps right back into the show. Jack being at the show is on the back of her mind. She forgot how good he looks without his arm in a sling. He looks really good, and she can't do anything about it right now.

The surprise portion of the night comes too quickly, but she's excited now that she knows that Jack is in the crowd for her debuting song.

She stands in front of her microphone stand and glances toward the tent where Jack stands. The crowd talks amongst themselves while she prepares herself for the next few minutes.

Everything is going to change in about five minutes.

"I have been debating giving you guys this song since I wrote it a few months ago," she begins to say into her mic. "It's one of my favorite songs that I have ever written, and you will understand why soon. This song is very much unreleased and this is the first time it has ever seen daylight so please be gentle with her. This is my gift to you for everything you have given me over the last few years. This is called 'The Alchemy'."

The crowd absolutely loses their minds when she's done talking. The beginning chords begin to play and she begins to sing these words live for the very first time.

This happens once every few lifetimes These chemicals hit me like white wine

What if I told you I'm back? The hospital was a drag Worst sleep that I ever had I circled you on a map I haven't come around in so long But I'm coming back so strong

Every so often, she turns her head toward the tent like she's singing the song to Jack. It's really to check on his reaction to the song. She spots the huge smile on her boyfriend's face and she mirrors it as she sings.

Flashlights are in the air as she sings since the crowd doesn't know the words. This is what she means by the connection she has with her audience. They always find a way to participate in the show, and she loves them for it. They are what makes this fun.

So when I touch down Call the amateurs and Cut 'em from the team Ditch the clowns, get the crown Baby I'm the one to beat Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

The crowd loses their minds when they hear the sports reference. She grins before she begins the second verse, once again glancing over at Jack. Trevor is saying something to him, but Jack's eyes are on her. He nods at whatever Trevor is saying without even looking at him.

Her smile grows as she begins her favorite part of the song. She turns her head and looks directly at Jack in the tent.

Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads Beer sticking to the floor Cheers chanted, cause they said There was no chance, trying to be The greatest in the league Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me

As soon as the last line leaves her mouth, the crowd is deafening. She smiles as she's met with such a positive reaction to the song. The crowd gets even louder when the song actually ends. She takes a step back and takes in this moment because it's going to live with her for a very long time.

The crowd keeps the same kind of intensity for the rest of the show, which is about another hour at least. She may have pushed it a little longer as a thank you to the crowd for being so kind to her.

A part of her can't wait to get off stage to greet her boyfriend for the first time in months. She told security to go get him, his family, and his friends from the tent during the last song because she can't wait any longer to hug him, kiss him, and tell him how much she loves and missed him.

She doesn't care how many eyes will be on her when she goes running to him backstage. She just confirmed their entire relationship to millions of people, maybe even billions of people. The last thing she's worried about is how many pairs of eyes are on her when she sees Jack for the first time since his surgery.

The platform she's standing on at the end of the show goes down under the stages once she's done thanking the crowd, her band, her dancers, and her backup singers. She scrambles off of it before it stops moving and is off running to find Jack.

Her heels click as she runs under the stage. She's blinded by the stadium lights when she emerges backstage. Some of the crowd that can see her cheers for her when they see her. It happens at all of her shows. Her eyes scan the entire area before they land on Jack talking with younger brother Luke outside the tent that leads back into the stadium and the dressing room areas. She takes off sprinting.

Jack glances in her direction and smiles when he sees her. The crowd notices him and gets even louder when they realize who is waiting for her.

When she gets to him, she throws herself around him. Suddenly, it becomes just the two of them alone in the world. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and closes her eyes. Jack wraps his arms around her, one of his hands cradling the back of her neck.

"Told you I never break my pinky promises," Jack mumbles into her ear through her hair.

She pulls back and cups his jaw in her hands. Jack dries the tears that she didn't even know began to roll down her cheeks. "You're really here," she says, her voice shaky and hoarse from the show. "I can't believe you're really here."

He grins and nods. "I'm here, and I'd really like it if you would kiss me because I have been waiting months to kiss you," he tells her.

She captures his lips in a long kiss with no hesitation. The remaining crowd loses their minds above her and she smiles as Jack reciprocates the kiss. It's a kiss that's on the quicker side but it feels like an eternity.

"Are you ready for all this?" she questions, motioning around her as she asks the question. "You've always been watching behind the curtain but are you ready for all the eyes to be on you?"

"It's not much different than the eyes I already have on me," he admits. "I already have a ton of eyes on me so yes, I'm ready to share this entire life with you. Now that I've seen you on stage, I don't think I'll be able to stop watching you. You looked stunning up there."

The biggest grin forms on her face. "I missed you, Jack," she tells him. "So much."

"You're not going months without seeing me again," he promises. "I'll make sure of it."

And she believes every single word.

༺═──────────────═༻

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[nhlclover]

concussion protocol | matthew knies

summary: you are entrusted to take care of your boyfriend after he suffers a concussion during a game.

request: yes / no

warnings: none

a/n: hate that he got injured and i hate it even more that there was no punishment for sam bennett

word count: 0.7k

The first night with Matthew in concussion protocol was alright. He was pretty worn out from the game and slept almost immediately after you got home.

It was the morning that was proving to be difficult. A creature of habit, Matthew immediately went on his phone after waking up, only to have it ripped from his hands when you spotted him.

“No phones.” You reminded him, setting his phone down on your nightstand.

Matthew groaned in response, putting his pillow over his head. “What am I supposed to do to entertain myself?” He asked, his voice muffled underneath the pillow.

“There are so many things you can do that don’t involve screens or anything strenuous on your eyes.” You told him. “You should be taking this time to relax.”

“I don’t want to relax!” He groaned. “It’s the middle of the playoffs, and I have a fucking concussion.”

You sighed. You felt for your boyfriend who was taken down in the second game by an opposing player, ultimately winding up with the diagnosis of a concussion. Although it sucked that the concussion was ultimately going to take him out of the playoffs for a few games, you were glad the diagnosis was being taken seriously, meaning he could recover completely.

You reached over, lightly running your hand over Matthews right bicep. “I’m sorry baby.” You say.

Matthew sighs, removing the pillow from his head and looking at you. He grabs your hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a lazy kiss to your knuckles.

“How about I make us breakfast, hm? You can stay here and relax.” You suggest.

“You’re amazing.” Is what Matthew responds.

You take that as a yes, sliding out of bed and heading to the kitchen. You settle on making breakfast burritos, preparing them for the two of you. As you head back to the bedroom, deciding to serve it in bed, you hear the familiar sounds of hockey.

You open the bedroom door, seeing Matt with his laptop on his lap and highlights from last night game playing on the screen.

“Matt!” You scold.

“What?” He asks.

You set the plates down on your side of the bed, taking the laptop from your boyfriend. “I literally just told you no screens.”

“No, you said no phones.” He says.

You give him a pointed look, putting his laptop on the dresser. “Eat your breakfast.” You say, a hint of anger in your voice.

Matthew looks at his plate momentarily then back at you. “Sorry.” He mumbles.

You chuckle lightly. “I just want you to get better as soon as possible, Matty.” You say, sitting down. “Concussions are serious and I know you want to get back on the ice as soon as possible. I’m just trying to help you with that.”

Matthew leans over, peppering your face with kisses. “Alright, alright. Eat before it gets cold.” You say.

You and Matthew eat breakfast, then decide to head for a walk around outside in order to rid him of some of his boredom. Toronto was now nearing the end of spring and the temperature was heating up, meaning the sun was strong. In order to not strain his eyes, Matthew donned a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap.

That occupied a few hours as you stopped at Starbucks and a record shop.

However, when you returned home, Matthew's boredom returned and his symptoms began to worsen. As he laid in bed once again, you got him some pain meds and an ice pack for his head. You laid beside him, music playing softly from your phone.

A sigh escaped from his lips. “Can I get you anything, baby?” You ask him.

“A new brain?” He asks.

You laugh at his request. “Not sure I can do that.” You chuckle.

“Worth a shot.” He says.

Matthew lifts the ice pack off his eyes and looks over at you. “You know, there is one treatment we haven’t tried yet.” He says.

“Hm? What’s that?” You ask.

“I read somewhere that a way to treat a concussion is for their super sweet, awesome, pretty girlfriend to give them a back rub.” He says, hesitantly.

"Oh yeah? Where'd you hear that?" You ask him.

"...WebMD?" He answers, hesitantly.

"Right super credible source." You laugh.

"So how about that back rub?" Matthew asks.

You sit up, scanning his face. He wore a cautious look as he awaited your response. You chuckle at him, a smile spreading on his lips.

“Take off your shirt babe.” You say. He does so gladly as you grab your moisturizer from the bathroom.

[sapphicbookclub]

You Don't Have a Shot by Racquel Marie

Valentina “Vale” Castillo-Green’s life revolves around soccer. Her friends, her future, and her father’s intense expectations are all wrapped up in the beautiful game. But after she incites a fight during playoffs with her long-time rival, Leticia Ortiz, everything she’s been working toward seems to disappear.

Embarrassed and desperate to be anywhere but home, Vale escapes to her beloved childhood soccer camp for a summer of relaxation and redemption…only to find out that she and the endlessly aggravating Leticia will be co-captaining a team that could play in front of college scouts. But the competition might be stiffer than expected, so unless they can get their rookie team’s act together, this second chance―and any hope of playing college soccer―will slip through Vale’s fingers. When the growing pressure, friendship friction, and her overbearing father push Vale to turn to Leticia for help, what starts off as a shaky alliance of necessity begins to blossom into something more through a shared love of soccer. . . and maybe each other.

Genres: contemporary, romance

Order from Blackwell's and get free worldwide shipping!

Listen to the book on audiobooks.com here!

[guentzel]

BASEBALL PRIMER: The Basics

Here is the tag where you can find all the posts.

Topics that will eventually be covered:

The Basics

Rules

Batting

Positions

Other Positions

Statistics

Terminology

League

Playoffs

Welcome to my primer post on baseball! Since people are interested in learning about baseball but can find it daunting, I've put together this post with the basics and then sub posts about other sections (the above will be updated with links as I post them). If you're interested in watching baseball, DM me and I will let you know the link you can watch for free. I'm not going to post it on here because that's how those websites get taken down, and I'm not about that life. If there's anything I missed/anything is wrong, please let me know!

Baseball is a sport played on a diamond in which a pitcher must attempt to strike out a batter. The game is split up into innings, which are then split up into two sections (the top or the bottom. ex: bottom of the first). A standard game of baseball has nine innings, and if both teams are tied, they will go into extra innings. Batters' goals are to hit and reach a base. Their ultimate goal is to run all the bases and make it back to home (where the catcher sits/where batters bat from). The only way to score a run is by crossing home plate, whether it be by a bases-loaded walk, or by a HR.

You can always tell if you're in the bottom or the top of an inning by who's at-bat/who's pitching. If the home team is pitching/defending, then you are in the top of the inning. If the home team is batting, you're in the bottom of the inning.

A pitcher's job is to strike out three batters, and his position players are there to help him.

COUNTS

"3-0" "2-1" "0-2" are all examples of a count you can have during an at-bat. These tell you how many balls the batter has, and how many strikes. Balls come first in the count, so for example, a "3-0" count will mean that the batter has three balls and zero strikes. 2-1 is two balls and one strike. If the ball count reaches four, the batter is issued a walk. If the strike count reaches three, the batter has struck out.

STRIKES

A pitcher's goal is to strike out a batter, and in order to do so, their pitches must be within the strike zone: the 'midpoint' (which is an area between the batters shoulders and top of the uniform pants) and above the knees in their batting stance. Below is an example:

In order for a pitch to be a strike, the pitcher must throw a pitch in the highlighted space above. If it's outside of the space, that is called a ball. Four balls equals a walk (which means the batter gets to go to first base) so it's the utmost importance for a pitcher to make sure that they throw within the zone.

If a batter swings at a ball and misses--no matter where it is in the strike zone--that is an automatic strike. If a batter swings at a ball and hits it, but it goes down the foul line or is hit back towards the crowd, that is a foul tip, counted a strike, but will not cause a strikeout. A called third strike is only possible by a batter swinging and missing, or not swinging at a ball within the strike zone.

WALKS

If a batter is hit by a pitch (HBP), they automatically take first. If a batter, however, is hit by a pitch by swung at it, it is not a HBP and they must continue their at-bat (unless it was their third strike.) If the bases are loaded (one player/baserunner on each base), and the pitcher walks the current batter, everyone moves up one base and whoever is at third goes home, scoring a run.

HITS

A hit is only counted if:

the ball stays within the foul line until it passes the third base/first base bag (depending on which side of the field it's hit)

it hits the ground without being caught by a player

and the batter must safely make it to a base without being tagged by a fielder with the ball.

the only exception to this is a homerun, in which the batter is allowed to round the bases and go home.

OUTS

An out is different than a strikeout in the sense that a strikeout is a pitcher getting a batter out at the plate, while an out a position player (or pitcher) catching a hit ball. If a player catches a hit ball before it hits the ground, it's an out. If a player catches a hit ball after it hits the ground, they must throw the ball to first in order for the runner to be out. If the runner makes it before the ball is in the first baseman's glove, that runner is considered safe. If not, that runner is out, and that counts towards the outs needed to end the inning (three). You can also tag a runner while they're running.

EXTRAS

If the game is tied after the ninth, they go into extras. A ghost runner for the batting team is put on second in an attempt to make the games go faster. If the away team scores a run, the game continues as normal until the home team gets three outs. Then, the home team must score enough runs to beat the away team during the bottom of the tenth, otherwise the away team wins. If they are still tied when the inning is over, they go into the eleventh. However, if the away team doesn't score in the top of the tenth, and the home team does in the bottom of the tenth, then the game is over, and the home team wins.

[samuelerssonupdates]

March 6, 2024: Nick Seeler signs a 4-year $10.8 million contract extension with the Philadelphia Flyers. (📸)

After leaving the Chicago Blackhawks in January 2021, Nick Seeler took six months off of playing hockey. He was a poor fit in Chicago, which was looking towards a more youthful team, and after his contract was terminated, he returned to his home of Minnesota to relax and reset. In June, he returned to the show when then-Flyers GM Chuck Fletcher signed him to a one-year deal. In that first year with the Flyers, he bounced back and forth between the Flyers and the Phantoms, but earned a permanent spot on the team roster in the 2022-23 season, and when injuries plagued the roster, even moved up to the left wing of the Flyers' fourth line.

This year things have been different. A shot-blocking machine on the third D-pairing with Sean Walker (a member of the Colorado Avalanche as of earlier today), he's become an essential part of the team, and not just on the ice. His teammates on the Flyers have been complimenting his work ethic for years now, and it's widely known that he's a hugely important presence in the locker room.

"He sets an example with his work ethic, as one of the most serious teammates Cam York’s ever known. He willingly sacrifices his body and sticks up for teammates. But he’s a “teddy bear” off the ice, says York and a teacher to rookies and veterans alike." (x)

"One that comes to mind is Nick Seeler. He is absolutely beloved in the locker room, he is a team-first guy, and he’s playing the best year of his entire career. He’s playing over four minutes per game than what he had been prior in his career, he’s a +14, and he stands up for his teammates. I think if they were to move him at the deadline, and if they were still in contention, I think that would bother some players." (x)

Most importantly, Seeler loves living and playing in Philadelphia. He's openly said for years that the team feels like home and that he wants to play for them, even if it means waiting longer for the playoffs or sticking with a rebuilding team instead of going somewhere with real, current Cup aspirations. You have to wonder if the very reasonable $2.7 mil annual salary is in part due to his willingness to be flexible in order to stay here.

During the 2nd period of Flyers-Blues game on March 4th, Seeler took a shot to the ankle and couldn't stand on his skates; play moved to the Blues' side of the ice as he struggled to get up from his hands and knees. When the Flyers on the ice, now shorthanded in the offensive zone allowed the play to move back down to the defensive zone, Seeler lay flat in front of goaltender Samuel Ersson to continue to try and block pucks from getting to the net.

There's a reason we wanted to keep him. And clearly, he's willing to do a lot for it. We are so excited to have you for four more years, Nick, and can't wait to cheer you on for all of them.

Michael Reaves