#keefe knows whats up

[keefechambers]

I'll move out.

[berryblu-soda]

veeeery slowly making my way through the kotlc series, this is my consensus on Keefe as of finishing book 2

[bookishjules]

yeah i'm doing GREAT btw

[the-way-astray]

Omg I am so glad to have found your blog and your anti keefe anti sokeefe posts! I was in the Keeper of the Lost Cities fandom many years ago pre-Legacy. I at first really liked the series but starting with book four Keefe’s entire existence really started to grate on me. His constant ‘pity me my mom is evil’ thing that just kept going on and on and Sophie kept spending all her time and energy on him when she had enough crap of her own to deal with and then Keefe quickly began overtaking the series as main character shoving Sophie the actual protagonist aside and it drove me crazy because he continued to become more obnoxious and more infuriating as time went by and he never learned his lesson or changed his behavior or got properly called out by anyone and continued to get worse.

The only thing that kept me reading was that I had become a major Sophitz shipper starting in book three and it seemed like they were going to become canon. I thought Sokeefe had to be a red herring and then Flashback came out and I was so happy that my ship was canon. It was hard being in the fandom because everyone loved Keefe but the fan base was fairly evenly split between Sokeefe and Sophitz shippers at the time. And then Legacy came out and destroyed everything. I felt that it unfairly demonized Fitz and made him and Sophie OOC just to break them up so that Sokeefe could happen. And suddenly the Sophitz side of the fandom grew super tiny as the Sokeefe fandom became the majority.

I stopped reading the series after that and left the fandom because the love for Keefe and Sokeefe was so big and unavoidable and it drove me crazy because I hated his character and that ship so much and it felt like no one understood me or my frustration with him or with the author for so blatantly favoring him and propping him up and turning him into the main character and protagonist. I was tired of arguing with people and feeling like an outsider. I can’t even reread the books (except the first one because Keefe is such a minor character in comparison) because Keefe has completely ruined it for me.

I hadn’t touched anything kotlc related for years until now when by pure chance I stumbled across your anti Keefe/anti Sokeefe post (the super 3 hours long to read one) and I ate it up. Devoured it. Finally I felt seen, I felt heard, I no longer felt alone or like I was the crazy one for not being able to see what was so great about Keefe and Sokeefe.

So I just wanted to say thank you for being brave enough to speak out with such an unpopular opinion in the fandom and write such a detailed well thought post that hits every point about how problematic this character and ship is and the author’s clear bias. It’s been really cathartic and validating for me to go through your blog. You are amazing!

ooooh hiiii anon!!!!

edit: goodness i really can't shut up ever when i get an ask can i. this is incredibly fucking long and goes off topic several times. sorry . . . also every single major unraveled plot point is spoiled. so. yeah

pre-legacy era is just a tad before my time, so i can't really speak to what it must've been like to be in the fandom then. but i know that it was pretty anti fitz and pro keefe even on tumblr during that time. so

although i disliked keefe from the second he was introduced to the series, i thought he was relatively bearable until neverseen. he was even genuinely funny in a couple moments in everblaze. so i completely see where you're coming from with how you were pissed off by keefe starting mostly in neverseen. that's the book where he gets his sad tragic backstory explored and therefore the book where he becomes more prominent . . . and more annoying. and yes!!!! the pity-partying is awful. goddamn. hate it so so so so much . . . no other character in the series, sophie included, has ever been such a pity magnet. every single chance the narrative gets, it will dump a truckload of pity on keefe that nobody else in the series can compete with. we get it . . . he has a tragic backstory . . . you don't have to say it one million trillion gazillion bajillion times we get it. never never never never will you see this amount of pity dumped on anyone that isn't keefe, even though everyone is struggling and traumatized. and this beating over the head with how hard keefe's had it ends up wrapping around all the way to staleness. now, every time it comes up, the reaction is less "awwww poor keefe" and more "we're here again????" . . . at one point, saying the same thing over and over, having the same exact conversation over and over isn't fleshing out. it's just repetitive and desperate and also bad writing

sophie constantly having to stroke keefe's ego is another thing . . . oh my goodness it is pure unadulterated misery. she is like this with keefe's major flaws and nobody else's so you can't even argue that it's just her overly forgiving nature coming out. no. it's shannon's fucking golden boy bias coming out, actually. keefe gets away with every single thing he does with the neverseen (and more) with exactly zero long-term consequence. sophie trusts him exactly the same amount she always has in nightfall (aka more than he deserves). god will she just distrust him for longer than four point seven seconds ever please. please. please i am begging. no, the nightfall scene does not count because sophie immediately forgives keefe after just a week and there's no period where you can tell she still doesn't trust him and where he has to slowly earn her trust back (so basically their relationship has zero development ever and is the most boring thing i've ever read. seriously how can something be so unhealthy and so stale? only sokeefe . . . ). and keefe apologizes more out of a desire to pacify sophie than a desire to truly change and grow. this scene is a sham and does not count. goddamn i am so tired of that fucking argument i am so fucking done i hate it here. why does sophie let him off the hook so fucking easy all the time just because of his fucking tragic backstory . . . and god i swear this fandom falls into the exact same fucking trap as well . . . every day i will log on and see some post that starts "guys can we stop hating on keefe he's just a teenage boy with flaws" before starting in on same exact explanation of keefe's tragic backstory that shannon is always shoving down our throats and act as if this magically absolves keefe of bad writing. it does not. jesus christ i am so done if i see one more post like that i will scream (i will not because i am so cool and chill trust) (but i will) (don't fucking test me) (just kidding keefe lovers you can do what you want forever and always i love you all i promise i am just annoyed and frustrated right now)

i actually disagree with the argument that pre-unlocked keefe shoved sophie out of her own story . . . yes he was in it a lot but i wouldn't argue that he was a second main character. i think that argument manifests from frustration with keefe taking up so much space in the story (an argument i do agree with. ahem. as you can see from above) but i don't think he was a main character, not in the way sophie was . . . up until unlocked. oh brother. and unraveled, of course, is a continuation of, to use sophie's words, "the keefe show". it's blatant fanservice i don't care what shannon is saying to justify it . . . now that i've read unraveled i'm willing to bet my entire life's savings on the fact that you can skip it entirely and be just fine. any important information keefe gleans that needs to become plot-relevant needs to be revealed to sophie anyway for book ten to move forward so. like. yes unraveled is nice to have . . . especially since when sophie learns about alvar it will likely seem out of nowhere for her since the last time she saw keefe and alvar interact they were very clearly confrontational toward each other. so unraveled fills that in and removes some of the forcedness (not well i might add. but it does) but that is still just a nice to have thing. same with the revelations regarding eleanor and her dad . . . information that will inevitably be revealed to sophie if it becomes important (as it should). once again. it is nice to have keefe's interaction with eleanor from his pov, but it's not needed. and guys you know i love keefe and cassius in this book you know i do i literally love it so bad i made an entire post on it . . . but guys even that is still a nice to have thing!!!! it could've been a short story. we did not need it as a mandatory thing . . . i am so sorry but. yeah. those are the three points i would consider to be the most important things about unraveled and they are all nice to have. the rest is fluff and angst and keefe walking streets and eating deserts. none of which is strictly needed in sophie's story. this story is sophie's we should not need keefe in it as a mandatory aspect i am so so so so annoyed by this clear fan pandering especially since keefe as a character only entered kotlc around draft twenty. he should not be this pivotal to the goddamned plot this is a clear-as-day sign of bad planning

"he continued to become more obnoxious and more infuriating as time went by and he never learned his lesson or changed his behavior or got properly called out by anyone and continued to get worse" this is perfect. anon i love you can i marry you . . . nothing to add to this. i swear between neverseen and legacy he just gets worse and worse with every book. it is awful and i hate him

the reason sophitz seemed like it was going to be canon in the earlier books is because it was. btw. i know this because keefe wasn't supposed to exist at all and kotlc is at heart an early 2010s series so who the fuck else was sophie supposed to amatonormatively end up with if not keefe but fitz. so obviously this is what shannon was pushing for up until around neverseen (possibly everblaze), i'd say. but because keefe does exist and was by far the more popular of the two love interests she created (no, dex was not ever a serious love interest for sophie), she switched gears and decided to make keefe endgame. and yes i do think fan pressure played a big role in this. but you have to understand that kotlc is shannon's debut series and, guys, the publishing industry is brutal, and at the time even moreso for female-led stories like kotlc. she wasn't getting much traction for it up until around lodestar, i believe, and to this day kotlc is still far more popular than her other series, the sky fall trilogy (which was all published before lodestar's release aka before she started making a name for herself as an author, which is why it's lesser known . . . seriously i think if she published that series now instead of before lodestar's release it would have been exponentially more popular than it currently is. i admit i take shots at keeper of "the series that never ends" the lost cities as much as the next guy, but guys. kotlc never ending is the reason it is even as popular as it is right now. i guarantee shannon would have drowned in the publishing industry if kotlc had been a trilogy like it was originally supposed to be). keeping this in mind, i do think she needed to capitalize on whatever crumbs she could get her hands on just for a shot at success, so i don't necessarily blame her for the way she abruptly changed the endgame love interest to the one less likely to get fans mad at her. it's understandable. i wish she had written keefe better so it wouldn't have been such an annoying change, but. hey. whatever, i guess. fan pandering is a lot more nuanced than "it's bad and i wish authors wouldn't do it" makes it out to be. but that is a discussion for another time (i say having discussed it already lmfao)

to me, it was clear that when sophie and fitz got together in flashback, they were the red herring. there were so many red flags in the way shannon wrote them, namely the fact that fitz put way too much emphasis on the match from the start. you'll see people talk about this a lot . . . how sophitz deserves a true chance and real moments where they were just being them instead of the match being introduced as a constraint so early. just. they just. they just deserved that chance you know? even if the match inevitably becomes the reason for their doom shannon didn't have to start them out nipped in the bud . . . we could've gotten to see them for what they could've been. anyway. it's clear shannon did not want her readers seeing this as an actual relationship from the moment they got together. and even before. which annoys me. like they should've gotten something. i can't imagine how much worse this must've been for someone that was truly rooting for them and once again i have no clue what the fandom landscape was like at that point in time but i can only imagine with the excessive keefe adoration it was pretty miserable

alright i may lose you here . . . sorry anon . . . but i personally don't think either fitz or sophie were ooc in legacy. at least not for the way they were set up to fail by shannon from the jump (flashback). sophie spends a great deal of time worrying about how fitz will respond to her unmatchable status (in character for sophie because she is a worrier and it is established in flashback that fitz is confident in the fact that they will be matched, so now without that security to fall back on . . . what is even there for her? that's what sophie's thought process is), and because of this, she avoids fitz. a lot. which annoyed me, too, don't get me wrong, and god i wish she had gone to fitz just once (just once!!!!) instead of keefe because sophie you are making a bad situation worse by doing this shit. but i wouldn't call it out of character for sophie. it was certainly annoying that shannon was not willing to give sophitz a proper chance, but that problem had already long been apparent to me so it was like a continuation of the same ongoing issue, not the introduction of a brand new one imo

as for fitz, he was also not out of character and was in fact incredibly sweet and kind to sophie for the majority of his appearances in legacy. seriously. his one (1) flaw was putting too much emphasis on the match and setting up the idea that sophie would inevitably end up on his list one day as the major support system for their relationship (which ended up collapsing beneath his feet). once again, the problem is the fact that shannon refused to give them a candid chance and had fitz bring up the match at every possible fucking opportunity except for one (1) time. it's not ooc for fitz to bring this up and see it as important to him (and it is. you can't really blame him for this . . . from his perspective, his entire family would be ruined and scrutinized for the rest of his indefinitely long life if he went ahead with this plan. it's kind of selfless to not drag them into endless drama just because he wants to be in a certain romantic relationship. if you think about it from that angle) but shannon went completely over the top and had him bring it up constantly and consistently. every time. it did not need to get brought up every time!!!! there were no romantic sophitz moments in legacy where they were allowed to be just them. which circles back to the same issue i had, which is that sophitz were never given a fair chance. shannon ruined them from the start to make sure that sokeefe would be seen as the superior ship in every way possible and reminded you at every single turn that sokeefe was superior (which ironically is part of why i hate sokeefe and feel it's incredibly forced and insecure as a ship)

as for fitz getting angry at sophie at the end of legacy, he's not angry at her because of the match, he's angry at her because she let alvar go, something i 100% support and think sophie deserved to hear (minus the yelling . . . but communication skills during emotional moments are something fitz has consistently been shown to be bad with, so this is not out of character for him either. and he apologizes for it and continues to work toward a better place . . . it really is just a character flaw that he relapses into). and i'm mad that fitz was the one villainized for this whole thing when it was so clearly sophie that was in the wrong . . . i have already ranted about that at length so. maybe i'll not talk about it again but yeah bottom line is that the only thing fitz was in the wrong for, for the entirety of legacy, is the fact that he yelled at sophie instead of calmly explaining his points. which themselves were valid and logical and i will forever be mad that fitz's attempt to bring alvar to justice is treated like a mad quest as a result of an irrational, emotional obsession when it was genuinely the most logical and even sweet action he could've taken (see: end of legacy where he wants to catch alvar to help keefe). and he doesn't even leave a trail of destruction and regression in his wake (that for some reason nobody gives half a shit about) as he tries to bring a traitorous family member to justice, unlike someone i know and fucking hate. anyway. you'll notice that for the part of the conversation where fitz and sophie are talking about the match, fitz is calm and even sweet. once again his only flaw is placing too much importance on the match, and it does have realistic consequences for his character (see: his relationship to sophie ends because of it), but other than that he is genuinely doing his best to comfort sophie. he also should not have ambushed sophie at a moment where she was clearly not feeling good, but again. he was mad about alvar and fitz consistently does not make good emotional decisions when he's angry. this is a character flaw of his . . . it is consistent and not out of character for him and most importantly results in actual fucking consequences for him. this action results in a breakup with sophie, a proper consequence that is a direct result of this flaw. this phenomenon is also known as good character writing, something shannon magically loses touch with whenever she turns the pen over to her golden boy

i think i would've gone crazy if i'd been on a non-tumblr platform pre-2020 because goddamn the way that most social media platforms are set up does not do a fantastic job of supporting unpopular opinions and washes them out. there's also not a lot of room for long analysis-type things on many platforms, so you just kind of have to say the most outrageous claim you can possibly think of and oftentimes it becomes either difficult or outright impossible to prove your claim. so you don't. and you continue to sound insane because of that. and the other side is relying on this feature (or bug) too, so then it's just an endless cycle of unchecked popular opinion . . . it's only on platforms like tumblr where there's space for proper proof to be shown that people with unpopular opinions start sounding considerably less insane and start actually changing people's minds (and i have . . . check the tag #konversion on my blog for people whose minds were changed about keefe to some extent). and even then . . . i feel like this new wave of people that have entered or started posting consistently circa 2023/2024 era truly and really do not understand the depth of unadulterated keefe adoration that there was prior to that. even on tumblr. keefe haters being prominent or a relatively popular opinion is pretty new and also still a tumblr-only thing . . . and because it’s better now, anon, i truly think your situation is just a bad timing issue. it's generally a better experience to be a keefe hater now. keefe lovers leave you alone for the most part and we leave them alone. coexisting in harmony as they say . . .

interesting that you can't reread the books because of keefe alone. much as i hate keefe and several other aspects of kotlc i do feel like the series just has an allure that i will just never fully shake off. i like to separate kotlc's good and bad sides into different compartments of my head and just try to enjoy what i like about kotlc when i do my rereads . . . i usually skip or skim keefe-heavy areas of the book on rereads. so that's a thing that might help if you really do love other aspects of the story /gen

like i said, keefe hatred is . . . not even close to being the majority opinion. shamelessly plugging this poll by fin as evidence. who btw himself does not have the most positive opinion of keefe, so there's no way this is some sort of skewed population poll. goddamn if i hear someone say that there are a lot of keefe haters on tumblr one more fucking time i will lose it because you are just objectively wrong . . . keefe haters make up 3.3% of the people that voted on that poll, and people that have a negative opinion of keefe make up 16.4% of the people that voted on that poll. a fantastic but incredibly low number. (excluding the people that didn't know who keefe was, this number goes up to just under 20%.) on the other hand, 46.4% of people voted that they were, not neutral on keefe, but keefe fans. (excluding the people that didn't know who keefe was, this goes up to about 53%, the remaining roughly 27% of people are neutral on keefe). people, even on tumblr, overwhelmingly have a positive opinion of keefe. if you seriously think there are a lot of keefe haters here, you're seriously deluded and i cannot fathom what keefe-hater-utopia-reality you think you live in (people who hardcore hate keefe, people who mildly dislike keefe, and people who are neutral on keefe combined still don't even come up to half of the people who voted on that poll and know who keefe is). and this is just on tumblr, the most keefe-hater-friendly platform. so. you can imagine what it's like in other places

anyway. all this to say, seeing as how we're well in the minority and people don't tend to go on unhinged rants about how much they hate him, i can see how this might be your reaction to seeing that rant but i want to emphasize that it wasn't actually particularly brave since i knew it wouldn't get a particularly bad reaction on tumblr. like. like i knew that going in. even though there aren't many keefe haters, the opinion is still generally respected. so like. i knew that people who didn't like it wouldn't really bother with me, especially since i'm a relatively small blog and those don't tend to get lots of hate . . . mostly i was determined to do it out of pure rage and vitriol but i don't think it was particularly noteworthy for the average kotlc fandomgoer. most people aren’t even aware it exists, i don't think, and because of that i didn't really get attacked. so. that's a thing

anyway this entire ask was super sweet and my response to it was entirely too long but i always love hearing from fellow keefe haters so. thanks for that and also you should dm me anon . . . i need to hear more of the opinion . . . jkjkjkjk . . . unless . . . ?

[ahoyimlosingmymind]

do you think Fitz and Keefe recognize each other anymore?

[synonymroll648]

sokeefitz au where keefe is a magician, fitz is his assistant (who also learned how to sword swallow just to occasionally upstage keefe at his shows because he's petty but doesn't know how to pull a quarter from someone's ear), and sophie is marella's newest friend that's getting dragged to one of keefe's magic shows and holy wow ok marella was not kidding about the magician and his assistant being hot. cue keefe pulling roses out of his sleeve for sophie midshow because he knows a cutie when he sees one (after getting a subtle okay from fitz, who is his boyfriend but most people only know about the childhood friends part). and fitz getting to know her after the curtains close and asking her if she wants to hang out sometime. and keefe crashing that meetup when it happens halfway through because he can't help himself and knows fitz won't mind.

and them becoming friends that hang out a lot outside of shows, and sophie being keefe's most reliable regular. that DEFINITELY aren't flirting, marella, c'mon, fitz leaving out scarves for her to steal at their apartment she now frequents more than her own and learning her favorite treats to bake for her and keefe constantly throwing his arm around her and complimenting her w/ ten million winks is strictly platonic in this context

[aphelea]

somehow i feel like reading this book as someone who is very very far from being a keefe fan made it easier

[3416]

it feels like it's always coming down to the offense and they literally can't do everything, they need their d 😭😭

no literally... everyone online is like. HERE'S how we can blender our (usually just top 2) offensive lines to get it going.... meanwhile they are literally backed up by the flimsiest and least stable dcore with glass bones and paper skin like.. i know all teams are going through that with injury, but somehow the leafs problems always come down to Certain Offensive Pairs being The Problem and not like... potentially systems as a whole or how we use our defense. i know it's just something that needs time to be sorted out... we lost mo forever last year and our team defense got super strong for a period... it takes a while. i just think... klingberg was a bad choice to add to this team if you had faith mo could bounce back with offense (he is now. and we have klingberg who is a liability AND not adding any offense so). it's literally d and bottom 6.................. every game.......

[sailforvalinor]

Finally getting around to reading The Goose Girl and oh my GOSH Ani is the female protagonist I needed please let her stay a bit shy and awkward please and thank you

[miedei]

nonexistent rizz

the team is shocked to see that… early seasons!spencer pulls?? and he has pulled???? (aka, the team discovers that early seasons!spence has a girlfriend)

a/n: first cm fic!!! super indulgent, deffo way longer than it had to be but I don’t care, I love love love the dynamic of the s1/s2 team and I NEEDED to write it (look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: alcohol consumption, reader referred to as a woman, reader is around spencer’s age in s1/s2 (23-24), completely inaccurate early 2000s technology i think, cuties being cute, not edited in any way

wc: 2k

part two | part three | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

“‘O Keefe’s! My wonderful, wonderful sweethearts, we are going out!” The moment the team steps out of the elevator, Penelope is bombarding them, hands moving wildly as words seem to tumble out of her mouth. “And yes, Hotch, I am sure we have no cases lined up yet, and yes, I’m sure JJ can corroborate that the moment she gets to her office and no, you may not stay behind, tonight is compulsory. That stands for you too, Gideon!”

Hotch hasn’t even opened his mouth, shaking his head in defeat as he takes in Garcia’s determined face. Under the watchful eyes of the team, his shoulders slump, a tired hand scrubbing down his face. “Fine. We all have to finish our reports, but if we’re all done in half an hour, we can go. Gideon?” He turns his face, hoping for Gideon to find a way to bunk off, but there’s a glint of amusement in the older man’s eye. “Sounds like there’s no getting out of it.” With that, he walks off, to his office. 

Penelope whoops excitedly, “Okay! That means we’re all going! That’s the first time since Gideon came back,” but her face sets slightly when she meets Spencer’s eye. “No. No, Baby Genius, you will not do this to me,”

“Garcia, I have pl-” “No! You are coming out with us, and we’re going to have a great time, and whatever Russian indie film you were going to watch will still be there for you tomorrow. Okay? No more complaining, baby, you know I won’t listen.” With a pat on his shoulder, she flounces off. Defeated, he doesn’t move from the elevator area, shrugging helplessly when Elle, JJ and Morgan brush past him to the bullpen. 

With a sigh, he takes out his phone, pressing his newly-programmed speed dial and bringing the phone to his ear. From Derek’s vantage point in the bullpen, he can see Spencer, pacing back and forth in front of the elevator doors, and he can see the moment whoever is on the other side picks up. The younger man’s face lights up, like when he’s on the receiving end of a rare Hotch smile out in the field, but more spirited, buoyant. Only snippets of the conversation float in through the slightly-ajar glass doors, but they’re enough to give him pause, and still his fingers above his keyboard.

“...Garcia’s got this plan for us all, and…”

“Yes, I know, I do like going out with them, but that’s not what I wanted to do…”

“...I took the metro tonight, so I think I’ll just… Really? You want to?”

At that point, Spencer turns, his voice muffling, and keeping Derek from his vested interest in his conversation. But what little he heard is more than enough to pique his interest. He flicks a pencil onto Elle’s desk. “Greenaway. You know if pretty boy’s mom is in town or something?” Elle looks up from her monitor, head tilting, “Not that I know of. Besides, doesn’t she not like flying? I don’t think he’d have her come here. Why do you ask?”

Derek doesn’t reply, simply gesturing to the glass doors, where Spencer is walking inside, his mouth twitching to conceal his smile. His steps are measured, like he’s trying to feign calm. He settles at his desk, hunching his back in a way that can’t be comfortable, typing rapidly as his knee jiggles up and down. Elle turns back to Derek, eyes wide with wonder. 

“That is not how you look getting off the phone with your mother.”

The incident is quickly forgotten, however, when the BAU team are crammed into a booth in the back of the low-lit bar. Penelope has roped Hotch into helping her bring drinks back from the bar, and the rest are speaking a little too loudly, arms flinging and bumping into the empty glasses littering the table. 

All except for Gideon, who, despite having had three glasses of whiskey, is still just as calm and observant as he is fully sober. It is this that causes him to zero in on Spencer, sitting across from him, sandwiched between Morgan and the newly-returned Garcia. 

There’s a pink flush across his high cheekbones, and he’s incredibly giggly, all things that are completely expected for him, a few drinks in. However, what the experienced profiler picks up on, are his darting eyes. Spencer can often be found staring into the middle distance, or, since Gideon taught him the importance of building rapport with victims and officers alike, trained steadily on the space between someone’s eyebrows, but this time it’s different.

His eyes flick to whoever’s talking, feigning interest, but every few seconds, it turns back down to his lap, where something is clutched in the hand he keeps under the table. If it were Hotch, Gideon would know with absolute certainty that he was watching his phone, waiting for a text from Haley.

But this is Spencer. The youngest person he knows. The youngest person he knows whose technological knowledge is somehow worse than Gideon’s own. What on earth would have Spencer acting- 

Oh. Gideon nearly gasps at Spencer’s movements. On his fifteenth peek down at his lap, Spencer stiffens, then draws his hand up from his lap to get closer to his face. It is his phone, and Spencer Reid has somehow learned to text as quickly as Morgan does. His thumbs fly over the buttons on his phone, and he can’t hold back the smile that spreads on his face.

Gideon’s eyes furrow, and he can’t hold back from nudging Hotch’s shoulder, pointing in Spencer’s direction. Hotch pulls himself away from his conversation with JJ, and Gideon can see his expression morph from mild interest, to confusion, to complete bewilderment. After a beat, his face turns to meet Gideon’s and his normally stoic demeanor is shaken, eyes wide. 

Spencer, however, doesn’t even notice his mentors’ faces, still tapping away at his phone and craning his neck to look around the bar. 

It’s a while later, when JJ has pulled the team (minus Hotch and Gideon) onto the dance floor, a few drinks past tipsy at this point. She’s laughing out loud, holding Elle’s hand and twirling her under her arm. Penelope and Derek are mock-waltzing, bursting into laughter every few steps, and Spencer… 

JJ pauses for a moment, before Elle pulls her into moving again. Her head whips around, trying to find Spencer, before giving up. He must be back at the table with Hotch and Gideon, he was never very comfortable dancing anyway. 

The four on the dance floor quickly devolve into a mess, swapping partners until they’re all dizzy and laughing. JJ and Penelope are shimmying back and forth together, when Penelope gasps a little, tapping JJ’s arm without ceasing her movements. “Jayj! Look, see that girl at the bar?” She gestures subtly at a younger woman, probably in her early twenties, wearing a purple wrap top that has JJ sighing wistfully. 

“Pen, I think I’ve seen my soulmate. Would it be weird for me to crawl over there and beg her for her shirt?” Penelope giggles, gripping JJ’s forearms so they can sway to the music dramatically. “Just a little, my sweet. How about we go ask her where it’s from, though? I think that would be a little more…” She goes uncharacteristically silent, and it has JJ twisting to see what shut her up. However, Penelope tightens her grip on her arms, keeping her from moving. 

“JJ. My love, my heart. You’ll always be honest with me, won’t you?” Now she’s worried. JJ nods quickly, deciding to just focus on Penelope. “Yeah, Garcia, of course. What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m seeing things, and you are one of the most qualified people in the world to tell me if I’m going crazy. I’m going to turn us around, and you’re going to look at the woman in that gorgeous top, and you are going to either scream, or send me off to Hotch for a psychological evaluation.” Her tone is serious, hushed, and JJ nods solemnly. 

The intricate plan is conducted, and JJ is now facing the bar, her eyes searching for the girl, when she stiffens, sucking in a breath. “Yes! I’m not crazy, you see it right? What is going on!” Penelope smacks her arm repeatedly, but JJ can’t tear her eyes away from it. It being something she couldn’t possibly have prepared herself for, not in her wildest imaginations.

The girl is sitting on a barstool, sipping at a cocktail, and chatting to… Spencer. Spencer, the BAU’s Spencer, child-prodigy-lovable-dork-awkward-mess Spencer Reid, is stood in between her legs, smiling down at Mystery Girl without a hint of fear. It’s devastatingly sweet, his eyes soft in a way she’s never seen before, as he nods along with whatever she’s saying. Penelope jolts her out of her trance with a tap to the arm, JJ whispering, “He’s so… carefree.” 

That’s the only way to describe it. He’s looking down at her, eyes locked onto hers, and he’s still. His hands aren’t tapping, his leg isn’t shaking. He’s just looking at her. 

JJ can feel Morgan and Elle huddle near her, questioning Penelope about what they’re looking at, before shutting up as they see it. She hears them take twin gasps, and huddle even closer. They stand in silence, surely a hindrance to the people dancing, but they can’t tear themselves away. 

It’s only when Spencer shatters their worlds once more that they finally find themselves able to move. Four pairs of eyes follow him, as he leans even further towards Mystery Girl, and they all bulge at once when he raises a hand, carding his fingers through her hair. Penelope whispers, “oh my god”, Elle grips JJ’s arm in a vice grip, and Derek makes an unseemly noise, before gripping their arms, tugging them back to the booth. 

They collapse in the seats, faces pale as they look at each other, next to a very confused Gideon and Hotch. 

“What? What is it?” Hotch questions them, brow furrowed deeply. None of them speak, however. Only Elle lifts a weak hand to point. She directs their attention to the sight at the bar, and they all turn back to it, gasping once again. They’re… “kissing,” Derek breathes, shocked. Hotch and Gideon stiffen, but still crane their heads until their eyes fall on what has rendered their highly trained team speechless. And their reactions are just as silent.

Mystery Girl has stood up, her arms around Spencer’s neck, and he’s leaned down to meet her lips, hands braced on her hips. It’s honestly not that scandalous, a lazy, casual kiss that they part from with twin smiles, but the FBI agents can’t handle it. They don’t say a word, straining their ears to hear whatever she is saying as he holds her hand (Penelope lets out a squeak at that), and walks with her towards the door, not even noticing that his coworkers have returned to the booth. Her voice is low, but Hotch manages to pick up a few of the words. 

“...go home and watch that movie I was telling you about? Metropolis, I think you’ll really…” And they’re off. Spencer Reid has left a bar, holding hands with a girl (that he’s apparently spoken to multiple times? Who refers to a place as home for both of them?), acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

The group sits in silence, unable to muster a comment, when Penelope’s phone buzzes. She checks it, and silently turns the screen over so they can all read it. 

BOY GENIUS: Hey Garcia. I wasn’t feeling well so I decided to go home. See you Monday :-)

“What?”

[souljahwwitch]

hiii are u willing to write thanos head canons sfw or nsfw whichever you’d like i love your fics btw your writing is chef kisses ^_^

I LUV IT!

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ some random thanos sfw and nsfw hc’s <3

(no squid game in this)

SFW!<3

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ i think thanos is actually (at least before the squid game) a pretty chill guy, but he defo thinks getting with you was his best decision, he loves having you on his arm looking like a dream while people chase him for autographs

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ thanos loves purposely making you try on his clothes, the baggy low rise pants that practically fall off you, and some random shirts that say some stupid shit like “I ❤️ CHIEF KEEF!” he cant help himself, he just thinks you look so adorable and so damn funny

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ whenever he’s with his friends he talks about you, constantly “yeah bro, she’s a sweetheart—and don’t get me started on how beautiful she is.”

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ thanos’s friends know you as ‘thanos’s pretty girl’ when they mention you they always say it like that, because it’s the truth—you are his pretty girl

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ what thanos loves the most is smoking some weed with you, he never wants you to actually get addicted, you’re his angel after all, but he loves it when you two sit alone—his hand stroking your hair as you look up at him with those red rimmed doe eyes

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ everytime you two smoke thanos has to take a picture, you’re just too beautiful to him!!!!!!???!!! the picture is either you looking up at the phone with your pretty eyes, his tattoed hand on your cheek—sometimes you on his lap, with nothing but his shirt and underwear, smiling prettily

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ i think thanos would love shy girls, a great balance for him—so when he found you all pretty and shy like that, he was over the moon



ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ he loves to tease you for it, he does something to purposely get you flustered and of course he has to act cocky after

“what’s the matter, dollface? don’t tell me you’re embarrassed, aww look at you” with every one of his words his smirk gets bigger

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ he crumbles completely when he sees that you’re crying, he hates seeing you cry—sure he thinks you look positively angelic while doing so, but he can’t stand the thought of you hurting

“c’mon sweetheart talk to me, what’s got you this upset? need me to beat someone up? y’know i’d do anything”

NSFW!<3

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ yeah, he likes it rough, likes it when you’re helpless—compared to him, you’re innocent, and he loves showing you the ropes but teasing you for it

“thanos d-dunno—dunno how to, can you help me, pleasepleaseplease?” you say between whimpers, he had you on his lap, making you ride him but you didn’t have the strength that he does:(

“c’mon, angel you know how to, unless you need me to take over, hm? just say the word and quit being a stubborn brat.” cocky mf, he says all that, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ loves watching you squirm, you’re just to sensitive, so loud—he doesn’t hold back from making you whimper and whine, especially when his friends are just a room beside, same friends that want a piece of you—but he’ll never let them have you :)

(sorry for not writing much for nsfw 😭😭 i’m new to this so i’m not used to writing smut, but still thank you for your support!!)

[lesson-in-ruthlessness]

ive said this once and i will say it again, grady is the most nuanced character in KOTLC. Purely from just how he is written in canon- there is so much we can draw from his character with little inference.

On the one hand, you have a walking tragedy: he manifested one of the rarest and most dangerous abilities in the lost cities at a young age, he lost his daughter to her fiance, (if we're talking theory, he may have been in the neverseen), you can't help but feel sympathy for him.

But then- you realize something terrifying.

Gisela and Vespera are right.

Grady is the most ruthless elf in the lost cities.

But he's also one of the kindest.

Despite the danger it poses, he and Edaline adopt the Moonlark, they put themselves at risk. Despite everything been through, they willingly give their love to a girl who needs it. That is one of the kindest acts someone can pull off.

However, as alluded to earlier, there's another side to him. Despite how concerned, kind, and thoughtful he is; he is also vengeful, impulsive, and distrusting.

Let's look at Everblaze again. Partially because it's the best example of his darker nature, partially because I have it on hand right now, partially because it is my favorite book in the series.

In Everblaze, Grady's vengeance and impulse is seen in full. Take King DImitar, for an example. Sophie was going to be taken away; and Grady jumped in. He believed it to be the right thing to do; and believe me it was, but there is a dark tone to it. A feeling of impulse; that he wasn't truly thinking at the moment. And he almost violated the treaty, if it wasn't for the Councillors coming to his defense.

This scene serves as subtle foreshadowing for later and sets up something very important about Grady:

He could kill someone if he wanted to. And he knows that.

But what could push him that far? Well, there is an answer to that, an answer we later find out:

Jolie's death.

When he finds out the true circumstances to Jolie's untimely demise, his sheer ruthlessness is demonstrated. There's a deeper level to this however, it is his underlying fear of being taken advantage of showing to its surface.

Brant took advantage of Grady and Edaline, and that is the biggest injustice to Grady. Because it's what he has been fearing, it's why he had closed himself off to the world.

That fear causes the sheer level of terror that is caused in Grady. Terror that builds into his impulses, which causes him to go out to find Brant, with intent to kill.

That's why he doesn't want Sophie to come with, he doesn't want his daughter to see the monster he was about to become.

The monster he believes himself to be.

It's not just Everblaze, but a feeling that permeates his character and his choices.

His distrust of Keefe stems from two things:

The similarities he sees between himself and Keefe (the sense of humor, the blond hair, and later in the books; the ability of control).

How that, in a way, is all Grady has ever known.

Elves manifest young. Meaning that he has spent a majority of his life being distrusted by his peers, as well as distrusting the world and fearing someone would take advantage of him.

So when there's a talented but terrified young kid that needs his helps; whether through adoption or through training, he obligies.

Why?

Because he sees himself so much in that situation. Because of that deep feeling of kinship, he feels a need to take care of people in that situation.

Grady's empathy trumps his distrust.

And that's why he starts helping Keefe. That's why he adopts Sophie.

tl;dr: grady's character absolutely FUCKS why does no one talk about this???

also he is hotter than hell and i will fight people on this

[nylqnder]

DOROTHEA LUKE HUGHES

pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke's sophomore season is far from what he had imagined. the weight of expectations, buried by the grueling pain of a long season begins to weigh on him. so, when the mid-season break rolls around, instead of going to four nations to watch his brothers, luke heads back to michigan in hopes of finding his love for hockey again.

warnings: vague mentions of anxiety, luke being extremely self critical, poor self-conscience, a bit of swearing, fictionalized events (e.g, how the devils season is going, games that haven't happened yet)

wc: 8.40k

notes: based on ‘dorothea’ by taylor swift. this one will may or may not tug at your heart strings. also quite a bit of this is made up. i know luke isn't having a bad season whatsoever + the devils aren't doing that bad. it's for the sake of the story!

“That’s not fucking good enough Hughes!”

Luke barely registered the assaulting tone of his coach’s voice above his labouring breaths. His chest heaved as he bent at the waist, gloved hands braced on his knees, lungs screaming for oxygen that never seemed to come fast enough. Every inhale burned, every exhale was shaky and ragged. Sweat dripped in a relentless stream down his temples, pooling in the collar of his jersey and turning his pads into a suffocating prison.

Just twenty-six more minutes of hockey, Luke reminded himself. Just twenty-six more minutes until thirteen, blissful hockey-free days.

The Four Nations break, a reprieve that couldn’t come soon enough, felt tantalizingly out of reach. It felt like time had slowed during this game, making it even more painful for Luke.

It wasn’t just his joints that ached or his lungs that burned; it was deeper than that. It was bone-deep. Soul-deep. It was the kind of ache that didn’t go away after a night of icing and a couple of ibuprofen. This was exhaustion — not just of the body, but of the mind.

This wasn’t the way Luke’s sophomore season was supposed to feel.

Luke entered the season with expectations stacked high enough to scrape against the rafters. Media outlets had anointed him the next big thing — another Hughes boy destined for stardom. His debut season had been solid; a Calder finalist-worthy season, in fact. Flashes of brilliance here, mistakes there, but he was still a kid learning the ropes. They’d forgiven him then. But now? Now they wanted dominance. Consistency. Leadership. They wanted him to be everything.

And he was coming up short.

The cold, hard fact of it was written across the scoreboard: 3-1 Canadiens, late in the second. The Devils couldn’t sustain any pressure in the offensive zone, the power play was sluggish, and the defensive breakdowns were enough to make Keefe nearly burst a blood vessel on the bench. Luke knew he wasn’t solely to blame, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still somehow on him. That he wasn’t doing enough. That maybe he wasn’t enough.

“Get your head out of your ass and look like you’re trying to do something, Luke!” Keefe said from the other end of the bench.

Luke didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He simply absorbed his coach's words, shoulders sagging as he grabbed a towel to wipe his face. The damp fabric felt cool for a fleeting second before the heat radiating off his body rendered it useless.

“Hey, shake it off man,” Nico said from a few people down. The captain leaned forward, hands wrapped tightly around the edge of his stick. “Plenty of time left.”

Luke nodded mutely, not trusting his voice. Plenty of time. Sure. That’s what they always said until the buzzer sounded and it was too late. He stared down at the ice in front of him, tracing invisible patterns with his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the crowd, the critical eyes of the coaching staff boring into him, and the sharp stab of self-doubt that never quite went away.

He felt like he was moving underwater. Every shift was a struggle to keep up, every decision a split-second too late. Passes he’d made effortlessly when he was playing college hockey were suddenly bouncing off the heel of his stick. He hesitated when he should attack. He pinched when he should hold back. And he knew — God, he knew — the more he overthought it, the worse it got.

The crowd erupted as the Canadiens scored again. Luke didn’t need to look up to see the damage. The groan of the goal horn, the flashing red light, and the collective exhale from the bench told him everything he needed to know.

Luke gripped his stick tightly, knuckles white beneath his gloves. Twenty-six more minutes.

Blissful, hockey-free days loomed in the distance like a mirage. But would they really feel that way? Would he be able to shut it all off — the doubt, the pressure, the lingering echoes of every misstep? Would time away help him get his head back on straight, or was this just the start of something darker?

A few weeks ago, Luke had turned down multiple invitations from his teammates for getaways to white sandy beaches and crystal-clear waters. Nico was going to Cancun, Timo was going to the Bahamas. All of them were going on getaways for some much-needed rest and relaxation. But Luke couldn’t. He needed something more than just the sun. He needed a mental reset. A return to something grounding.

When the final buzzer blared, signalling yet another disappointing loss, Luke didn't even glance up at the scoreboard. The sting of defeat was something he’d grown uncomfortably familiar with, but it didn’t hurt any less. As he skated off the ice and into the tunnel, his legs felt like lead, his mind clouded with frustration and exhaustion.

He went through the monotonous routine of a loss; pulling off his sweat-soaked equipment one piece at a time while hearing a berating speech from Keefe outlining every single mistake they made, then spewing the same PR rehearsed answers to the media as he was forced to do availability yet again.

As soon as he was out of the arena, Luke pulled out his phone, scanning his notifications. While Jack took to pestering his brother in person, Quinn had messaged him earlier in the day, asking if he’d changed his mind about coming to watch them at Four Nations. It was the first time Quinn and Jack would be on the same team again since their younger days, and they’d been excited about the chance to represent Team USA together.

Quinn: It’s been a minute since we’ve all been in one place. Would be good to see you.

Luke sighed. A younger version of himself would’ve jumped at the chance to be there. To be around his brothers, the guys who’d been his idols growing up. But now, the thought of sitting in the stands, watching them thrive, only highlighted the weight of his own struggles. They deserved his support, but Luke wasn’t sure he could handle being there, feeling like the odd one out in his own family. The longer Luke thought about what he needed to do and where he needed to go, the clearer it became.

Michigan. That was where he needed to be. Not Cancun. Not the Bahamas. Not at Four Nations, no matter how much he wanted to see Jack and Quinn dominate together. Luke had made his decision. Back home was where he needed to be.

As he settled into his seat on the plane, the distant hum of the plane engines and the chatter of fellow passengers faded into the background. His thoughts settled on Michigan. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew it was there. The pull was inexplicable and undeniable, like gravity tethering him to a place he used to call home.

The wheels touched down with a jolt, and Luke pulled his coat tighter against the January chill as he stepped out of the terminal. The air smelled of snow and wet pavement, a scent so distinctly winter in Michigan that it stirred a pang of nostalgia in his chest.

He drove the winding roads back to his childhood neighborhood, the landscape coated in a blanket of fresh snow that shimmered under the streetlights. When he pulled into the driveway of the Hughes family home, the familiarity hit him like a slap. The dented hockey net at the end of the driveway and the porch light his mom insisted on always staying on, even when no one was home — it was all the same. And yet, it wasn’t.

Inside, the house was silent. Ellen and Jim were already in Montreal for Four Nations, cheering on Jack and Quinn as he’d known they would be. The usual warmth of his mom’s laughter, the clatter of pots in the kitchen, and his dad’s voice offering quiet encouragement were all absent. Instead, Luke was greeted by an almost eerie stillness.

He dropped his bag in the hallway and stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The framed photos lining the walls, the scuffed wooden floors from years of indoor hockey games with his brothers — it was like stepping into a time capsule of a simpler life. A life before contracts and endorsements, before fans and expectations, before the weight of the NHL threatened to crush him.

Luke’s footsteps echoed as he made his way to the den. The fireplace was unlit, the room cold. He collapsed onto the couch, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling. His chest still felt tight from the game, his body aching in a way that told him he wasn’t just physically tired but emotionally spent.

Luke had expected something — comfort, nostalgia, maybe even peace. Instead, he was met with an odd hollowness, a space in his chest that Michigan didn’t instantly fill. Maybe that was the point. He wasn’t the same kid who had once called this place home. Still, despite the emptiness inside him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his path back to himself began here. He didn’t know when or how he’d feel whole again, but he was certain it wouldn’t happen overnight. It wouldn’t happen in Cancun, the Bahamas, or even on the ice in a Devils uniform. If it could happen anywhere, it would be here — in Michigan.

The next morning, hunger and boredom pushed him out of the house. He didn’t have a plan beyond grabbing coffee and then hitting the grocery store. He drove aimlessly through the familiar streets, his heart pulling in two directions — nostalgia and unease. Every corner, every turn, held memories of the life he’d left behind.

He parked outside a coffee shop he vaguely remembered from his college days. It was a cozy spot nestled between a record store and a florist. The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside, the scent of fresh coffee and pastries wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

Luke stood in line, scanning the menu even though he already knew he’d get a black coffee and maybe a bagel. Habit, plain and simple. Once he ordered, he scanned the room for a table to sit at.

That’s when he saw you. At first, he wasn’t sure. The years had softened and matured parts of you, but there was no mistaking the way your hair fell or the way you were chewing on your lip as you stared at your laptop, the way you always did when you were deep in thought. The sight of you hit him like a puck to the chest — unexpected and jarring.

He hadn’t thought about what he would say if he ever saw you again. and yet, there you were, just a few feet away. For a moment, he considered slipping out unnoticed, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it came. Some invisible force propelled him forward, just like it always had when it came to you.

The two of you had been inseparable growing up. You knew each other better than anyone. Your bond had always been easy, natural. But it had never been simple.

Luke remembered the stolen glances, the way his chest tightened whenever you laughed at one of his dumb jokes, and the electric charge that sparked whenever your hands accidentally brushed. It was a relationship constantly teetering on the edge of friendship and something more — a delicate balance neither of you dared to upset.

He remembered the time when you were both sixteen, sitting on his front porch while the post-game party buzzed inside the house. Luke’s team had won in overtime, securing a state championship and the celebration had carried over to the Hughes’ home. Despite the noise behind him, all he could focus on was the way your cheeks flushed from the cold, the way your breath formed soft clouds in the crisp night air. He had been on the verge of telling you how he felt when the front door burst open and his brothers and their friends came bursting out, effectively breaking the moment.

Following that, Luke shoved his feelings down deep. You stayed close, intimate friends, remaining his one constant. Until you weren’t. He was at the University of Michigan, and you were at Boston University. At first, you two had tried. Long phone calls after late practices. Texts full of inside jokes and encouragement before exams. Plans to visit that always fell through because his schedule was relentless, and yours wasn’t much better.

Eventually, the calls got shorter. Then they stopped altogether. Luke remembered how, one night, he’d stared at his phone with your name highlighted on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. Michigan had just lost in the Frozen Four semifinals, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone else except for you. It was always you Luke spoke to after the bad games. But the weight of his exhaustion, the pressure of his family’s expectations, and the overwhelming chaos of his life had pressed down on him until he just put the phone down and rolled over in bed. He never called.

He told himself it was mutual, that life had just gotten in the way. But seeing you now, he wondered if he had been the one who let go first.

Then, as if you felt a pair of eyes on you, you looked up to find the familiar set of green eyes looking back at your own. Your eyes widened in recognition, and for a second, neither of you moved. It was like the air around you both had shifted, growing heavier with the weight of unspoken words and time lost.

“Luke?” you said, your voice a mix of surprise and something softer, something harder to place.

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey. It’s been a while.”

That was an understatement. It had been more than a while. It had been years. Years since late-night study hang-outs turned into whispered confessions, since your laughter echoed in his ears as you teased him about missing his fifth straight penalty shot during pond hockey. Years since he’d kissed you in the downstairs bathroom at Isaac Howards' house during a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Years since he left, and the texts and calls dwindled into nothing.

“Yeah, it has,” you said, shifting your coffee cup between your hands. Your voice was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place — bitterness? Sadness? Maybe both.

“Yeah. Too many.” He looked down at the table, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve—”

“Called?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He winced but nodded. “Yeah. I was an idiot. No excuses. I just… I don’t know. Things got crazy.”

You let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I noticed. A tiny screen’s the only place I see you know.”

Luke looked up, and the warmth in your smile soothed some of the guilt still gnawing at him.

“I guess I deserve that,” Luke admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do with himself. “I’ve missed you, though. More than you probably believe.”

The tension lingered for a moment before your expression softened. Something about the way Luke's shoulders slumped, the weight he seemed to carry in his eyes, made you ease up. He wasn’t the confident kid you remembered, always ready with a joke or a smirk. He looked… tired. Like he’d been through the wringer and hadn’t quite come out the other side.

You gestured to the empty seat across from you. “What brings you back to Michigan? Shouldn’t you be playing right now?”

Luke hesitated momentarily but that same pull sent that thought out quickly and Luke sunk down into the chair. “Yeah, I should. But we’ve got a mid-season break and uh… I needed to get away for a bit.”

You nodded knowingly. “Rough season?” you asked, even though you knew all too well how the season was going. Despite the no contact and the years between you, you still found yourself watching his games, keeping an eye on the number forty-three that zipped around the ice.

“You could say that.” His eyes flickered down to his cup, fingers idly picking at the paper sleeve. “Just trying to figure some things out.”

You nodded slowly, studying him. It wasn’t like Luke to open up so easily, but the strain in his voice, the way he seemed smaller somehow, told you he needed this — needed someone to just listen. “How long are you in town for?”

“A week, maybe a little longer. Depends.” he shrugged, attempting a casual tone, but you caught the uncertainty beneath it.

“Well,” you said, your voice lightening, “since you’re here and since it’s been… well, too many years, do you want to grab dinner tonight? Catch up properly?”

His eyes widened slightly like the suggestion had caught him off guard. For a second, he looked like he might say no, but then his lips curved into a small, genuine smile — one that reminded you of the old Luke. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Dinner plans were settled, and a quick double-check that you still had each other's current numbers followed before parting ways temporarily. Luke had a small smile on his face as he walked out of the coffee shop, his coffee forgotten in his hand. You had been the last person he expected to see, but somehow, it felt like exactly what he needed.

The restaurant you’d picked was a cozy spot you’d discovered a little bit ago that had become one of your favourite places to eat out — nothing fancy, just good food and a relaxed atmosphere. When Luke arrived, the nervous energy radiating off him was palpable. It made him seem much more approachable than the polished player you thought he’d become.

“You clean up nice,” you teased as he slid into the booth across from you, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Thanks,” he said, laughing softly. “You too. Not that you didn’t already look nice earlier.”

“Smooth,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you glanced at the menu. “You always this good at compliments?”

“Only with you,” he quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The banter came easily, flowing like it used to in the days when late-night conversations over pizza were a regular occurrence. You found yourself slipping into old habits — teasing him about his inability to order anything outside of his comfort zone and laughing at his stories about Jack and Quinn.

Luke, for his part, couldn’t stop watching you. It wasn’t just how much you looked the same, though you did in so many ways. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you smiled and laughed like no time had passed at all. And yet, there was something different, too — a confidence that hadn’t been there before, a quiet strength he found himself drawn to even more than he had been back then.

But the laughter and lighthearted conversation couldn’t completely drown out the nagging thoughts in his mind. As you talked, Luke found himself thinking about how much he’d screwed up. He’d let the distance between you two widen, let life pull him in one direction while he let go of the thread that connected you both. He’d told himself it was just how life went — people grew apart. But now, sitting across from you, he couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been.

“You okay?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

Luke blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you a little too long. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How did he even begin to explain? That he regretted letting you slip away, that he’d been an idiot for not fighting harder to keep you in his life?

“Just… how crazy it is to run into you like this,” he said finally, skirting around the truth. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to catch up with you.”

You smiled, but there was something wistful in your eyes. “Yeah. Life has a funny way of throwing surprises at you.”

The conversation shifted back to lighter topics after that, but Luke’s mind lingered on his regret. Every laugh, every shared memory, every glance reminded him of what he’d lost — and what he didn’t want to lose again.

As the night wore on and the restaurant emptied out around you, neither of you seemed eager to leave. The conversation deepened, and the teasing gave way to more heartfelt exchanges. You talked about what you’d been up to in the years apart, the struggles and triumphs, the paths you’d taken that had led you back to Michigan.

When the server finally dropped off the check, Luke reached for it before you could. “I got this.”

You frowned. “Hey, it was supposed to be my treat. It was my idea to get dinner anyways.”

“And I’m saying I owe you one,” he countered, his expression soft but firm. “Please. Let me.”

You relented, watching as he handed his card to the server. “Fine. But next time, it’s on me.”

Luke froze for a moment, the words “next time” ringing in his ears. He looked up at you, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. “Next time, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, your tone light but your meaning clear. “Next time. You’re here for a few more days, right?”

Luke couldn’t bite back the smile that tugged on his lips. “Y-yeah. Next time.”

The next few days passed in a blur of shared moments. You carved out time from your busy schedule, meeting Luke for coffee, going on impromptu drives through your old favorite spots, and even hitting the gym together. He insisted he couldn’t slack on his training, and you, eager to spend more time with him, agreed to join.

At the gym, Luke was in his element, focused and disciplined, but there was an ease to his demeanor when you were around. He showed you proper form on certain exercises, his hands brushing yours occasionally as he adjusted your grip or stance. Each time, your heart skipped a beat, though you tried to hide it behind playful jabs about his “personal trainer” persona.

But amidst the laughter and lighthearted moments, you also fell back into the habit of sharing quieter, heavier conversations, confiding in one another once again. One evening, after a long day, the two of you sat on your couch, an old movie playing in the background as you nursed glasses of wine. Luke had been quieter than usual, and you could tell something was weighing on him.

Luke, despite his mood significantly lifted as he spent time around you again, couldn’t shake the weight that followed him from New Jersey. The doubts gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, even in moments of laughter and ease. Being with you was a welcome reprieve, a chance to remember a version of himself that wasn’t defined by statistics or expectations. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the voice that questioned if he’d ever truly get his groove back — if the player he once was was still in there, waiting to be found, or if he’d lost that spark for good.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked, breaking Luke from his incessant thoughts.

Even after being apart for a few years, you could still read Luke like a book. He got no better at hiding what was running through his mind as he got older. That, or you got better at reading people as you aged. Though you were always good at it.

“No, no… It’s a lot, don’t worry about it.” Luke answered, focusing back on the movie playing, though he had missed so much of the plot he wasn’t sure what was happening anymore.

“C’mon,” you said, sticking your foot out and nudging his thigh with your toe. “It’s me.”

It was you. You had always kept his secrets, even his deepest darkest ones, like when he confided in you about how he didn’t know if he wanted to pursue hockey, despite it being practically expected of him. You also always knew what to say, giving the best advice, like when you told him he was being irrational because hockey was all he thought of and what he had dreamed of since kindergarten.

He hesitated, his eyes fixed on the deep red liquid in his glass. “It’s just… hard, you know? This season. Everything feels off. I keep messing up, and it’s like no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it. The comparisons to Jack and Quinn — they’re constant. And the worst part is, I feel like they’re right. Like I’m not good enough to be in the NHL.”

Luke’s voice cracked slightly as he continued, his grip tightening on the glass. “It’s like I’m not even me anymore. I’m just… Jack and Quinn’s younger brother. The one who hasn’t lived up to the hype. The one who’s just an extension of them.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m so tired of it. Of being seen as this kid who only got here because of who he’s related to.”

You placed your glass on the coffee table, shifting to face him fully. “You’re tired of being known for who you know,” you said gently, watching as his eyes flickered toward yours, the weight of your words visibly landing.

Luke nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Exactly. I just want to be Luke. Not someone’s little brother. Not some placeholder. Just… me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Then start there,” you said. “Stop letting other people’s opinions decide how you see yourself. You’re not Jack. You’re not Quinn. You’re Luke — the guy who’s passionate, hardworking, and ridiculously competitive.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’ve seen that side of you, even when you were a kid. You always wanted to carve your own path. And you’re doing that now, whether you feel it or not.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “It’s hard to believe that sometimes.”

“I get that,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “But Luke, your brothers didn’t get you to the NHL. You got you there. They’re part of your story, yeah, but they’re not the whole story. You’ve earned this. You belong here. And I know it feels like you’ve lost your way, but maybe this slump is just part of figuring out how to be the player you want to be.”

Luke looked at you for a long moment, his green eyes filled with a mixture of doubt and something softer — hope, maybe. “You really think I can turn it around?”

“Luke. You really think your entire NHL career is over after one bad season?” you said, snorting at your own words. Luke couldn’t help but chuckle at his own over-dramatics. “I know you can turn it around… I have no doubt. But you need to start believing it yourself.”

A faint smile replaced his troubled expression, and he set his glass aside, leaning back against the couch. “You always know what to say.”

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “That’s because I’ve always believed in you, Luke. Even when you don’t believe in yourself.”

For the first time that evening, Luke let out a quiet laugh, the sound lightening the mood. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice soft. “For being here. For… everything.”

“Always,” you said, meaning it more than you realized.

The rest of the night passed quietly, the two of you lost in conversation and shared memories. And as Luke left your place that evening, he felt lighter, the weight on his shoulders not entirely gone but more manageable.

The next day, the realization that it was Luke’s last night in Michigan crept into every shared moment. It added a bittersweet edge to the laughter and easy camaraderie that had blossomed between you over the past few days. You both avoided bringing it up during dinner, the unspoken knowledge settling between you like a silent companion.

After the meal, Luke suggested going for a walk. The winter air was crisp, and the stars shone brightly in the clear Michigan sky as you strolled down familiar streets, your breath visible in the cold. You pulled your coat tighter around you, glancing at Luke as he walked beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Thanks for spending so much time with me this week,” he said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “I know you’ve got a lot going on.”

You smiled softly. “I wanted to. Besides, it’s been nice… like old times.”

Luke chuckled, though there was a wistfulness in it. “Yeah, it has. Better, even.”

The two of you fell silent again, the sound of your footsteps crunching on the snow-covered pavement filling the void. You turned onto a quieter street, where the houses were dark, their occupants already tucked away for the night. You glanced at Luke, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his mood having shifted from a moment ago.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you teased lightly, hoping to coax him out of his silence.

He stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression was serious, his brows knit as though wrestling with something he hadn’t planned to say. “I think I’ve been running from a lot of things,” he began, his voice low and steady, “but especially you.”

The words hung in the air between you, raw and unexpected. Luke took a step closer, his green eyes searching yours. “When we drifted apart, I told myself it was just the way things had to be. That the distance, my career — it was all just part of life. But I see now… I could’ve fought harder. I should’ve fought harder. For us.”

His admission made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions flooding through you. You had spent years wondering if he regretted letting you go, if he missed you as much as you missed him. And now, hearing the regret in his voice, it felt both validating and bittersweet.

“Luke…” You took a breath, steadying yourself. “It hurt, you know? Losing you. But I understood why you made the choices you did. Your career — it’s everything you’ve worked for, and I didn’t want to be the one holding you back.”

“I never thought of it that way,” he interjected quickly, his tone earnest. “You were never holding me back. If anything, you grounded me. You believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. And I’m sorry. For not saying that. For not fighting harder to keep you in my life.”

You nodded, emotions welling in your chest. “I won’t lie — it was hard. But I’ve always rooted for you, Luke. Even from afar, even quietly. Even if it meant letting you go.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. Luke’s gaze softened, and he nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.

“Enough with what you do and don’t deserve,” you said shaking your hand. “Cause you’re stuck with me anyways.”

The walk back to your car was quieter, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was filled with a sense of understanding, of unspoken words that no longer needed to be said.

The next morning, as you drove Luke to the airport, the mood was bittersweet. He promised to keep in touch this time, and for once, you believed he might actually follow through. When you hugged him goodbye, he lingered for a moment longer than usual, as if reluctant to let go.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you said, pulling back to meet his eyes.

“You too,” he replied, his voice softer than usual. “And thank you. For… everything.”

After Luke returned to New Jersey, something shifted within him. The heaviness of expectation and self-doubt hadn’t completely vanished, but your words lingered in his mind like an anthem: You’ve earned this. You belong here.

For the first time in months, he started seeing his struggles not as failures but as opportunities to grow. Instead of obsessing over his brothers’ accomplishments or the weight of media scrutiny, he set smaller, personal goals. Maybe he wouldn’t assist on every goal scored in every game or win the Norris, but he could focus on winning his battles in the corners, improving his breakout passes, and becoming a reliable presence on the ice.

That renewed mindset brought subtle changes to his game. At first, it was just flashes — an extra step to break up a play, a crisp pass that led to a goal. His confidence grew with each small victory, and while the slump didn’t disappear overnight, it didn’t feel insurmountable anymore.

Through it all, you and Luke became each other’s anchors. Despite the distance, your late-night conversations became a constant. You’d talk about everything — your classes, his games, old memories, and future dreams. Sometimes, the chats were lighthearted, filled with laughter as you teased him about his weird superstitions, like tying his left skate before his right. Other times, they were raw and vulnerable, as you vented about the pressures of school and fear of what came beyond graduation.

It wasn’t always easy. There were nights when his games ended late, or you were swamped with assignments, but both of you made the effort. The bond you shared was undeniable, and as the weeks passed, Luke found himself thinking about you more and more. The idea of a life without you felt incomplete — like something vital was missing.

One night, after a grueling loss to the Washington Capitals, Luke couldn’t shake the disappointment. He had played well, but the team had faltered, and the sting of another defeat hung heavy in the air. Sitting in his car outside the arena, he found himself dialing your number.

You answered on the second ring, your voice warm and familiar despite the late hour. “Hey, everything okay?”

Luke hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Not really. I’m getting better at handling the pressure, but…something still feels off.”

“Want to talk about it?” you asked softly.

He leaned back in his seat, staring at the dashboard. “I hate that I’m here and you’re there,” he admitted. His voice was raw, tinged with frustration. “I hate that I keep letting distance get in the way of us. It’s like, no matter how well I play or how much I try to focus on hockey, it doesn’t feel right. Not without you.”

His confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You had felt the distance too, in quiet moments when you wished he were there to share a laugh or hold your hand. But hearing him say it made the ache more real.

“I miss you too,” you finally said, your voice quieter now, but steady. “More than I can put into words. But Luke…this, us — it’s worth fighting for. Even if it’s hard sometimes.”

Luke closed his eyes, letting the weight of your words sink in. He’d known it deep down, but hearing you say it gave him a renewed sense of clarity. “I know it is. I just… I don’t want this to feel like something I’m waiting for. I want it to feel like something we’re building.”

“And we are,” you reassured him. “Every late-night call, every text, every moment we make time for each other — it’s not just waiting, Luke. It’s us figuring it out together. And as much as I’d love for things to be easier, maybe this is how we know it’s real. Because even when it’s tough, we still choose each other.”

His chest tightened, not with sadness, but with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. You always had this way of grounding him, of reminding him what mattered most. “How are you so good at this?” he asked with a soft laugh, the edges of his frustration beginning to melt away.

“Good at what?”

“Making me feel like I’m not completely screwing everything up,” he admitted.

“Because you’re not,” you replied firmly. “You’re trying, Luke. That’s more than enough. You’re enough.”

A few weeks later, as the regular season wound down and playoffs loomed, you found yourself on another late-night call with Luke. This time, he seemed lighter, more at ease, even as the intensity of the season ramped up. It was a stark contrast to the stressed, self-critical tone he’d had earlier in the year.

“You ready for the playoffs?” you asked, genuinely curious. The way he’d been playing lately, it seemed like he’d turned a corner, but you couldn’t help wondering how he was handling the weight of it all.

“Yeah,” he said simply, without hesitation.

His answer caught you off guard. “You’re not nervous?”

“Nope.” He chuckled, and you could practically hear the shrug in his voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited. But nervous? Not really.”

You smiled to yourself, a wave of pride and relief washing over you. “That’s new.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he admitted. “I don’t know… I think I finally realized that worrying doesn’t help. I’ve spent so much time obsessing over being perfect, over trying to measure up to everyone else, that I forgot to just enjoy playing the game. And honestly, I’m tired of carrying all that pressure around. Hockey’s supposed to be fun.”

Hearing him say it so confidently, so matter-of-factly, made your heart swell. For months, you’d watched him wrestle with self-doubt, pushing himself to the brink in search of validation. Now, he sounded like someone who had finally made peace with himself — or at least started to.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” you said softly. “It’s not easy to let go of that stuff.”

“It’s easier with you,” he replied, his voice tinged with warmth. “You’ve always been in my corner, even when I wasn’t in my own. That means everything.”

The playoffs arrived sooner than Luke anticipated, and with them, a surge of pressure that made it harder to focus on anything outside the rink. But Luke stepped onto the ice for Game 1 with a steadiness that surprised even him. The crowd roared, the energy was electric, and though the stakes were higher than ever, he didn’t let it overwhelm him. Instead, he focused on the little things — staying composed under pressure, trusting his instincts, and playing the way he knew he could. Game by game, he chipped away at his self-doubt, leaning into the mental resilience he’d been building all season.

The Devils clawed their way through the first two rounds, overcoming grueling battles and earning every victory. Luke’s performance was a reflection of his growth. While he wasn’t the flashiest player on the ice, he was reliable, steady, and clutch when it mattered most. He had a knack for breaking up key plays, making smart decisions under pressure, and even contributing a few timely assists and goals that had the crowd on their feet.

Through it all, you were there, albeit through a screen. You found a way to catch every game, even the ones that happened in between your exams, forgoing studying to watch Luke zip around the ice. Your support grounded him, a reminder that no matter how chaotic things got on the ice, he had someone who believed in him unconditionally.

By the time the conference finals arrived, the Devils were a team to be reckoned with. Facing off against the Carolina Hurricanes, the series was a war of attrition — fast-paced, physical, and emotionally draining. Luke felt the pressure mounting, but he refused to let it control him. Instead, he leaned into the same mantra that had carried him through his struggles earlier in the season: You’ve earned this. You belong here.

The series stretched to six games, with each one more intense than the last. Luke played some of his best hockey, blocking shots, setting up plays, and doing whatever it took to keep his team in the fight. But in the end, the Hurricanes proved too strong. In Game 6, with the Devils down by a goal late in the third period, Luke was on the ice for a final push. They came heartbreakingly close, but the buzzer sounded, and just like that, the run was over.

The locker room was heavy with silence afterward, the weight of the loss pressing down on everyone. Luke sat at his stall, still in his gear, staring at the floor. It hurt — of course it did. But this time, the pain wasn’t accompanied by the same crushing self-criticism he’d once felt after losses. Instead, he felt a deep sense of pride. They had made it this far, farther than many had expected, and he knew he’d left it all on the ice.

Later that night, he called you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Hey,” you replied, bracing yourself. You’d seen the loss and expected him to be devastated. “How are you holding up?”

He surprised you with a small chuckle. “Honestly? I’m okay. Don’t get me wrong, it sucks, but… I feel like I gave it everything I had. That’s all I can do, right?”

Pride swelled in your chest. This wasn’t the Luke you remembered from a year ago, who would’ve let the loss consume him. “I’m so proud of you,” you said sincerely. “For how you’ve handled all of this. You’ve grown so much, Luke.”

Your words stayed with him long after the call ended, echoing in his mind like a steady drumbeat. You’ve grown so much, Luke.

Your graduation day dawned bright and warm, the campus alive with energy as classmates, friends, and families gathered to celebrate. You felt a swirl of emotions — pride, excitement, and a faint wistfulness. While you were thrilled to be closing this chapter, part of you couldn’t ignore the ache of someone missing. You had tried to manage your expectations, knowing Luke's NHL schedule and how taxing the playoffs had been. But as you slipped on your cap and adjusted your gown, you couldn’t shake the quiet hope that maybe, somehow, he’d be there.

The ceremony itself was a blur of speeches, applause, and cheers. Crossing the stage, you accepted your diploma with a wide smile, the weight of your hard work finally lifted. Afterward, you joined the throng of graduates filtering toward the quad, where your family had promised to wait. Spotting them amidst the crowd, you waved, your heart swelling with love as you saw your mom, dad, and younger brother standing together. But then, your eyes caught on something — or someone — else.

Luke was standing behind them with a bouquet of fresh daisies, baby's breath, and soft pink roses tied with a satin ribbon. His boyish grin was unmistakable, and it softened the moment your eyes met. The disbelief must have been written all over your face because his grin widened as he gave you a small wave.

Your legs carried you forward without hesitation. First, you hugged your parents and brother, exchanging congratulations and laughter, but your gaze kept darting back to Luke. Finally, you stepped toward him, your voice catching as you said, “What…? You’re here?”

He held the bouquet out to you, a little sheepishly. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he said, his voice low and warm. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. I had to be here.”

Your chest tightened with emotion as you accepted the flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the warmth of his presence. “Luke, I didn’t think—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently, his eyes steady on yours. “And I’m sorry for making you think I wouldn’t come. But I wanted it to be a surprise. Your mom helped me with it, actually.”

You glanced over at your mother, who wore an undeniably large grin that stretched across her lips, her eyes practically sparkling with the kind of knowing satisfaction only a mother could have. She had always harbored a soft spot for Luke, often claiming he was the one boy you’d never quite forget. She firmly believed, with the quiet certainty that only years of maternal instinct could provide, that no matter how far life took you, he was the one you’d eventually find your way back to in the end.

Luke pulled your eyes back to his as he spoke again. “You’ve been there for me every step of the way, even when I didn’t deserve it. This is your moment, and I wanted to be part of it.”

Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them away, laughing softly as you shook your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he teased, his smile making your heart ache in the best way. “But seriously, I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

You didn’t think, you just stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled you close without hesitation, his embrace grounding you in a way that only he could.

As you pulled back from the hug, you caught your mother’s subtle signal—a raised brow and a little nod toward Luke. She knew, of course. She always knew. With a quick glance at your dad and brother, you gave them a look that clearly said, I need a minute alone with him.

“Why don’t we grab some photos?” your mom suggested, steering your dad and brother toward a picturesque spot by the fountain. You mouthed a quick thank you before turning back to Luke.

“Want to take a walk?” you asked, motioning toward the quiet pathways that wove through the campus.

“Lead the way,” Luke replied, his hands slipping into the pockets of his suit pants.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of distant laughter and celebration filling the air. You made your way toward a shaded grove near the library, a place where you had spent countless hours studying. Today, it felt almost sacred, a fitting backdrop for this moment.

“I’m glad you came,” you said finally, breaking the silence.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Luke replied, his voice earnest. “I’ve been thinking about this day for a while.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the way his jaw tensed like he was working up to something.

“Listen,” he began, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. His green eyes, usually bright and playful, were serious now, searching yours. “I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out how to say this without screwing it up, but here goes.” He took a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “You mean the world to me. You always have. And I know I didn’t always handle things right between us — I’ve made mistakes, I’ve let hockey, distance, and my own insecurities get in the way — but you’re the one person I can’t imagine my life without.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. “I don’t want to keep pretending that what we have is just history or that I’m okay with being just friends. Because I’m not. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years, and I don’t want to waste another second not saying it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and electric. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The honesty in his eyes, the way his voice trembled just slightly—it was everything you had once hoped to hear from him and more.

“Luke,” you said softly, taking a step closer. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll give me a chance,” he replied, his voice steady despite the vulnerability etched into his features. “Say you’ll let me show you that I can be the person you deserve. Say you’ll be with me.”

A smile broke across your face, and before you could overthink it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said, your voice catching on the emotion swelling in your chest. “Yes. I’ll be with you.”

Luke’s smile was a mixture of relief and joy, as though he had been holding his breath and could finally exhale. He took a step toward you, his hands reaching out, and for a moment, it felt like everything in the world had paused — just the two of you, finally on the same page.

He gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, and you felt the weight of the moment settle between you. Then, his gaze shifted upwards, and he chuckled softly. “Can’t kiss you with this thing on,” he teased softly.

Luke carefully slid the cap off your head, setting it aside on a nearby bench. The small gesture felt oddly intimate, like he was making room for something even more meaningful.

When his hands returned to your face, the warmth between you both felt undeniable. He leaned in, this time without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was tender at first, like he was savoring the moment. The way his lips moved against yours was more sure, more confident, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, realizing just how much better he was at it now than when he was 16.

When he finally pulled away, you both breathed deeply, as though trying to catch your bearings after such a powerful kiss. A small laugh escaped your lips, and you smirked, your heart racing. “You’ve definitely gotten better at that,” you said, your voice light with amusement.

Luke chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad you noticed,” he said, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “But I’m just getting started.”

You walked back toward your family, hand in hand with the boy who had always been a part of you. It was a moment to savor, but also one to look forward to—a future that felt just a little bit clearer, and a little bit brighter, because of him.

[puck-luck]

evening embrace | jack hughes

warnings: oral (m! & f! receiving) aka 69 BABYYYY!!!!! whiny jack, silly jack, established realtionship af, very domestic pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes coming home from practice or a game all grumpy and frustrated and just ranting endlessly about whatever is pissing him off so u just casually decide to give him head mid-rant. without a word you just start palming him over his pants while he’s mid sentence and he’d be like “baby, what are you doing?” and you’d casually make your way to your knees with a shrug and say “you’re stressed, seem like you could use some relief” and once you’ve got his dick out and you’re about to bring it to your lips you’d say “you can continue with your ranting baby, promise i won’t get distracted” with an innocent little pout i-" wc: 4423

Jack had a bad day. The Devils just had their first few preseason games and Jack, although he felt ready to get back into his normal routine, feels like his shoulder injury from last season is still a little tender. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he snapped, but he thinks that he blacked out around the time when he missed a pivotal pass that resulted in a breakaway and goal in the game today. He’s never been so angry after a game– and this is just preseason.

He bursts through the door to your shared apartment, already ranting. 

“This is shit,” Jack complains, dropping his bags in the doorway and kicking off his shoes. 

“What’s shit, Jacky?” You ask from the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and reading a book. Now that he’s home, though, you set the book down and give him your attention.

“I’m not playing good enough,” Jack huffs out, frustrated and annoyed. “It’s my stupid shoulder. I’ve rehabbed it, I’ve gotten it fixed through surgery, and I still feel like I’m not playing at 100%.”

“Aw, honey, come sit,” you say, patting the cushion beside you. 

Jack stalks over, collapsing onto the couch cushions and pulling you onto his lap. He kisses you hello before going back to his ranting. 

“I knew I needed to work more on my wrister before the game,” he says. “But Keefe wanted us to run drills at camp so that we could be better all-around.”

You hum when you need to, but Jack’s just complaining and pouting. He had a tough day and wants to get all of his negative thoughts out, knowing that you don’t mind listening to him when he has problems.

“And I appreciate being a good team all-around, you know,” Jack continues. “But there should be times during practice when a guy can go work on his own shit, which will make the team better overall once he’s perfected the skill.”

“Maybe you can talk to Nico about that,” you murmur, tracing the letters on Jack’s shirt. 

“I don’t want to be that guy,” Jack grumbles. “It’s a team sport. If Keefe wants us to practice as a team, then that’s what we’ll do. He’s the coach.”

You nod absentmindedly, adjusting yourself on Jack’s lap. Your hand continues to pet over his covered chest as he talks. His muscles are defined; it’s clear that he put in the work during his time off. You know he did, actually. You’ve watched his body swell and gain muscle mass over the summer and you’ve been able to see the changes up close and personal.

But not this past week: training camp started and Jack has been so tired and stressed out that he’ll come home, eat dinner with you, and collapse into bed with nary a makeout sesh anywhere. He’s been too tired to get off with you, although you know it relaxes him and helps him keep his mind clear, so you haven’t pushed.

Yet, as he talks about his day, you can’t stop thinking about how much better this would be if your lips were wrapped around his dick.

Your hand drops to his lap, palming his length over his shorts and interrupting Jack’s sentence.

He catches your wrist. “Baby, what are you doing?” Jack asks. “I’m talking to you.”

You blink up at him innocently, moving from his lap and sliding down to the ground. You situate yourself prettily on your knees, right between his thighs. Again, you touch the front of his shorts, rubbing the area like you’re giving him a handjob over his pants. “You seem stressed,” you tell him, simply. “Like you could use some relief.”

Jack’s mouth is agape, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I– um, yeah, I mean, I guess I’m stressed,” he replies, agreeing with you with an additional nod.

“Let me help,” you offer, cupping his bulge with your hand before leaning in to brush a fleeting kiss against the growing tent. You mouth along for a moment before bringing his waistband down, revealing his tight boxer-briefs. His semi is much more noticeable in just the underwear, straining more against the fabric as he grows harder. You fit your lips over the tip of his cock and suck slightly, through his shorts, just to make Jack jump.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, touching the back of your neck hesitantly. He moves like he’s still confused and not quite sure what’s happening.

“Keep talking, baby,” you say to him as you pull his length out of his underwear and start to stroke it. You press a kiss to the crown of his cock, then pull back. “I’m listening. I promise I won’t get distracted.” You blink up at him through your eyelashes, watching countless emotions pass over Jack’s face before you kitten-lick over his slit and hum in approval. 

“It’s just hard,” Jack says, his eyes still wide and blown because of the shock that came over him when you made your bold move. “To, uh–”

He trails off, gesturing helplessly as your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his cock. You hum, bobbing your head in a commiserating, blatantly sarcastic nod. You know what you’re doing to him. You know that Jack goes boneless whenever you suck him off, that he promptly loses his words when you gag on his cock. 

So, you pull away from him. You let your spit pool where it lay while your lips were around him– able to use it as lube as you pump him, blinking up at him like you’re unimpressed. “C’mon, J. I thought you had things to be frustrated about.”

“I do!” Jack exclaims, finding his words after your mouth parts from his body.

“Oh, you do,” you repeat, a smug little smile on your face. “So tell me about it.”

“I– well– it doesn’t matter now,” Jack whines, his hips twitching under your calm palm. 

You furrow your brow and tilt your head to the side. “It doesn’t?”

Jack covers his face with his hands and makes a frustrated noise.

“Well, if that doesn’t matter, then why am I doing this?” You ask, feigning complete confusion even as you continue to stroke him. Jack has obviously gotten side tracked– and the relief of your mouth is like a wet rag on a dry erase board: it wipes everything completely clean and fresh. “I thought I was offering you something sweet to make up for your bad day.”

“You are, just– stop stopping!” 

You move your head from side to side with each word in your response: “You can’t make me!”

At a stalemate, Jack deflates. He frowns to himself, then pointedly at you. You’re still stroking him, just teasing him, waiting for him to sweetly ask you to continue until–

Jack pulls you up onto the couch and takes your place, sinking to the ground on his knees with his pants and underwear pooling around his ankles. He doesn’t bother to take his clothes off before he touches your leggings reverently with a light ghosting of his fingertips. He brushes a sweet kiss against the inside of your thigh as he touches you, but the sweetness and teasing doesn’t last very long.

“How was your day?” Jack asks with a smirk and another kiss to your covered skin. He pulls at the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your legs in a totally obvious way.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you warn.

“Not doing anything,” Jack teases. 

“Don’t lie to me, Jack Hughes.”

“Full name,” Jack notes offhandedly. He licks his lips and rubs his thumb along your slit, still covered by your godforsaken panties. If he’s going to do something, he had better do it. “Just giving my baby a taste of her own medicine,” he adds.

“My day was fine, thank you very much,” you retort.

Jack hums, fiddling with the edge of your panties, the part of the underwear that’s covering his favorite part of you. “What’d you do?” He asks.

“I showered,” you say.

“Without me,” Jack adds. You don’t have time to berate him for acting like a fuckboy– not when he starts mouthing over your hipbones until he finds the waistband of your panties. He takes the band between his teeth and drags the fabric down to meet your leggings. All the while, he stares up at you with his own wide, blown, horny eyes. 

“And I had breakfast, then I worked for a while, then I got lunch with my coworker like I told you about last night–” You continue, but Jack interrupts, pulling away from your bare cunt.

He pouts a bit. “What coworker?” Jack asks. “Who was it again?”

You muster the courage to glare at him. Jack just grins, his thumb sweeping through your folds like he hasn’t got a care in the world. 

“Sadie,” you remind him. “The new girl in accounting.”

“Oh, Sadie,” Jack drawls, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “How could I forget about Sadie?” He smiles at you briefly to show that he’s messing with you, then nears your mound. “What did you eat?” He asks, just before replacing his thumb with the tip of his tongue, pride written all over his face as you take a deep breath.

“We got those Mediterranean bowls you like,” you say. You don’t tell him that there’s one in the fridge waiting for him.

“Without me,” Jack repeats, sounding a little more forlorn than the first time. Who knew that showering without your boyfriend would be less titillating than a Mediterranean bowl from that place down the street?

Regardless, you still don’t tell him about your little surprise in the kitchen.

“Without you,” you agree. “I can’t always be with you, you know.”

“Mhm, and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to go through,” Jack says, using his thumbs to pull your lips apart so he can really dig in and lavish your cunt. Jack drinks up the gasp that leaves your mouth when his tongue twirls against your clit, then drops lower to press against your entrance. Jack presses a kiss against your entrance before his tongue really works into you, rendering him quiet.

You know he expects you to continue speaking, just as you expected him to continue. One thing you’ve always been better at than Jack is compartmentalizing– you swear it comes with the territory of being a woman compared to being a man– but you’ve missed this so much that you don’t care about his gloating that will come later. 

“Jack, come–”

You interrupt yourself with a breathy gasp, hands flying to his hair. Jack has always loved when you tug at the brown waves adorning his head, so the heady look in his eyes when he looks up at you is no surprise. It’s also no surprise that your gasp has Jack flattening his tongue and showering your cunt with attention.

You had meant to ask him to come back up onto the couch, wanting him to be comfortable, but Jack doesn’t seem to care. You still want him to fill your mouth. There’s a trace of his salty precum on your tongue and the absence of his cock on the muscle leaves you writhing. 

He eats you out messily, getting your juices all over his lips, cheeks, and chin. When he pulls away to catch a breath, you admire how his chest heaves with the effort to fill his lungs before diving back in and the way he licks his lips. You grip his hair, tugging slightly to get his attention, and then Jack’s disheveled baby blues are back on you. He smiles dopily, moving to wrap his lips around your clit, but before he can, you speak.

“Come up here,” you implore, tugging at his hair again. 

“Wanna stay here,” Jack replies, succeeding in his efforts to reconnect with your core this time. 

Despite the shockwaves flying through your body at his powerful suction, you remain steadfast. You’re even able to string a sentence together that has Jack pausing: “Please, J, wanna suck you too,” you complain.

It isn’t long until Jack thinks of a joke to refute you. “Baby, I’m 86, not 69.”

“Jack,” you complain, tugging his hair again indignantly as he laughs against your cunt, enjoying his own joke. “Not funny.”

“Very funny,” Jack mumbles, fitting a finger inside of you and thumbing over your clit in the absence of his mouth. You’re grinding down against him now, not nearly full enough or satisfied enough. Jack’s smirk tells you that there’s more coming. “You want to have my cock in your mouth so bad that you’ll do your least favorite sex position on the couch?”

You groan. Of course he remembered the conversation he walked in on when you had your girlfriends over a couple of months ago– a lengthy, very detailed, very philosophical conversation about which sex positions are practical and impractical, as well as what places are more practical than others. 

You don’t suck Jack off as he eats you out often. It’s not something you ever really feel the need to do, even though Jack has admitted to loving the way you’ll moan against his cock and rock back into his mouth like you’re unsure which is better. The reason you don’t do it often, though, is that you can rarely finish like that. And Jack, being the doting, pussy-drunk boyfriend he is, would rather have you in a position where you’ll come all over his cock or his face rather than struggle to make it to your destination.

As for the couch, you’ve always thought that it’s more fun to ride Jack and distract him from whatever he’s watching on the TV, or for him to bend you over the edges of the furniture to pound into you from behind.

But today– today, you’re confident that you can finish. It’s been over a week since Jack felt like doing anything and you’re needy. You’re not ashamed of it, either– you love your boyfriend and the passion shared between you both is enough to steam up the windows of the apartment. It’s no secret that Jack does everything he can to make you feel good.

Which is how you’re going to convince him to get back on the couch and fill you completely, please you from both ends until you’re boneless and smothering him with your cunt– “The ideal way to die,” according to Jack, and all of his friends who insisted he was right when he dared to bring up sex at one of the parties on the lake house the previous summer. 

“Jack,” you say, simple and plain. You lean forward on the couch, reaching down to cradle his face in your palms. Your hands get sticky with your own slick, but it’s no big deal. After all, you’d already touched Jack’s dick, so it’s not like your hands are clean. You press a fleeting kiss to his nose, making Jack grin widely. “Wanna sit on this pretty face,” you tell him. “While I gag on your cock.”

“Mm, yeah?” Jack asks. The way he perks up is laughable: if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. “Gonna come in my mouth while I come in yours?”

You shiver at the thought of a simultaneous orgasm– your own warmth and relaxation taking over your body while Jack fills you up. You nod slightly, biting your lip to hold back a needy whine. Your eyelashes flutter as you watch Jack stand from his spot between your legs. 

He lays on the couch, his head resting on a throw pillow for some extra leverage. He makes himself comfortable, and it’s a little silly that both of you still have your shirts on, but Jack sticks out his tongue and waves you forward. The position makes you laugh, combined with his antics, so you make a silly move of your own. 

You crawl towards him, across the couch, trying to look like Sophie in Mamma Mia while she and Sky sing ‘Lay All Your Love on Me,’ but there’s no music playing. It’s just you and Jack and your soft little giggles, which are eventually quieted by a sweet kiss and a swipe of Jack’s tongue against your own. You can taste yourself on him and he can taste himself on you, which has Jack smiling into the kiss. His teeth clink against yours for a second, then he pats your hip and you pull away.

“Come have a seat, baby,” Jack invites, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. You shake your head and avert your eyes, blushing a little bit at how giddy you’ve made him with just a few kisses, some attention to his cock, and access to your pussy.

“Forgotten all about your bad day?” You tease.

“It turned out okay, I think,” Jack replies with a wink. He keeps his hands on your body as you turn, then line yourself up with his mouth. You’ve got the perfect view of his cock in this position, standing up and red for you, just waiting for you to lean forward and welcome him into the warm wetness of your mouth.

Jack hasn’t waited to admire you. He’s already sloppily mouthing at your lips, sliding his tongue against your clit. He has his arms looped around your thighs, hands planted squarely on your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them so that he can pull you back further and work his tongue inside of you. For your hesitation, he gives your clit a little nip to encourage you forward. It doesn’t hurt, but it does surprise you, and you let out a hushed yelp. Jack giggles before returning to your entrance, prodding at you.

You bend forward, laying across Jack’s body and holding yourself up by laying your forearms on his abdomen. Your left hand pets over the skin on his hip while your right holds his base steady. You gather some spit in your mouth before letting it drip onto his slit. The fluid drips down his cock, but you’re determined to replace your spit with ropes of his cum.

You take him in your mouth as far as you can, moaning when his tip nudges the back of your throat. He twitches in your mouth, involuntary but welcome. You love when he’s unable to control his reactions, doubling down on his enthusiasm at your core. 

You can feel yourself dripping all over Jack’s face. His hands are strong on your hips, pulling you back to grind against his mouth. Taking an arm from around your thigh, he brings his fingers back to your core, sliding two inside of you while he focuses on your clit. 

He’s so messy and he keeps making slurping sounds because he’s so into it, which is completely not sexy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You treasure the moans and hums that follow the unattractive slurping– Jack’s voice has grown high-pitched and needy, completely intoxicated by your taste.

You imagine him now, cheeks flushed just as pink as yours. Hell, his lips are probably swollen and the same shade of red as his tip. 

You bring a hand up to move your hair to one side of your head, the strands brushing Jack’s thigh and tickling him slightly. It’s necessary for you to give this blowjob your full attention, and you can’t have your hair getting in the way now, not after you’ve been missing Jack’s cock for a full week.

No, you’re just as drunk as he is, moaning and gagging and humming. You pull out all the stops– leaving his cock to kiss over his balls and suck at the skin while you pump his member. Jack’s always enjoyed that extra touch, his hips jumping uncontrollably into your space for the second time tonight.

“Wanna fuck my face?” You ask, words coming out in a rush. 

Jack keens beneath you, holding you closer. He pumps his fingers inside you quickly, working a third into your hole and curling his knuckles until he finds your sweet spot, making you moan wantonly. His hips are moving again, wiggling beneath you until you bring your lips back to his tip. You press a kiss against his slit before opening your mouth as wide as you can, hollowing your cheeks against his shaft until Jack starts to move.

He’s quick like a jack-hammer. His movements are twitchy and shallow because, as you’ve said time and time again, Jack has never been the world’s greatest multitasker. He’s able to perform well on the ice, very athletically minded and capable, but when his mind gets all foggy and sex-crazed, he’s completely helpless. 

He chases his pleasure wildly. He continues to make his sweet, pretty whimpers against your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit as fast as he can manage while also fingering you and fucking into your mouth– he’s working overtime and his chest is heaving with harsh breaths. You take it, even rolling your hips against his fingers to try and help him out. 

You’d feel bad about making him do all the work, but you’ve known since the beginning of your relationship how Jack feels about making you come: he loves it. It’s better than his own release. He always wants you to come over his tongue or make a mess all over his cock or fingers.

“Baby, baby,” Jack whines against your clit, his lips brushing the nerves as he talks. “Fuck, gonna come, please, please–”

“Uh-huh,” you hum, the best response you can give with your mouth stuffed with his cock. The vibrations send Jack over the edge and he lurches beneath you, pulling his fingers from your hole and replacing them with his tongue. He switches, putting his thumb on your clit and rubbing furious circles until you’re writhing above him.

You’re able to swallow a mouthful of his cum before you have to squeeze your eyes shut and focus on your own orgasm, milliseconds away from breaking down the dam inside of you. You pull off of Jack’s cock and pant above him, continuing to stroke him through his climax. 

Your eyes are a little teary from the ecstasy coursing through your veins, fueled completely by Jack’s rapid movements and equally frequent muffled pleas. He can’t stop begging you to release all over his face, even with his tongue inside of you. You can’t focus on what he’s saying, but his voice is wrecked and bordering on distressed. That’s how bad he needs you to come, how badly he needs to make you come.

His jaw has got to be aching by this point, having eaten you out for so long, but you’re so close.

You sit up a bit, just enough that you can place your hands on his muscular thighs and grind back against his face. Your hips are quick, messy, and inconsistent. “Jack,” you cry out, your breath leaving you like a hard fall to the ground knocking all the air from your lungs.

“Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, his tongue flicking over your walls.

You come harder than you ever have like this– maybe harder than you ever have in general. Jack holds you against him and laps at your release, despite the pleasure causing your hips to jerk and try to escape. You lose track of yourself, feeling completely gone. There’s a chance you’ll have to wash the couch cushions later, with the way you’re spreading slick over Jack’s face. It feels endless, your orgasm, and you think Jack may have actually made up for a week of nothing in just one night. 

He licks over you until there’s nothing left for him to taste. His hair has gone wild, eyes bright but groggy and hazy at the same time. You’re sure you look the same, unwilling to find yourself in the mirror across the room when you roll off of Jack and find a shaky footing on the floor. Your shirt is damp with sweat, as is Jack’s. He lifts the neckline to wipe the lower half of his face, dazed. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, placing a hand over his heart. His eyes look up at you, a slight smile lifting the edges of his lips. “That might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to dying from your pussy, baby.”

You laugh at that, running your fingers through your hair. “I think we both need a shower,” you say with an easy smile. 

Jack yawns. “Then bed?” He asks. 

“If you don’t fall asleep on me right here,” you reply, nodding at his body as it lounges on the couch. You thought you were bad with going boneless– Jack seems to have sank into the cushions. The sight is hilarious– your boyfriend, completely love drunk and smiling up at you like you’re an angel, with his shirt still on but no pants and no underwear. His dick has softened against his hip, the cum you didn’t swallow drying against his skin. “With your dick out and all. Any burglar would run the other direction.”

“You don’t think he’d be impressed?” Jack sits up just enough to look at his length. 

“Maybe not in this state.”

“I’ll just have to explain to him that my girl fucked me so good that I couldn’t move anymore,” Jack ponders with a shrug. He laughs to himself, eyes hooded but blinking slowly at you.

“Well, you did come first,” you agree. You reach out and take his hands, dragging him up to a sitting position, then up to his feet. 

Jack stumbles into you, petting over your rat’s-nest of a head of hair and pressing a series of kisses all over your face.

“Gross, gonna have to do extra skincare tonight,” you pout, pushing him away. 

Jack continues making kissy noises as you pull him towards your shared bedroom, depositing him in front of the shower so that he can start the water while you grab new clothes for the both of you and go to the bathroom. 

He feels you up in the shower until you’re both laughing and covered in suds, unable to keep your lips from the other person’s for longer than a couple of minutes. He makes his hair into a shampooed mohawk just to make you giggle again. His displeasure from earlier in the night is completely gone, and you couldn’t be more glad. 

notes: this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written, so i hope y'all enjoyed!!

[larkandkatydid]

Some of My Favorite Non Fiction books

The Classics: The Books that People are Always Telling You to Read Because They Rule that Much:

Robert Caro, the Power Broker- I'm forced to announce that everyone who based their entire personality around this book was right. It's awesome.

Isabel Wilkerson, The Warmth of Other Suns - a true heir to Studs Terkel, deserving all the hype.

Patrick Radden Keefe, Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland

Annette Gordan-Reed, The Hemmingses of Monticello- I think that people think they know this story because they know who Sally Hemmings is...but I was so struck by what a beautiful, horrifying exploration into the life of a man who wanted to be surrouned by a family who loved and cared for him above all.

Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin

David Gann, Killers of the Flower Moon

Newer Books that I Think Should Become Classics:

Donovan X Ramsey, When Crack was King

Sarah Schulman, Let the Record Show: A Political History of ACT UP NY. - both this and Ramsey's book are extraordinary oral histories but there are also few books will leave you feeling more capable and poweful.

Kidada E Williams: I Saw Death Coming: A History of Terror and Survival in the Fall of Reconstruction. This is the best book I've read so far about the defeat of Reconstruction and is, to me, The American Bloodlands.

Hugh Ryan, The Women's House of Detention: A Queer History of A Forgotten Prison.

Fintan O'Toole, We Don't Know Ourselves: A Personal History of Modern Ireland - No book is better than this one at presenting a grim, angry feminist take on what national liberation can even be if women remain oppressed. For a book that's so cynical and angry, it has such a hopeful last chapter that I genuinely cried.

Tumblr WomenBlogger Classics: These are two books I read because I saw them on tumblr a bunch and they are awesome books that I love very much and so I want to pass on the experience.

James McCauley, The House of Fragile Things: Jewish Art Collectors and the Fall of France

Drew Gilpin Faust, This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War

[zegrasdrysdale]

“shh! they’ll hear us”

with nico hischier

part of the 1k celly event

summary : Nico and his girlfriend host a Christmas party on the eve of the holiday for the Devils before their roadie begins right after Christmas

warning(s) : nsfw ! sexual content, fingering, oral (f receiving), public teasing, dirty talk

author’s note : happy holidays to all who celebrate ! decided that my gift to y'all is another installment of the 1k celly series. enjoy whatever holiday you and your family celebrate <33

༺──────────────༻

Something is wrong with Nico.

Not physically wrong, but he’s just acting different. This behavior didn’t start until his teammates and coaches began showing up at their loft apartment for the party they’re hosting for the Devils players and staff. She been playing captain's girlfriend and has answered every doorbell then began making rounds to greet each player and coach.

All while Nico keeps a hand on her.

Her boyfriend isn’t usually the one to be affectionate in public so his hand constantly being on some part of her body is throwing her off her game. She’s more focused on his touch than conversing with her guests.

She doesn’t know what brought on this side of Nico, but she kind of likes it. She’s always wanted to be more affectionate around their friends and family, but Nico was never a huge fan and she didn't push it. All eyes were already on her since she's Nico's girlfriend so early on, she didn't care.

Right now though, she's curious.

Coach Keefe and his family arrive last, which signals the end of her time greeting teammates and coaches that arrive at their apartment for the party. She focuses on conversing with her guests and making sure everyone is okay.

What usually feels like a very large apartment feels very small at the moment. There is an entire NHL team scattered throughout the loft with their families. She can't even escape to the kitchen like she often does when there are so many people because there is a catering group preparing the meal.

Nico doesn't leave her side as they socialize amongst the players and coaches in attendance. He doesn't stop touching her either. He rests a hand on her waist or on her lower back now that they've started to have longer conversations and not running to the door to answer it.

Okay, that's very different. His behavior is making her very curious. It makes her wonder if there is something going on that he's not telling her.

Dinner is served around six. A mix of vegan and non-vegan options so everyone has something to eat. They've brought in extra tables and chairs so the adults can fit around the dining room table. Within their parents' eyesight, the kids sit at a smaller table together to eat. They are out of earshot though so the adults can have conversations that little ears shouldn't hear.

Her first serving is lasagna. It's probably the best lasagna she’s ever had. Perfect cheese to sauce to pasta ratio. Some of everything in every bite she takes. She lets out a borderline pornographic moan as she chews the bite.

Nico laughs beside her as he eats some of the steak he grabbed. “That good?” he asks with a grin.

“So good, Nico,” she tells him with a full mouth. “Oh my God. We are absolutely going to get this catering group again next time we host a party. Fuck.”

He laughs again and takes another bite of his steak.

She begins a conversation with Kristen Haula on her left side. The women talk about how well the boys have played, complimenting the other’s significant other as they talk. Their laughs are among others as small talk continues at the table.

Everyone’s plates are nearly empty about a half an hour later. Erik has jumped into her conversation with his wife while Nico converses with Jack and Luke on the other side of him.

Yet, his hand comes down on her knee under the table cloth. She folds her hands and holds them in front of her mouth as she presses her lips into a line. She listens to the Haulas share a story about their kids, and Nico’s hand slides up her thigh to the hem of her skirt.

Bold considering his teammates and coaches surround him. If any of them see him, he’s probably going to be incredibly embarrassed since it’s very rare that he’s this affectionate in public. Even in his own apartment.

She doesn’t stop him though. She should, but she lets him keep going. Even after his finger dip under the hem of her tight skirt. Her teeth pull at her bottom lip behind her hands. She begins to tune out the story that Kristen is telling her, focusing on Nico’s touch that moves closer to her uncovered core. Yes, she decided to go without a pair of panties because they would have shown through her dress via lines. Her dress is skin tight and she didn’t think she’d be doing much leaning over.

Little did she know that Nico’s fingers would be inches away from said core while his teammates and coaches sit at the table around him. She didn’t think that Nico would try to do this while at the table with his friends.

His fingers trace shapes under the skirt, teasing her since they’re so close to her core. She can feel butterflies begin to flutter in the pit of her stomach, the possibility of getting caught like this turning her on.

She’s about to make a comment about the story that the Haulas shared when Nico’s fingers dip between her crossed legs and graze her clit. His fingers run between her folds and dips into her.

She gasps at the action and covers her mouth as if she let out a hiccup.

“I, um …” she trails off as Nico shallowly fingers her. “I’m going to run to the ladies room very quickly. Excuse me.” She pushes her chair back and Nico’s hands slides out from under her skirt.

As normally as she can, she disappears down the hallway toward the bedroom she shares with Nico. She closes the door and leans against the wood. She clears her throat and lets out a heavy sigh.

The feeling of Nico’s hand between her legs is still there and she presses her thighs together to get some kind of friction.

Why would he do that? Now of all times? He has every opportunity in the world to finger her and he does it at Christmas Eve dinner with his team around him?

Something is wrong with Nico.

A soft knock rings throughout the empty room. She is quick to turn and open the bedroom door, coming face to face with her boyfriend.

“You are insane, you know that?” she questions. “God. If anyone saw what you were doing-”

“Good thing no one did then.”

He steps into the room and shuts the door with a click. Her mind races a thousand miles a second as Nico looks at her. “You are genuinely the craziest person I have ever met,” she reiterates.

“Mhm,” Nico hums as he takes a step toward her. “Tell me more.”

She takes a step back every time he takes a step toward her. “You did all that for what?” she asks. “You go from rarely every touching me or holding my hand to putting your fingers inside me at a table filled with your coaches and teammates. If that was your way of telling me that you want to be more affectionate in front of people then good job-”

Her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she is forced to sit when she falls. She looks up at Nico, who nudges her knees apart and stands between them.

“Are you done?” he asks as he traces her jaw with the game fingers he had inside her a few minutes ago. “Or are you going to let me finish what I started at the table?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks when Nico mentions the table. She nods in response to his question.

Nico sinks to his knees in front of her. Her eyes track his moment as he pushes her knees apart to get a perfect view of her glistening core. His lip drags across his bottom lip before he presses a trail of kisses up her thigh from her knee.

“Oh my God,” she gasps when his lips touch her core. She leans back and props herself up on her elbows. She drops her head back at the same time Nico pushes her skirt up so it pools around her waist.

His tongue runs through her soaked folds and she sighs at the feeling. Nico hasn’t shaved in a few days either so it feels really good to have his mouth on her. She arches her back when Nico’s tongue pushes inside of her.

“Fuck!” she cries out. “Nico!”

“Shh!” Nico tells her. “They’ll hear us. You need to be a little more quiet. Or I’ll have no choice but to stop and leave you like this.”

She shakes her head and Nico smiles up at her before he puts his mouth on her core. Her jaw drops when he slips a finger inside of her. It takes everything to not cry out his name again as he fingers her closer to her inevitable orgasm.

Between his mouth and his fingers, it won’t be long until she comes anyway.

Nico slowly works her closer to the edge, quickening and slowing his pace to keep her from coming before he’s ready to let her. She’s a panting mess under his touch and the knot in her stomach tightens to the point where it’s almost painful.

Her legs shake where they rest on Nico’s shoulders. She looks down and finds Nico looking up at her through his eyelashes.

His fingers curl in a ‘come here’ motion inside her at the same time he sucks on her clit. “Fuck,” she sighs. “Fuck, Neeks. Wanna come. Wanna make a mess on your face and fingers. Please, please please please. Wanna come.”

“Come then,” he mumbles against her sensitive skin. “You wanna make a mess on my face? Then come, baby.”

It only takes a few more curls of his fingers and sucks on her clit before she’s coming. Her entire body tenses as she comes. She cries out his name in soft whispers so their guests don’t hear her. Her vision whitens and she sees stars behind closed eyes.

Her body melt into the mattress beneath her. She whines at the loss of contact. Her legs drop off his shoulders as he stands up. He grabs something to clean her up. She sits up when he’s done, grabbing his waist before he has a chance to clean his face.

With wobbly legs, she stands up and wraps her arms around his neck. “Come here,” she breathes out. Nico smiles and leans down, initiating a soft kiss. She hums when she tastes herself on his lips. She deepens the kiss a bit and runs her fingers through his hair.

“What you did at the table was kind of hot,” she mumbles against his lips. “The idea of getting caught with your fingers inside me kind of turned me on. I won’t lie to you.”

Nico grins and pulls back from the kiss.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

༺──────────────༻

MASTERLIST | 1K CELLY EVENT

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