#maybe i need to just sign off hockey for a while

[marmolita]

ugh I can't deal with another round of "my team is morally superior to yours because your team signed (some player who has a shitty history)"

there's no moral superiority here guys, it's only a matter of time until your team does something shitty too, or you find out that your guy who you've been idolizing is actually a douchebag

[azsazz]

Out of Order

Hockey!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: You're running late from practice and the women's showers are out of order. In your haste to make it to class, you utilize the men's locker room while they're on the ice, only to find out that their practice has been cut short as well...

Warnings: Smut (oral, m receiving). Steamy (haha, get it?).

Word Count: 3003

Notes: This would prob never happen but it’s my world and you’re all living in it 😏

Belongs to the Shut Out & Penance world

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“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter, staring at the sign hanging over the showers in the women’s locker room. It reads Closed for Maintenance. You’ve completely forgotten that the showers weren’t going to be in working order this week. You hadn’t been paying too close attention when your figure skating coach told you about it before the weekend hit, still too stunned thinking about Azriel when you’d run into him on your way to where all the coaches’ offices are housed. 

It hasn’t been a great start to the week. Your alarm went off late, you spilled the horrible coffee you’d managed to make whilst brushing your teeth—no harm there—and you split your leggings after a tumble on the ice. Now, you’re going to be doubly late for class because Coach Vanserra had wanted to talk to you about your routine after practice.

And now this.

Clicking your phone on, you check the time. Yup. You only have fifteen minutes to make your way across campus to class, and you’ve only just stopped sweating from the vigorous run-throughs of the jump you fell on during practice this morning. Anything to get the routine perfect, even if it did mean receiving a few cutting glares from the hockey players who were loitering around for their own practice. The chain reaction of you being late meant that the Zamboni flooded the ice late which meant that hockey practice started late.

Late, late, late.

You would totally skip class too, if it weren’t the one that you were struggling the most in. The Teaching Assistant even allowed you to meet with her before class today to go over the outline of your mid-term, and you really need to do well on it.

“What do I do, what do I do?” you wonder aloud, staring at the bright neon sign. You don’t have enough time to make it home, but—you groan as the idea pops into your head. 

The men’s locker room.

There are showers in there. Ones that probably work, too. 

Fuck, you really don’t want to do this. 

But you have no choice, you’re not spending the day walking around classes a filthy mess or smelling like sweat.

You duck out the door with your things, your bag slung over your shoulder, towel draped over your arm. Your shoes are clutched in your free hand as you duck your head, walking faster. Passing the rink just to make sure the hockey team is still out on the ice, you exhale softly, only allowing yourself a fleeting look at sex on skates.

Azriel is fast. Probably one of the fastest forwards on the team. He slides across the arena with a grace that rivals your own, and you’re impressed. Maybe he’s taken a few figure skating classes of his own. If only you could ask.

Quickly, you make sure that the coast is clear before ducking into the men’s locker room. It doesn’t look much different from the women’s locker rooms, with added urinals. It’s muggy even though it’s early, from the male figure skaters taking showers of their own. There’s a lingering scent of stale sweat in the air that makes your nose wrinkle, but you can push through that if it means you get the shower you so desperately need.

You halt, listening for any noise. Nothing. The locker room is perfectly empty.

You hustle to the back of the room where the showers are located, claiming the one furthest from the door. If someone does come inside, they likely won’t take up the empty shower next to you. Something about bro code and urinals, Cassian once mentioned. You pray that it applies to showers, too.

The walls separating each shower come up to your shoulders, and there’s a pair of swinging doors that keep the area enclosed. The water pressure is incredible, much better than in the women’s showers, and you groan as you step under the hot spray. Your towel is hung on the rack, your bag the furthest from the water as you can manage without getting it wet or being seen by anyone that might come your way.

You scrub your hair quickly, and when you turn around to wash the shampoo out, your eyes connect with a very familiar—and very heated—pair of hazel ones.

Azriel.

Holy fuck, this can’t be happening right now. His dark hair is damp with sweat, clinging to his perfectly tan skin. He’s sans shirt, and when your gaze quickly flicks to below the door, notice that he’s not wearing any pants, either.

Your heart pounds in your chest. He’s not supposed to be in here. You’re not supposed to be in here.

“What are you doing in here?” You exclaim, voice pitching high with your nerves. You slap your arms across your chest, even though you know he’s gotten an eyeful of your breasts from his vantage point, way taller than where the doors end.

“What are you doing in here?” He bites back, and the roughness of his voice makes the warmth pounding against your back converge between your legs. Fuck, he’s so attractive. His throat works around a harsh swallow, and you have to clamp your legs together stifle the throbbing.

Azriel watches you shift on your feet uneasily. Tracks you with his dark gaze like you’re a trapped animal and he’s about to pounce.

You kind of like this look on him.

“The women’s showers are out of order and I’m late for class,” you hastily reply, cheeks burning bright. You don’t know why he’s in here or if the rest of the team is seconds from following, but you need to get the fuck out of here right now, go bury your head in your pillow and potentially never return to the ice rink ever again.

This is utterly humiliating.

Azriel opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, raucous laughter and crude jokes fill the space as the rest of the team enter the locker room. Your heart falls to the floor, swirling around with the soap that’s still running from your hair, and slipping down the drain.

Before you can protest, Azriel’s shoving himself inside of the stall with you, uncaring that you’re completely naked and shouldn’t be here. He presses himself up against you and you slip, but he’s righting you, pulling you into his chest where you can feel how very interested he is in this debacle.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You exclaim, and it’s hard to keep your voice from shouting frantically like you want to.

The air becomes a thousand times hotter. You can barely breathe with him pressed up against you like this, turning the both of you and hiding you from the view of his teammates. Your heart still races in your chest, both because your fucking crush is pressing his naked torso up against yours and with the fear that one of his teammates will take notice.

“It’s either I see you naked, or the entire team does,” he whispers, huskily. “And no way in hell am I letting that fucking happen.” He growls and something like pleasure skitters down your spine.

You swallow roughly, “Good call.”

“Practice ended early,” He tacks on, answering your previous question.

“I gathered,” you breathe, but it holds none of the heat that it normally does when you talk to any of the hockey players. Especially Cassian. “You were out there for like, five minutes,” you whisper-shout. You can feel how red your cheeks are, and while this may be mortifying, Azriel’s hard cock pressed into your stomach only adds to your already heightened emotions.

You wonder what he’d do if you got down on your knees right now.

“It’s been an hour,” he responds, and you hold your breath when the water of another shower turns on. Azriel drags you under the spray with him, making it look to his teammates that he’s showering instead of hiding the figure skater they’ve been arguing with for ice time all semester. “Coach wanted to keep us loose for the weekend. We’re supposed to change and watch film.”

Fuck, maybe you were staring for longer than you thought.

You can’t focus. Your entire mind needs rewiring because all you can think about right now is how Azriel’s bare skin is touching yours. How he towers over you, how he’s staring down at you with a heat that rivals a thousand wildfires. Actually, he’s staring a little south of your eyes, right at your—

“Hey,” you snap softly. Your arms are still tucked tightly over your chest, and you hope you’re not experiencing a nip-slip right now. “Eyes up here, asshole.”

Azriel’s smile nearly makes you slip.

“Can’t help myself,” he defends, and this is the most animated you’ve ever seen him. Out on the ice he’s all broody and serious, head strictly in the game. It’s hot, but this side of him, cheeky and smug, might even be hotter. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Can you feel how hard you make me, baby?”

Gods, if he doesn’t shut up right now, you’re probably going to do something you’ll regret later, like grab his hand and slide it right between your—

“Dude,” Cassian’s voice bellows and you duck closer into Azriel’s chest. Each ridge of his impressive muscles contract as he freezes up and despite your heart feeling like it’s about to pound out of your chest, you can admit that this is thrilling. The thought of being caught in here, surrounded by built hockey players, naked with Azriel, makes your core twist with pleasure. “Since when do you have a pink towel?”

You wince. Of course, he can see where the towel is hung on the rack, the dude is massive.

 Azriel lies easily, “Yeah, some chick left it over at my place and I brough it to return to her later.” It sounds like something he’s done before. A bite of jealousy hits you hot and harsh at the thought of him doing this with anyone else.

You clench your jaw, but as if he can feel the way you tense, his large hands come to rest on your hips, soothing across your skin. Fucking fuck.

“Used? Nice one, Azzy,” Cassian laughs and nothing more is said while he returns to his own shower.

Azriel eases slightly, the motion making his abs relax. You want to lean forward and lick over them, but now is nor the time nor the place.

You really need to get the fuck out of here.

There’s no way in hell that you’re going to make it to class, dammit.

You hear more showers turn on, and Azriel removes his hands from your hips to reach behind you for the soap you have on the shelf. You watch him as he squeezes some of the shampoo into his hands before scrubbing them through his black hair. He’s like a fucking dream come true, and his cock still hasn’t gone down from where it’s pinned between the both of you, only the thin fabric of his boxers keeping you and it from meeting.

A droplet of soap falls onto your face, and you flinch, but don’t move. You’re not sure if you can, because your limbs are seized up with nerves. You’re not sure you want to.

Azriel rinses his hands off, slowly bringing them to your face. He wipes the droplet away with his knuckle and the feeling goes straight to your core.

“Azriel,” you breathe, but are promptly interrupted for a second time.

“Hey, man.” It’s Rhys. “You ready to kick the Sea Lion’s asses this weekend?” The water turns on in the shower directly next to you and in your haste to shuffle closer to Azriel, your arm brushes up against his cock and his hands fly out, gripping you firmly to keep you from squirming.

Oh. He’s enjoying being in this shower with you as much as you are.

A smirk makes its way onto your face that makes Azriel’s glorious hazel eyes narrow in distrust.

Reaching carefully behind you, you snag the bottle of conditioner from the rack and press it softly into his hand. His brows furrow in confusion as he answers his team captain. “Yeah, dude, Tarquin and his team don’t stand a fucking chance.” He almost chokes when you slide down to your knees in front of him.

“Damn straight,” Rhys says, while Azriel pleads you with his eyes. You’re not sure if he wants you to stop or keep going, but you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug anyway.

His cock springs from its confines and the bottle in Azriel’s hand drops, ringing loudly against the floor.

“Shit,” he says, but it’s tight in his throat, like he can’t even get the words out. If someone catches on, he’s screwed.

He leans down to pick up the conditioner bottle and you frown as his cock is pulled from eye-level.

“What do you think you’re doing, pretty girl?”

You lean in close, sliding your hands up his muscular arms, enjoying the way his thick, dark eyelashes flutter under your touch. “Just enjoy, Azriel,” you whisper, your breath casting over his lips. He could grab you by the back of your head and tug you into the kiss he’s been wanting to since the first day you showed up at the rink, snarking at the team for going over their time. His cock jumps at the thought of those pursed lips wrapped around his cock. “And wash my hair while you’re at it.”

“Fuck,” he groans softly, but you pull away before he can rock into you and claim your mouth. He’s been crouched down for too long, anyway, so he rips himself from you, pushing to his feet.

“What do you think about Tarquin?” you hear Rhys ask, but you’re already reaching forward, taking Azriel in your hand. He jerks immediately and when you look up at him, he’s already shooting you an apologetic look, and then another that tells you he isn’t going to last very long.

You like the idea of that. Having this power over him.

He’s hard and smooth in your hand. You watch eagerly as a bead of precum drips from the tip, but it’s washed away by the water still cascading down his body, to your disappointment. If you’re going to be waterboarded, you’re thankful that this is how it’s going to go.

Azriel’s response is choked when you finally wrap your lips around the head of his cock, teasing his slit with the tip of your tongue. The flavor of him bursts on your tongue as another drop of precum follows, and you almost moan before remembering where you are. To keep the noise from coming out, you sink further onto his cock, cutting off your airflow.

“He’s good, but he’s no match for Bloodshed over there,” Azriel answers, and his hand falls to your head, fingers burying into your hair. You can feel the cold of the conditioner and if you weren’t enjoying yourself too much by bobbing your mouth up and down his cock, you’d be worried about the amount he’s using.

“Yeah,” Rhys says. “Their goalie is decent, but our offense is better.”

Azriel hums in response and his other hand finds your face, cupping it and guiding you just the way that he likes.

You take advantage of his help, lathing your tongue across any skin that you can find, reveling in the feeling of it all. Your legs are clenched so tightly together, your clit aching for release. You’re on edge, but you’re terrified of making any noise. You really can’t be found in the men’s locker room like this.  

“Dude…” Rhys trails off, and the suspicion in his voice makes you falter, but Azriel’s still guiding your head, trying not to fully say fuck it and jerk his cock as deep as he can go. “Are you fucking jacking off right now?”

“Yeah,” Az answers, because he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s still going to protect you, but his hips are moving, his tip hitting the back of your throat but not pushing any further, so you don’t choke. “So, if you’d kindly fuck off, that’d be ace. We’ll talk at film. Tell coach I’ll be late.”

Rhysand’s answering chuckle rings throughout the stalls when he cuts the water from his shower. “Enough said, Az. You’re fucking sick, but I’m out.”

As soon as Rhysand’s out the door, Azriel’s picking up his pace, gasping out that he’s going to release and trying to pry you off his cock like the gentleman he is.

Too bad you want his cum in your mouth.

You curl your fingers into the meat of his thighs, urging him to stay inside.

“Fuck, baby, you’re fucking perfect,” he groans before he releases himself. He’s all heady and musky, and you swallow him greedily, not letting a single drop escape. Gods, you need to stop acting like this, but around Azriel, you can’t help yourself.

He helps you to your feet and ducks down to capture your lips in a heated, desperate kiss. Your hands find his hair, clutching to him as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, silently asking for permission. You grant it to him, and the kiss turns hot and needy, like he’s been wanting this for a long as you have.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, chest heaving, but your gaze stays locked on his, especially when he sinks to his own knees.

“What are you doing?” you pant, planting your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging deliciously into his skin.

“Returning the favor,” he says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world. He taps the inside of your tingling thighs. “Why do you think I told Rhys to tell coach that I’m going to be late? C’mon, pretty girl, open these legs for me.”

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Hockey!AU Tag (will be tagged for any hockey fic, no matter paring):

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks

[misshoneyimhome]

500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“So you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" I Andrei Svechnikov

Summary; Andrei is keen on asking you out, but considering the typical traits of famous hockey players, you've made a mental note never to be swept off your feet by any of them.

Tropes & warnings; No warnings; reader's working for the Carolina Hurricanes; sort of friends-to-lovers; just fluff really

Other notes; Alrighty babes, so next up for the 500 followers celebration we've got none other than #37 Andrei S. 💓 Truth be told, I wanted to do something like an enemies-to-lovers thing, but I just couldn't with this sweetheart 😉 Still, I hope you like it

Word count; 1.9K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny@justwanderingbutneverlost @cixrosie

➼｡ﾟ

Another night. Another home game. Another round of work.

You had been working with the Carolina Hurricanes for a few years, and even though you were just an assistant helping with game preparations and clean-up, you felt like nothing less than a part of the hockey family. The players were always friendly, treating you like one of their own, and you simply enjoyed the camaraderie, the playful teasing, and the way they appreciated your hard work.

Some players had even grown closer to you than others, and one in particular stood out: Andrei Svechnikov. It wasn't just his skills on the ice but also how he seemed genuinely interested in you.

From the moment Andrei had seen your sweet smile, he’d been captivated. He admired how you handled your tasks with efficiency and grace, always ready with a kind word or a quick joke. And over time, his crush only grew stronger, yet he didn’t know how to make a move. So he just watched you from the corner of his eye, noticing all the little things: the way you bit your lip when you were focused, the way you laughed with your whole body, and the way your eyes sparkled when you were amused. All these small details only intensified his feelings.

And while not entirely knowing how to handle his own feelings, he, like many young guys on the team, resorted to occasional flirting, trying to get your attention without coming on too strong. He’d make sure to catch your eye during practice, offering a wink or a smile, and he’d find excuses to talk to you, asking for your help with something trivial just to hear your voice. Sometimes, he’d even leave small gifts in your work area – a protein bar, a coffee, a note with a silly drawing – always signed with a simple "A."

You, however, weren’t easily impressed. You knew the reputation hockey players had and had no intention of becoming another story in their dating history. You’d heard the tales of their exploits and the endless parade of girls vying for their attention, and you simply didn’t need to be another notch on anyone’s bedpost, least of all a professional athlete’s. Besides, you liked your job and didn’t want to complicate things with a messy romance.

Yet, despite your resolve, there was something about Andrei that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed genuinely kind and respectful, never pushing boundaries. Or perhaps it was how he listened when you talked, giving you his full attention as if you were the only person in the room. There were even moments when you caught yourself watching him, appreciating the way he moved, the determination in his eyes, the easy grace with which he handled himself both on and off the ice.

But  sill, you kept your guard up, distancing yourself with playful banter and cheeky remarks. Whenever he tried to flirt, you’d respond with a teasing comment, deflecting his advances with a laugh, as it was just easier that way, safer. You didn’t want to risk getting hurt, and you certainly didn’t want to become just another girl on his life.

Andrei, on the other hand, was determined to show you he wasn’t like the rest. He was so much more, and his feelings for you meant something to him. He respected your boundaries, never pushing too hard, and always making sure you were comfortable. His patience was unwavering, and his interest in you was steadfast, so he wanted to prove that he was different and that he cared for you in a way that went beyond superficial attraction.

And the challenge only made him more determined, as he found himself thinking about you more and more. How could he show you that he was serious, that he was genuinely interested in who you were, not just what you looked like? It was a question that kept him up at night, but one he was determined to answer. So, he continued his quiet pursuit, hoping that one day, you’d see him for who he truly was.

However, your defence mechanism didn’t make it easier for him. Your playful banter and cheeky remarks were a strategy that allowed you to maintain a comfortable distance. So when Andrei commented your work, it only made it more difficult for him to get past your walls. Every time he approached you with a compliment, you’d respond with a teasing, “Careful, Svechnikov, flattery may help with ladies out there, but in here, it will get you nowhere.” Even if he simply asked about your day, you’d throw in a cheeky, “Why, planning to steal my job?”

It wasn’t easy for Andrei to make a proper move on you, but as time went on, he kept his hopes high. He even practised a few English phrases that might help when the day finally came for him to ask you out.

And fortunately, that day wasn’t too far away.

_

One evening, as you were packing up equipment after a game, Andrei lingered nearby, as he’d often done before. The locker room was mostly empty, with the other players having already left or showered, and that’s when he gathered the courage to approach you, his usual confidence mingling with a hint of nervousness.

"Hey, need any help with that?" he offered, his accent colouring his words charmingly.

You looked up, slightly surprised that he hadn’t left like everyone else. "Oh, Andrei, you don’t have to do that. I’m almost done anyway." You flashed him a soft smile.

He couldn’t help but smile in return, leaning against the doorway. "I don’t mind. Besides, I wanted to talk to you."

And that made you raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "Oh? What about?"

Andrei hesitated for a moment before gently stepping closer to you, leaving only about a metre and a half between you. "I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. Just us. Maybe dinner?"

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly. "Why?"

It wasn’t an immediate no, he thought to himself, though he felt a slight disappointment when you questioned his intentions.

"So we could spend some time alone together," he emphasised, trying to flash a confident smirk, hiding any hints of nervousness.

However, that only made you think one thing.

"What... is this a bet or something? You ask me out on a date, and you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" You grinned slightly, convinced that the other boys had set him up to it or something.

Andrei's face immediately turned bright red, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. "No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I just... I really like you y/n, and I want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players. I promise."

You studied his face for a moment, trying to see any hints of falseness or sincerity in his eyes. And so, for a moment, you let your guard down, sensing he might actually be different. "Hmm… Alright, Andrei. One dinner. But if you try anything, you’ll be back to carrying your own gear. Got it?"

He couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over him. "Got it. I’ll be on my best behaviour."

And as you finished packing up, Andrei helped, and the two of you exchanged playful banter. Maybe, just maybe, he was worth giving a chance.

---

The next day, you found yourself thinking about the upcoming dinner more than you’d like to admit. You replayed the conversation in your mind: the way his eyes lit up when you agreed, the genuine relief in his smile. And it was enough to make you wonder if perhaps you had been too quick to judge him.

And when the evening finally arrived, Andrei gallantly picked you up, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him.

“Wow, you look… krasivaya…” he muttered under his breath as his English failed him.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you felt your cheeks blush slightly at his compliment. “You look quite good yourself.”

Standing there in the outfit you’d chosen for the night, it seemed that everything was suddenly changing, feeling more soft and romantic compared to the friendly banter you’d been playing at for months, if not years. Similarly, Andrei had chosen to dress up, trading his usual team gear for a smart, casual outfit that suited him well. 

And aware of your fondness for casual dinners, the restaurant he had chosen was a cosy Italian place, far from the glitzy spots the players usually frequented. It was intimate, with soft lighting and a warm atmosphere that quickly put you both at ease.

Throughout the evening, you found yourself enjoying his company more than you expected. The conversation flowed easily, and you discovered sides of Andrei you hadn’t seen before. And as the night went on, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you had been too quick to judge. Andrei was different from the image you had of a typical hockey player, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope that this could actually be the start of something special.

Throughout dinner, he was nothing but attentive, asking questions and genuinely listening to your answers. He shared stories from his childhood in Russia, his journey to the NHL, and the challenges he faced along the way. In turn, you found yourself opening up more than you expected, sharing your own dreams and fears. 

So when the evening slowly drew to a close, Andrei naturally walked you back to your place. And as often happens in situations like this, there was a moment of hesitation at your door, both of you lingering, not quite ready to say goodbye.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the honesty in your voice. Your eyes were locked on his, a new form of intimacy connecting you both as you’d enjoyed the evening more than you’d expected, just the two of you and away from hockey.

“So did I,” Andrei replied, his eyes softening as he looked at you. He couldn’t help but feel the intensity of the pull he felt towards you, yet he also reminded himself to be patient and, as he’d promised, be on his best behaviour. So, he restrained himself, settling to only imagine what it’d feel like having your lips against his. Instead, he took a deep breath before continuing, “I meant what I said, you know. I like you and want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players—at least, I try not to be.”

You couldn’t suppress a timid smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I’m starting to believe that.”

It was the truth. The evening with Andrei had been nothing short of amazing, and the more you got to know him, the more you started to trust his intentions. And just like that, as if drawn by a magnetic pull, you slowly and very gently leaned in towards him, closing the small gap between you as you let your lips delicately touch his.

It was brief, almost innocent, as you shared this sweet, intimate moment. And as you then slowly pulled back, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, mentally hoping that next time, he wouldn’t be on his best behaviour.

[chukys-mouthguard]

#21 fluff for Matt Rempe please :)

Prompt: “You’re the only one I have opened up to like this.”

“Did it hurt?”

You hand hesitantly moving to touch the black and blue mark that had found its place on Matt’s eye, trying not to inflict any more pain on him.

“When I fell from heaven? Nah, it wasn’t too hard of a fall.”

Rolling your eyes at him, he couldn’t help but laugh. His humor the one thing you could always count on, no matter the situation.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.”

“Well I sure think so!”

The two of you sat in Matt’s apartment as you’d put in your doctor cap and attempted to help his newly acquired battle scars from yet another fight. To be honest you didn’t know how he was still actively participating in the fights. His face surely couldn’t take another punch after 3 fights in a row.

“I mean, sure it hurts. It definitely doesn’t feel good. But, I kind of signed up for this you know?”

Walking the first aid kit back to the bathroom, you’d someone scoffed at his words. “Mmm, signed up for that? I disagree. I don’t know if anyone signs up for that.”

While he understood what you meant, he disagreed. Matt always knew he wasn’t going to be the next Crosby or Ovechkin. And because of that, he had to excel in other areas.

He sighed as you rejoined him on the couch, his demeanor now changing as he seemed exhausted. His body finally waving the white flag that it needed a break.

“I just, I love hockey. So much. And, I know that I’m not the greatest skater, I’m not scoring 80 goals a season, hell I probably won’t even play 80 minutes a season. But I know that I can support the guys who can do those things. And maybe that’s through fighting. Sure, I don’t necessarily love getting my face bashed in. But I’m willing to get punched in the face, if that means getting to put on that jersey and play in a place like Madison Square Garden.”

The emotion in his voice almost bringing you to tears, you knew how much he loved the sport. But hearing him talk about it like this, hearing him be vulnerable and not the joking goof ball he normally was. It was refreshing. For him to just be Matt Rempe, a normal 21 year old guy who is working his butt off to make a name for himself.

“I love that, every single thing you said. And I wish more people got to see this side of you. Because this I’m sure is more meaningful to people. Your love and passion for the sport, I’m sure your teammates would love to hear you talk like this too.”

He shyly laughed as he tried to climb off his sappy soapbox.

“You’re the only one I’ve opened up to like this.”

His fingers intertwined with yours as he leaned in to give you a kiss. A thank you for being by his side and supporting him through it all. And for putting up with him on days he looked like he’d been in a horrific bar fight.

“Well, I’m honored that you opened up to me. Now, let’s get you into bed, I have a feeling someone is definitely sleeping in tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, please don’t wake me until at least 7pm.”

[hd-junglebook]

The Art & The Muse

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Artist!Reader

a:n currently spiraling at the moment so don't be shocked if I release five more fanfictions that I wrote 30 minutes before posting with no proof reading. lol.

Masterlist Link

Summary: A struggling artist finds inspiration in the most unexpected place - a painting class which the famous Luke Hughes has joined. y/n is in awe at his beauty, finding herself fascinated by his masculine beauty.

Prologue

word count - 1568

Luke let out a deep sigh as he sank back into the worn leather of his favorite chair, relishing the rare luxury of a day off. No early morning practices, no media obligations, no road trips - just him, his apartment in New Jersey, and the peace and quiet he craved.

Well, almost quiet. Luke could hear the muffled sounds of his older brother Jack clattering around in the kitchen, no doubt raiding the fridge for a snack. Luke rolled his eyes and tried to tune it out, savoring the silence. He loved his brother, but sometimes Jack's boundless energy and enthusiasm could be a bit much, especially on a lazy Sunday like today.

As if on cue, Luke heard Jack's familiar voice echoing down the hallway. "Hey, Lukey! Get your butt out here!"

Luke groaned, resigning himself to the inevitable interruption. "What is it, Jack?" he called back, not bothering to move from his comfortable spot.

Jack appeared in the doorway, mouth half-full of what looked like leftover pizza. "Dude, you need to find a hobby or something. All you do is sit around and talk to girls all day."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Jack gestured emphatically, spraying crumbs. "Go out and find a girlfriend or something. Do something productive for once!"

"Close the door," Luke said tiredly, waving a hand.

Jack just laughed and turned to leave, still chewing noisily. "Whatever, man. Your life is boring."

Luke waited until he heard the click of the door, then let his head fall back with a groan. Sometimes he wondered how he and Jack could be brothers, let alone teammates. While Luke treasured his rare days off to recharge, Jack always seemed to have boundless energy, constantly looking for the next adventure or party.

A girlfriend, huh? Luke mulled over Jack's words. It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea, exactly. He just hadn't felt that spark with anyone lately. Between his grueling hockey schedule and the demands of his public persona, it was hard enough to find the time and energy for a social life, let alone a serious relationship.

Still, maybe Jack had a point. Luke had been feeling a little...stagnant lately. Perhaps it was time to try something new, step outside his comfort zone a bit. With a decisive nod, Luke reached for his phone.

Luke drummed his fingers against his thigh as he scrolled through the endless list of activities and classes, feeling increasingly discouraged.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he skimmed through the options, mentally crossing each one off as it failed to pique his interest.  Maybe Jack was right - he really was in a rut, stuck in the same old routine day after day.

Just as he was about to give up with a heavy sigh, a flash of inspiration caught his eye. An ad for painting classes at a local art studio.

Luke felt a faint tug of nostalgia as he remembered the hours he used to spend painting with his mom back home in Michigan, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as the memories surfaced. It had been years since he'd picked up a brush, but the idea of reconnecting with that creative outlet was strangely appealing.

Intrigued, Luke clicked on the website and started browsing through the class schedules, his blue eyes scanning the page intently. The next session was in just two days - perfect.

Without overthinking it, he quickly signed himself up, a spark of determination lighting in his chest. With a decisive nod, he shut off his phone, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

With a newfound spring in his step, Luke headed out to the living room where he could hear Jack clattering around. "Hey, Jack?" he called out, drawing his younger brother's attention.

Jack poked his head out from the kitchen, mouth full of what looked like leftover pizza. He quirked an eyebrow curiously, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.

Luke wrinkled his nose in mild disgust at the display, but pressed on. "I, uh, took your advice. I signed up for a painting class that starts in a couple days."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise, a spark of amusement flashing across his features. He let out a bark of laughter, pizza crumbs flying. "Painting? Seriously?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

Luke shrugged, feeling a slight twinge of self-consciousness creep up his spine. "Well, I figured it was worth a shot. Gotta try something new, right?"

"Hey, that's great!" Jack grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, his infectious enthusiasm cutting through Luke's lingering doubts. "Who knows, maybe you'll meet some cute girls there or something."

Luke rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That's not really why I'm doing it, Jack."

"Sure, sure." Jack winked and grabbed another slice of pizza, seemingly satisfied with the conversation. "Whatever you say, bro."

Luke shook his head fondly and turned to head back to his room, a newfound spring in his step. Maybe this whole "trying new things" thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

…

Luke pulled his beanie down lower over his sandy blond curls as he stepped out onto the street, trying his best to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

He had thrown on his most unassuming outfit - a simple t-shirt, jeans, and a well-worn pair of sneakers - before hesitantly heading out the door, Jack's cheerful "Good luck!" ringing in his ears.

As Luke made his way down the sidewalk, the nerves started to kick in. What was he doing, really? Signing up for an art class on a whim - it was so unlike him.

The old Luke would have scoffed at the very idea, content to spend his rare days off lounging at home or chatting up pretty girls at the local bars. But that Luke felt stale, stuck in a rut. Maybe it was time to try something new.

Still, Luke couldn't help the self-conscious twinge that made him want to turn right back around and high-tail it home. He could already hear Jack's teasing laughter, the endless ribbing he'd have to endure. But Luke steeled his resolve, forcing his feet to keep moving forward. He'd come this far, might as well see it through.

Luke rounded the corner, nearly colliding with an elderly couple out for an afternoon stroll. "Sorry, excuse me," he murmured, deftly sidestepping them.

The last few minutes of his journey passed in a blur, and before he knew it, Luke found himself standing in front of the art studio, its glass door beckoning him inside.

Taking a deep breath, Luke pushed open the door, immediately greeted by the soothing scent of lavender. His eyes swept over the space, taking in the rows of easels and the vibrant paintings adorning the walls. A petite woman with a thick accent approached him, a warm smile on her face.

"Hello, welcome! Can I help you?"

Luke cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. "Uh, yeah, hi. I'm Luke - I signed up for the painting class?"

"Ah, yes, of course!" The woman's eyes lit up with recognition. "It's so wonderful to have you join us. I'm Helena, the instructor. Let me show you where you can set up."

As Helena led him over to an open easel, Luke felt a flicker of genuine interest. He followed Helena through the halls of the art studio, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of intimidation.

The walls were practically bursting with vibrant, expertly-crafted paintings - from sweeping landscapes to intricate still lifes. He found himself glancing around in awe, suddenly self-conscious about his own artistic abilities.

Helena continued to speak animatedly, her hands gesturing as she explained the layout of the classroom and the materials available. Luke nodded along, trying his best to appear engaged, but his attention was diverted the moment they passed by a particularly striking piece.

The painting was dark, with soft whites and deep blues creating a moody, almost mystical atmosphere. But what truly captivated Luke was the subject - a male figure, rendered with such realism and attention to detail that it almost looked like a photograph.

The sculpted planes of his muscular torso, the veins in his hands, the play of light and shadow across his skin - every element was meticulously crafted, drawing the viewer in with its hypnotic allure.

Luke found himself stopping in his tracks, unable to tear his gaze away. It was as if the man in the painting had somehow come to life, his masculine beauty radiating off the canvas.

Helena let out a light laugh, drawing Luke's attention back to her. "I see you've noticed one of our more...popular pieces," she said, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

Luke felt a faint heat creep up the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious about his obvious fascination. "Uh, yeah, it's...it's really well done," he stammered, clearing his throat.

"Indeed." Helena gestured towards the open doorway of the classroom. "Shall we? The class is about to begin."

Luke nodded, stealing one last glance at the captivating painting before following Helena into the studio. As he took his seat at the easel, he couldn't help but wonder who the artist was behind such a stunning work. And more importantly, would he have the chance to meet them?

…

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[generalllimaginesss]

Here’s a little piece based on Megan Moroney’s song Reasons to Stay.

Warnings: angsty bf! Jack, toxic relationship (you can usually tell if I’m depressed or not based on what I post lmao), but like this is really really toxic so don’t read if that’s a trigger for you. I think I made myself go crazy while rereading it.

Reasons to Stay

I asked Jesus for a sign

And today I haven’t cried

It’s only 2 p.m. but that beats yesterday

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

The status of having an NHL boyfriend was alluring to a lot of girls. The fame was something that always felt new, thousands of people, strangers, screaming the name that you hold near and dear to your heart. The money eased the fear of bills and gave a freedom the average person would never experience in their lifetime. The influence that you hold as a WAG always playing in the back of your mind anytime your finger hovered over a button to post a picture, wondering if the caption was classy enough to hold your status.

The truth is that looks can be deceiving. The girls that threw themselves at Jack made for a constant state of insecurities to pool in your brain, sloshing around anytime Jack was home late or turned his location off. The money bought things that made you smile, a Louis Vuitton here, a Mercedes there, but the feeling of being in debt to the man that let hate spew from his mouth anytime you accidentally stepped out of line pulled at your being, anxiety grasping at the freedom, one not capable of being present without the other.

Was it really freedom?

Was it the price of freedom?

Maybe.

Maybe the price was the amount of tears that flowed when he rejected an outfit for you to wear.

“You’re not leaving in that. I don’t date sluts and that makes you look like one,” his reasoning rang, slicing through your ears and bouncing around anytime you bought clothes.

Today was a good day, though.

He had kissed you goodbye, asking if you would be making dinner tonight.

He’d be home tonight, you thought, willing yourself to think positive and fighting against the urge to dwell on the fact that he had come home with a hickey the night prior. He insisted it was a hickey, but you weren’t too sure about that.

But he’s yours tonight, that’s all that matters. That keeps you going; the possibility that tomorrow he will be yours is your driving thought. So you went about your day as if the life you were living were a dream and that you were living the life as the girlfriend of a famous hockey player who made millions.

Maybe it’s normal to have to be small. Maybe you just have to compensate for the huge platform that he had. He had earned it after all.

Seriously, what did you do other than keep the house tidy and go to his games? That’s normal….right?

You just had to tell yourself that it would be ok. It would be harder and messier to leave than try to push through.

And when you’re drunk at 3 a.m.

You don’t call your ex-girlfriend

It’s been a couple months since you

Brought up her name.

So I guess that’s a reason to stay.

The guys had gone out after a win, guys only. No girlfriends or wives. That’s what Jack said, at least. They were celebrating the guys achievements, some records broken, and it was just for them.

That was fine with you. He had an amazing game: his second hatty of his career. He needed a night to let off some steam and just be a boy.

The picture of him and Nico with Jack’s ex looming in the background was just a coincidence, yeah? Jack said she was a puck bunny, so she’s probably just going from guy to guy.

As soon as he walked through the door, the smell of bourbon wafted through the air, attaching itself to every air molecule in the apartment and meeting you like a familiar friend. This wasn’t the first time he had come home in this state. It wasn’t even the 5th or 6th.

“You’re up,” Jack’s words were slower than normal, the effort to produce the words coherently proving to be more tasking than normal. He took in the view of you curled up in an Ugg blanket on the plush cushions of the couch, noticing the lines that the tears had been drawing for the past hour. He took note, but not responsibility. He told you where he was and what he was doing, no harm no foul.

“Just couldn’t go to sleep,” Your voice was weakened, something you despised about yourself. You used to view yourself as strong and independent. Sticking up for what was right was was something you took pride in, but being in a relationship with Jack had slowly chipped away at that, so nonchalantly that you were the skeleton of who you once were before you could do anything about it.

Jack’s balance teetered from the left to the right, making a ship at sea during a storm look like a walk through the park. He stumbled as he tried to take his shoes off, a cue that you learned meant you needed to help him.

He did so much for you, so would it really be awful to just help him out?

As you slipped one AirForce off, you took notice of the bruises that feathered his legs, probably from the intense game tonight.

You could feel courage bubble, coming to a boil before you made your next statement, “I noticed your ex in a picture that Nico posted…what’s that about?”

“Baby,” He slurred, attempting to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear but pulling it instead, kissing your forehead after you winced at the tension. “You’re the only one that matters,” And with that he sucked you right back into his intoxicating blue eyes. They held a secret confession of his love for you. One that only you could see and he could feel.

But you don’t try like you used to

You don’t look at me the same

You used to say you’re sorry, now

Whiskey’s what you blame

How much can a heart take

‘Til it’s really your last chance

I’m a giver, but I’ve given all I can

We both know that I ain’t one to walk away

But I’m runnin’ out of reasons to stay

Things hadn’t always been like this.

Jack hadn’t always been like this.

He used to surprise you at work with two dozen roses, or wrote sweet love notes on sticky notes and stuck them to your vanity. He used to put in effort.

He used to want you.

What were you thinking, of course he still wanted you. He wouldn’t be in a relationship with you for the whole world to see if he didn’t want you, right?

He hadn’t bought flowers in a long time, though, and the sticky notes had slowly made their way to a drawer for safekeeping, none there to replace them. The vanity was bare, loneliness radiating from it every time you passed it, the feeling resonating in your soul.

It was as lonely as you.

Jack had come home drunk again last night, the smell of the liquor laced the words he shot at you with a poison that made them burn when they hit you. Everything that came out of his mouth felt like lashes against your skin.

“You’re so fucking boring, Y/N! You think you’re so perfect and you’re not! You think you’re better than everybody around you, but you’re not! You’re a fucking bitch, you cunt!”

He went on like that for at least an hour, going on and on about how he deserved better, how he could have anybody he wanted but settled for you.

It hurt even worse because it was so untrue. You battled with yourself for years because you compared yourself to those around you constantly. Jack knew this. He had been there for your breakdowns when your family had made you feel like a disappointment, or when you never thought you would be as pretty or talented as the other girls in the hockey scene.

Did he just forget this?

How were you going to smooth this over with him?

It felt like all you did was make excuses for him just to be able to live with him.

Why?

How did he completely change you? Wreck you? He had gutted out who you once were and left the bare beams that held you up. He had conditioned you to allow him chance after chance, no matter how bad he had fucked up.

And you just let him.

As the sun played a game of peekaboo through the curtains, you had made up your mind that you couldn’t justify the way he was treating you anymore. It was wrong.

The smell of bacon and eggs lured you into the kitchen to see him shirtless, standing over the stove as he busied himself with making breakfast. His back muscles flexed as he maneuvered about the stove. He looked perfect, as if he hadn’t verbally assaulted you and your character last night.

Before you could say anything, he had sensed that he was being watched, catching a glimpse of you as he turned his head slightly to the left.

“Morning. Didn’t wake you up, did I?” His voice was raspy, probably from partying for most of the night, but it sounded like he cared. It was refreshing.

“N-no. Um, I just felt like I should get up,” Reassuring him felt like an attempt to just keep the peace. Don’t say anything to set him off, don’t be combative. He’s cooking breakfast for you, so everything’s ok.

“Good. Hey, about last night…I’ll be honest I don’t remember what I said, but if it was bad it was just from me drinking too much. The boys may have gotten me to drink more than I normally do…” he trailed off as he plated the breakfast he had made for you, placing it on a placemat at the bar and pouring a cup of coffee for you, 3 creams and 2 sugars.

He remembered.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You walked to the bar taking a seat.

The morning consisted of the two of you genuinely enjoying the presence of the other, catching up on what’s going on in each other’s lives and promising to not let it get this way anymore.

Before Jack left for practice, he had placed a kiss to your lips ever so gently, “I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft and sweet.

How was this the same Jack from last night?

You were sure that you had to be going crazy.

If I go find somebody new

I’d lose your mom and sister too

You know me and how much I hate change

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

And I ain’t perfect either, we all make mistakes

But that don’t change

The Michigan sunset was absolutely breathtaking. The orange and purple hues painting a picture so perfect that it could never be replicated on a canvas. The distant sounds of the guys on the lake could be heard in the distance, the chill of the wind carrying the hoots and hollers from the water to you and Ellen, sitting on the deck attached to the back of the house.

The smell of the deck and the sound of the hundreds of frogs from the water felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from.

“Jack would probably kill me if he heard me say this, but I really hope you two get married soon. I’d love to have you as my daughter, you know? These boys are a lot sometimes…” Ellen chuckled as she nodded to the boys in the distance.

The comment caught you off guard, a response in favor felt forced, but how were you supposed to tell her that her son was making your life a living hell?

“You’d have to take that up with him,” You smiled at her, not revealing the relationship that was slowly eating away at you.

“I promised to never pressure them to do something that they weren’t ready for, so I’ll let him choose the right time. I just know we all love you. Anytime the other two call home they always ask how you’re doing. I know they talk to Jack about you, too. We didn’t think he’d ever be ready to settle down with a girlfriend, much less one as amazing as you,” She went on, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the absence of the sun left goosebumps on her skin.

“It’s getting cold out here, let’s head inside and you can help me make dinner. I believe we have some wine if you’d like some,” She stood up and headed to the kitchen, waiting for you to follow suite, you smiled.

It was almost a sad smile, grateful that even though Jack wasn’t the man he should’ve been for you, his family loved you. They made you feel safe and loved. They were a safe haven from the toxic tendencies that Jack had taken up when the two of you were in New Jersey.

“I’d love that, Ellen.”

The sound of bare feet padding rapidly against the blades of grass that ran from the dock to the deck made you and Ellen turn your heads towards the window, watching on as Quinn, Luke, and Jack were racing towards the house.

Luke won, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage against his shorter counterparts. Quinn came in second as Jack has tripped over himself.

“What’s for dinner?” Luke panted, reaching for a water bottle out of the fridge and attempting to sit on the couch.

“You’ll find out after you change out of your wet swim trunks,” Ellen gave him a stern look, him raising his arms in defense as he left to go to his room for dry clothes.

You felt an arm snake around your waist, the smell of lake water and sunscreen following behind it. At first you jumped, worried that you had done something wrong.

He chuckled at the sudden movement, not realizing that he was the problem.

“Jumpy, are we?”

You smiled, trying to not cause an issue with him.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expecting you to be so cold,” You felt nasty as you lied through your teeth.

After a few minutes, he finally decided to retreat to the shower to wash the day off of him. You took in your surroundings while he was away.

Quinn and Luke played the Xbox while Ellen prepared the vegetables for dinner and Jim smoked the meat outside. You had been loving this family for years now. You and Ellen had become so close, easily somebody you loved as if she were your own mother.

Jack wouldn’t be the only person that you would have to let go of if you were to leave. As much as you loved his family, it was only natural for them to take his side, something that you understood and admired. You could only wish somebody would take up for you no matter what, and he had 4 people willing to do that for him.

You couldn’t imagine the thought of having to start over with somebody new, having to meet their parents for the first time and being disappointed that they weren’t Ellen and Jim. Being disappointed that their siblings wouldn’t pay the extra money when they accidentally forgot to keep your Snapchat streak going since it was almost 4 years long. Quinn and Luke texted you almost as often as they texted Jack. You were like their sister.

The thought of starting over was enough to have tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. Whatever Jack had done, you couldn’t expect him to be perfect. He’s human, after all. You’d stay if it meant you could keep the Hughes in your life.

I'm runnin' out of patience

Damn, I hate to say it

I'm runnin' out of patience and grace and at the end of the day

Findin' last resort reasons we're okay

Ain't a good reason to stay

“Jack you have purple bruises all on your fucking neck! How stupid do you think I am?!” You barked at him as he sat on the couch facing you.

“Stupid enough to think this is the first time this has happened,” His smug smirk and body language made you want to hurt him. You wanted to hurt him as bad as he’s hurt you for so long now.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you, Jack Hughes. You are the most disgusting person I have ever met and I hope your life becomes a living hell that you can never get out of,” The words came out calmly despite their harsh meaning. It was eerie, making the hairs on Jack’s neck stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going,” He watched as you made your way to the shared bedroom, hearing the sound of a suitcase zipper open.

He jumped up, heading straight for you, but froze as he watched you throw clothes into the suitcase. When that one became full you found another one to shove your clothes into, until the only things left were things you didn’t normally wear.

“What are you doing?” He spat, realizing that the grip he had on you was being relinquished.

“What does it fucking look like? I’m done. I’ve gone crazy trying to love you and I want out. I can’t do this anymore!” You tried to yell, but your throat constricted as it tried its best to sob. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that, though. He had put you in this state of survival long enough.

“You’re going to regret this…” He trailed off, following you as you threw everything into your car.

“Maybe so, Jack. But I will never regret it as much as I regret falling in love with you. You are an awful person, and I hope everybody will see that one day,” You slammed the door shut and put the car in reverse.

As you made your way down the driveway and street, Jack’s figure became smaller and smaller. Nobody would ever make you feel this way ever again, and you felt sorry for whoever fell into the trap that is Jack Hughes after you.

*

*

*

*

HAHA IM SO SORRY!! Also this in no way reflects who Jack is in real life because I, obviously, don’t know him personally. This was so bad though, so I’m actually really sorry.

[hughes86-43]

Sweet Treat | J. Hughes

warnings - none, maybe some grammar errors! just fluff!

summary - on the opening day of your coffee shop, everything is going great, but it only gets better when you meet a certain hockey player. part two

Your dream has always been to open your very own coffee shop with a bakery. After years of hard work with getting your business degree, to determining what type of set up you wanted to have, and earning enough money to actually do it, you finally did it! Your dream became a reality as you walk into the shop on opening day, turning on all the lights and getting everything set up before your two new employees showed up to help with what would possibly a busy day, if everything goes right.

You planned for this opening day tremendously with making sure everything was in stock, training the new employees, setting up the register, picking the perfect table and chairs, and now at 9 am on the clock, you turn the sign on the front door to open.

Within a total of three hours of being open, a large amount customers have came in and ordered their coffees and even a sweet treat. They congratulated you on the opening of your shop and told you that they would certainly tell others about the shop, you couldn’t be happier.

Around the four hour mark, business had slowed down a bit to a constant pace, when a young guy walks in. You look up from the register, ready to greet the guy, when all of a sudden you’re stopped in your tracks just by how gorgeous the guy looks. All words have left your mind as soon as you saw him.

As you come back from your day dream, you see that he has reached the counter and now has a confused look on his face as you have not said a word to him yet. With a poke from one of your coworkers, you remember that you need to greet him, you say with blush on your cheeks, “I am so sorry! I must’ve been focused too much on how good sales have been today to have noticed you come up, so sorry!” As you hope you played that off well. “I’ll start over, hello!”

If he had to admit to himself, as soon as he walked through the door, he thought you were pretty cute. That thought was further confirmed as he walked to the counter and when you started nonstop talking about how you were sorry. “Oh, it’s no problem, I wasn’t standing here long! This is the first day of this place being open right? I was walking by the other day when I saw the ‘coming soon’ sign out front, and I just knew I had to come by once it opened, congrats on the opening by the way!”

With your cheeks warming up once again (seriously what is wrong with you, this has never happened before), you say, “Yes, thank you! It is opening day! Business has been booming today and it’s everything I have hoped for! Do you need a minute to look at the menu or do you know what you want?”

“I usually just get a normal coffee if I go somewhere, but I’m feeling adventurous today, do you have any recommendations?”, he says with a shy smile.

“Oh, I have plenty of recommendations! But, I’ll give you my go-to order to try! It’s an iced mocha with breve, or half and half, as the milk, it is so good! Would you like to give it a try?”, you say hopefully he will take the idea.

With a nod, he says, “That’s perfect! I’ll have that and one chocolate muffin.” With that, you ring him up and he pays.

“What’s the name for this order? So I can call it out for you when it’s done of course. We can’t just have people grabbing other people’s coffees, ya know!,” you blabber on and on again.

“Ja-Jack!”, he says stumbling over his words, by how cute you are. “You can put Jack.”

“Okay, great it will be ready right down there.” With that, you get started on his coffee order and get his muffin bagged up.

A few minutes later, Jack is just scrolling on his phone while glancing up every few moments to see you working hard behind the counter. You call out, “Order for Jack!”

Jack makes his way to counter to grab his order, “Thank you!”

“I hope you love it! It’s my favorite drink ever, and I put extra mocha drizzle on it for you!”, You say once again blushing.

“Oh, I definitely will, and I will definitely be coming back!”

“Awesome, have a nice day!”, You say with a smile.

As Jack makes his way to the front door, he realizes he should’ve gotten your number, so he turns back around to go to the counter. You notice so you say, “Oh, did you forget something?” While also hoping he would ask for your number as well.

“I did actually, could I have your number? Ya know, so I can get more recommendations on coffee orders from an expert,” he says with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Hmmm, well I can’t just have you ordering a boring regular coffee now can I? Gotta have some fun in your life! So yes, I’ll give you my number,” You say, while grabbing a sticky note and writing your number on it.

“Awesome! I’ll text you sometime tonight!”, feeling happy with that, Jack says goodbye again and heads to the front door, but he stumbles over the welcome mat. He didn’t manage to spill his drink, but he looks over his shoulder to see if you noticed.

You did notice. While trying to hide a laugh, you meet his eyes, and just give a slight shake of your head. He smiles again and gives a wave walking out the door.

Later that night back at your apartment, you felt so contempt on how well opening day went, and the fact that you met a cute guy in the process, that all you could do was just smile. You felt so happy.

As you snuggled into bed, your phone went off noticing a text message.

the coffee was the best! i may or may not have to come by tomorrow to get another… and say hello to the cute owner once again 😁

sheepishly, you text back

glad you loved it, couldn’t have you walk out with a boring cup of coffee! I’ll be sure to tell the owner that a cute guy is coming in tomorrow to tell say hello 😉

[laurenairay]

every breath, every hour has come to this - S. Jarvis

Summary: Seth Jarvis was your best friend, your rock, your protector…but could he ever be anything more?

This is my entry for @callsign-denmark’s Luck of the Puck fic exchange! I’ve written a Seth Jarvis story for @mp0625, and I really hope you like this – it’s my first time writing for him and I had a lot of fun with it! Thanks for providing some really great prompts for me to work with.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: some bad language, hurt/comfort, alcohol, terrible date, I fudged the Canes’ game schedule.

Title from: A thousand years, Christina Perri

~

For as long as you could remember, Seth had always been in your life. Two peas in a pod, two goofy little kids, always attached at the hip. Even as hockey became more and more of a fixture in his life, you were right there in the stands, cheering him on at the top of your lungs as his biggest fan. You were his staunchest supporter, always giving him reassurance when his self-confidence cracked or faltered. He was your loyal protector, pushing away anyone that was ever mean to you, including shitty boyfriends. Everyone knew in your small suburb in Winnipeg that where one of you went, the other was sure to follow.

So it was exactly no surprise to your parents (and his) when you followed him down to Raleigh the moment his entry level contract was signed.

You didn’t know what you would do without his energetic personality lighting up your day, the ultimate hype-man even before dates that both of you knew weren’t going to end well, or his sweet smiles in a terrible morning after a fantastic night out with his team. You didn’t know what you would do without his built arms wrapped around you on the sofa while you watched awful reality tv or cheesy movies, broad shoulders perfectly places to rest your head on, and especially waking up after a shared nap together, cementing his self-proclaimed King of Naps title.

Or seeing him wake up from a nap by himself, and his whole face lighting up when he saw you there too.

For as long as you could remember, you’d been in love with Seth, and there was nothing you could do about it. You’d seen the girls Seth went on dates with, and they were nothing like you. Even when the two of you were going on your first dates when you were barely teenagers, his ‘type’ seemed to be the complete opposite of you – so you’d always endeavoured to make sure the guys you dated were the opposite of him. It was the only way to preserve your heart, to keep your incredible friendship with Seth as wholesome and solid as you needed it to be, and not once had you ever messed that up.

Seth Jarvis was the best person in your life and you never wanted that to change. Not for anything. That didn’t mean that you didn’t know how hard your life was going to be when he eventually found his soulmate – but that was a problem for future you, and you refused to do anything but live in the moment.

Speaking of living in the moment…

“Hey Seth, do these shoes go with this dress?”

Living with your best friend really did have its perks – you could always guarantee an honest opinion on your outfit from him.

“Hmm, you can’t go wrong with a little black dress and nice black heels, but where is he taking you?”

“Does that matter?”

“Well yeah, you like those shoes and I know you don’t want them to get ruined by a sticky floor,” Seth pointed out.

He really did know you so well.

“He said he’s taking me out to dinner, but he didn’t tell me where or what the venue was like,” you admitted.

You ignored Seth rolling his eyes.

“The dress is gorgeous but I would change your shoes if you aren’t sure. Maybe those black ankle boots? Not too casual but not too fancy,” Seth suggested.

Incredible.

“You are amazing,” you grinned, jogging back to your room to kick your shoes off.

“And don’t you forget it!”

You just laughed at his shout across the apartment, pulling on the ankle boots he suggested. Just as you thought, he was right. With a swipe of lipgloss,  you were ready, so you grabbed your leather jacket and headed back out of your room.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yeah Seth?” you asked, spinning on your heel.

“Have fun tonight. You look amazing – don’t let him forget that,” Seth said seriously, making you laugh, “And if you need anything, anything at all, call me.”

“You’re going to be my knight in shining armour?” you teased.

“With a guy you don’t know taking you out for a first date on St Patrick’s Day? Absolutely,” Seth mused.

Well you couldn’t fault him there.

“Wish me luck!”

“Luck.”

~

If only you’d know just how right Seth would be.

“Seth?” you whimpered, hiccupping into your phone.

“Woah, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I know it’s only been three hours, but can you pick me up?” you pleaded.

“Of course, I’ll leave right now. Three hours or three minutes, it doesn’t matter. Send me your location pin, but stay on the line?”

You just sniffed, nodding even though you knew he couldn’t see you, doing as he asked.

“Okay, I have it. That’s a real shitty bar, sweetheart.”

You choked out a sob. He had no idea. “Real shitty date too.”

“What did he do?”

You could hear him running out of your shared apartment, down the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator, and your heart ached with how willingly he dropped his peaceful evening just to help you.

“He lied about taking me out to dinner. Instead he took me to a bar where a bunch of his friends were, and when I asked him why he lied he told me he wanted to celebrate St Patrick’s Day with his buddies and thought I could come along. Which, fine, okay, he thought I would get on with his friends, so I went along with it. Most of his friends were fine, welcoming even, but they were getting drunker and rowdier and I don’t mind that if I’m with people I know and trust like you or your friends, but with strangers? No way. And then he…”

You trailed off, groaning at the memory, Seth just cursing under his breath. You could hear him driving, not even caring for once that he was probably breaking the speed limit. You just wanted him here.

“What did he do?”

“He started getting handsy. Slapping my ass, pulling me into his body with an arm around my waist, all of that shit, making his friends laugh even though it was obvious I was uncomfortable. But then he grabbed at my boobs and-”

“He fucking what?”

Over all the years of Seth protecting you from nasty dates and boyfriends, you’d never heard him so angry. Never.

“He groped me, in front of everyone. But I shoved him away immediately, I swear!” you insisted.

“Hey, I believe you sweetheart. I know that stuff makes you uncomfortable. I swear I’m going to kill him, I’ll-”

“No, no, I don’t want you to get in trouble, okay? I left the bar already,” you said firmly.

“You left the bar? But your location says…”

“I’m outside the bar, still in eyesight of the bouncer just in case, but I’m outside. I walked out the bar because I couldn’t stand to be near him after him threw the remainder of his beer at me for rejecting him.”

“He fucking what?!”

Okay, that was the angriest you’d ever heard him.

“Told you he was a shitty date,” you mumbled, sniffing again as your eyes stung with tears once more.

“This is not your fault. He was an absolute asshole and none of this is on you.”

“Just my luck, right?” you said, huffing out a bitter laugh.

Seth just cursed under his breath again, continuing to mutter about how men were shit and you deserved better and all the things that usually would put such a smile on your face…but right now it just made you want to be home, safe with him, curled up in his arms. Nothing felt better than being with Seth and it was only because of the few drinks that you had that you allowed yourself to think like this. Thankfully, it couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes before you saw a familiar car screeching into the parking lot, and you finally felt like you could breathe.

He pulled to a stop only metres away from you, and you wasted no time in walking over to him, even as he got out of the car and slammed his door shut, jogging over to meet you halfway.

“Shit, sweetheart, look at you,” Seth scowled.

You groaned softly as he took in your blurred mascara and beer-soaked top, and grabbed his hand to break his attention.

“Can we just go? I want to get as far away from here as possible.”

You rested a hand on his chest, gently guiding him backwards towards his car, out of earshot of the bouncer and anyone else who deigned to leave, Seth’s fuming expression never leaving the dive bar you were walking away from.

“Is he still inside? Is that asshole still in there?” Seth demanded.

“Hey, no, come on, leave it. He’s not worth it,” you pleaded.

“He doesn’t get to treat you like that and get away with it. No-one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? No-one.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your body thrummed with heat at his furious words, his eyes wild in a way you’d only ever seen on the ice. His fists were clenched, his nostrils were flared, and his shoulders were squared, all the while his cheeks flushing with anger as well. It was only the brief flash of desperation across his face that let you know he wasn’t mad at you – no, this was Seth’s protective side coming out in full force, dialled up to 1000.

“Seth, I…”

You trailed off, running a hand through your hair as you struggled to find words to defend yourself, relying in his car to lean against and keep you upright. He might not have been mad at you, but it still didn’t feel good to know that your situation was making him react like this.

“It’s not like I go out of my way to date assholes,” you eventually managed, “they just seem to find me.”

“Shit, sweetheart, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just…”

He cut himself off, seeming to need a moment to think, and you waited silently for him to give you something. Anything. Eventually he cleared his throat, the wildness in his eyes replaced by an anguish that made your heart ache.

“I can’t take it anymore. I just wish you’d see what you could have, right in front of you.”

What?

What was he talking about?

Right in front of you?

The more seconds the silence stretched on, the more your confused thoughts swirled and the more frustrated Seth looked, until he groaned in frustration.

“I’m talking about me,” he said through gritted teeth, looking like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“You?” you repeated, your voice cracking.

“Yeah and now I wish I’d never said a damn thing so can we please pretend that you’re really drunk instead of tipsy, and never talk about it again?” Seth muttered, avoiding your eyes.

As all of his words started to sink in, you found yourself shaking your head as decades-buried hope dared to surface.

“You’ve never said anything at all! You like me?” you said, needing him to say it again.

Seth huffed out a laugh, still not looking particularly comfortable.

“How could I say anything? I’m nothing like any of the guys you’ve ever dated,” he muttered.

“Because I purposely date guys that are nothing like you!” you shot back.

“What?”

You groaned as embarrassed heat filled your cheeks, turning your head away to give you a chance to save a scrap of dignity, but then Seth’s hand was cupping your face, gently turning you back to look at him properly. Never had he touched you like this, so delicately and with such purpose. His eyes were a storm, barely giving you anything to go on outside of the intensity, and it was all you could do to let out a shaky breath as he dropped his hand but stepped a little closer.

“I’m going to need you to give me a bit more than that, sweetheart,” Seth said, barely more than a murmur, edge of his voice a little rough, “What do you mean?”

“I purposely date guys that are nothing like you…because you’ve had my heart for longer than I care to remember. I never thought you could ever be interested in me because of the girls you date, and the thought of dating someone even a little bit similar to you was heartbreaking, so I just…went for the complete opposite. Clearly it’s been working out really well,” you said, choking off a bitter laugh as you finished.

Seth’s lips parted in surprise, and for once he was stunned into silence. It was only the fact that he hadn’t moved to step away that saved you from wanting to curl into a ball on the cold ground. Still, that didn’t stop the anguish from building inside of you like a volcano ready to erupt at the slightest provocation.

Eventually he let out a shaky breath, smiling weakly.

“We’ve wasted so much time,” he said softly, shaking his head.

What?

“We…have?” you asked, still in disbelief.

“We have.” Seth nodded, smiling at you in a way that encouraged you to finally smile back at him, giddy without being able to stop yourself, “You’re my goddamned soulmate, how could I ever want anyone but you? And knowing now that you’ve felt the same way all this time? It’s everything. I wish I could say I’ve been playing the long game but honestly I never thought you’d ever want me back. But we need to put a pin in this conversation until tomorrow.”

What? Why?

You didn’t know what was showing on your face but it made Seth laugh – a little deliriously, maybe, but a bright laugh that you were so used to all the same.

“You’ve been drinking, sweetheart. You’ve literally just ended a bad date covered in beer, as well as had quite an emotional night,” Seth explained.

“That still won’t change how I feel about you in the morning,” you pointed out.

His smile turned a little bashful, but definitely pleased, making the butterflies in your stomach riot.

“Then I look forward to hearing you say it again tomorrow. Just…let me take you home? Away from this gritty old bar parking lot?”

You nodded without hesitation, making him huff out a laugh again but take your hands.

“Take me home, Seth,” you murmured, squeezing his hands, barely able to believe the words coming out of your mouth.

With Seth’s wide grin, it looked like he could barely believe it either.

“We’re going to be amazing, you just wait.”

[fiapartridge]

REQUEST tbh idk how ur request work but I have an idea

Going to one of Luke’s games but it’s Toronto vs NJ and wearing a maple lefes jersey

And luke sees her and is banging on the glass to get ur attention and is like “off now”

Idk this idea popped in my head lmao

R U Mine? | luke hughes

"all i ever wanna say is, 'are you mine?'"

luke hughes x reader

summary: you wear a toronto maple leafs jersey to luke’s game and he can't help but wish you were wearing his...

warning(s): cursing

hiii @bibella8swan <3 hope u like mitch marner, if not, just imagine someone else LMAO + i really need to make a navigation with like a proper request/prompt system, im tryna be a pro tumblr writer gal

You loved Mitch Marner, like loved him. 

Having grown up in Toronto, your family loved hockey just as much as the next family— which was a lot. They watched every single Leafs game, went to every single Leafs signing, and they even had a shrine of Leafs memorabilia in your parents’ home office. To say they liked the Leafs was an understatement (honestly, they would probably tackle you if you said that)— they were obsessed. 

Luke knew you loved the Leafs. I mean, he lived next door to you for a good chunk of his life, how could he not know? It wasn’t like you were sporting all things Leafs whenever you were with him, but Luke paid enough attention to notice your dedicated Mitch Marner Pinterest boards and your number 16 lockscreen. Though you rarely ever said it out loud (honestly, I don’t think you’ve ever told Luke, let alone anyone else, about your love for Mitch), Luke knew— because Luke knew you. He noticed the little things, like the way you always needed to carry around a lint roller in your bag because you just knew there would be unwanted lint wherever you end up going, or the way you laughed at everything, even bad jokes, because you hated silence even more. 

When he moved to Michigan, you were scared that things were going to change between the two of you, but it never did. He was still your best friend, and you were still his. When he found out you were moving to New Jersey for college, he was ecstatic given that he had just gotten drafted to the Devils. 

Getting to spend more time with his best friend? It was the best news he had ever been given. Luke started planning out your guys’ lives in New Jersey the second you told him about your plans. Maybe you guys could share an apartment instead of him sharing one with Jack, and maybe you could go to all of his home games and cheer him on in the stands? 

Luke moved to New Jersey after Michigan’s loss in the Frozen Four, and while it was a bitter moment, knowing that he was finally going to see you made it not so terrible. 

When Luke arrived in New Jersey, it was like nothing had changed. The two of you spent every single day together, and there wasn’t a single moment when you guys weren’t laughing, or making fun of each other while laughing. You even got an apartment with him, just like he had planned. It was perfect. Maybe that was when Luke understood that his love for you was way beyond just friendship. Luke loved you. Quinn said that Luke had fallen in love with you the moment he saw you, but he just wasn’t bright enough to see it— I guess college did teach him a couple of things. 

After a few more months of living together, Jack had finally managed to slap some sense into the both of you after finding out that you were both going on Tinder dates and that none of you were happy. In fact, you two were miserable. Every single time you watched the other person walk out that front door in nice clothes and high expectations, you felt some part of yourself crumble to pieces. 

You hated the thought of someone getting to hold Luke’s hand or cuddle into his side, or even get the chance to kiss him. You had known Luke your entire life and some random girl from some stupid app that he had known for, what? An hour? Got to get closer to him than you? You hated that, and little did you know, Luke hated that, too.

Which brought you to where you were now: at Luke’s game against the Toronto Maple Leafs. 

You slipped into the front row, sitting beside Ryleigh and Brooke, as you got the most perfect view of Luke as he and the rest of the Devils skated onto the ice for warmups before the game. You were engaged in conversation with Brooke when you felt Ryleigh tap your shoulder repeatedly. Whipping your head in her direction, she pointed to the glass and said, “I think someone’s trying to get your attention,” she laughed. 

When you looked toward the glass, you saw Luke banging against the clear pane. You were confused, to say the least. It wasn’t unusual for Luke to give you some sort of attention during warmups, like a simple wave, or a small smile, but for him to be banging on the glass? It had to be important. 

“Off," he nodded his head at you. "Now.”

You furrowed your brows. What was he talking about? You squinted your eyes, signaling that you had no idea as to what he was referring to. 

Luke pinched his jersey, pulling it up and down, and you immediately knew what it was. You were wearing a Marner jersey. What did he think was going to happen? The love of your life was on that ice— of course you were going to wear his jersey! But then again, the love of your life was banging on the glass, getting a million stares from Devils fans and Leafs fans alike, just so he could gain some comfort knowing that you were in that crowd, wearing his jersey. 

You didn’t quite understand that, though. You wondered why it was so important to Luke. I mean, you wore his jersey to every single home game. It was one game against a team you loved. What was the big deal?

You shrugged him off, shooing him to go back to the others when you heard the siren go off, signaling that it was time for the game to start. He shook his head and skated off to the Devils’ bench. 

The first period was… definitely something.

Luke got the puck a lot, but he also missed the puck… a lot. He skated around the ice like a lost puppy, and you bit your nails, wondering if it really was the jersey that was bothering him. It didn’t seem like a big deal to you. You’ve loved Mitch Marner since the concept of crushes even came to you. The Maple Leafs were your team. What was so wrong with that?

During the intermission, you sprang out of your seat and marched over to the direction of the locker rooms. The Rock was like a second home to you. You knew the place like the back of your hand which made it so much easier to get to Luke— because you needed to get to Luke before the second period started. You needed to know why it was taking such a toll on him. 

When you walked towards the hall of the locker rooms, your eyes met Luke’s and he immediately ran over to you, or rather hobbled to you, on his skates. On his way over, his right hand fished for the bottom of his jersey as he pulled it over his head in one clean motion. God, it was the hottest thing you had ever seen. 

“Take this,” he said, still out of breath from the game. 

You shook your head. “That thing is full of sweat, Luke.”

“Then let me grab you a clean one from my stall,” he suggested before turning around.

You scoffed, grabbing his wrist and swiveling him back towards you. “What’s going on?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

You rolled your eyes. “The last time you said that, you were pissed off that Jack got the last slice of pizza and the next time you got pizza, you added olives because you knew Jack hated them. It’s not nothing, Luke.”

He looked everywhere but you, because he knew you’d read him like a magazine. He knew that he could never hide a single thing from you, because just as he had paid attention to you, you had paid attention to him. You knew him, and deep down, you knew why the jersey was such a big deal to Luke, but you wanted to hear him say it. 

You wanted Luke to call you his. 

His shoulders relaxed for the first time since intermission started, and his eyes finally met yours. “I know you love Mitch. You always have, and that’s never been a problem, and it never will be, but… I wanted you to pick me.”

You narrowed your brows, stepped closer to the boy you loved so much, and you whispered almost tauntingly, “Why should I pick you?”

He bent down, held the sides of your face, and crinkled his eyes in nothing but cringe. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Gosh, I think Mitch is calling my name,” you frowned. 

He shook his head, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “For some fucking reason, I love you, Y/N, and I want you to wear my jersey, I’m begging you to wear my jersey, because as selfish as this sounds, I need to know that you’re not Marner’s, and you’re not the Leafs’ — you’re mine. I want you… to be mine.”

Your face broke into a bright smile. “Fucking finally,” you laughed, pushing him off of you and towards the locker room. “Give me the damn jersey, Hughes, intermission ends in seven! Also,” you pulled him back. “I love you, too.”

[goldenseresinretriever]

Snitches Get Stitches: Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, violence, sports violence, medical stuff, blood probably, angst, fluff, (eventual) smut, forbidden romance, sexual harassment, suggestive language, medical inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, Snitches Get Stitches. It was originally posted in October-November 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You lean against the counter in the exam room, giving Jake’s chart one last once-over while you wait for him to come back from the showers. There’s nothing in there detailing any recent injuries and your suspicion increases. You’re still weighing your options when the door opens and Jake saunters in, clad in a simple Dogfighters t-shirt and athletic shorts, his hair still wet from the shower. He heads over to the exam table and pops up onto it, leaning to rest his palms on his knees.

“So Bugs, let’s get to it.” You give him a confused look.

“Bugs?”

“Yup.” He fails to elaborate but his eyes tell you he’s waiting for you to catch on to some joke you’re unaware of.

“I don’t get it. Why’re you calling me Bugs?”

“What’s up, Doc?” He says with a grin in a poor imitation of Bugs Bunny which in turn makes a smile spread over your face, your worry temporarily forgotten. “You work for a hockey team now, Bugs, you need a nickname. So Bugs Bunny, or Bugs for short. Unless you’d rather I call you Bunny.” He waggles his eyebrows at you playfully. You feel your cheeks flush at his teasing. “So, what do you think, Bugs?”

“I think it’s a good thing you’re good at hockey.” You laugh nervously, as your mind comes back to the task at hand. You clasp your hands in front of you to keep them from shaking as you steady yourself for what you’re about to do. “Let’s get down to business shall we?” He nods, settling back on the table. “As I mentioned earlier, today we’re just going to be doing a standard physical, nothing special, but before we start, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” You watch him stiffen, his carefree, flirty demeanor now wary. It makes your heart ache. As a doctor, seeing your patients in pain has always been hard for you, but you trust your ability to alleviate it. To do that for Jake, though, he’d have to trust in you too. “During the introduction, I mentioned that the only way I can fully be of service to you as your physician is if we trust each other enough to be honest with each other.” You swallowed, crossing your arms across your chest, steeling yourself before you brought your eyes to look straight into his stormy ones. “So that being said I need to know, what’re we working with? A groin pull? An MCL pull or tear maybe?”

You had prepared for a lot of different reactions from Jake but the shock on his face wasn’t one of them. His mouth had fallen open and you couldn’t help the way your eyes caught on his slightly chapped pink lips.

“Jake?” You whisper gently like you’re trying not to spook a horse.

It breaks him out of his stupor. “What the fuck?” It sounds like it’s been punched out of his lungs. “How the fuck? How the fuck could you possibly?” His chest is starting to rise and fall rapidly and you push off the counter, his chart abandoned as you place your hands on both of his broad shoulders, crowding his space as you coach him gently.

“Jake, I need you to breathe for me, can you do that? In, and hold, and out.” You guide him through the breathing, his eyes on the floor on yours on the top of his head, watching water droplets slide along the strands until finally, his breathing evens out. You take your hands off his shoulders and drop to squat in front of him, catching his eyes where his head is still hung. “Talk to me, Jake, I can help. Let me help.” You’re not sure when you took his hand in yours as you realize you’re rubbing gentle circles in the skin. Nothing about that is professional but then again neither is accusing a multimillionaire athlete with a fantastic legal team of lying about a serious injury, so you’re 0 for 2.

“How, how did you know?” He whispers, and your heart breaks at the hesitation and fear in his voice. “Who told you? Did my old physician call you? Did my publicist?” His voice gets louder with each question, raising with his frustration. He runs the hand you’re not holding through his wet hair angrily, stray water droplets raining down over you.

You shake your head. “No, no Jake, no one told me, I just… I just knew.” He brings his eyes back to you, accusation shining hotly in them.

“How, Bugs? Explain how you ‘just knew’.”

“I…” you hesitate, embarrassment coloring your cheeks as you realize you’re going to have to explain yourself. You sit back on your heels to get comfortable, letting go of Jake’s hand to fiddle with your own. “So we had this game of sorts at my fellowship during the playoffs. Since if athletes get injured during the playoffs there’s a high chance it doesn’t get revealed until the season’s over, those of us who got together to watch the games made a game out of it. We’re sports doctors, right? So it’s our job to be able to diagnose athletes quickly and efficiently. So we would make notes of potential injuries each game and if we were right and they got announced after the season we’d ‘win’ and basically yeah we’d bet on how valid we thought each other’s diagnoses were.”

You sigh, remembering that night. “It was the Conference Finals, game 4 against the Ducks. You were fighting some defenseman from the Ducks who was getting too pushy with covering you, your legs got tangled and then you went down. Your legs stretched a weird way and then you went off the ice for your penalty and then you were benched for the next half of that period. I knew something was wrong. Everyone else thought your coach just wanted you to cool your head. I guessed either a groin pull or something with your MCL. Then the season ended and nothing came out about the injury. I just couldn’t shake it though, this feeling that I was right.” You shake your head. “Then, you show up here and you’re giving me these weird looks every time I mention the physical and then shuffling around when I mentioned injuries during my speech so I decided to take a chance. I know it’s extremely unprofessional to accuse you of hiding an injury but I meant it when I said it, I care about your health and I just want to help you, Jake, and I can, but only if you’re honest with me.” You let out a huff, waiting for Jake to respond, too nervous to raise your eyes from his sneakers to watch his reaction.

“Well I’ll be damned, Bugs.” You look up at that to see the curiosity and awe in his face. “That’s really something.”

“So,” you put on a small smile. “Are you gonna let me help you, Jake?”

His eyes dim at that. “Bugs, I can’t let you do that.” You can’t help the scowl that contorts your face.

“And why not, Jake? You’d rather throw the rest of your career, and maybe your life, away than ask me for help?” You’re trying to understand, you really are, but he’s just so stubborn and you can’t understand why. “We have time now, we have two months until the start of the season, and if you let me help you, you can play, you can even stay on the first line, but time is not our friend, Jake you need to trust me, sooner rather than later.”

“If I let you help, it goes in my chart, and if it goes in my chart, it goes by Maverick and Simpson. And if that happens, I get benched.”

“What part of, if I help you won’t get benched, was not in English, Seresin?” You’re done being the nice guy.

“You can’t guarantee that. My last physician said I’d have to spend half the next season riding the bench, that I’d be lucky to make the third line.” It occurs to you that maybe this is why he left Dallas.

“Maybe if you let me look at it, I could give you MY opinion?” Irritation creases your face.

“If you look at it, that means scans, that means evidence, I can’t have a trail of medical records leading the higher-ups to this, I could get fired for it.” He thinks he’s being reasonable, you can see it in his eyes, but he’s being anything but. It’s wearing down every one of your nerve endings and it’s not even noon on your first day, you’re going to snap.

“You put me out five hundred bucks!” You shout, seething and you don’t care if he sees anymore. His face shifts into confusion for a second as he processes what you’ve just yelled before he bursts out laughing at your attack out of left field. He throws his head back as he does it, and it’s a deep laugh, from the bottommost parts of his belly, but you can’t enjoy it with how furious you are.

“If it’s the money you’re looking for, Bugsy, I can write you a check right now.” He says, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Only later do you wonder when the last time he laughed that hard was.

“Seresin, get the fuck out of my exam room.” Your voice is cold, monotone, exacting, and you’re doing everything you can to maintain your paper-thin composure. At your change in tone, his grin fades as he realizes you don’t find this as funny as he does.

“W-What?” He stammers nervously, confused by your request.

“I said, get the fuck out of my exam room, Seresin.” You stand up and his head follows you holding your eyes with his.

“But what about the physical?”

“I can’t examine a patient that doesn’t want to be examined, and I’m sure as hell not getting fired for lying on a physical report, because then I’ll get fired, and unlike you, Mr. Seresin, I can’t afford to just go somewhere else. So, I’m going to ask you one more time, get the fuck out of my exam room. We can reschedule your physical when you’re ready to be transparent with me. Thank you for your time.” You purse your lips into a straight line as you collect his chart and your laptop from the counter, opening the door, and holding it open for him. He doesn’t move from where he’s perched on the exam table so you heave a sigh and head out yourself, calling back, “I’m going to get my next patient Mr. Seresin, you better be gone when I get back,” before letting the door swing shut behind you as head off to the gym where the players are doing their individual workouts.

“Javy Machado, you’re up.” You call across the gym, as you make your way to the shirtless dark-skinned man at the leg press, you tap his sweaty bare shoulder to get his attention and he pulls out his headphones.

“Sorry, miss, what’s up?”

“You’re up, Machado.” You smile, trying to regain your professionalism after the number Jake did on you. He returns the smile but you can see the confusion in his eyes.

“Already, miss? You’re done with Jake?”

“Mr. Seresin had something come up and had to reschedule. I’m not at liberty to say anything else.” You give him a tight-lipped smile and his brow furrows in concern as he gets up, wiping his face with a towel before putting his t-shirt back on and following you back to the exam room. Thankfully, Jake had left and you take your place at the counter, placing your computer back down and replacing Jake’s file in the rack, removing Javy’s instead.

“Ma’am?” you look up to see Javy fidgeting with his hands where he’s sat on the exam table.

“What’s on your mind, Javy?” You lean against the counter.

“I know you said you’re not at liberty to say but I have to try, okay? Is Jake okay?” Your heart breaks at the pain and helplessness in his voice. He cares so much and suddenly you’re angry at Jake all over again for hurting his best friend this way, your mind drifting back to the conversation you had with Natasha earlier.

“Honestly, Javy? I don’t know.” You shake your head, a tired laugh escaping your lips. “He won’t talk to me, and honestly I was hoping to get some answers from you but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you’re just as in the dark about what’s going on here.”

“So his physical?”

“I refused to do it until he’s ready to be honest with me. Since the team is still new we don’t have a designated mental health professional, so I’m responsible for all aspects of your health right now and I refuse to submit an incorrect or incomplete report.”

“And and if he doesn’t?”

You shrug, exhausted. “He can’t play without a physical.” You set your jaw. “I know it sounds ridiculous in the grand scheme of things but if I let a sick player on the ice, that would break every code I’m bound to, personal and professional.”

“No,” Javy shakes his head. “You’re right, that’s what he needs. I think it’s been a while since someone told him no, it’ll be good for him.” He gives you a rueful smile and you chuckle.

“You’re a good friend, Javy.”

“So is Jake,” he gives you an apologetic look, “at least he usually is.”

“I’m sure he is.” You say, giving him a sad smile. “I’m sure he is.”

***

The next morning at warmups, you stand beside Maverick as he gives the team a rundown of his plans for the day. You’ll be continuing the process of giving physicals today. You’d gotten through the first line yesterday with the exception of Jake and the rookie goalie, Bob, who you’d be starting with today since the goalie coach was visibly missing from the rink.

“And before we break, Bugs has an announcement for you guys.”

You clap your hands together as twenty pairs of eyes turn to you. “Great job with the physicals yesterday you guys, not only has it been a good chance to familiarize myself with you as patients, but also a great opportunity to get to know you as coworkers. I really appreciate how patient you’ve been with me. I hope that attitude can continue going forward into the season. That being said, I know there has been some grumbling about these physicals since they seem like a waste of time since you get them done every year, but I would like to remind you all that a current physical with me is a requirement to play for the team come October. And since I want these done as soon as possible, if you don’t have a valid physical by the end of next week, I’ll be forced to give my professional opinion to Mav and Beau that you aren’t fit to play for the team.” You could’ve heard a pin drop in the arena. You could feel Jake’s eyes burning holes in your head, but you refused to acknowledge them, refusing to even invite suggestions that he was the cause of the issue. You had patient confidentiality to uphold no matter what other games you had to play to achieve compliance. “Okay, boys that’s it, Bob you’re with me.” The goalie flashes you a thumbs-up before lumbering off to the locker room to shed his equipment. You go on ahead to prep for his physical, stopping by your office to grab your laptop and today’s stack of files.

You almost jump when you push the door to the exam room open to see a sweaty Jake Seresin leaning against the exam table still in his gear and skates, arms crossed over his chest, brows drawn together in a frown. His eyes follow you across the room and you head over to the counter and start getting set up for Bob. Finally, when it becomes clear that he’s not going to volunteer anything, you turn to face him, fighting the urge to cross your arms across your chest and immediately go on the defensive. He’s a patient. He needs your help. He deserves your grace. You repeat in your mind as you force your best professional smile. “Mr. Seresin, what can I do for you?”

He scowls at you, whether it’s for the title or your nonchalant tone, acting like you don’t know why he’s here when in reality you really don’t. You have your suspicions and your hopes, but he could very well be here to inquire how good you are juggling, for example. Not good.

“I told you to call me Jake.”

“Well I told you to be honest with me, so I guess we’re even.” You can’t help it, you turn into an immature child in front of him, your professionalism taking a dive out the nearest window. His glare deepens. “Now if you have something to say to me, get it out because Bob’s scheduled to be here any minute now.”

“He hit the showers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He shifts on his feet. “Listen, we need to talk about your little stipulation.”

“It’s not my stipulation if it’s literally in your contract, now is it?”

“But-“

“No ‘buts,’ Jake, you need a physical to play and I’m not forging one for you. I’m telling you now that no matter what happens, I will give you my 110% to get you back to full health, whether you come to me now or when you’ve run out of options or stubbornness. I don’t care what your last physician told you, I’m telling you, I will do everything in my power to help you, but for this to work, you have to trust me.”

He shakes his head ruefully. “I don’t get it. Why do it like this? Why haven’t you just gone to Mav and told him what’s going on? He’s got a laundry list of things he could hold over my head to get me to comply to a true physical.”

You chuckle at that. “Three reasons, Jake. First, I’m a grown woman and a fully licensed physician, I can solve my own problems and I’m not the kind of girl who’s going to run to my boss every time a patient throws a tantrum. I learn to catch. Second, that would be a violation of your doctor-patient confidentiality since you didn’t consent to me sharing that information with Mav, for example by informing me during your physical and me, in turn, putting it in your chart at which point it becomes privy to Mav and the other higher-ups who have access to your chart. And third, something more important than a breach in doctor-patient confidentiality would be a breach of your trust. When you step into this room, give me the privilege of your time, and submit yourself to my opinions and care, you trust me to do everything within my power to help you and I trust you to give me everything I need to be able to do my job. If I break that trust, for example, by going over your head instead of settling this like adults, then I can’t expect you to hold up your end of the bargain and I can’t be of help to you. Does that make sense?” He’s quiet, turning your words over in his head you assume. Before he can say anything, the door opens and Bob walks in, fully showered, stopping the moment he sees Jake. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?” He asks nervously, eyes shifting from Jake still in full gear to you. You give him a small smile in return.

“Could you just step outside and give us a second, Bob? I’ll just be a minute.” He nods and heads back out, the door swinging shut behind him. Jake is still silent, so you reach into the pocket of your coat and pull out a Ziploc bag, before crossing the room over to Jake. “Take your time and think about what I just said. At the end of the day, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, and while I have a preference, I’ll do what I have to do. In the meantime,” you extend your hand to him, the Ziploc dangling from your hand revealing the dog treats inside. “Tell Pudding I said hi.” Jake’s eyebrows shoot straight up as he looks at you in confusion.

“How did you-?”

You shrug. “I research all my patients, it helps me find possible points of relatability with them and start building a relationship. Plus Jake, you’re a celebrity and that adorable dog is in literally every single one of your Instagram posts. I may be your physician, but I’m not Amish.” You say with a smirk, passing him the bag and patting him on the shoulder. He takes this as his cue to leave and straightens, heading for the door. You can’t help the way your eyes fall to his right leg, trying your best to see through his facade but you have to hand it to him, he’s doing a damn good job hiding the pain.

“Thanks, Bugs.” He says in farewell and you smile, giving him a nod before he disappears and Bob comes in. He and Jake exchange a look and nod as they pass each other.

When the door clicks shut, Bob ambles over to the exam table, seating himself on the edge before facing you, a grim expression on his face. “Everything okay, Bob?” You ask. You’ve only ever seen the rookie goalie smiling.

“How’s his leg?” Bob hesitates before he blurts out the question. Your eyebrows shoot straight up before you can stop them.

“Bob, I’m not at liberty to discuss my other patients.”

“Yeah, I know that but-“

“How do you know about his leg?” You’re dying to know. You know you just talked a big game about trust with Jake but your desire to know more about his condition is winning against your conscience right now. you’re only human, and every part of you wants to know how this rookie goalie who met Jake less than twenty-four hours ago as far you know already knows about his leg when his best friend doesn’t.

Bob rubs the back of his neck. “I have a bachelor’s in kinesiology and I’m a goalie.” He shrugs. “I spend a good portion of my time standing and watching, so I notice things. He hasn’t said anything to me, and he does a good job hiding it, but on the ice, I’d say he’s too preoccupied with the game to keep up appearances as well. But I can tell he shouldn’t be playing on it.” He shakes his head. “There’s no way Mav knows or else he wouldn’t be on the ice, but it’s only a matter of time before he finds out.” You nod along. It turns out Bob Floyd is full of surprises.

You hesitate before you respond. “I know as much as you do, Bob. I noticed it too, but Jake’s straight up refusing my help and I don’t know why. You’re right, Mav has no idea and I can’t break confidentiality to tell him without losing what little if any trust Jake has in me.”

Bob nods, “I had a feeling you knew after your announcement this morning. Did he really refuse the physical?”

“Not exactly, more like he refused an honest one, and I refused to give a dishonest one.”

“You’re really good at your job, Bugs, you know that right?” The unexpected gentle words from the goalie have tears threatening to blur your vision, you shake your head trying to hold them back, lowering your head to focus on a point on the floor.

“If I was good at my job, I wouldn’t be in this position.”

You look up when you feel a soft hand on your shoulder. “Bugs, it’s because you’re good at your job that you’re in this position. Unfortunately, there are plenty of doctors that would have just done what Jake wants, either because they don’t care or they’re too worried about getting sued by a multimillionaire athlete.” A watery chuckle forces its way past your lips. “You’re doing the right thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.” It takes everything not to hurl yourself into his arms and weep because this is what you’ve needed for months. One person telling you that you’re doing the right thing, that you’re good at your job, that what you’re doing matters, and here is someone who’s supposed to be your patient, healing a part of you.

“Thanks, Bob, I think I really needed to hear that.” You say, trying your best not to notice how your voice wobbles.

“Don’t mention it, Bugs, just trying to help.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders and squeezes in a half-hug like he can tell you need it, and you don’t even notice that it doesn’t make you feel queasy.

“Hey, Bob? If the hockey thing doesn’t work out? I think you’d make one hell of a doctor.” He laughs and you giggle as you straighten and grab his chart. “Let’s get started shall we?”

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Ooo ooo! I got a good one:D

Slashers finding and reacting to their s/o in the brink of death because of another slasher!

Angst to fluff pls:D

That really IS a good one.

Slashers finding their s/o close to death thanks to another slasher

Warnings: Blood

Jason Voorhees

He notices your sleep getting more and more restless lately. You complain about frequent nightmares, and often wake up with cuts and bruises that weren't there the night before. Jason tries so hard to dismiss it as coincidence. Hell, you are living in a forest; there are a myriad of ways to injure yourself here without noticing. Against his better judgement, he goes out to deal with the recently arrived campers.

When he returns, he immediately notices you thrashing around in your sleep, and the red stains spreading from your skin to your sleep clothes and finally to the bedsheets. Jason panicks, and tries to shake you awake. This isn't good, you're losing so much blood... No, he can't lose you. Not like this, not in any other way either. By the time you finally wake up, you are already dangerously weak from the blood loss. Jason patches you up with the first aid kits from the cabins, praying that it is enough. Then he gets ready to sleep.

Seems like that pesky old man didn't learn his lesson last time. But Jason gladly repeats it, hoping it will stick this time, and returns to your side. Your hand is warm in his, and your face is slowly gaining a bit more color. He sighs with relief.

You'll be okay.

Vincent Sinclair

You just wanted to take a walk in the sorrounding woods. Nothing to be worried about, right?

Well, wrong. You hear the chainsaw from far away, but you play it off as just a trick of your imagination, or maybe just some workers from the county. What you did not expect was the huge man in a leather mask breaking out of the woodwork and coming right for you. The saw digs into your side, but you somehow manage to get away.

Vincent is looking for you. You left on your walk an hour ago and have yet to return. You're never gone for that long. Everything within him freezes when he sees you stumbling out of the forest, clutching the gaping, bleeding wound.

He takes you into his arms and lets out loud gasps and whines, his unuseable vocal cords straining to form words he cannot speak. He drags you back home, where Bo and Lester are watching TV. Bo drops his can of beer when he sees you. "Shit!"

"That looks bad. Vinnie, we need to take them to the hospital..." Lester takes over carrying you. From far away, the whole family hears the chainsaw roar.

Vincent stares at Bo head on. And he signs. "Let me borrow your shotgun."

He did not end up killing your assailants, but a very pissed off Vincent coming after them with Bo's shotgun taught them not to bother the Sinclairs again. After they are dealt with, Vincent has Bo drive him to the hospital, where you are. You open your eyes and find yourself sorrounded by your family.

"Sorry I made you guys worry", you mutter.

Vincent squeezes your hand and shushes you. You need to focus on getting back on your feet.

Freddy Krueger

When you come stumbling into his dream realm, he immediately notices that something is wrong. You are *bleeding* and pale as a ghost, and can barely stand. You're not sleeping... *you've fainted*!

"Shit shit shit..." He props you up. "Hey, who did this?!"

"Hock...." You sputter. "Hockey mask..."

His eyes widen and he gnashes his teeth. "Jason? That fucking hockey puck?!"

You nod weakly. "I... I'm hiding... Don't know how long... Must have passed out..."

Freddy grabs your shoulders a bit tighter. "Listen to me. I need you to wake up, right now. I'll show that fucking mama's boy what happens when he fucks with you. So go on! Wake up! Wa-..."

He finds himself stuffed into a closet with you, and reminds himself to teach you better hiding spots once this is over. You pass out again almost immediately, and while Freddy hates to leave you like this, he has a disobedient *dog* he has to deal with, first.

Once Jason has been sent back to where he belongs, Freddy returns to the closet, where he finds you slowly coming to.

"Did you have a nice nap?", he asks cordially. He is glad to see you awake again. That means the injuries may not have been as bad as they seemed at first. But still... "You should probably get to a hospital..."

"Yeah... Probably..." You fumble your cellphone out of your pocket and dial 911.

Later, once you're sleeping peacefully in your hospital bed, Freddy pops back into your dreams.

"That'll teach that bastard not to show his ugly mug here again", Freddy sneers. "Are you okay now?"

"Couldn't be better", you reply with a smile.

Freddy is pretty rough around the edges. But during moments like this, he shows that he really cares.

Bubba Sawyer

Maybe Drayton was right when he said that nothing good would come out of this road trip. But you love wax museums and Bubba had heard about this really famous one in Ambrose... He would have never guessed that it would end like this.

You have been separated from the rest of the Sawyers, and now everyone is frantically looking for you. Most of all Bubba, who blames himself for not taking better care of you.

They track you to the Sinclair house, where Bubba hears a pained howl from the basement. And when he finally reaches the secret workshop, he sees the masked man dig his ornate carving knives into your flesh. The man himself has a pretty nasty bite wound on his hand; a display of you fighting back when he tried to inject you with the paralytic.

The chainsaw roars to life, and the man with the carving knives only barely manages to dodge it. He seems to know well enough that he and his little butter knives have little chance against the chainsaw, so he retreats, while Bubba cuts you lose from the operating table and carries you upstairs.

Bubba isn't the only one who would have loved to make these rotten brothers pay for hurting you, but your health was more important right now. He *somehow* managed to talk Drayton into taking you to the hospital, despite the eldest's protest about the cost.

Bubba hates that Drayton won't allow him to visit you, but when you come back, the first thing he does is hug you as tightly as a drowning man clinging to a lifesaver.

Don't ever scare him like that again, please.

[bagopucks]

T. Zegras - Stand By Me

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader, platonic Jamie involved in one bit.

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning(s); general angst, the reader has an auto immune disease called lupus, one mention of blood, sorta-kinda-maybe smut if you squint.. but like.. not really.

I did some research, but because I didn’t want to cross any boundaries and be too wrong, I didn’t go into much depth over anything. I listened to too much Billy Joel while writing this. I’ve decided Billy Joel love ballads go well with Trev.

—————————————

Trevor Zegras as the world knew him:

The aggressive, egotistical, hotshot hockey player. Rough and tumble, always mouthy. The loud, constantly moving, big expressions and huge personality kind of guy.

Trevor as I knew him:

A kind, gentle, considerate boy. Who made sure he set my pill organizer out for me every morning before he went to practice. Who made sure we were always stocked up on prescribed lotions and ice packs. And would spring up from the couch at the first sign of a fever. And learned how to cook on nights when I was in so much pain I could hardly move.

It took forever to get officially diagnosed with lupus. Trevor had been there from the beginning, when symptoms first began. At first, we hadn’t thought much of it. I passed off body aches for period or ovulation issues. I assumed the rashes were allergic reactions, and the fevers were just random waves of California heat. We had been oblivious. When things got worse, I began seeing a doctor.

Test after test had been run through. I was prescribed various medications, some of which helped and others didn’t. But the ones that did help, never lasted long. Eventually, it got to the point that Trevor feared leaving me home alone. Especially on the days he would wake up, and I would be unable to pull myself out of bed. I hated it. He hated it. We feared the unknown.

As much as it overwhelmed me, I knew it overwhelmed Trevor too. All the road trips, calling me, feeling horrible for leaving and saying how he wanted me to call somebody at home if I needed them. He was scared, but it was knowing he wasn’t in control that freaked him out. I assumed that’s why he became so observant and vigilant when we finally did get a diagnosis. Because at last, he could control things. Not everything, but some things.

Trevor hadn’t been home the day I got the diagnosis from my doctor, but it gave me time to really figure things out on my own. I knew little about the autoimmune disease, and as much as I loved Trevor, I knew his endless questions would only overwhelm me more than this new information already did. So I did my own research, allowed myself time to process and cry. Come to terms, and eventually begin working on a game plan for myself.

When Trevor did come home, it was a process of sitting him down on the couch and talking him through it all with everything organized on my laptop. Trevor tried so hard to understand, but I knew it would be a lot of trial and visual learning for him. And I had been right.

“So.. so, this is what you have?” He pointed to the computer screen. I nodded. “And.. it’s permanent?”

“Yeah, babe.” Trevor nodded. He tried to understand. What did autoimmune mean? What was Lupus? Why did it have to have so many big words attached to it?

“So.. where does all the treatment start?”

“Do you have to take medicines?”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“We can still be together, right?”

“This is a lot.”

I answered most of the questions, at least the ones I knew answers to. The others I promised to answer when I knew what to say.

Trevor got so tense with himself when he was home. We used to be a pretty rambunctious couple, but after I got prescribed blood thinners, and the body aches got worse, a lot of that changed. Trevor became far more timid around me, and at first he was as gentle as a toddler when touching a newborn baby. I helped set the pace for what was okay and what wasn’t.

“T, lemme see that ribbon.” I reached across the living room floor. I tried to snatch up the red ribbon before his hand flew out to take it.

“Let me curl the ribbon.” Something I had always done during Christmases. But it involved open scissors.

“Trevor, it’s fine…”

“Yeah but.. what if you cut yourself? Just teach me how to do it.”

Outside and inside of the bedroom, we set paces together.

“Should I- maybe…” Trevor shifted, causing me to groan. Worst time to ask questions is when you’re already in somebody.

“Trevor.. you don’t have to be so gentle.” I reached up to rest a hand on his forearm. “Why don’t I take the lead this time?” He relented and turned us over. He feared hurting me even when he didn’t do much.

“I’ll be fine, okay? Just pay attention. I promise I’ll tell you if it ever hurts, or if something is wrong.”

I’d always told Trevor that he did extremely well, but he wasn’t perfect. I didn’t expect him to be. And accidents happened.

“Babe?” Sometimes the rashes simply broke out over night.

“Trevor, Shh.” I tried to roll away from him, but when his fingers ghosted over the irritated skin on my face, I gasped at the feeling.

“Fuck- T!” I scolded, my eyes opened immediately.

He hated when he felt like he messed up. I hated when I scolded him for things he didn’t mean to do.

“…I told Jamie you weren’t feeling good anyway, so he went out without us.” Trevor had been rambling for a while, both of us in the bathroom doing our own thing. He was busy grabbing an extra roll of paper towels from the cabinet under the sink. I was trying to brush my teeth. I attempted to step out of the way when Trevor harshly pushed the cabinet door shut, but the corner skinned my calf anyway. I gasped, and managed to choke on toothpaste in the process.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Trevor was frantic all evening over my leg, apologizing over and over. After we got the arguably minimal amount of bleeding to stop, he still peeled back the bandages every so often to make sure everything was okay. I had to tell Trevor we were wasting bandaids.

The days when I felt absolutely disgusted with myself were the worst. I hadn’t lost all my hair, but it certainly thinned. And I hated looking in mirrors when my rashes got so bad that my skin would crack and bleed. Showers became hell. Trevor started to take them with me more often.

“It’s okay, baby.” He ran his hands through my hair, never commenting on the tiny strands that would remain on his hands long after he pulled them away. I stood tucked into his chest, arms folded up between us, fully enveloped by him.

My flawless boyfriend.

“I know it irritates.” Washing my body was the hardest on days when the rashes were all over. The dry skin never took well to the water, even if it provided a momentary relief.

There were days Trevor wouldn’t even bother with a washcloth. He would put the body wash on his hands and run them over my body from top to bottom. It made me cry. I would never understand how one emotion caused him to completely shift his personality around me.

Love was a powerful feeling, I suppose.

Love turned Trevor from a rambunctious loud, abrasive guy. Into a completely devoted and caring man. A gentle, expressive, and considerate man.

“We’re almost done,” he whispered as he ran his hands down my legs, kissing the patchy skin on my calves and ankles. I found the rashes were always the worst on my ankles after I wore shoes for long periods of time. The tongues of said shoes always rubbed my skin uncomfortably. I had to buy longer socks to help with that.

After Trevor finished lathering my body in wash, he’d trail his hands back up and all over. Sometimes I was lucky enough to sit on the lip of the tub while he shaved my legs. Times when my body hurt too bad to stand very long, or even bend over, he offered to help. Those moments he often found it easiest to make jokes and cheer me up.

“Haven’t mowed the lawn in a long time, eh?” He mumbled with a cheeky grin as he knelt in front of me, pulling my foot up onto his thigh while the other hand reached for my shaving cream. I giggled and ruffled his wet hair. Sometimes I found his comments embarrassing, but he was a guy. He was bound to find the weirdest statements amusing.

“I love you so much, T.” I whispered while his nose was scrunched and his brow was furrowed, face inches from my knee as he tried hard not to cut it with the razor. Hands that used to pinch and gently smack me when he was teasing or play fighting. Hands that used to throw me around like a rag doll after I challenged him to a wrestling match, now so light and tender. Like I was fine china.

Trevor also learned that dab-drying worked better for my skin than rubbing the towel all over my body after showers. It got the job of drying done, but it was far easier on my body.

I loved the tactic, but what I loved even more was the little sounds he’d make while he did it. They always made me laugh. Trevor always found a way to make our abnormal routines funny or cute. He always wanted to distract me from the fact that our lives were different.

After he’d finish drying my body, he’d whisk me away into the bedroom and how I felt usually dictated what we did next.

If I was tired, we’d take a nap. In pain, he’d give me one hell of a massage. The occasions I ended up horny? Trevor fixed that too.

And through Trevor’s learning, Jamie picked up on things too. When Trevor was on road trips and I was stuck with Jame, I learned I could lean on him. He was always one call away when I needed him. Even if it meant yelling across the house.

“Jamie!”

“I’m coming!” His thudding and rushed footsteps always endeared me.

“Hey!”

At times he’d find me on the floor.

“Hey, what happened?” He rushed to my side, helped me up slowly, and assured himself that I wasn’t injured.

“Guess I just can’t walk today…” I mumbled, embarrassed. The joint pain was always the worst to handle when I needed to be active.

“Alright.. what do you need to me to do?”

I found that Jamie was still on the ‘what do you needs?’ While Trevor already knew seconds in advance. And Trevor was far more confident with my illness than Jamie was.

He’d often text Trevor on my bad days to let him know. He’d also sit with me on the couch, never too touchy, not wanting to cross any lines. But when we’d sit at opposite ends -watching anything on the tv- occasionally, he’d pull my feet into his lap and gently rub them or my legs.

When Trevor would return from those long road trips, he’d always see me and tend to my needs and profess his love, before asking if I needed new pills, or if I needed him to stop by the store for anything. He’d been a domestic disaster before I got my diagnosis. Now, he was one of the most domestic guys I knew.

“This is it? Everything on this list?”

“All the groceries we need for the week. Yup.”

“Okay.. did you ask Jamie if he wanted anything?” I smiled and nodded. We were always taking care of Jamie.

“The store bought cookies are for him. And the purple Gatorade.”

“Okay. I’ll be back. Then I’m making dinner.”

Those words brought a huge smile to my face.

“Can’t wait, Trev.”

Sometimes I would go with him, but only on days when I felt on top of the world. Usually I tried to spend those days going out, but Trevor was always afraid I’d overdo it.

On those good days when he turned out to be right, he never told me so, or shook his head or laughed at me. He’d simply welcome me home with open arms and a sympathetic expression. Because he knew how much I missed my normality. How much I missed my old life.

And often times when I dwelled too much on that, he was always there.

“You’re beautiful. And I love you so much. And I’m happy with where we are right now. I’m happy to look after you, and love on you, and I’m happy you let me stand by you.”

His confessions were often spoken whispers in the darkness of our bedroom at night. Or on the rooftop. He hated when I went up there alone, but he still found me there from time to time.

He sat behind me, pulled me against his back between his legs, and wrapped his arms around me.

“We’re doing this together. I’ve been here from day one, and I’m not leaving now. I’m already in too deep.” He smiled. His breathy laugh would make me giggle.

“I’ve already seen too much.” He added with a playful touch of horror in his tone. I reached behind myself to slap his chest. I knew he was genuine. I knew he loved me. And I hoped he would never leave me. He always told me he was there until our last days on this earth. Until we both ceased to exist.

“I promise I’m sticking around. Me and Jambo. But mostly me.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[goldielia]

what if (all i need is you)?

a part of: call it what you want au

will’s in the locker room after practice when he thinks about it for the first time. they’re talking about cutter, how he’ll probably be signed after the championship game. where all the other boys will go, that they think they’ll be signed by the end of the next season or the one after that.

ally breezes through the hallway by the open door (they promise her to not keep it open while anyone is indecent and usually it’s closed until after they’ve been showered and are shirtless at most) and it spikes a thought. one he hadn’t even considered, used to being a couple steps ahead on the ice but keeping his mind in the present off of it.

he’ll leave boston. for san jose. probably before his college time would be over if he simply got his degree. he’s a fourth overall pick, there’s people waiting to see him on the ice for the sharks, people that would rather him score for their nhl team then have him finish college.

but leaving boston would mean leaving home. leaving ally. he doesn’t know if he simply pushed that thought to the back of his mind or if it hadn’t crossed his mind at all. the worst thing about it is that he doesn’t know when. maybe they had meetings about it, have decided to give him a call after the championship game if he wins, that they won’t if he doesn’t. or they still might, win or lose.

maybe he’ll be back in boston, snuggled up in their corner of the library with ally. maybe he’ll be in minnesota still, barely back in the hotel room after a devastating loss or raging celebrations. he has to look up the time zones, actually, maybe that wouldn’t even be possible. his mind is going there regardless, though.

in fact, his thoughts are running a mile an hour. what if-questions are kind of always on his mind, inevitable with hockey really. what if i’d realized his play a second earlier? what if i passed to my right instead of my left? what if i shot a fraction of a millisecond earlier, would the goalie still have saved it?

what if ally leaves him when he has to go to san jose? what if she dumps him the second he tells her? what if she doesn’t, tortures both of them with long distance for a few weeks before she breaks up with him over text? what if she agrees to it, loves him over miles and time zones and then falls in love with some other blond, blue-eyed hockey player in boston and forgets about will?

the what-ifs torture him, constantly and for days. he can’t quite bear talking to anyone about them, feeling stupid one second and like they’ll confirm his fears right after. gabe and ryan try to get through to him multiple times, cutter tries to talk to him as well. even eamon starts an attempt of a conversation. he blows all of them off.

the only person he might want to talk to is the one who doesn’t pressure him. there were multiple instances over the months they’ve been together when will got into his own head, about hockey, about school, pretty much anything. ally doesn’t urge him to talk, doesn’t try to solve problems for him unless he comes to her with them. she takes care of him, quietly, and just like she normally would, and waits him out until he’s ready to talk.

she’s making sure he eats, hydrates, secures his sleep by scratching his back or caressing his skin or burying her hand in his curls. massaging the sore spots after games and applying balms on bruises, kissing him when he plays well and holding him when he doesn’t and she knows he beats himself up for it.

ally just knows he wants to talk to her when she settles into his passenger seat one monday, somehow she feels it in her bones. his right hand may find its place on her thigh, like it always does, but he’s tapping his fingers down on it like he does when he’s nervous. it only stops when she slips her own hand into his, entangles their fingers and slowly drags her thumb over his knuckles.

after she presses a soft peck to his lips and another to his cheek she keeps her eyes trained on their hands, painting shapes and letters onto his skin and playing with the bracelets on his wrist. it’s become a habit, a thing, if you will. love letters and secret messages traced into skin, trails of conversations and silent reassurances traded wordlessly and blindly.

she uses just this to hopefully make will feel less anxious as they’re in the car, tells him i love yous and little hearts through her touch until they’re at his chosen destination. he parks the car at the rink on campus and she goes with him without protest, lets him lead her center ice and follows him when he lays down on it.

they stay there unmoving except for ally slipping her hand back into wills, breath leaving their mouths in small clouds as they’re staring up to the ceiling. ally’s glad to have chosen a hoodie when she left the house in the morning, thinks she might be able to better fight off the cold for as long as will needs. he squeezes her hand once before he starts speaking, a shaky breath before his voice sounds through the empty rink.

“i was drafted to san jose.” ally briefly closed her eyes, having feared this talk would come at some point. after taking a deep breath she squeezes wills hand, silently telling him to continue. “i don’t know when they’ll want me to sign with them but, like- i guess i just want you to know i won’t say no to them. if they do want me.” her green eyes shoot open, head turning to her left to find wills face. “what?” she sounds breathless, scrambling to sit up and turn his head towards her with the hand that’s not in his.

“you think i’d want you to stay here? instead of playing in the nhl?” before will can even nod or talk or do anything, really, she continues. “will, i wouldn’t hold you back. not from achieving your dreams.” her voice breaks slightly somewhere between hold and back and his body acts before his brain catches up when he sits up and wraps her up into his free arm. “that’s not what i’m saying, gorgeous.” he whispers, lips brushing her ear. “i just-, i might, probably, not be around for graduation. or maybe a year before that.”

ally pulls back slightly, leaning her forehead on his and squeezing his hand once more. “i know.” will keeps quiet for a second, the only thing there is to hear is their synchronised breathing. ally thinks they must be a poetic picture, really. center ice in an empty rink, barely enough lights on to find the way to the ice and back. two teenagers all tangled up, foreheads touching, a hand intertwined and wrapped up in the other, breathing in sync and thoughts racing.

“i just need to know how this- how we’ll work. if you’d be up to trying long distance or like, what your plans are.” will continues, his words somewhere between a whisper and a breath. “hey” she murmures gently. “ever thought about what happens if all i need is you?” his eyes shoot open in surprise, clearly having waited for rejection, to be let down gently.

“san jose has a school for criminology, they have a pretty good grad school program for criminal psychology.” she smiles softly at the way his eyes widen. “plus, i only have two more years here” her warm hand squeezes his once more before she breathes deeply, hiding her face into his shoulder after a moment, not only to mask her expression but also the tears forming in her eyes. after she feels a kiss pressed into her hair she lifts her head again.

“i thought you were going to tell me you had to break up with me because they signed you and you didn’t want me to hold you back” her voice is shaky like he’s never heard it and her words make him pull her into his arms fully, fingers detangling and wrapping around her waist instead. with her face pressed into the crook of his neck, he nuzzles his nose into her hair and kisses the top of her head before speaking hoarsely.

“i thought you were going to break up with me because you didn’t want to do long distance” he’s concerned when her shoulders start shaking, thinks she has to be crying but after a second he realizes she’s in fact giggling into his skin. will hesitates for a few more breaths before he, too, can’t hold back the laugh building in his chest, breathing all his anxieties out with it. “i love you, you know” she mumbles into his lips when she’s lifted her head before pressing a lingering kiss to them. “i do know, you looked up schools in san jose for me” he grins.

[giftedyoungster3000]

PRE GAME

Hockey C2

Word count: 971

Summary: hockey!Bucky x reader. Bucky likes to be with you before his games. Your his lucky charm. Kinda smuty not really and little but of feels at the end. It’s pretty fluffy. No use of y/n and little to no description

Warnings: Bucky, hockey players, smutish, make outs, feelings, fluff, lemme know if any warnings need to be added

Event: @buckybarnesevents june-iverse

A/n here is another unedited not pre read fic I wrote. It will probably suck but I signed up for the June iverse so I feel compelled to finish it.

A big part of sports was the rituals people held. It may be a pair of socks they never clean maybe a certain food or song. whatever it was most people were very protective of that ritual. And James was just like everyone else he had his ritual. But he knew he was the only one to have this specific ritual cause that was you.

It started a few months after he finally asked you out. You were both sitting in the locker room before a game, he pulled you onto his lap and held you in a heavy make-out session. Tongues and teeth smashing against each other. Hips grinding on the others acting desperate the years worth of tension that built while you were both ‘just friends’ still hadn’t been released.

The coach had come in calling Bucky out for the game before you could get anywhere. He played with such eagerness to get back to you that he brought his team to victory just so he could get back to you.

And ever since that one game he always has you on his lap before the game so he has the motivation and fight to win the game, and not let it go into overtime just so he could get back to you and finish what he started.

You were his whole world and everything he did revolved around you. He didn’t know if it was too early to tell you he loved you but he sure as hell was in love with you.

Throughout the whole game, he would take peeks up at you sitting in the stands cheering him on to victory. The way you looked wearing one of his jerseys got him going in a way he couldn’t explain. He just couldn’t wait to get back to you.

When the third period came to an end he hurried off the ice, ignoring the teasing from his team. All of them knew just how smitten he is for you and they love to tease him about it. But when it comes to you he would endure all the mocking the world has to offer.

The moment he comes out of the locker room you attach yourself to him. Guiding his lips down to yours and pulling him down an empty hallway. Not able to wait until you got home. You had been waiting over an hour and a half for his game to end. Sure you enjoyed watching him on the ice, it did something to you. But you only had so much patience before you need to feel him.

You both stumbled a bit further down the hall and around a slight corner. Bucky placed his hands on either side of your face and leaned you against the wall. His were warm against your skin as he guided them downwards. Even his metal one was warmer than usual.

They followed the path down your body slowly pulling his jersey up your stomach and gaining him access to more of you. His left hand trailed around back and tapped the back of your thigh wanting you to jump up for him. You followed immediately.

You could feel him pushing against the inside of your thigh. And you knew that this was only the start of a very long night. And you couldn’t wait.

-

By the time you finally got home, you were both exhausted. You stumbled into buckys small flat and flipped the lights on adorning the house in a soft yellow glow. You took his bag from his hands and went to go clean his stuff when he kept hold of his bag not allowing you to pull away from him. His blue eyes searched you as you both stood there in the dim light. The silence was heavy as he continued to look deeply at you. He opened his mouth seemingly about to say something before he was interrupted by a loud ‘meeeeorw’ the volume of the screech not at all matching his cat's small size.

“I think Alpine is hungry” you giggle. Taking the opportunity to pull his bag from his grip. Walking it to his laundry room.

You could hear Bucky in the other room filling up the cat bowl as you threw some of his sweaty clothes in the washer. A silence made you turn around and you faced Bucky leaning against the door frame. He sighed and held his hand out to pull you up.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you,” he muttered. Letting the words hang in the air. A brutal wave of sickness washed over you. A panicked spiral hit you. Bucky seemed to notice cause he placed his hands on either side of your cheeks and held eye contact. “hey look at me doll, it’s nothing bad, damn it I’m bad at this.” He rambled a bit before he returned his sharp blue eyes to yours. “I love you, sweets. I think I always have but I’ve been so damn scared you would feel the same. And I get if you do but I just wanted to ask you first if you’d be my girlfriend.”

His words swirled in your head till they made sense and you eagerly nodded your head.

“Oh James, I love you too.” Was all you were able to get out in a breathless pant before both your lips attached once again. This time with less of that pent-up tension and more sensual but needy feelings behind it. The night was almost over and the day was starting to break but you knew you wouldn’t be finishing your long day off with sleep. It was going to be full of James. Or well you were going to be at least

[specialagentlokitty]

Carol Danvers x teen!reader - we all need time

Prompt 39 carol Danvers with teen fan reader please? - @witchreporter 💜

39: “I didn’t know you could ice skate.”

Standing in line, you held the photo in your hands tightly.

You were so close, just a few more people and you would be able to meet one the heroes you admired so much.

The line moved forward, and you looked at the woman in front of you who was chatting to the superhero.

Captain Marvel’s phone began to ring and she signed what was placed in front of her before excusing herself so she was able to answer the call.

“I’m sorry you guys, I need to go but we’ll rearrange this!” She called.

With that she ran away and while everybody clapped and cheered for her you just sighed softly, turning around to leave.

You didn’t have much longer in the city so you did a bit of sight seeing then you went back home.

A few weeks after returning, a blizzard had hit, causing everything to freeze, the roads, the trees, even the lakes and rivers in the nearby area.

Running downstairs, you grabbed your shoes and your skates by the door, making your way over to the couch.

“Don’t be out you long, it’s cold.”

You flicked your eyes up to the doorway, looking at your foster parent.

“I’ll be fine, I’m going to practice some routines then I’ll be back.”

You put your skates into your bag and swung it over your back, making your way to the door so you could head to the nearest frozen lake.

You stopped nearby, changing from your shoes into your skates and you stepped out on the ice.

You weren’t the only one out there, there were others from the town, skating, playing games, practicing hockey.

But there was a large part that was still left empty, and that’s where you went to.

Standing in the edge, you stretched a little, making sure your headphones were on securely before you began to skate.

You loved it, the cold air, the way you loved so freely, almost like water, and everything was so much more simple when you were skating.

It only took a few minutes for you to notice that somebody was skating with you, trying to keep in line with you.

You pulled your headphones around your shoulders, catching a glimpse at who was skating with you, and you smiled a little.

“Shouldn’t you be off saving the world?”

“Finishing a signing that I was doing.” Carol replied.

You hummed, nodding your head, skating backwards with her next to you.

“You’re really good, do you skate often?” Carol asked.

You spun around, skating in a straight line.

“Yeah, I can’t do any of those fancy tricks.”

You smiled and you stopped, turning back around to look at her.

“It’s just a little jump, it’s called an axel. It’s pretty simple when you get the hang of it, surely a big superhero could do it.”

She laughed a little, skating over to you.

“Is that how you speak to your hero?”

You grinned a little bit and she held out her arms.

Skating forward, you hugged her tightly and she laughed, hugging you back.

“How come you’re all the way in this little town?” You asked.

Carol smiled at you, and she held out the photo you had wanted to get signed, and you carefully took it, looking at her signature.

“You seemed really disappointed I couldn’t sign it, and I couldn’t accept knowing that I let you go home so disappointed.”

You smiled softly at her.

“Thank you…”

Carol stood next to you, gesturing to the woman in the photo.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s my big sister, she used to look after me, and r were huge fans of yours.”

Carol placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ve got some time, how about you show me how to do an axel, maybe I can teach you something new as well.”

“I didn’t know you could ice skate.” You said.

Carol laughed a little, grinning at you.

“I haven’t skated for a long while. I used to love it when I was the same age as you, I spent all my time ice skating, and playing hockey.”

Laughing, you made your way back to your bag and set the picture down, looking at the face of your grinning sister.

Carol knelt next to you.

“Show me those jumps you like so much.”

You pushed yourself up, and you held out your hands.

“Throw me as far as you can in the ice.”

“Whatever you say kiddo.”

Carol didn’t often spend time with her fans, but she needed this time, and so did you

[lfghughes]

Stay Forever

a/n: got a little barzy request about moving in and it’s been a long while since i got a barzal request

“Mmm, I don’t want to go to practice.” Mat stirred next to you, his fingertips traveling up and down your spine. You seconded his statement, last thing you wanted was for either of you to leave this bed especially when soon enough your time here would be coming to an end once again. Living in a different city had its challenges. It could definitely be worse but a three hour drive was still rough especially when it was mostly you making the drive.

Not that you were blaming him at all but during hockey season you understood he couldn’t just come and go as he pleased and there was no way that after a game he’d want to drive three hours to your place so you usually made the sacrifice. Again it could be worse but this was still tough. “Are you still planning on heading back home later today?” He asked and you could hear the tone in his voice was slightly on the down side. 

It would definitely be another week before you’d be able to make it back down since you had a few projects you needed to focus on this week and you knew Mat wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. “I’m probably going to head out as soon as you go to practice so I can beat the traffic.” You could still feel his finger tips on your skin as he cleared his throat slightly like if he was nervous.

“I’ve actually been thinking that maybe we should start thinking about maybe you moving in with me. That way you don’t have to drive as much and I mean there’s plenty of space here for you to work and do your own thing.” The idea was beautiful but there was also a big part of it that made you feel anxious. You had lived with an ex before and it clearly hadn’t ended well. Not that you saw yourself and Mat breaking up but living together changed a lot of things. 

You pulled away slightly from his touch and a frown grew on his lips. Immediately you felt the guilt settle in. “I don’t know, I have to think about it. I like my place, you know. I know it’s far but I’m not sure if I’m ready to change my life yet.” Maybe not the right set of words for this moment. “I mean I want to. It’s not that. I just…living together will change so many things and what if it’s not for the better.”

Luckily, Mathew knew all about your previous relationship and he knew how it affected you and the insecurities you had now so right away he knew why you were worried. “It’s going to be a change but not a big one. I mean you’re here pretty much every weekend but hey we can do a slow move in. Whatever makes you comfortable.” His expression had softened and you knew that he would let you take this at your pace which meant the world to you. “I really have to get to the rink, but just think about it. You already have a key and half your stuff is here but whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

With all that being said, Mat slipped out of the bed going off to his practice and leaving you with your thoughts. He had a point and even though it wasn’t ideal you could pay rent on your own place for a few more months until you were sure this was a good idea and once you felt more comfortable you could sign the lease over to someone else. You knew you could trust him but seeing how he was willing to move at a slower pace and the fact that even if you did say no he wouldn’t get angry made it so much easier to make a decision. You took out your phone sending out a quick text to him “What about we try this whole moving in thing next weekend?”