#m/m hockey

[slipperymeteor]

Unrivaled - Ashlyn Kane & Morgan James (Hockey Ever After #3)

Read March 2023, after finishing Scoring Position, the second book in the series. M/M.

Unrivaled follows Max Lockhart and Grady Armstrong, hockey players for fictitious NHL teams NJ Monsters and Philly Firebirds (later Piranha and Condors). They are rivals—Max is particularly successful in goading Grady on the ice, costing Grady awards in fair play. Rivalries led to a Grindr hookup led to fake dates led to feelings™️ to working on a relationship.

This is a cozy read (🌶️) and not much angst. Grady thought Max spilled their hookup to his teammate which led to Grady blocking Max’s text messages and Max blocking Grady on Instagram. One of their teams was eliminated earlier in contention of the Stanley Cup and they had to navigate dealing with their team losing in the league. Cameos from earlier characters in the series, particularly Dante Baltierra/Baller from book one and passing mentions of Nico Kirschbaum from book two.

A Goodreads reviewer for book two mentions how she didn’t like that the NHL teams were fictitious because why would she root for a losing fictitious team but because I know zilch about pro hockey it makes no difference to me. Now that this is my sixth? seventh? m/m hockey book that I read I am starting to see how mid-season trades are used for plot points (sounds exhausting and players are expected to uproot their entire lives to a wholly new team in a different city at mere moments’ notice?). If I actually cared about hockey leagues the Stanley Cup thing would’ve upped the ante for me but because I don’t, I get it’s an important thing but had no particular significance for me. In one of the fake dates they went to an American Ninja Warrior gym and I thought it’s interesting that the authors went to describe the details at length and I wonder how well it will age if/when ANW fell out of popularity. Matching tattoos: a 🦞 and a lobster cracker.

Rep: Dante is bisexual. Max also says he is bisexual. Grady’s sister Jess is a lesbian, also a pro hockey player, entangled in an f/f/f situation.

[ijustdontlikepeople]

NHL x Internet 4/?

[swissboyhisch]

It's About Time

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Hughes!Reader

Summary: Your first annual Devils Gala helps reveal hidden feelings for your brother's best friend and yourself.

Word Count: 1397

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, kissing,

A/N: This is for @snugglyducklingbrewhouse's Birthday Bingo!! Happy birthday to one of my favourite girlies from the discord. Sorry it's a little late. I hope you enjoyed your birthday month <3

My choice of five bingo boxes were (second column from the left):

Friends to lovers

Works with/for the team

Team event

Brother’s best friend

Comfort

I really hope you enjoy this! I'm really happy how this turned out :)

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Tonight was the annual New Jersey Devils Gala, and you were lucky enough not to have to work the event. As the photographer for the team, you would usually be asked to work nights such as these. But thankfully, your boss decided you could have the night off as it was your first gala since joining the organisation. Enjoy the gala with the team, staff and other rich people involved. 

Both of your younger brothers were ecstatic that you got to accompany them to the gala. Luke especially was, as it was his first time going to the annual event, and he wasn’t exactly a people person. Having two of his older siblings with him definitely will help. And Jack, well, he always loves having his older sister around.

The pair had taken you shopping for a dress and ensured you didn’t pay a cent for the dress or any of the accessories you had chosen. Jack even got his girlfriend, Sam, to book you and herself for a spa day. Which would consist of a massage, nails, hair, and make-up together to have a girls' day and prepare for the event. 

The two of you spent the day getting ready for the gala. It was the first time you had also spent the full day with Sam without Jack there. Sure, you had gone shopping together a couple times for a couple of things but never fora whole day. You two were excited to have some time to yourself. 

“We are looking hot,” You grin as you put in your earrings.  

“That we do,” Sam grinned, coming up beside you and side hugging you. 

The boys were waiting for you two in the living room of your and Luke’s apartment. Jack cheered as Sam stepped out and then louder when you stepped out. It was rare for him or anyone from your family to see you dressed up. Especially in dresses.

As a Devils' photographer, you often wore jeans and some variation of Devils merchandise. Your hair was usually in a bun or hair claw. Nothing crazy, just comfortable clothes as you ran around the arena, snapping up as many pictures as you could. 

“You look stunning, sis,” Jack smiles, complimenting you as Luke twirled you to show off your dress.

Luke laughed as you giggled and spun around. He loved watching you be the happy go-lucky girl he remembered from when you were kids. During your teenage years, you were quieter, much like your twin. It was nice to see you coming out of your shell since coming to Jersey with him. 

“I think Hisch, Timo and Bratt are in the lobby waiting for us,” Jack announced as he read a message he had received. 

The group of four made their way downstairs, where they met the trio in the lobby, chatting. All of them were dressed in suits, and their hair was slick and well-styled. Nico smiled when he noticed you walking in beside Luke. You only came up to his shoulder, and that was while wearing heels.

“Hey Nico,” You grin, leaning forward to hug the captain. 

“Hey,” The brunette whispers into your ear. 

You hug the other boys as well, sharing hellos and exchanging compliments. The limo that would take them over to the hotel pulled up outside, and the group climbed in. Nico held his hand and helped you slide in beside Luke before following suit. You were sandwiched between your youngest brother and the team Captain. 

“How was the pamper day?” Nico asks.

“It was great,” You smile, “Sammy and I loved it. Best day I’ve had in a good while.”

Nico chuckled, “Well, hopefully we can keep it going for the night then.”

“Be sure to save me a dance then.”

When you pulled up for the event, you and Nico were on the side to come out last. As soon as the door opened, the noise from fans and media became louder. You felt the nerves kick in once more. Reminding you once more how alike you are with Quinn. And how much Luke was like the two of you. 

“You okay?” Nico asks as he notices you stiffening. 

You looked out the door as Luke was climbing out. You were a behind-the-scenes person, not one to be parading in front of the fans and media. There were way too many people out there for your liking.

“Hey,” Nico whispers, pulling you from your thoughts, “I’ll be there. Jack and Luke will be there. Sammy’s first gala as well. We’re there to back you up.”

“I don’t think–”

“Yes, you can,” Nico cuts you off gently.

You take a deep breath and shuffle along the seat. Your mind reeling, imagining everything that could come from the public appearance. Nico somehow slips over you, so he will step out first. His hand slips into yours as he slowly climbs out. The group watched as you and Nico stepped out. He let you step up beside your brothers as his hand hovered on your lower back. Making sure to guide you around, a safe blanket to remind you that you weren’t alone.

The group made their way down the carpet, posing for pictures. You were either tucked into Nico’s side or with Luke. Soon, you were joining the other players and staff inside the ballroom of this hotel. You guys made the rounds, greeting sponsors, staff and teammates. 

“Hey!” Reanne grinned when you and the group greeted her and Curtis.

“Hey, how are you?” 

“I’m good,” The blonde replied. “A night with no kids is great.”

After the usual spiel of speeches and guest speakers, the music was turned up. It didn’t take long until the team and partners could be found on the dance floor. You danced with Nico and the group, laughing and having fun. 

“I didn’t tell you earlier, but you look absolutely stunning,” Nico whispers.

A blush covered your cheeks as the song changed from the upbeat Pitbull song to ‘The Night We Met’ by Lord Huron. A song you’ve come to love since it went viral on TikTok. Everyone paired up to slow dance. Nico turned to you and slipped his arms around your waist. Your arms went around his neck. 

“Hands off my sisters’ ass,” Luke hisses at his captain as he and what looked to be a sponsor’s daughter danced by.

Nico’s hands made sure to slide further up your lower back. “Protective brother much.”

“They all are,” You reply, “even if these two are younger than me.”

“They just love you.”

More alcohol was consumed, more dances spent on the dance floor. The group enjoyed themselves but were careful not to take it too far at a team fundraiser. Nico was tired and so were you so, without telling your brothers, the two of you snuck out of the event. As you were in the uber you made sure to at least sling Jack a message, so they didn’t send out a search party.

Nico slid his coat jacket over your shoulders after you left the Uber. Making sure you were warm as you guys headed up to your apartment. The conversation flowed until you reached your door.

“Thank you for the fun night,” You mumble as you look up to Nico. 

Nico grinned, tucking the stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I had a great night with you.”

The two of you stood before the door, admiring each other before you finally decided to do what you wanted to do since you met your brother’s captain. You pressed your lips to his. Hoping that he felt the same. Nico’s hand cradled your cheek, and he kissed you back. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” Nico mutters against your lips.

“Me too.”

Nico leant forward and kissed you again. Neither of you paid attention to your surroundings, meaning you missed the ding of the elevator and the footsteps echoing down the hallway towards where the two of you stood.

“What the fuck?”

You pulled away as quickly as possible when you heard Jack’s voice. Nico and you were quick to turn to where Jack, Sammy and Luke were coming towards you. Jack was smirking, and Luke was shocked. 

Jack laughed, “It’s about time.”

TAG LIST:

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras 

@francesfarhadi @cixrosie @dasiysthings @dancerbailey3 @puckmaidens 

@cole-mcward48 @sammiejane22 @rleigh-47 @Devilsandpensfan @luca-fantilli 

@books-hlmc @kajasagmo @poufsouffle21 @linneasblog @jayrami3

[holy-puckslibrary]

─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

pairing(s) — fwb!MATTHEW TKACHUK x reader wc — 3.2k synopsis — best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! (read the request here) note — bestie, your brain? marvelous! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope this captures your vision!!! thank you for the request <3

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — hints of a debut-inspired ensemble; complicated, grossly intimate situationship + emotional constipation; angst (not really) to fluffy fluffy; tswizzle references; suggestive section: "heavy petting" but nothing explicit / fade to black; brief alcohol mention + consumption; brief mention of food (no specifics); and ~emotions~ 

I. it’s getting so much clearer… 

Matthew regrets making you a key. 

Majorly.

If he’d known the can of worms he was opening when he unceremoniously dropped them in your lap one night, he would’ve listened to his brother; you don’t give girlfriend privileges to women who aren’t your girlfriend. It only leads to hurt feelings, broken console controllers, and unnecessary trouble. 

However, it’s highly unlikely this is the “trouble” to which Brady was referring. 

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage. 

Beads of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit in a sea of jars. Some have spilled out under the coffee table and couch, others have made it all the way into the kitchen. Knotted balls of elastic are sprinkled throughout the chaos, as are multiple pairs of scissors, skeins of embroidery floss, and shards of construction paper. There are markers everywhere, but for some unknown reason, the crayons and sticker sheets are in nice, neat piles. A white feather boa is draped over the entertainment center and there’s a pink one curled by his feet. And, in the eye of the storm, is an anxious lump frantically stringing together DIY jewelry and muttering along to the megamix blaring through the room; he doubts you even heard him come home. 

“Sweetheart, is there a reason it looks like a craft store threw up everywhere?” Matthew shouts as he gingerly braves the hurricane. 

Something crunches under his shoe, and from the sound alone, he knows it would’ve been worse than stepping on a Lego if his feet were bare. 

He also knows that if the music were even a decibel lower, you would be pissed beyond belief. How dare he move freely through his own home without first checking for rogue pieces of plastic? His ears are ringing, but he’s grateful for it. From many years of mistakes and misadventures, he's learned you won’t get on top if you’re mad, regardless of how much groveling he does. And he's got one foot in the doghouse after last weekend as it is. 

“T-minus two days ’til Taylor, Matthew,” you grumble from the floor. “What do you think?” 

You’ve been at this for weeks. It gets worse the closer the concert gets. The mess and your mood. 

Matthew isn’t stupid, and he knows you better than he lets on. You panic under the weight of your own (often unrealistic) expectations. You need everything to be perfect, or the entire world crumbles. This, Night One of the Florida dates of the Eras Tour, is, understandably, no exception. If anything, the pressure’s dialed up to eleven. 

In stressing over every little detail, you’ve made yourself miserable. Watching you unravel makes his chest feel strange. 

You won’t ask for help. You don’t want it, either.

But, he can’t let you flounder. For his own sanity, he can’t do it. And he does care about you. Maybe not in the way everyone assumes or hopes, but he does. He’d do almost anything to lighten your load. 

Yet, Matthew treads lightly. If he’s too forthcoming, you could get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want to spook you, and he can’t have any wires getting crossed. What’s so good about your situation is how markedly uncomplicated it’s been. He refuses to be the one who fucks it up for everyone. 

So, he does what he can, and he does it without making a big deal about it. 

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he sinks down onto the floor beside you. You’re perched on one of the obnoxious throw pillows you insisted he order to “spruce up” the space and make it look less “bachelor pad-y." As if that’s not exactly what it is. He takes this as rare permission to do the same, placing one under his hips and cuddling another to his chest as he stretches out on his stomach, phone in hand. 

Well, as stretched as a person can be in the middle of an obstacle course. 

Between the second play of “cowboy like me” and the third of “Tim McGraw,” his various feeds dry up, and he’s spammed his contacts into oblivion. You're still chugging along, like a Sad Girl automaton locked in an endless glittery assembly line. 

At one point, you murmur, “Give me your wrist." 

And he does. 

Matthew’s taken aback when you loop elastic around it to get a measurement.

He’s confused, but not for the reason one might assume. He’s painfully familiar with the friendship bracelet phenomenon and the giddy exchanges, having been force-fed hours' worth of tour content over the past year, but he never thought you’d rope him into it.

The buzz under his skin is oddly auspicious, watching you clip the appropriate length before reaching for the pile laid out near his head. 

It’s not long before you make the same request again. However, this time, you slide on a custom creation. You fiddle with it for a moment, then turn back to your station to begin the next one on the list. 

“And in which era does she cosplay as a camp counselor?” Matthew teases as he thumbs the letter beads.

They spell out a moniker he’d honestly find offensive if you hadn’t looped the song one too many times. He wonders if you’ve made yourself the matching one. 

You emit a sound that haunts his nightmares and side-eye him in a way that would’ve made a lesser man disintegrate. 

“If you don’t want it, give it back so I can give it to someone who will appreciate my time and effort,” you bite with your hand outstretched, palm up and open expectantly. 

Matthew shoves it away, suddenly defensive. “I never said that.” 

The sun slips behind the fence an hour later, and the sky bathes the house in purple-pink hues. As he gathers ingredients in the kitchen, Matthew watches the slow-moving clouds absentmindedly. He hasn't felt this content in a while.

Arms full, he wades through the arts and crafts on the way to the backyard. 

You’re still in the den, still hunched over in the same place he found you in. He shakes his head when he passes you, knowing he’s got an hour (at least) moonlighting as a masseuse in his future. 

You don’t startle or acknowledge him until the grill set you bought for his birthday clatters to the floor. 

“Why’re there two cowboy hats getting glitter all over my patio?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. And hating it. Vehemently. 

You fix him with an unamused glare. Your brow quirks, and your hands still. Then, you blink at him very slowly. Like he’s an idiot. Like he just asked a stupid question—because he did. 

Matthew’s head wags so intensely that his neck cracks.

“Oh, hell no.” 

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection. 

“—looks so fucking stupid.” 

He can’t tell if he looks worse with or without the fur-trimmed, shimmery cowboy hat. And, honestly, it's a little distressing. After temporarily ditching it, he tugs at his curls. Then, the hem of the jersey. 

Resigned, he reaches across the bed for the homemade accessory. Wearing it will make you smile—and it gives his dignity something to hide behind. 

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day. 

Your panicked voice spills out from the hotel bathroom, “Really?” 

“Of course, it fucking do—” 

His tirade of vanity grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of you, backlit and wilting. 

“That’s not—ah, fuck.” Matthew digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What I meant was—me, it looks stupid on me. Not you. On you, it looks… It looks…” 

“It looks, what?” 

It looks like he’s glad none of your friends were available because he won’t have to pretend you’re less than you are.

No lectures, no goading, no scrutiny. Just you. 

“Right.” That’s the word he settles for. “It looks right.” 

The emphasis chips away at what little believability the underwhelming affirmation had. That much is evident from the insecurity bleeding through your makeup. 

“Right,” you parrot. Skeptically, you drag out the vowel long enough that it disappears into the bathroom with you. 

Before the door clicks shut, Matthew’s already berating himself for whatever just happened. For acting like a complete doofus with a foot shoved down his throat. 

His mind is as quick as his tongue is sharp. He’s got confidence for days and a cocky demeanor primed and on-call, one that most women find endearing. Yourself included. He’s never had an issue dishing out pretty words or flirting before, especially not with you. 

With you, banter came easy. Sweet or salacious, it didn’t matter. The bob and weave, from platonic chatter to something charged and suggestive, is effortless. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It's innate. He should be able to uphold his reputation in his sleep. 

What’s gotten into him? 

(You’d say the power of Taylor Swift, or some shit. Which is why he doesn’t open the floor for discussion. Among other reasons.) 

Matthew makes the executive decision to put things right. To redeem himself, to feel more like himself. 

His palms are hot and tingling as he sets off to do what he does best. Something fool-proof. Something that’ll erase the past ten minutes from the collective consciousness. Something to scratch an itch...

He won't make it through three and a half hours without catching a public indecency charge. 

Not with you looking like that.  

“I was thinking,” Matthew trails off as he comes up behind you in the en suite bathroom. His hands land on the counter, one on either side of you. “We should fool around a little bit before we leave.” 

With his chest flush to your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, he blatantly checks you out.

You, albeit begrudgingly, find it flattering. On principle, you roll your eyes. 

You snort. “Funny." 

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you. 

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when you lean forward to put some eyeliner in your waterline, inadvertently pushing the curve of your backside right into his growing bulge. 

Matthew turns you to face him without warning. 

The kohl pencil goes flying, dotting the pristine space as it tumbles to the floor. Its final resting place is unknown; you’ll follow the smudge-crumbs later. 

Later, when he doesn’t have you pressed tight between the harsh edge of the counter and his chest. 

Later, when the dull ache in your arched back dissipates. 

Later, when his attraction isn’t so painfully tangible. 

Later, when he isn’t looking at you the way he is now.  

You’re sinking in a shade of blue you don’t recognize. It’s stormy, vast and disquieting. Like any collision, you’re unable to tear your eyes away even though you know you should. It betrays an aura of foreboding, yet somehow, Matthew’s charged gaze carries a soothing effect. It's hypnotic in an stomach-twisting way. 

“I’m not laughing, sweetheart.” He breathes the words through the slight part in your lips, his voice rich and thick like honey. 

“W-We need to be quick—” 

Matthew buries his face in the sweet-smelling crook of your neck. Intent on shutting you up, he succeeds with infuriating ease once he’s latched onto your throat. He nips and sucks whenever you protest, and soon, you don’t even bother trying anymore.

Why lie and deny when what you want feels this fucking good? 

When your nails dig impatient little half-moons into his forearms, Matthew bares his teeth with a triumphant hiss.  

He grins against your skin, humming atop your erratic pulse. 

“Better hurry up and spread ‘em, then.” 

Matthew’s between your dangling boots as soon as you’ve hoisted yourself onto the counter. Kneading the soft skin of your thighs, inching up and in with eager hands, he doesn’t slow or stop until the white Self-Titled sundress is bunched up in the hinge of your hips.

“That’s my girl.” 

III. it’s delicate…

“All Tequila, No Crime” isn’t as diabolical of a cocktail as it sounds. 

Spending $100+ to taste test it and three other signature mixed drinks is. 

A robbery, if you ask him. 

What's downright criminal, though, is your inability to finish a single one. A “Last Great American G&T” with a few sips missing, a half-finished “Midnight Mule,” and a watered-down “Blue Debut” sit abandoned amongst an assortment of sweet treats and small bites. 

As he waits for what he ordered, Matthew picks at the vibrant fruit salad. He’s about to pluck a honeydew star from the pile stacked high in a bowl fashioned from a watermelon rind when the back of his neck prickles. 

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused. 

Matthew, having watched your reaction in a reflection, rolls his eyes. 

Back still to you, he clarifies. “You promised you wouldn’t make this a whole thing.”  

“I'm not.” 

“You've never been a good liar.” 

“Isn't that a good thing?” you deflect. 

You turn your attention back to the lively stadium, watching as it fills with laughter and anticipation. You're hoping he'll take the hint and drop it, that he won't pull the night apart at the seams. 

He abandons the sprawling buffet table in favor of the plush recliner beside yours. Once settled, Matthew slides a plate of your favorites across the small table between you. 

“Don't change the subject.” 

The cement under your boots makes for a captive audience as you sail into dicey weather. “I know—I know what I said, and I'm really trying my best, but can you blame me? I mean, c’mon, Matty. Look where we are.”

“A Taylor Swift concert?” Matthew does what he does best.

You know his tells and his tricks. You indulge neither. 

“My first Taylor Swift concert. Ever. I came out of The Queue From Hell empty-handed and shit out of luck, yet here we are. The Eras Tour. And not way up the nosebleeds or side-stage with an obstructed view. A suite. A private, fifteen-person suite—for just us. You did that.” 

Matthew shifts uncomfortably. He scratches the shadow clinging to his jaw. He looks everywhere, at everything. Everything except you. 

“So?” 

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive. 

“So,” you heave a labored sigh of unease. “—so, how could I not? This ‘whole thing’ is the kindest, most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever done for me. It means the absolute world, and I know you know that.” 

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony. 

He does know that, which is what makes it so terrible. He knows, he knows, he knows. Matthew knows; he wishes he didn’t. For years, he successfully kept it at bay because… because you can’t just un-know something like that. Even entertaining the thought felt too big a risk. It jeopardizes the delicate peace only willful ignorance can safeguard. 

“Alright, alright. Jesus, sweetheart. Can't have you emptying the tank before the show even starts,” Matthew teases as he thumbs the tears away. “How d’ya know I didn’t pull some strings just to put an end to your perpetual pity party?” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Hoping to inch away from the emotionally dense zone of uncharted territory, hoping you’ll have mercy—or take pity—on him and his plight of avoidance. 

And you do.  

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser. 

You take your foot off the gas. You retreat to the status quo. You yield, but for a good cause.

Good and right aren’t synonymous. And we can’t will them to be. So, instead, we choose our battles and bide our time. 

There’s no reason to rain on tonight’s parade. 

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.  

Mathew smiles. 

This ceasefire, this tacit truce, is as fragile as rice paper. It feels as though, if someone pushed too hard from either side, they'd go right through it unchallenged. But, for now, it's enough. 

He takes your hand and squeezes. “And for the hundredth time, you’re welcome.” 

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now. 

Truthfully, he understood after the very first bridge of the night. There’s just something about the intimacy of the spectacle; it's… indescribable. With thousands from all walks of life gathered in a single stadium to celebrate nearly two decades of singing, crying, and growing up together, it wasn't difficult to get swept up in the magic. 

For someone who’d consider themselves fan-adjacent at best, he wasn’t expecting to feel much of anything, let alone goosebumps, misty-eyed. 

He can’t even imagine how extraordinarily special it must’ve been for you, a lifelong fan, to partake in the world’s most cinematic sing-along. To luck out with your opener of choice, to be surprised with your favorite song during the acoustic set—you could probably die happy. Matthew can still feel your tear-streaked cheek against his shoulder and your shakey hand clasped in his. And he’ll remember the warmth of your joy for the rest of his life. 

He, however, doesn't have to imagine how much the experience took out of you. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart.” 

You’re one minute into a five-minute Uber ride, and he’s already had to nudge you twice. 

Curled against the cool window like a cat, you groggily protest, “I’m not. My mind is alive, promise.”  

He snorts. “Then why’re your eyes shut?” 

“They aren’t!” 

They absolutely are. 

Matthew tugs you across his lap with a smile pulling at his cheeks. 

“Sounds like you need to get yours checked, Matthew Brendan,” you quip into his chest before drowning the backseat in delirious giggles. 

In the golden glow of the streetlamps, his smirk rests against your temple. 

Here is the moment. There have been hundreds like it in the years since you met. Lighthearted banter and late night laughter spill over into the early morning hours, all of it utter nonsense he wouldn’t trade for anything. It should be perfectly ordinary, but it's music to his ears. 

The cowboy boots he swore he wouldn’t carry home rest against his similarly sore calves. The ziplock bag, once bursting at the seams with bracelets, is empty and folded in his back pocket, and his arm is full from elbow to wrist. The glitter he contested clings to him like a second skin, there to stay. 

And he doesn’t hate it. 

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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[significant-narratives]

mutual with more puck knowledge than me has approved of my post. i am going to get a good grade in hockey tumblr mutualism, something that IS normal to want and IS possible to achieve

[hwesung]

BRADEN SCHNEIDER ☆ LAB 9INE

[notebookmusical]

RYKER "GARTH" EVANS FIRST NHL GOAL | Seattle Kraken vs. Arizona Coyotes (March 22, 2024)

[drysaladandketchup]

beat up but still looking good

FLA vs. TOR || Nov 28, 2023

[simsplayernotfound]

Elliot 🌻❤️

[hockeygossipdaily]

Quicks son dressing as Rempe is adorable😭

[cellythefloshie]

;; Cruel Summer Dedicated to @snugglyducklingbrewhouse for her birthday bingo

Summary: There was nothing more you looked forward to than summer after a long academic year of studies. You and your best friend are set to hit the road for a cross-country road trip, but with her comes her boyfriend, Jack Hughes, and with him his best friend and college hockey captain Nico Hischier - who just happens to be the bane of your college existence. M's Bingo Card Tropes: Taylor Swift Song AU - Enemies to Lovers - Summer / Off-season - Roommates - College AU - Sharing a Bed Kinks & TW: unprotected sex (are we surprised?) - pull out method (please don't rely on this at all it will fail you), morning sex, casual sex, hook-ups, secret relationship, situationship, drunk confessions Word Count: 7k+ A/N: We haven't been a part of each other's communities long, but you have been nothing but a welcome presence since! I am so happy that I am able to celebrate your birthday with you with this fic! I stepped out of my comfort zones a lot with this one by writing for Nico and using Taylor's Cruel Summer as the main inspiration for the fic. And somehow I managed to roll all of those amazing tropes into one fic! Happy Birthday, Hun! I hope you enjoy! 🎉 I also made a quick Pinterest board for the vibes. Playlist.

With final exams behind you, there was nothing more that you were looking forward to than summer. The warmth of the sun, the carefree freedom that was already ready to consume every bit of you as you left all your responsibilities behind you. There was nothing better than the summer vacation after a hectic academic season, especially after the stressful junior year you had. The stress of your studies aside, you could have considered it to be a great year, that was if it hadn’t been for your roommate. 

At the beginning of the term, you and your best friend had decided that you wanted to live off campus. Tired of the dorm life there was nothing more exciting than having your own place, but that came with a great cost - which meant rooming with more people than just your best friend. The three-bedroom duplex apartment you have been able to secure not far from campus was perfect, especially since your best friend had gotten her boyfriend, Jack Hughes, to room with her - but that had left a spare room to be filled. And Jack had taken the liberty of offering it to his college hockey captain: Nico Hischier. 

This hadn’t been an issue at first. He was easy enough on the eyes that you didn't complain, but it quickly become clear that the two of you weren’t going to get along. He seemed to know how to press all of your buttons, your days starting and ending with snide comments or heated arguments that left you both returning to your respective rooms - and you couldn’t wait to put that all behind you. 

With summer, you could leave that animosity behind you. You wouldn’t have to see him until you both returned for your senior year in the fall. That thought alone excited you as you packed a single duffle bag, but what excited you more was the trip you and your bestie had planned to take. You had been looking forward to it for months. The two of you had rented a van - one of those ones with the small bed and kitchen in the back. You were going to travel the country together, take in the sights and monuments the great country of America offered you. But the excitement quickly faded as you threw your bag over your shoulder and made your way down to the van that waited in the driveway. 

You wore a smile as you spotted your best friend throwing her back into the back, but then it wavered as she tossed in one bag and then another. Your lips parted to call out to her, but your throat was left weak at the sight in front of you. The devils and angels had been gambling with your happiness as with your bestie came her boyfriend Jack and with him Nico. Your biggest college nemesis would be joining you on what was supposed to be your greatest escape from him. 

Most nights, the four of you piled into the back of the van. You would all sleep stuffed into the cot, elbows bent into backs and uncomfortably hot as you found yourself venturing into the southern states. It left tensions high, and you constantly on edge, especially when Nico tested the boundaries of just how much room he was allowed to take up on the bed. He was by far the biggest of the four of you, standing at 6’1 - a whole 2 inches taller than Jack - and broad with muscle he seemed to take up more and more room as the nights went on. It sent your blood boiling as you fought him on it, as it sent Jack closer to the center of the bed, and your best friend further into you,  and in turn you were forced closer to the wall of the van. It left you claustrophobic and struggling through sleepless nights so finally after mere days of driving the four of you agreed to check into a motel for a proper night of sleep. 

What the four of you couldn’t agree on was the sleeping arrangements. With your best friend dating Jack she was quick to state they would be sharing a room, but you couldn’t afford a room all to yourself and that only meant sharing with Nico. You were far from interested in that. 

“We could share a room, and the boys could share a room,” you insisted, your arms coming to cross your chest as you leaned up against the van, “it’s not like they haven’t shared a room before - and we used to share a bed all the time-”

“Tell us more,” Jack was wearing a wide grin as he grabbed his bag from the back, earning a displeased groan from your lips. 

“You wish Hughes,” you scoffed at him and looked at your best friend with pleading eyes. She had to be able to see this from your perspective. She had to understand why you couldn’t stand to spend another moment with Nico never mind having to share a room with him. “Do me a solid, just this once-”

But her mind was clouded by one thing, and one thing only. Sex. You could see it on her face as a blush crept up onto her features and her words became a soft, unapologetic, “sorry.” And you couldn’t blame her. The pair of them were like two love-sick puppies that fucked like rabbits, and they hadn’t been able to fuck since the four of you had left Newerk - though you were sure Jack had finger-fucked her at least once when they thought you were asleep in the passenger’s seat during Nico’s turn to drive. 

As much as you wanted to protest, to stop your foot and throw a tantrum because Nico wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip you conceded and pointed a finger at Hughes and narrowed your eyes, “You owe me one.”

“We’ll make it up to you,” his smile didn’t waiver as he tossed your bag at you, and locked up the back doors of the van before the couple ran off to one of the two rooms Nico had gone to the front desk to secure. 

They left you both to stand in the parking lot, a standoff of sorts as he held up the remaining key. “I’m about as excited about this as you are.” Which meant he was dreading it fully, with his entire being. He’d rather die than have to be rooming with you on the road, and yet you both stood there, full of life but seething. 

“One room?”

“Yup.”

“One bed?”

“Yup,” Nico answered again, and you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lip threaten to curl up into a smirk. 

“Fuck me,” you groaned out as you reached out to snag the key from his hand, but he pulled it back, just out of your reach. Hearing your words sent his smirk blossoming into a full grin now. 

��Keep dreaming,” and when he said your name, you were on the verge of letting out an annoyed scream. 

“I wouldn’t fuck you if we were the last people on the planet and the fate of humanity was solely up to you and me,” you assured him. 

“If we were the last people on the planet, it wouldn’t be long until you were the only one left-”

Your lips curled up into a smirk of your own as your stepped forward, “Let’s play a little bit of pretend, shall we? Our planet is the hotel room, and it’s just you and me alone on that planet - so why don’t you just fuck off, sleep in the van and let me enjoy the bed.”

“Not a chance,” his eyes narrowed, “if you want the van, go right ahead but I’m not missing out on sleeping in a bed even if it means having to share it with you.” 

You had dipped into your saving to be able to cover your share of the room, you weren’t going to concede for a second time. “Just get us in the room for fuck sake, I want a real shower.”

In an instant, you knew you should have bit your tongue as Nico’s dark gaze had risen to meet your and there was a flicker of light in them that sparked like the ignition of a flame. A shower. A real shower. No one had one in days. You were sure you stunk. You knew he did. And now you would be fighting him for it. 

You couldn’t fight Nico for the key. Not with how he towered over you, and not with how the strength of his hands had fisted the key in his palm for safekeeping. Holding it down by his side, he stalked off in search of the room, but you never let him get too far out of your reach. For as soon as you heard the lock of the door disengage you had thrown a shoulder into his chest in a desperate attempt to shove him out of the way. Yet, he barely budged. Hell, you hadn’t even thrown him off balance. The only thing you had managed to do was coax a smile onto his lips as he leaned into the door, the heavy weight of him easing it open. 

Stumbling in after him, you reached your hands out to give him a good shove. Your palms met the plains of his back, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the strength of him flex beneath your touch. It was almost enough to have you conceding, your mind suddenly clouded when it shouldn’t have been. You had lived with each other for the entirety of a semester. You knew how strong he was. You had seen it when he had worn a tight t-shirt to class or had caught a glimpse of him as he made the short walk from the bathroom to his bedroom in nothing but a towel when he was sure no one would notice - because if there was one thing he was that you didn’t really mind, it was that he was modest. 

He didn’t flaunt himself around the house or the campus like the other players seemed to. His appointment of being the team Captain didn’t go to his head either. He respected his position and accepted any and all responsibilities that came with it. He didn’t even use it as a way to get girls to come back to the house - hell, had you ever seen him bring a girl home at all? 

It was a thought that left your brows furrowed as you battle him along the path towards the bathroom. You would push him, and he would shove you back - but his hands were careful, calculated in just where he touched you. Finding your waist at its curves or against the back of your shoulder as he tried to move you out of his way. But neither of you would concede. Not even as you both tried to jam your way through the bathroom door. Your bodies collided, pressed firm together at your sides and earning an exasperated sigh from both of your lips. 

Groaning you let out a sigh as you turned just enough so that your back was pressed against the cold frame. Nico did the same but stretched an arm across the doorway to grip at the frame as he tower over you. Suddenly you felt claustrophobic and small as he looked down over you, his dark hair hanging into his eyes and his smile crooked - conniving. 

“Hischier,” you swallowed hard, challenging him with nothing but his name. What was he thinking?

Whatever it was, you didn’t wait long enough to find out. You wanted to shower, and you were going to be the first one to indulge in it. Even if that meant stooping low. Easing away from the door, you inch dangerously close to Nico, giving yourself just enough room to reach down and draw your shirt up over your head. Then you reached down to your shorts, thumbing the button free before letting them fall to the floor before you were standing there in nothing but your bra and panties. 

You watched as his face softened, his dark gaze raising just enough for you to know you had some kind of effect on him. Cocking your head, you smiled, pressing up onto your toes just enough to mutter up to him, your words hot against his cheek, “I’ll try to leave some hot water for you. Now, be a gentleman and shut the door.” 

Ducking under his arm you sauntered off into the bathroom with your bag in hand and a bit of a hop in your step. You would celebrate every single one of your little victories. 

With Nico’s silent surrender, you heard the door close behind you and you let yourself undress and relish under the heated embrace of the water - but you did keep the shower quick. It was the least you could do when he was nice enough to concede when you challenged him. 

Exiting the bathroom, you were dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of barely there shorts. You had hoped that you would be able to sleep without pants for the first time in days but there was no way that was going to happen now. Nico wasn’t about to get a free show, not from you. 

“There’s still hot water there for you,” you told Nico firmly as you moved for the bed and crawled up onto the side of the bed that was left for you. 

It wasn’t the side you normally slept on, but you weren’t going to fight him on it. You had gotten to shower first, so he could have his preferred side of the bed. You settled into the bed, it was stiff and the sheets a bit scratchy but it would do. Anything was better than sleeping in the van at this point. 

You had hoped to be asleep before Nico had come out of the shower, but the rush of the water in the next room was all too loud and you couldn’t get comfortable. Worst of all, when the tattooing of the water against the tub had seized, your discomfort only intensified when Nico had come to bed. You could feel his heat radiating across the safe distance you had both agreed upon - a good foot of mattress that left you both sleeping on the very edge - and to your distaste he had decided to sleep shirtless. 

Every opportunity you felt sleep had to take you, you ruined it with one accidental glance over at Nico who fell asleep all too quickly at your side. You would catch a glimpse of his soft features, or the flex of his all-too-impressive muscles and it would leave you tossing and turning in bed in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. But your mind continued to haunt you: How unfair it was to have someone so irritable look like that?

Scoffing to yourself you curled up with your back to him. You thought of literally anything else but him in an attempt to bring yourself to a state where maybe, just maybe you would be able to fall asleep - but Nico had found yet another way to keep you awake. He was talking in his sleep. 

You let out a long, agonized groan as you took your pillow and shoved it over your face. You would have to go out and sleep in the van at this rate. 

Rolling over you contemplated waking him up, but the shimmer of sweat on his skin and hardening of his features was almost enough to leave you concerned. Was it a nightmare? You leaned in, encroaching on the space between you both, a careful hand coming to rest on his shoulder - it was then his lips parted, muttering an almost silent word before you heard something all too familiar: your name. Nico was dreaming about you. You swallowed hard, your eyes widening in shock before falling back into their heavily lidded state. That had to be a coincidence. Maybe you had heard him wrong. 

That was what you told yourself as you settled back into your place in bed. And with a final huff sleep crept on you, one final thought on your mind: If he was dreaming of you, you hoped it was a nightmare. 

Come morning, the space at the center of the bed no longer existed. Your bodies had both moved inwards on the surface to avoid tumbling over the edge in the night - and with that, your bodies had become intertwined. You could feel Nico against your back,  his legs tangled with yours, and you could feel the stiffness of his cock pressed up the back of your thigh. For a moment you almost forgot that it was Nico in bed next to you, a faint smile on your lips as you wiggled your hips back into his cock. His cock was impressive, to say the least, the outline of it felt so clear as he snuggled a little closer - but as Nico cuddled in close you caught a breath of the unique scent of him and it sent your heart plummeting. 

This was the worst-case scenario - and you hadn’t even thought once that it might happen. You couldn’t hate yourself more than you did at the moment as you shifted just enough to press your ass into the girth of his cock. And you chastised yourself for it, disgusted with your own actions as you wiggled and pressed yourself against Nico to feel all of him. He would notice, he was still asleep - and with how carefully and subtly you moved you hoped in the off chance that he did wake up that he would think you were still sleeping too. 

But then you felt a hot, heavy breath blossom out and over your shoulder and the strength of his arms was coiling around you like a boa constrictor. Nico had been awake the whole time. You should have pulled away at the realization, but instead, you were frozen, petrified as he leaned in and nuzzled his face into your hair. Then, with sleep still heavy on him, he leaned in and placed a lazy kiss on your neck. And when he finally spoke you could hear the amusement in his words, “I won’t tell them if you don’t.”

For a moment, you think it might be some kind of joke. Something that will end with him peeling away from you with laughter at your willingness if you were to agree with him. A cruel joke for him to play, but then you feel his hips as he presses his hips up against your ass as if you hadn’t felt his hard-on already. It was that action, that really had you entertaining the idea of letting him fuck you. You really should have, not with how much you loathed him, and not with how much he loathed you. He was all around intolerable, you knew it. Everyone knew it - and yet, when he shifted just enough to ease his cock from his boxers and ease it into the small triangle of space between your thighs and clothed cunt you were caving. 

“For fuck sake, Nico,” you groaned out, using his first name for the first time. It felt foreign as it slipped off your tongue, having only exclusively addressed him by his last name until that moment as he slowly fucked that space between your thighs and your judgement waivered. 

“Is that a yes?” he spoke against the sensitive skin of your neck, his voice low, sultry hum that left your arousal puddling between your legs. 

Your head cocked, “You won’t say anything?” 

“Not a damn word,” he promised, angling his hips just right to press the head of his cock up against the sensitivity of your clit as thrust lazily. 

You had to bite your lip to combat the shutter that threatened to crawl up your spine and the soft sound that would have left your lips with it. Fuck, what an embarrassing thing it was to be so desperately wet for him - but he was hard for you, and something now was telling you that the dream that left him muttering your name in the night was no nightmare, but a sex dream. You almost smiled. Almost. But you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. This was nothing but an agreement of convenience. 

“Then stop teasing me and fuck me properly, or did you need me to teach you how to do that?” Even in bed, you wouldn’t let your rivalry wouldn’t subside. 

Drawing back, Nico was free of the space between your legs and he had given you just enough room to roll over and push the flimsy fabric of your panties down the length of your legs. You didn’t even think to discard your shirt until you were climbing into his lap, taking the dominant position on top of him, and meeting him at the mouth. 

You had never considered kissing Nico. Not once, not ever. But now as you were, feeling his soft lips against your own, and tasting his morning breath - which really wasn’t all that bad - in your mouth you started to question why it had never crossed your mind. He was a very attractive man after all, and he was very, very good at it - not that you could have predicted that when you seemed to do nothing but challenge and throw childish insults at one another. 

The caress of his tongue against your own left you melting into him, your hands exploring the shape of his body - something you hadn’t done so much as catch glimpses of before. You could feel every ripple of his muscle as his hands moved to hold you just right, and every twitch of his cock as you let your hips roll up and down the length of him without taking him inside you. It left his coated in the slick of your arousal, sending tingles down to your toes, but you were impatient - and your best friend would be too when they would be kept waiting on the both of you. 

Reaching down between the both of you, you took hold of his cock in your hand and stroked it slowly. Nico let out a soft sound against your lips, coaxing a smile onto your lips as you guided him to the entrance of your cunt and eased yourself down onto him. His cock stretched out in all the best ways, sending a burn of pleasure to spread throughout your body in a heatwave as you rode him in a steady rhythm. 

For a time, you thought Nico was just going to fall into submission. That he was going to let you ride him hard and steady as you would your fingers into his messy hair and relish in how you tugged it - but you could always count on Nico to challenge you. His large hands spread over your hips, lulling you into the false sense that he was going to help guide you up and down the length of his cock but he was only trying to find his leverage. Soon, he was holding you firmly in his hands, flipping you so that your back was against the bed - and not once had his cock left you to feel void. 

You could feel every inch of him with every thrust as his large hands guided your legs up to wrap around his hips. The simple action had left your lips parting to protest him - there was something too intimate about missionary, the last thing you wanted was to be looking him straight in the face as he fucked you - but your words were silenced completely by a moan. He was bringing pleasure to you that the frat boy hookups you had collected during your time in college could only dream of bringing you. 

It left you reeling against the mattress, your head thrown back into the pillows as you reached out to grasp at anything to ground you. The mattress, the T-shirt that still hung off your body, and Nico. You clung to Nico as if he was the very source of your gravity. Your hands found his shoulders, clutching at his strength desperately as your legs wound around his middle. Heels pressed into his back and the pressure of his weight against your inner thighs as each deep thrust tested the depth of your flexibility but you were desperate to take him to your limits. 

It left your head spinning as the pleasure of him fucking you - and not just fucking you, fucking you hard. His every thrust fueled with every ounce of animosity the two of you had held since September - threw you into ecstasy, your mouth agape with a silent moan as you refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing you - and you could not risk anyone hearing you both from outside the motel door. 

But Nico wasn’t as discrete. His lips parted in a soft moan that had you drawing him into you to place one last hungry kiss on his lips before he was pulling back and pulled out of you. His face was soft, completely and utterly relaxed as he took hold of his cock and stroked it until his cum had shot out over the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirt. 

It left you cursing. You slept in that shirt more often than you would like to admit, and now it was going to be a mess you had to hide - but at least he hadn’t cum inside you. 

Pulling off the shirt, you stepped into the bathroom to clean yourselves up in silence. You shared nothing more than careful glances as you dressed and you didn’t speak to one another until you were both standing at the motel room door, staring at it as if it were going to open itself. 

“This never happened?” You quirked a brow up at him. 

“What never happened?” he met your gaze, his face expressionless but you could see the playful smile that lingered in his dark eyes.

“Exactly,” you breathed out and reached for the handle. 

You were both hit with the blinding light of the morning, your eyes squinting before you could pull your sunglasses down to shield them. You tried to keep your head down, to make your way to the van with the hope that Jack and your best friend had yet to finish up your own fun - but it was that very pair that greeted you, her voice all too chipper for you to be happy about so early in the morning, “we were starting to think you killed each other- 

Groaning, you opened the side door of the van and tossed your bag into the back. It wasn’t abnormal for you to be irritable in the morning, you were in no way a morning person, but the last thing you wanted to talk about was Nico. Especially when you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your body, and the heat of him as he trapped you between his body and the van as he reached around you to toss your own bad inside. Sure, you could pretend he hadn’t just fucked the life out of you, but it wasn’t going to be something you forgot about. Not when your legs were still on the verge of trembling and not when you could feel Nico’s eyes dragging over the curves of your body - undoubtedly admiring how you looked in the little sundress you had put on. 

He would have to get better at hiding that stare of his. Climbing into the back of the van you let yourself glance back at Nico, your eyes meeting his as your lips pressed into a firm line to suppress that smile you wanted to give him It was then you finally answered your best friend, “Yeah, well, there’s still time.”

The rest of the summer had been cruel. Both June and July had been heated, and not just because of the rising temperatures. As you travelled from state to state you teetered on the tightrope walk of secrecy you had created with Nico. Since the two of you had shared the bed back in at the cheap motel there was no ignoring the magnetic draw you had towards one another. Don’t get it wrong, you still hated him - or at least that’s what you told yourself as you travelled across the country with him, your best friend and Jack. 

The two of you would start fights just for the hell of it. The arguments were mundane and heated to distract your friends and yourselves from the lingering glances the two of your found yourself sharing, or the lingering of his hand against your thigh as you both sat in the back seats and you were sure your friend and Jack couldn’t see a damn thing - and not once did they think anything was going on between the two of you because on the surface nothing had changed. 

It was in secret, between breaths and late nights that you and Nico had stolen your moments. Time in time again the two of you would sneak away - sometimes it was Jack and your best friend that left you alone when they would sneak off for some shameless fun of their own - to break the tension that would build in the hours, minutes and seconds from the last time you would have indulged in one another. It was a whirlwind of emotion to go from fighting one moment to having Nico’s hands on your body the next. It was an exhilaration you chased right down to the very last day of your trip. 

You relished in every moment of no-rule, no-strings-attached affection the two of you indulge yourselves in over your 100 days of summer. Even now as you sipped back your drink in the dim light of the dive bar you frequented on campus you struggled to forget the hookups and makeup sessions that had been the highlights of your summer fling. 

Shutting your eyes, you sighed out, the memories so clear as you let your mind wander. You could remember so clearly how the two of you had stood in the warm embrace of the van’s bright headlights, your silhouettes stretching out over the motel’s brick walls. You were mere feet apart, the spotlight on you keeping you at bay as you exchanged subtle glances. His dark eyes left you melting, your heart racing with excitement as your best friend and Jack had already run off to their motel room. You and Nico had put on your usual charade, protesting about having to share a room with one another again. It had become a version of foreplay more than anything as when the van’s headlights dimmed, and his features were left aglow from the buzzing light that flickered above the nearby vending machines there was no stopping the two of you. 

His gaze had dropped, his lips curling up into the cocky smirk he often found himself wearing when it was just the two of you before the space between you was stolen and he was pressing you back against the hood of the van and kissing you. The kiss had been far from chaste. There was always an insatiable hunger the two of you shared, one that could only be combatted by the touch of his hand against your skin, or the taste of his tongue in your mouth. You remembered it all so fondly, and you wish you hadn't because it left you to drown your longing in your drink as you watched Nico as he leaned up against the bar. His features were illuminated by the neon glow of the neon bar lights. He was entertaining the attention of a pretty girl, one that had been shamelessly flirting with him for the last 45 minutes - not that you were counting or anything. 

Upon arriving back on campus after your summer-long adventure together your secret summer fling had been left behind. It was easier that way, at least that was what you told him. You needed to focus on your studies, and he was juggling his college hockey career and maintaining a high enough GPA not to get kicked from the team. With your responsibilities aside, it had been a relationship of convenience, you had been stuck with him all summer, so it just made sense. Right?

That thought didn’t make the jealousy any less tolerable as your empty glass met the tabletop and you excused yourself to get some fresh air. You had thought the crisp autumn breeze would have been enough to calm you. That it would ease the race of your mind and draw you from the void you felt aching deep in your chest. But the chill only brought attention to how you missed the warmth of his body against your own and it left you sinking to the ground, your head in your hands as you sat on the curb as you let out a sob. 

As much as you tried to hide it, the crying drew the attention of those outside taking long drags of cigarettes and those coming and going from the bar. There was a time nobody would have given a damn. When they would have just passed you without looking twice, but you were best friends with Jack Hugh’s girlfriend and no longer got to slip beneath the radar. 

It only took a few minutes for your best friend to come running out of the bar, her face blanketed with concern and Jack in tow. Even he, who seemed to be the embodiment of smiles and sunshine, had let his face go soft. They had never seen you like this before. Your name was a mere echo in your mind as your best friend’s voice echoed in your mind. 

“Hun, what’s wrong?” she spoke out to you in a soft tone, her hands on your shoulders as she tried to get you to look at her, “did something happen?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, your hands raising to wipe your cheeks free of your tears, “I’m fine, really.”

It was a lie. You knew it. They knew it, but you refused to tell them the truth. You couldn’t exactly tell them that you hated seeing Nico with someone else. Not when they thought you hated him - not while you were still trying to convince yourself you hated him too, but there was a very thin line between love and hate and you had broken it. 

Through vision blurred by your tears, you watched as Jack and your best friend exchanged worried looks, and without exchanging a single word they had reached a decision. “Com’on let’s get you home,” your friend sighed, her arms wrapped around your shoulder to help you into a standing position, and when she spoke again you almost vomited, “Jack, go get Nico-”

“No!” You blurted out, your eyes wide and your stomach in knots. 

And they don’t question it, because why would they? To them, you hated Nico and leaving him behind had always been something you had been advocated for - especially since that often meant you had more time away from him. Yet, it didn’t stop Jack from going back into the bar as your best friend helped you into the back seat of the car where she would sit with you for the duration of the ride home. Her hand stroked over your hair, her arms keeping you pulled into her as you couldn’t shake the cries that consumed you. 

You choked back each sob, your face burying into your friend's shoulder as Jack, who was always your designated driver, drove through the campus traffic and back to the house. But it didn’t stop the tears from leaving the hot trails down your cheeks and you couldn’t ignore how Nico’s stare had been fixed on the rearview mirror that was angled just right for him to take in the sight of you. With just a single glance at the mirror, you were left to fight a shiver that threatened to travel up your spine. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t with annoyance, frustration or anger for pulling him away from the nightlife, but instead, he was looking at you with concern. 

Feeling the heavy weight of his stare on you for the duration of the car ride, you were quick to get out of the car the moment it had been thrown into park. Your limbs felt numb, and your heart was racing. Your tears had seized, but you had been thrown into a flight response. Quick steps carried you up the driveway as you pleaded with your friend. Your words assured her that you were fine as you abandoned them in the driveway and disappeared through the gates of the garden. 

You were welcomed by the garden that had already welcomed the embrace of autumn. Flowers wilted, and leaves began to change into brilliant shades of red, orange and gold before tumbling to the ground with the gentle embrace of the breeze. It sent a chill through your body as you settled yourself down on one of the garden benches, and it left you contemplating about going inside and locking yourself in your room but you needed the distraction. You needed to hear the rustle of the leaves. You needed to smell the unique scent of their decay. You need to feel the change of the season, the changes that came with life that you would be forced through and accept. In that you found your calm, one that was challenged in an instant as you heard a pair of footsteps against the cobblestone path that wound its way through the garden. 

Looking up, you had expected to welcome your best friend, she had never failed to make sure you were taken care of and yet it wasn’t the sight of her that greeted you. Somehow, some way, Nico must have convinced her that this was a job he was suited for and it left you sick to your stomach. 

“Can I help you with something?” you didn’t mean to be so polite, you should have bit out some kind of snarky remark at him, but your voice was weak and you didn’t have enough energy for a fight. 

Nico was silent for a moment as he came to sit down at your side on the bench. He didn’t meet your gaze, his hand folded in the hold of one another as he fidgeted with his fingers. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he looked down at the ground, his dark hair falling down into his eyes as his lips parted in an uneven breath. “No, I ah-” he rambled out gently, you had never seen him as such a loss for words before. Nico had always been so quick to counter you, to challenge you and you so quick to do so in return and yet you both had been reduced to tiptoeing around just the right words to say, “I just, wanted to- Are you okay?”

You answered with a stiff; “Ha!” Your gaze cast to the side as you rolled your eyes, “as if you care.” 

Your words left him wincing, his head cocking to the side. You had his full attention now as his jaw slacked, and his mouth was left gaping as if to say, did you really just say that to me? 

“Of course I fucking care,” he bit out, your name followed after, his voice raised. Offended. 

You could only scoff again, “Why would you?”

“Why would I?” he echoed you, a thick brow raising up, “you damn well know why. So why don’t you tell me what happened, and whatever asshole did this to you is going to have to deal with the entire hockey team-” 

You near groaned, he would never understand. There was no one to punish because the person who did this to you was yourself. You chose to push Nico away after returning home. You chose not to sneak around anymore and that meant you couldn’t have him. Then, the protectiveness of his tone dawned on you and you almost laughed. He had no reason to be getting that way. Not when he had no claim on you, not when you had both agreed to act like what happened during the summer didn’t happen - and yet your heart still ached for him, and it seemed he struggled to put it behind him as well. But if his words were enough to lull you into a false hope that maybe he had fallen for you too, you couldn’t let yourself admit it to him - you hadn’t even fully admitted it to yourself either. Pushing up from your seat you began to walk away from him, your hand waiving him off carelessly. 

“Just as I said earlier, I’m fine,” you did your best to assure him as you tried to leave him at the centre of the garden, but in one rushed stride and he was close enough to reach out for your wrist. 

“For fuck sake, talk to me,” he demanded, his voice raised as he tugged on your arm just hard enough to turn you back around to face him. 

You didn’t know if it was his tone or the way his skin felt against your own but it felt a rage inside you, one that wasn’t quite an anger, and not quite desire, but it left you to shout, “I love you” before you could stop yourself. Then your eyes went wide with the sudden realization of what you had just let yourself say. Then your words fell into a scoff, your head shaking as if you were talking to yourself and yourself alone, “Ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Your words had sealed your fate, leaving your heart racing as Nico had lost every sense of hesitation. Shoving your hand to the side he stepped in to steal the air between your breath and took your face in his hands. And as his name was but a mere whisper on your lips he was guiding you in, his lips coming crashing down onto yours. Your cruel summer may have ended, but autumn was just the beginning for Nico and you.  

[haloslips]

girl help i spent 2 hours figuring out how to make this gif and now it's time for bed

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐅*𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑.

-ˏˋ. 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˊˎ-

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — FWB!matthew tkachuk x f!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.7k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — "old habits die hard..." — or, your boyfriend won’t fuck you right, so you run to the one person who always does.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — patrons know the chokehold this toxic sin-fest has on me and probably always will... in all seriousness, this is one of my favorite things i've ever published and i am so insanely proud of it. i hope you love it as much as i do <3

(spoiler — not possible teehee)

18+ MDNI — content warnings under the cut.

𝐜𝐰 — profanity, innuendo, matthew’s filthy mouth and lack of morals, cheating (not on matty or the reader), outdated/incorrect information about having sex for the first time, borderline too much degradation, some objectification to add a little spice, unprotected sex w a cheeky creampie (what did you expect from two morally bankrupt individuals written by me, a retired whore?), matthew being a noncommittal, possessive piece of shit joking about knocking people up for funzies

────────────

“D’you think you’re so addicted to my cock because you know I don’t give a fuck what you think about me? Or care if you think I’m a Nice Guy?”

Even buried to the hilt—bare with nothing between you and far too fucking close for comfort—Matthew Tkachuk runs his mouth like he’s got nothing to lose and even less to prove. He’s insufferable, his only redeeming quality being the pulsing appendage threatening to split you in half as you buck in his lap.

With your hands braced against his hard chest for leverage, you drown out his grating voice, chasing the white-hot surges, bolts of lightning leading you to the brink of collapse with renewed vigor.

The sooner you come, the sooner he’s gone.

“All I care about, sweetheart, is fucking you good and hard. Giving it to you like the hungry, cockdrunk whore that you are.”

Debonair attitude. Sly confidence. Vulgar demeanor.

Filthy fucking mouth.

You were warned about Matthew Tkachuck. Repeatedly. Warned about him and his complete lack of a filter, about his total disregard for anyone’s feelings but his own. His aversion to commitment, to monogamy, to propriety.

All the things that repulse you about the man lounging on expensive hotel sheets beneath you—as you do all the work—lure you back to him in equal measure. He shouldn’t turn you on, but that’s exactly why he does. He’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Which makes him just right.

“I bet if your fiancé walked in right now, you’d just keep riding me. You wouldn’t even notice, would you? After all, you haven’t cum yet. And that’s all you care about, right? Using my cock to get your rocks off because Billy Boyfriend’s too scared to give you what you really need. Lucky for you, I’m not a fuckin’ pussy. I don’t treat you like a fragile doll because I know you’ll take anything I give you—and beg for more. I treat you like what you are, not some chaste little princess.”

You’ve been with Bill for nearly a decade, engaged for more than a year. It’ll be a spring wedding, probably. If the venue pans out, and the caterer finally calls you back with a final quote.

Perfect on paper.

He doesn’t pay attention to you the way he used to. Just throws money at the problem until he can bury himself in work again, undisturbed by you or nagging obligation.

Flowers for being three hours late, a necklace for missing dinner entirely. A trip overseas when he had to go into the office on your anniversary.

But he’s nice, so fucking nice it hurts, and more loyal than the Golden Retriever he wants to adopt after the honeymoon. After you’re settled into a custom-build nestled comfortably in the suburbs and far away from the city. White picket fence, manicured lawn, barely-there speed limits.

It's all so nauseatingly idyllic. So perfectly attuned with what you thought you wanted, what you spent your childhood coveting.

All your single friends are jealous; your committed friends are resentful. Your family loves him, and even though you’ve got a fucked up way of showing it, so do you.

And he loves you too. He’s just busy. It’ll be different once we’re settled, he says. You try to believe him, though not as hard as you should. You tell yourself it's because he doesn’t either.

Bill’s gotten lazy. You’ve gotten bored.

You’re no angel, and never claimed to be. You just want to feel good.

Matthew barks out a dry laugh, almost like he can read your mind.

“You haven’t been since I first got you on your knees at his birthday party. And definitely not after I popped that sweet cherry you were so adamant about saving for him."

Bill doesn’t fuck you. He never has.

He makes love to you. It’s that romance-novel tenderness that got you here in the first place. Slow, sweet, and nearly devoid of passion. It’s so gentle you have to think of him just to come.

How he fucks you.

How tightly he yanks your hair, craning your neck until it aches. How hard he kneads and smacks your ass, bullying the skin until you sob. How deep his cock reaches. And how he takes, takes, takes without forethought. How could you accept a lifetime of only tame rutting in the face of Pavlovian depravity?

It’s awful, and it's so profoundly selfish, but his everything has you in a bind.

Matthew’s everything is ruining your life.

An uncharacteristic wave of guilt and sadness washes over you, and before you can catch yourself, you’re staring down at the engagement ring. The band constricts, digging into your finger like it's out for blood when you glimpse the indentation it left behind on Matthew’s peck. You wince, then choke down the shame lodged in your throat, screwing your eyes shut to will it away.

“If it's bothering you that much, take it off. I’ll keep it safe for you.” —wink— “I can’t imagine the weight of a rock like that, especially one you don’t even deserve. But, if you actually felt as guilty as you claim to, you wouldn’t be this wet on another man’s cock. Don’t play saint now. You’ll ruin the fun.”

You can’t do this right now; you can’t have this worn-out fight. So, you say what you always say even though you’ve long since stopped trying to mean it.

“You keep saying that, sweetheart. We should stop. This is the last time. But no matter what you say, you always come crawling back to me sooner or later because I have what you need. Because I’m not him. Because I fuck you better.”

His words light you on fire. You hate it, but how deeply your body enjoys them is undeniable. How tightly you squeeze and flutter with every degrading line, choking his cock as you use him to satisfy your own perverted needs. How his brutal honesty, his refusal to let you forget your zealous participation in the affair for even a second, arches your back and hardens your nipples.

Even without all that evidence stacked against you, the blitzed-out look on your face says it all. One look at you and everyone would know just how right Matthew is.

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl.

You say it for the sake of saying it. To know, when you curl into Bill's side tonight, that you said something to deny his assessment of you.

But the last thing you want is for him to shut his mouth.

Not right now, not when you’re right there—

“You can’t hide from me, sweetheart, and you can’t lie to me. You can’t fool me, either. I see right fucking through you. It terrifies you—and you love it.”

His raspy voice swims freely through your hollowed-out mind. It unwittingly thumbs through every unforgivable memory, like some sort of pornographic Rolodex.

Matthew’s hips grinding against yours in darkened corners and dive-bar bathroom stalls and poker tables.

His hands fighting against hard-earned sweat in the foggy backseat of his car, battling to find purchase anywhere he can so he can keep rutting with reckless abandon before you’re expected home.

His fingertips burrowing into the sides of your throat, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to silence, hard enough to hurt.

Him spilling inside of you, ropes painting the sacred place white with no remorse or expectation of responsibility.

Matty’s hand over your mouth, urging you to be fucking quiet as he pistons in and out, in and out, keeping you pinned against the bathroom door, against the only thing standing between Bill and the worst discovery of his apple-pie life—

Old habits die hard.

Especially when it’s one that always feels that fucking good. No matter how lecherous or immoral.

Or how badly the betrayal would hurt someone underserving and innocent.

“Even if you walk down that aisle and take his last name, you’ll still belong to me. Wedding or not, this pathetic, weeping cunt belongs to me. But it’s all gonna be okay, though. Don’t you worry that pretty, empty head. I don’t mind sharing my toys. Especially with someone who could never compete.”

You can't compete where you don't compare.

He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend. He isn’t the Relationship Type. He doesn’t even want to be exclusive. That’s part of his appeal, no matter how fervently you deny it. He doesn’t want more than pleasure—primal, deviant pleasure—and that’s all you're looking for.

That's all you need.

“Where do you want my load, dirty girl?”

“Inside. I-Inside me, please, Matty.”

“Right answer.”

The burst of warmth is like getting a perfect grade you didn’t earn. Or feeling the cash your sibling gave you in exchange for not ratting them out sitting in your back pocket. It's hard to feel bad about the wrong you’ve done when the payoff is so deliciously worthwhile.

Matthew twitches, still hugged by your sensitive walls, and you shudder.

This is the high you chase every time you bend your morals until they splinter. The still nothingness that lays beyond the denouement, where everything is glowy and the pit inside you appears not-so-bottomless for once. The lack of expectations and obligations. The sheer freedom that stringless pleasure, that sensual self-indulgence provides.

Matthew doesn’t owe you anything, you don’t owe him anything either, and neither of you pretends otherwise.

And you sure as fuck don’t trip on his dirty laundry every time you walk into the bedroom.

“If that doesn’t take,” Matthew flicks his hips in emphasis, “…let me know when and where you want your wedding present, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer. You push his hands away and roll off of him unceremoniously. But he keeps talking.

Matthew is always talking.

“Oh, and before I forget, would you be a dear and let Billy know I won’t be able to make it for his bachelor party? I don’t know why, but I have the oddest feeling that something desperately needing my attention will come up.”

────────────

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2023 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

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[significant-narratives]

quinn has a libra sun / sagittarius moon which is honestly a very sweet whimsical combo that makes him a natural leader with a lot of optimisim and drive and then you look down his chart and it's [glass smashing] mercury in scorpio [horn blaring] venus in virgo [tires screeching] mars in sagittarius

[v8mpvrse]

rlly funny to me that the stanley cup finals start in june. u mean to tell me the gayest sport has their finals and their winner. during PRIDE month? i guess the hockey narratives do ALWAYS write themselves huh

(this means the cup parades have an irony to them that i personally think is so fucking funny)

[exwag]

groomsman era @ kale clague’s wedding