#where do hockey players even find the shit they are throwing

[ilythena]

Request: Jack and Luke go to an animal shelter to adopt a pet (cat or dog, which ever is your favorite) and Jack falls for the adoption counselor that helps them pick out the perfect pet

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 | 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

★SUM after Luke begs Jack to get a dog, he ends up lucky in more ways then one.

Fem!reader, straight fluff, no warnings! Kinda short tho, tbh I got too interested in Luke begging Jack for a dog 😭 req are open so don’t be shy to send in some, almost done w a lot of them just gotta find time to post em <3

♪ DIAMOND BOY - SZA

“Can you just hear me out-“ “no.” “Please! Just one!”

Sitting on the bed in Jacks room of their shared apartment, Jack throws his head back with an irritated groan. “Luke, I’m not going to keep arguing with you about this shit. We can’t have a dog. Who’s going to watch it? And clean up after it? We’re both professional hockey players and have zero time for an animal.”

With a pout, Luke hesitates before speaking again. “I’ll clean up after them! And I’ll spend all the time with them!” “Luke no. We have a game tomorrow. Go to bed.”

“Why am I even asking! I’m a grown man. I’ll just get one and bring it home.” “I wish you fucking would.”

Luke storms out of Jacks room and heads to his own. Immediately getting on his phone and ranting to Quinn about his problems, Jack turns his body and sighs.

“…what’s going on with the Hughes’?” “Apparently Jack said no to a dog. Luke’s not taking the rejection well.”

The two brothers glare at each other from across the locker room, Luke tightening his laces and Jack grabbing his stick. He mouths an ‘I’m not changing my mind. No dog.’ And Luke huffs before walking out.

“…..well, he’ll get over it soon.” Nico says, patting Jack on the back and he just frowns. “Why is he so insistent on a pet all of a sudden? I mean, you understand why I’m saying no right?”

“Yes, I understand. But I can also see his side. You two will come to a compromise eventually. Let’s not worry about this stuff and just focus on trying to win the game tonight, okay?” Nico says and with a nod, both boys walk out of the room and onto the ice.

Everything was going well at first, Jack had even scored a goal! But it’s like this week just wasn’t on his side. The opposing team began crushing them after the first quarter, swiftly taking out their team with a score of 3-1.

On top of the crushing loss, it was pouring rain outside. And his umbrella broke, which meant he had to walk in the rain, with his brother who’s mad at him, after he loses a game. Great.

Both boys get to the car cold and covered in water—not a word spoken between the two. Luke closes his door shortly after Jack does and it’s pure silence between the two. Jack starts the car and turns the heat up to the max before driving off and making his way home.

“Hey luke?” “…yeah?” “I’m sorry. I’ve been really stressed out and honestly I don’t think it’s good for us to be arguing over something so stupid. Maybe we should get something to eat-” bark! Jack’s eyes snap over to Luke and suddenly it feels like the car is at 100 degrees.

“What was that.” “What was what…?” Bark! Comes from Luke’s side of the car once again, this time Jack can faintly see something moving inside of his jacket.

“Luke.” “….listen! Do you see how hard and cold it it outside? Poor thing would have freezed to death out there!” “I told you no dogs!” “Look at her!”

Luke pulls the small puppy out from his jacket and you can see her shaking. Wet, cold, and obviously very lost.

“…what do we do now?” Jack whispers and Luke doesn’t answer, pulling the animal closer to his chest. After a moment of discussing what to do, the boys decide to just go home and sleep for the night.

“Hi, welcome in… how can I help you?” “We wanna adopt this dog-“ “no we don’t.”

Jack pushes Luke behind him and gently snatches the puppy from his hands, a sharp gasp cutting through the air when Luke feels the shove.

“Oh! Where did you find them?” “On the street, my brother couldn’t help but pick them up.” You gently take the animal out of Jack’s hands and inspect them for a second before looking him in the eyes. “I’ll have to do a cleaning and a check up for them, since they’re very dirty and I want to make sure the dog is healthy before I give them to you.”

Jack glances at you and when you two make eye contact all the anger he had directed towards Luke died down immediately in his throat. He quietly nodded and in less than a second, you were gone and in the back.

Another one of your coworkers came and got their information, and Jack had sat next to Luke in the small waiting area.

“…can we please keep the dog-“ “maybe.”

After what seemed like hours, you walk out with the dog put in a small kennel, handing it to your coworker. “Good news, puppy is very healthy! Bad news, you can’t keep her because she’s microchipped, which means she does have an owner.” Luke groans in disappointment, but his eyes flicker over to another dog playing through the window in a designated play area.

Jack notices this, and after standing there for a while, he speaks. “….are any of the dogs over there up for adoption?” “Yes sir! All the animals on the right side of the building are up for adoption. Are you interested in adopting today?”

“Um, yes.” Luke’s head snaps over into Jack’s direction. “That’s great! I’ll let you two look at the animals, and let me know if you decide to adopt.”

As you walk away, Jack looks at Luke and glares. “Don’t get too happy. I’m picking the dog.”

“Hello Mr. Hughes, how may I help you today?” “Hey. I know this is really sudden, but I think he’s sick! He’s been throwing up a lot.”

Jack drags in a golden retriever, who his brother named ‘Jett’ and he doesn’t look to well. Slouching and obviously very tired.

“Oh no! Here, follow me. I’ll get him onto the inspection table and I’ll check what’s wrong with him.” He follows you down the hallway with the puppy in his arms and sets him down gently onto the cold metal table.

Watching you take a stethoscope and check up his heartbeat and trying to listen into his stomach, his heart briefly stops when you call in your coworker to do an x-ray on the animal.

After getting sent to the waiting room and waiting an hour, his worried face shifts to confusion when Jett quickly runs out the door and in between Jack’s legs.

“So, I thought he had an infection in his stomach from some sort of food, but as soon as I officially set up the x-ray and tried to put him under it, he refused and went from looking sick to looking completely fine. My diagnosis is that he was trying to get your attention by being dramatic.”

Jack scoffs in disbelief and looks down at the golden ball of fur in between his feet, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“Wow. So I brought him here for nothing?” “Pretty much.” You try to hold back a laugh but fail miserably, smiling at the animal and preparing the register for his bill.

“Well, at least he’s okay! That’s all that matters.” You say and Jack lets out a brief chuckle before looking down at the machine.

“150 dollars?!” “Unfortunately, He did waste the supplies used to prep the x-ray machine…”

“Back again, Mr. Hughes?” “He was eating grass, I’m concerned he’s sick.” “You said that the last time you came in.”

It’s been about 4 months since Jack officially adopted Jett, and coincidentally his owners been coming into your clinic non stop for those past 4 months.

“I’m just looking out for him, what kind of owner would I be if I just let everything slide under the rug?” He grins and you scoff with a smile before leading him and his dog into a private room so you can “investigate” the problem with Jett.

The happy dog jumps up onto the table and rolls over, making a happy sort of huffing noise when you rub his stomach. After doing regular check up procedures, you can determine that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Jett.

“As usual, there’s nothing wrong with your dog. Why do you keep coming in here when you know he’s fine?” Jett jumps on you and you can’t hold back a laugh when he jumps down onto the floor and stands in a playing position. You open the door to the dog play area and let him out to go socialize with the other dogs that stay in the clinic.

“Maybe I just wanna see the cute girl who works here.” “Well maybe there’s an easier way for you to do that instead of dragging him along with you and wasting your money.” Jack bites his lip into a smile and slowly walks closer to you with his hands into his pocket.

“Does that mean that maybe I can take you out on a date this weekend?” “Maybe it does.” You lean against the counter that holds all the paperwork and files in the clinic and take out a small slip of paper, writing something down on it before shoving it into his hands and walking back into a ‘staff only’ facility.

“ xxx-xxx-xxxx. I’ll see you this weekend, Hughes. ;)”

————————————————————————

I would have added my pink banner BUT I ran out of picture space….. sorry this ended so suddenly, I was struggling w how to end it!

© copyright of ilythena. Do not repost or translate onto any other websites.

[byechristopher]

soooo it’s ur biggest fan here 🤣! so idea. chris is a hockey boy. i need something angsty or something

also a fluff idea reader is a dancer and chris is hockey player and reader has a competition the same place chris has a tournament. and it’s just them supporting each other

although just do what ever you want but hockey chris>>> i feel like you’d do him justice

Jealous guy.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO ANGST & FLUFF.

Author's note: I worked hard on this because it's for my biggest fan. You know I love my angsty shit, so I took your idea and combined it with mine. I hope y'all like it. 🤍 Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Ps. I'm the kind of bitch that gets all giddy and shit when Chris says "my girl" in my OWN FIC. Okay.

Warnings: not really a warning but mentions of fighting and a lil bloody lip. Mwuah. Didn't proofread, sorry!

[ YOU ]

"Okay, and what the hell do you want me to do about it?" I almost scream, turning around to look at Chris.

He was fuming, to say the least. His hair was messy, he didn't have a shirt on but wore his usual gray sweatpants. His glare was deadly.

"Uhm, I don't know, tell him to not send fucking flowers to OUR apartment?!" he shouts, throwing his phone on the couch. The irony in his voice is more than evident.

I couldn't believe it when I saw it either Honestly, I never expected him to go to such lengths. Despite being just a co-worker, he's become a relentless presence in my life. Whether it's showing up everywhere at work, bringing me coffee, or bombarding me with emails – it's relentless. The boundary crossed when he managed to find my address; literally searching for my goddamn address and sending me flowers? That is wild. Of course I told Chris about it, but he acts as if it is my fault this psycho found our address.

"I don't even know his phone number, Chris! How would I ever know that he'd search for the address and send me flowers?" I sigh, still very angry.

"I'll beat the shit out of him, I swear.. the game starts in less than an hour, fucking hell.." he says, checking his watch, "how the fuck am I ever going to play when I'm like this?"

I don't reply to him – he really makes it sound like it's my fault and despite my initial enthusiasm for the game, it's waned due to his blame game. Still, I don't want to come off as a heartless bitch, especially on the eve of his crucial match. So, I grab my phone, wallet, and keys before heading over to him.

"I really hope you win." I whisper, placing a soft peck on his cheek before exiting the bedroom and shortly after, leaving the apartment.

[ CHRIS ]

She left. Fucking hell. I always do bullshit like this – I can't keep my big mouth shut and now she's not even coming to the game. I really needed her in this one. But that is my own fault.

In the quiet solitude of our apartment, I try to prepare for the upcoming game; amidst the dim glow of our living room, I meticulously don my team jersey, each movement an attempt to shift my focus. Taking a moment, I inhale deeply, trying to be as calm as possible before the game.

With a determined resolve, I grab my gear, the familiar scent of the hockey bag triggering a surge of adrenaline. As I step outside, the crisp evening air hits me, momentarily clearing my mind. The journey to the rink is a silent contemplation, the distant echoes of the city fading as I immerse myself in mental preparation.

Arriving at the arena, I feel the familiar anticipation. The ambient sounds of the crowd and distant echoes of skates on the ice envelop me, grounding me in the moment. I exchange nods and greetings with teammates. The locker room door creaks open, revealing the sanctum where emotions are set aside, and the game becomes paramount. Amidst the hum of chatter and the clatter of equipment, I sigh; I really want her to come. I still have hope, although I doubt it. The tension lingers as I tighten my skate laces, and Jake, my teammate and friend, notices my distraction.

"You seem off, Chris. Everything okay?" Jake asks.

"Yeah.." I look up at him, and he seems like he already knows, "..just had a big fight with my girl before I left. Can't shake it off," I confess.

Jake pats me on the shoulder. "I understand, man. I wish I could say something but you gotta leave it behind for now. We've got a game to win. Sort things out later."

On the ice, rival players almost immediately target me, seeming to be aware of my vulnerable state; it must be that fucking expression of mine. I can't hide it. During the first period, a smirking opponent skates by, taunting, "trouble at home, Chrissy? Should focus on that instead of the game." he smiles.

Enraged, I retaliate with a forceful check, earning myself a penalty, "keep your temper in check, Chris!" warns the referee.

In the penalty box, I mutter under my breath, "I can't fucking believe this."

As the match progresses, rival players intensify their attempts to provoke me; we've played with those fuckers before, and if anyone has seen me in a game, they know very well the only thing that can affect the way I play is her. Undeterred, I channel my anger into my plays, determined to win this goodamn game while internally wondering if she came to see me after all.

In a breakaway, I find myself one-on-one with the opposing goalie. With a swift deke, I send the puck into the net, equalizing the score. The crowd erupts, and my teammates cheer.

Rival players persist in their attempts to get under my skin. During a tense moment, an opposing forward sneers, "look, your girlfriend's probably enjoying the show. Make sure to not embarass her again."

After that, I almost lose it, and in a heated moment, a rival defenseman delivers a high stick to my face, splitting my lip. Blood drips onto the ice as I stumble backward. The referee signals a penalty, but the damage is done.

Undeterred by the bleeding, I clench my fists, "you think that's going to stop me? You fucking coward!" I almost scream to make sure that fucking asshole hears me.

The game continues, and during a power play, I push through the pain. I charge towards the net, ignoring the throbbing pain in my lip – the only thing on my mind is her and making her proud.

Fueled by a surge of anger and determination, I respond with a spectacular goal that secures the lead for my team. I skate past the jeering opponent, acknowledging the crowd's cheers.

As the final buzzer sounds, signaling our victory, I finally spot my girlfriend in the stands. My heart beats faster. A mix of emotions plays across her face, and I realize the significance of my performance. It's like no one else is around, just us and that is the only thing that matters. I keep eye contact with her, even when my teammates are cheering for me and I smile, even with that bloody lip – she smiles back and I want to kiss her so bad.

[ YOU ]

When I saw Chris' bloody lip, I almost lost it – the restraint within me, resisting the urge to jump in and shove my fingernails into that asshole's eye sockets, is beyond words. I was well aware they were deliberately provoking Chris; his simmering anger was very evident. The recklessness in his gameplay during the initial stages of the game made it even more obvious that he was more focused on what they said than the actual game.

I kept yelling his name at the top of my lungs, unsure if he could hear, but I desperately wished for his victory, especially after that intense fight. Witnessing him wince from the pain now and then, I felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

As he scored the decisive goal and secured the victory, I couldn't contain my excitement, jumping up and down. It brought back memories of our younger days when I always cheered him on during his games.

When all of this was over and I just stood there, I could see him looking at me. His gaze finally finds me in the midst of the crowd, and my heart feels like it might leap out of my chest. Everything else fades away, leaving only him in my line of sight.

I notice all of the team leaving, probably going to the locker rooms and I quickly head to the exit door.

In the dimly lit corridor outside of where the locker rooms are, he finally comes outside and spots me waiting there, my expression a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

"Hey," he calls out, his voice carrying a hint of both excitement and apology.

I look up, meeting his eyes, "hey," a subtle smile playing on my lips, "you played amazing out there."

Still trying to catch his breath, he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, keeping me close for a while. We are not saying anything, I just hold him close, my fingers buried in his sweaty hair.

"Thank you so much for coming." he whispers.

"I would never lose any of your games. Even when you're being an asshole." I smile, which I am sure he can hear when I'm speaking.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to put the blame on you. I just.. I am fucking jealous. I don't want any other guy near you." he keeps his voice as low as possible.

"Shhh, I know. Let's take care of that lip first and then you can apologise to me all you want." I pull away but he doesn't let go of course – I cup his cheek and take out some tissue that I keep in my bag for emergency with my free hand. I gently pat the skin, trying to clean the blood as much as I can without hurting him.

His eyes soften, "seriously, baby. Thanks for coming. I always play better when you're cheering for me."

I look up at him, my gaze softening as well as I cup both of his cheeks now, "I know. I am so, so proud of you. You were amazing, as always." I whisper, leaning in to play the softest kiss on his little wound.

"God, I love you." he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me close to him.

"I love you too."

[irisintheafterglow]

alright @mididoodles since you're so determined to absolutely annihilate my psyche every time you press post, here's wonderwall hockey player!satoru x skater!reader

it couldn't be that bad to go a little later to the rink, right? right?

wrong, so very wrong.

on top of sleeping through your alarm, you couldn't find your skate guards after you carelessly tossed them on your desk the night prior. you ended up having to wrench them from your dog, nearly dropping your car keys in the trash in the process. by the time you were through the double doors and shivering against the frigid air, someone's already occupied your usual timeslot. sure, it was a free skate before doors officially opened, but years of going to the same rink established that you were the one on the ice at the asscrack of dawn. the ticket sellers knew it, the zamboni drivers knew it, even other skaters knew that you had first claim. everyone was aware of your seniority, it seemed, except for the lanky hockey player swinging pucks into a net on the far side of the ice. you lace up your skates and pray for him to leave, grimacing when he doesn't and hopping onto the rink anyway. if he hit you with a puck, the lawsuit would certainly pay for your next program's costume.

you tune him out the best you can and try to ignore the way his muscles stretch against his compression long sleeve, something much too light to be wearing for a typical hockey player. you don't skate close enough to see his face, but the corded muscle on his back was enough to have your face heating. his hair was nearly the same color as the ice, and he flipped it back every so often to get it out of his face. in another world where you weren't sharing the rink with him, you'd have found yourself with a little crush on him. the music in your earbuds isn't enough, however, to drown out the sound of the stick hitting the puck over and over and over again, not to mention the times when he misses the net and the puck ricochets off the walls of the rink. your jumps become messier than usual, as are your spins, and you can only accredit it to the other occupant of the rink. after barely a few minutes of trying to share and run through your drills without using half your space, you give up and make to leave. you'd just have to come back tomorrow and hope he wasn't there.

"hey, wait! i was just leaving," a vaguely familiar voice calls to your back. it's melodic and incredibly confident, borderline arrogant. "sorry i stole your spot; i have a game tonight and i wanted to get some extra practice goals in before class." the crunch of skates sprinting across the ice and power-sliding to a halt floats into your ears and you look at the perpetrator from the corner of your eye, turning fully to look at him when your brain clicks into place who he is. "oh, shit!"

"satoru?" he mirrors the surprise in your tone, throwing his head to the side with a lopsided smile as he states your name tenderly. "oh my god, what are you doing here?" your mouth breaks into a grin, grateful to be free from the scowl you were wearing a few minutes prior. your eyes flick down to his lips as his tongue runs absentmindedly over a sparkling canine.

"i had to come in a little earlier than i usually do; i didn't know that it's during the time you're here. it's really good to see you," he says warmly and you feel your face warm. "you went pro, yeah?" you nod, casually leaning a shoulder against the plexiglass walls of the rink. he crosses his toned arms across his chest and you fight the urge to stare. it's rude to ogle the arms of your childhood crush turned hot hockey player bad boy, you scold yourself. "how's that going?"

"mmm, i just got back from russia a few weeks ago. holiday intensives and such."

"wow, that's incredible. not like i'm surprised, though. you were always the best skater in our group."

"not true. i had to use you as a walker a few times when we were first starting out," you remind him and he laughs at the memory. "you made me hold your hand while i shimmied around the perimeter."

"and you asked if i was born with skates on my feet, i remember."

"how's suguru?"

"he's great. he's usually here with me but i couldn't drag him out of his house this early in the morning."

"in true suguru fashion, really," you joke. you feel like you're seven again, staring up at satoru's bright blue eyes absolutely lovestruck. he still makes you feel butterflies, even over a decade later. "you said you had a game later?"

"yeah, here at 6:00. you should come if you're free. watch me kick ass on the ice for old time's sake."

"i'll do my best. i'm meeting a new ballet teacher who's coaching us on musicality later this afternoon."

"i don't know what any of those words mean," he states plainly and you snort. "i never understood your world."

"and i never understood yours," you confess. "yet, here we are."

"here we are, indeed," he murmurs, looking at you with an expression you've never seen on his face before. it has your heart racing like an idiot. "well, i'll let you have your rink back. thanks for letting me borrow it." he carefully steps past you and heads for the benches, throwing back his snowy hair in a way that has you gripping the edge of the wall for stability. it takes all of your willpower to keep your voice from shaking.

"i'd say come use it anytime, but i am very protective of my timeslot." he sends you a smile over his shoulder. holy shit, were his shoulders always that broad? and was he always that tall? was he always this fucking hot?

"i'll respect it, though i might pop in to watch you skate. you're mesmerizing, you know?"

"careful, any more sweet words and i'll think you have a crush on me." the words slip from your mouth faster than you can stop them and he looks at you curiously, and you'd be lying if you said he didn't look amused at your jab. you'd learned to flirt from him, after all.

when he's slipped out of his skates and re-approached you, you're barely tall enough to look him in the eyes. "it was good to see you," he murmurs.

"feeling's mutual." he's close enough that you can smell his shampoo and you resist the urge to touch his undercut.

"i missed you." his three words have you feeling weak in the knees and slightly breathless. "a lot." despite the chill, you feel your palms start to sweat.

"i missed you too."

"keep your eyes on me tonight?" you roll your eyes at his familiar, comforting self-assurance.

"like i would look at anyone else." his eyes are sparkling and time seems to slow down to a honey-covered crawl. "what number should i be watching?" he cracks a mischievous smirk, shrugging and walking to the exit. you're speechless on the ice until he turns back a final time.

to tell you that his number is your birthday.

I CALL WRITING THE GAME I'M GONNA WRITE THE GAME I WANNA WRITE THE GAME SOON I JUST FEEL SO AWKWARD WRITING WITHOUT ANY FIRST MEET/CONTEXT

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[cobrakaisb]

a dazzling haze and chocolate chip pancakes

summary: mark wants to introduce you to his friends, just not at this very moment

word count: 1.02k

the warm glow of the sunlight streaming through mark’s window causes her to shift in her sleep. she turns her head, sinking further into the comforter and boyfriend’s arms. he hums softly, arm tightening ever so slightly around her waist as her face buried into his bare shoulder. it’s quiet and peaceful, two words that aren’t typically associated with the sophomore hockey house.

“estapa, what do you want from…oh shit,” one of the guys, mark’s roommates, shouts as he barges into the room.

mark groans, his face burying deeper into the crook between her neck and shoulder. “edwards. get the fuck out,” he says, voice groggy and filled with sleep. 

edwards, or ethan, laughs before saying, “just letting you know we’re ordering breakfast. text me what you and your girl want.” she feels mark’s mouth open, as if to argue with his friend, but the boy has already left, closing the door behind him. 

it takes a minute for mark to catch his bearings, but when he does, he turns to face her. she stares into his brown eyes for a minute, comforter still pulled up to her chin, protecting her exposed skin from the cold air and replacing the warmth from his body heat. after a minute of just staring, she feels a smile break out onto her face. “your girl, huh?” she teases, watching as his cheeks turn a deep shade of red. 

“like you didn’t already know,” he responds, moving just enough so that his forehead rests against hers. her smile widens, and she closes her eyes, basking in their proximity. “you should text your friend our order,” she says, breaking their serenity. “you don’t even know where we order from,” he answers. she shrugs, “how hard is it to make chocolate chip pancakes?” 

he sighs, arms reaching for her as she tries to sit up in the bed. “mark,” she warns, trying to pry his arms away. “can’t we just stay in bed a little longer?” he begs, his face hiding in the divot between her shoulder blades. “your friends are ordering us breakfast. besides, weren’t you just talking about how you wanted me to integrate into your little group?” she says, raising an eyebrow, even though he can’t see it. he groans, letting go of her waist as she stands up from the bed. he can’t help but stare at the marks from last night, watching with a satisfied smirk as she throws on one of his t-shirts. 

“do you still have a pair of my running shorts here?” she asks, walking over to his bureau to look for them. “they should be in the top left drawer, babe. with all your other stuff,” he mumbles, getting up from the bed to put on a pair of gray sweatpants. she scours around in the drawer, eventually finding a pair to slip on. “let me just brush my teeth, then we can go down,” she says, coming to stand next to him. her hand holds onto his bicep as she stands on her tip-toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. then, she’s gone. 

“took you long enough. what do you want? we’re waiting for you,” one of the four boys says as the couple walks into the kitchen. she assumes he’s the one that woke them up originally, but she’s not quite sure. “sorry eddy. she had to get dressed,” mark explains, a cheeky grin on his face. her mouth falls open, a look of betrayal and disbelief crossing her face. “me? you’re the one who didn’t want to get out of bed!” she shouts, pointing a finger at him. mark flushes as all the boys laugh at his expense. 

“sorry for wanting to spend some time with my girlfriend. sue me,” he defends, holding up his hands. “please, you spent all night together. i could hear you,” another one of the boys says. he was taller with a head of curly brown hair. she flushes at his statement, arms hugging her torso as she rocks on her heels. “good job hughesy, you made her uncomfortable,” another hockey player, this one shorter than the rest, says as he slaps hughesy on the shoulder. the latter grimaces, before mumbling out an apology.      

“anyways, i’m ethan, mark’s best friend and roommate,” the first guy introduces himself. she smiles at him, watching as the others say their names: mackie, dylan, and luke. by the time they’re done, mark is standing behind her, hands clutching at her waist. “i’m y/n, mark’s girlfriend,” she says, giving them a shy wave. 

“oh we know, he doesn’t shut up about you, tutor girl,” mackie teases. she giggles at his words, poking at mark’s abdomen. “knew you liked me,” she whispers. he shakes his head, a smile on his face from her words. “uh duh! he raves about you. speaking of, i have a paper due in a couple days, could you help me with it?” dylan asks. before she can answer, mark does it for her, “get your own tutor, she’s mine.”

“oh she’s mine, she’s mine. what happened to sharing is caring? or were you absent from preschool that day?” luke sasses, and she snorts at his words. her hand comes up to cover her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but her shaking shoulders give her away. mark pinches her side, in good nature, and she jerks away from him. “it was funny,” she says, giving him a pointed look. 

“it was not funny,” he replies, pouting like a preschooler. “aw baby don’t be sad, want me to kiss your boo-boo? will that make it better?” she teases, a mischievous look in her eyes. his pout deepens, and his arms cross against his chest. “please.” she sighs, but gets on her toes, arms wrapping around his neck to keep her balance. his hands find her waist, holding her steadily against him. the second their lips connect, gagging echoes throughout the room. 

“get a room please.”

“we don’t need last night part two.”

they laugh, putting some distance between themselves. “i really like your friends,” she whispers, and he just smiles.

[alchemistc]

goon | chapter one | bucktommy

check out the hockey glossary here read from the beginning or read chapter one here

It takes Tommy a few breathless seconds to remember to skate in and hug the rest of his team, and another five to realize that technically the assist is his. He stopped caring about stats so much the second year his time in the box exceeded his time on ice for more than five games out of the season, but it sits there, in the back of his mind, his name next to Buckley’s on the score sheet.

There’s a rush that comes with division rivalry games, a certain something in the air when the crowd noise rushes in after the anthem, a call for blood and guts and gore and glory.

Tommy’s been in the league for almost two decades. He’s played for every division in the league, at one point or another. This isn’t even his first time in the central, although the configuration of teams is different than the last time.

Sometimes one team is shit (more often than not he’s on that side of it) and the other is on a tear. Sometimes they’re battling it out in four-point games to keep their points lead in the division — or knock the other team down to second. Sometimes it’s a scrape to pull out the wildcard spot. Sometimes the game itself is meaningless but they’ve played each other often enough that there’s friction. Sometimes there’s just one fucking guy on the opposition that the fanbase harbors some deep resentment for.

And this one actually means something — there’s some extra bad blood between these two teams, a star goalie with a grudge on the far end of the ice, three first round matchups in the last ten years, a run of wins that was bringing tonight’s opponent a little too close for comfort to the Avs divisional points cushion.

Tommy shifts his weight and settles the nerves, accepts the smack to the back of his helmet, and watches Binnington throw a fit between the pipes when the stripes don’t whistle the play dead and call an icing when the puck trickles in behind his net.

They’re five minutes in and everyone’s getting testy. He can feel it.

This is where Tommy does his best work.

It’d been a task, ten years ago, a part of the job he’d accepted because he was good in a fight and fully capable of taking a few punches. Under the thumb of the old boys club it’d just been expected of him — the ability to throw his weight around was what had kept him from complete obscurity in a lower league that would have worn him down much sooner. Tommy’s fists and his ability to drop his shoulder just in time to knock a guy flat on his ass were the only things that mattered when his agent settled him down with two offers, a few years into the league, and he’d chosen the team most likely to make his dad proud.

Never mind that his dad had come to three games when Tommy was a bright eyed rookie, seen Tommy get his ass handed to him by a man twice his size, and stopped bothering to show up.

He’d turned that around, in recent years. Longer stints with the affiliate teams, less time under the microscopic eye of the national press (even as a role player he’d had his moments under that eye) — he’d learned when to pull his punches, when to turn the other cheek, and when to lock his ankles and aim for the fucking chest. He had friends up and down the continent who knew him as the guy who’d take them all out to dinner after a bad loss, find something stupid and entertaining for them to do after, and then go into the next game with a chip on his fucking shoulder.

There were three kids with insane star power in the league who had him on speed dial even though he hadn’t played with them for a year or more, because for some fucking reason he had the ability to talk them off a ledge when the pressure drove them towards it.

He’d never tell a soul that Crosby still sent him gym selfies so they could compare the relative size and plumpness of their ass during the offseason.

There was still a reverence for real enforcers, in the league, even if they’d fallen by the wayside as teams got smaller and quicker. They were more a deterrent than anything else these days, but that usually meant Tommy got to lumber around on the ice for a few minutes a game, remembering what it had felt like the first time he’d laced his skates and stepped out to a roaring crowd, before he took another dumb penalty and spent the next forty-five minutes riding the bench. He’d been instructed not to take any dumb penalties, tonight, because St. Louis didn’t tend to get sloppy until the game was on the line.

Thirty-six minutes in, Schenn takes a chop at Diaz’s knees under the guise of a poke check and the home crowd gets loud, and ornery.

Nash smacks him on the shoulder on their way back down the tunnel for the third, eyes a little wild, and Tommy immediately recalls the old highlight reels of Nash shaking hair out of his eyes while he squared off against a guy twice his size, motor-mouthing his way into getting the other guy to take the first swing. Minnesotans and their right hooks weren’t something to fuck around with. Too much time in the cold not to have a little crazy in them.

Tommy rolls his tongue over his teeth, tilts his head to where Diaz and Buckley are bent over the boards together on the bench, already prepared to hop out the moment Bannister tries to get a matchup that’ll tilt in the Blues favor.

Nash sends him out with the rest of the fourth line, and Tommy doesn’t waste any time.

It’s immediately clear that they’ve all been warned to keep level heads. Schenn won’t engage, Buchnevich barely acknowledges Tommy when he hip checks him into his own bench — he goes ass over tea kettle and Tommy gets nothing more than a few shifty looks and some smack talk from the guys sitting.

There’s an easy way around that, though.

Tommy clambers back over the boards and waits out the next shift, practically vibrating with it when a shot pings off the crossbar and Greenway skates right through Binnington’s crease chasing after it.

Kyrou tries to take out Buckley against the boards, looks livid when Buck skates just free of it, and Buck does some ankle breaking in a rush to the goal. It hits the post, and when the whistle gets blown fifteen seconds later Tommy watches level heads not prevail when Binner says something snippy to Kyrou that has him rolling his eyes on the way back to the bench.

It takes another minute and a half for Nash to set up the line matches the way he wants them, but as Greenway skates off in relief and Schenn’s line stays stuck in their own zone spinning their wheels, Bobby smacks a thick hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Kinard, you’re up!”

Tommy takes an awkward pass once he’s past the blue line and goes full tilt towards the net. Full tilt for Tommy isn’t anything special, but it’s not what the Blues are expecting, and most of them have been out for two plus minutes at this point, hemmed in by their third and fourth lines just shoveling the puck back in every time it nears the blue line.

The snow shower he aims at the goal, half an inch into the crease when he fully stops, isn’t anything to write home about, but it has it’s intended effect. Already short on patience, Binnington watches Schenn intercept and send the puck careening down the ice — a third icing in a row — and lashes out with the butt end of his stick, a glancing blow Tommy laughs at as the rest of the players start to circle up at the whistle. Tommy’s laugh pisses him off. The laugh pisses him off so much.

It’s so fucking easy to rattle him when he’s already two goals down. There’s some shoving, a few hockey hugs to keep things from escalating, but Panikkar has apparently cottoned on to Tommy’s plan, and he says something under his breath that has Sundquist in his face, and Binnington skating around behind the net in irritation while the zebras break up a few of the more reticent shoving matches.

Tommy wins about one face-off out of every fifty, but that’s not the reason he’s bending across from Schenn now at the circle.

“We could end this before he loses all his cool and breaks his stick on the pipes,” Tommy goads, and the linesman with the puck rolls his eyes towards Schenn expectantly. The other man shifts, readjusts the grip on his stick. “Or I could just keep taunting him for something that isn’t even his fault, this time.”

Schenn’s not a particularly bad dude, just a little gun shy about fighting when his coach has clearly told them all not to engage.

Tommy wants him to fucking engage.

Schenn waits for the puck to drop, and miraculously, it’s Tommy who scoops it up to a fresh-faced Buckley just in time for the man to wind up and sneak it through about four bodies on it’s way over Binnington’s shoulder.

It takes Tommy a few breathless seconds to remember to skate in and hug the rest of his team, and another five to realize that technically the assist is his. He stopped caring about stats so much the second year his time in the box exceeded his time on ice for more than five games out of the season, but it sits there, in the back of his mind, his name next to Buckley’s on the score sheet.

And then Schenn gets sloppy again, a check into the boards that has Panikkar limping back towards the bench while the crowd boos the refs — no call, again, which is fucking typical and normally Tommy’d be in his face about it, ready for the unsportsmanlike just ready to tumble off the refs tongue, but not tonight, tonight he’s got other plans — and Tommy doesn’t give Schenn any time to think about it when Nash sends him out in the immediate chaos.

He catches Kyrou mid-ice with his head down, a shoulder right to the chest that sends him reeling back, skates leaving the ground as he crashes backwards, and Schenn is on him in the next five seconds, gloves off and a resigned look in his eyes. Tommy grins and shifts his weight back, tossing his own gloves and reaching for the neck of Schenn’s sweater.

In the heat of the moment, man to man, the noise of the crowd always dies away, blood pounding in his ears and his entire focus on keeping his weight balanced and his fists loose. He’s been a heavy-weight for over half his career, and Schenn knows he’s outmatched but someone has to answer the bell.

There’s a ref circling them, and Tommy gets three right hooks in before Schenn can even get a hand out to hold Tommy back.

Hen’s gonna be pissed when she sees the state of his hands, but Tommy doesn’t really care, all that much, as he tightens his grip and yanks him close enough for an uppercut aimed at his ribs.

The refs break in before Schenn gets a hit, and the roar of the crowd rushes back in, loud, raucous, the mob appeased as Tommy skates his way to the box with a grin on his face. He’s a little disappointed that they’d broken it up so quickly, but — he’s probably got twenty-five pounds on Schenn, so fair enough.

Diaz scores a shorthanded goal three minutes into the major and Chim holds the line through the deluge of pissed off Blues who are now down four goals.

Tommy spends about ten seconds out of the box before the refs assess him a game misconduct for tapping his glove along the visitors side gate, and he accepts it with all the grace he can muster, smacking his fist into a screaming kids palm as he heads off down the hall.

The cool off doesn’t take him as long at it used to — sometime in the first ten years of his career he’d figured out how to shake off the hotheaded temper that made him so fucking good at getting under people’s skin, and by the time the rest of the team returns with a victory on their shoulders he’s relaxed and loose-limbed again.

Diaz makes a beeline for him, smacking his bare chest, hands curling over his shoulders so he can shake him a little, and he gets a few hoots and hollers as the rest of the team trickles back in. Someone names Tommy third star, but Nash has a rule about keeping up appearances, and he had technically been tossed from the game, so. He keeps his seat and waits until Buckley and Chim both return from taking their bow.

They’ve got a tradition, going back a few years now, a game puck tossed from player to player throughout the season for whatever the hell the previous recipient wants to acknowledge someone for. Tommy’s spent a few weeks hyping up the recipient with the rest of the team, but tonight Diaz calls for silence and every eye in the room swivels towards Tommy.

“Next time we’re getting you the full Gordie Howe,” comes the concise speech, and Tommy chuckles when Diaz leans in for a half-shake, half-hug where he admits in an undertone that Binner had definitely done his best to hold on to this particular puck at the game horn, so Tommy had better appreciate his efforts in acquiring it.

It’s not even March, but there’s a string of tension running through the whole group of them, a line of unspoken expectation as their home record extends to fifteen games — but as they trickle off to the showers with pats on the back and the giddy adrenaline of another win, Tommy can feel something brewing in the room.

He’s halfway through stretches, twenty minutes later, when Panikkar parks up next to him and knocks his knee against Tommy’s.

“That was some pretty decent work, Kinard,” Ravi says, like he hasn’t spent two weeks annoyed that Tommy can’t keep up with him when he’s on a breakaway, barely holding his tongue when Tommy lumbers down the ice after him. Diaz has made some noise, in recent days, about running suicide drills at the start of optionals, and Tommy is absolutely gonna get his ass handed to him. He’ll be there with bells, but he’s gonna be feeling that shit for weeks.

“Not so bad yourself, kid,” Tommy tells him, and Ravi ducks his head around a grin.

“Hen’s pissed I didn’t keep my mouth shut,” he admits, and gestures to his ribs, where Tommy can already see some nasty bruising. Tommy cocks an eyebrow.

“I’d have gotten them there on my own.”

Ravi’s grin brightens, and when he stands, Tommy can’t quite help the way he wants to stand as well, maybe give this kid a noogie, tease him about the height difference for a second. He’d grown up without brothers, but he’s found about a million and two in his time playing up and down the continent. “It’s more fun when you’ve got the whole team to move it along.”

He’s halfway out the door when he spins on his heel to give Tommy another look. “Hey, you know Gardiner’s had it out for Buckley for like, four years, right?”

Tommy shifts. Panikkar doesn’t need to know that he’s had the calendar date circled in his mind for three weeks, now, since the moment he’d hopped on the plane to Denver. He’s not going to admit to knowing every single guy in the league who’s ever set their sights on 18. He’s certainly not going to admit to spending most of his first evening in his rental watching highlight reels of Buckley (and Diaz) until he’d fallen asleep on his surprisingly comfortable sectional. He knows enemy number one for every game from now until the end of the season, but he knows Buckley’s best of all.

It’s what they’d brought him over for, Tommy rationalizes, again, and if he spends the drive home thinking about the wide slash of Evan Buckley’s smile when he’d skated in to celebrate Buckley’s goal, no one but Tommy has to know.

[astridthevalkyrie]

A Scene Popped Into My Head But Instead Of Writing A Whole AU I’m Just Going To Write That One Scene <3

—> Scene Capture Fics Masterlist

—> Today’s Feature: Ice Hockey Coach Levi!

—> a/n: a scene capture fic????? in 2023????????? yes, i'm actually alive :) tbh by reading this you can tell how rusty i am because this is trash

Levi doesn't think he's ever had this big of a headache. And there's been some real contenders over the course of his life. One would think all the death or that one bit where he was sleeping on the streets would take the cake. But no, it's this idiot—this mousy, annoying fucking idiot who really makes migraines a constant in his life.

For the sixth time in an hour, Levi blows his whistle.

"Jock! Get the fuck out of the rink!"

The player in question slams down the stick he's holding in his left hand, shoving the teammate he just elbowed out of the way before skating towards him. That migraine seems to pulse in anger the same way the player's veins do.

"You can't bench me again," he seethes, fists clenched and eyes flaming behind his helmet. "I'm your best player."

"You're also the biggest pain in the ass." Levi grabs the front of his shirt. "Any points you score won't mean shit if you get double the penalties."

Never has he met a player so skilled, and yet so troublesome. When Levi agreed to coach the team as a favor to Erwin, who owned them and was taking loss after loss, he hadn't expected this hothead. From the first moment the man introduced himself, wide-eyed, spitting out the word, "Cock!" when Levi demanded his name, he'd been nothing but a dick indeed.

"What was that?" he'd hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Jock! I meant Jock!"

"Tch. And you clearly find that fitting, do you?"

"Oh yes, sir, I'm the best player you'll meet."

And to Jock's credit, he hadn't been wrong. He was the best player Levi had seen since, well, probably Erwin and himself. The word miss wasn't even in the man's dictionary, and he skated on the ice like he'd been born to do so. The problem was that Levi was the coach of a team, and Jock was anything but a team player.

From the beginning, he was aggressive. Constantly shoving teammates both smaller and bigger than him around, constantly shouting, constantly throwing tempter tantrums. Levi knew a thing or two about a short fuse, but this guy made him look like a fucking saint.

"Far as I see it, Coach, you're the only one who penalizes me." That gaze hadn't stopped glaring once. "Whatchu gonna do when other teams and kick these weaklings' asses? I'm the only one who—"

"Did I stutter?" Holding one hand out, Levi takes your stick from one of the other players (a common occurrence, for them to pick it up) and shoves it in your hands. "Get the fuck out and sit out for the rest of practice, or I'll kick this weakling's ass right now."

Even people who have played against him haven't given him the look that Jock's giving him now. A hateful gaze complete with bared teeth, like he's about to pounce.

"Fuck you, coach."

The worst thing, Levi thinks as he finally stalks off, mutter obscenities under his breath, is that unlike other players who get angry, this is the only who looks undeniably attractive while doing so.

And speaking of undeniably attractive.

Nighttime is the only time his migraine seems to die out, and sure, part of it is because he's not coaching anymore. Another part is that he can simply skate, without hearing shouts and without having to be aggressive. And the final part, is the company.

The first night he'd visited this rink, he'd found he wasn't alone.

"Sorry!" the stranger had whisper-shouted. "There's never anyone here usually, since the rink is closed."

"It's alright. You can skate, I know the rink is booked up with the trainings all the time."

"Yeah. But..." Her words seem to catch even her by surprise. "Well, it's a large area. We can share."

"You're here earlier than normal," she teases, already on the ice as usual. "Miss me, Levi?"

He snorts, already entering the rink with two sticks and a puck. "Better you than the idiots I deal with all day."

The woman's eyes are some of the nicest things he's seen, especially when she smiles. When she spins, one foot in the air, she doesn't know he's watching, and yet she seems to make a point to be completely entrancing.

He's never seen anyone skate like her. If his skills are a ten, then hers are a hundred.

"Here." He offers her a stick. "You said you played, right?"

"Um..." For some reason, she looks nervous. "I used to, back in high school."

(In high school, Levi was skating too, but the only time he played hockey was when someone, usually Erwin or Petra, managed to convince him to drop the attitude and play a match.)

"Play with me," he requests, "there's gear in my bag if you want it—"

"No," her response comes quickly, "um, no, I don't need gear, that's okay." Giving the stick a practice swing, she grins up at him. "But why are we playing today? You want some practice?"

"I honestly just need to remember why I like the sport." Levi groans, rubbing the back of his neck to soothe out a crick. Then he slides the puck into the center, not bothering to make sure it's a perfect fit. "The big match is in two days, and there's only so much I can fucking take training these assholes."

Levi notes immediately that she favors her left side. "Anyone in particular giving you problems?"

"The usual. Eren, Jean. Connie. And this one dick. Gets angry at everything that moves."

He moves first, but she still hits the puck before him, in a speed that few have demonstrated to him before. He can only blink as she moves past his shoulder. "Sounds like a handful. But maybe he's just got stuff going on?"

"What would he have going on?"

"Everyone has stuff going—hey!" she cries, when he steals the puck from her, swerving around and skating towards the other side. In a flash, she's going around the other side.

"Not an excuse to be an asshole, is it?"

"Well—no. But is he a good player?" Instead of coming up to him, she skates up to the net, right as he takes aim and swings.

Her stick outstretches before she moves, blocking the puck with a resounding smack and sending it sliding to the right.

This isn't a real match, so Levi takes the time to pause, raising a brow at her.

"One of the best I've seen."

"Then," and she takes her time too, offering him a sweet smile as she propels forward, stopping in front of him, "maybe you should cut him some slack."

A part of him wishes he could say the last time he felt his chest squeeze like that was a long time ago, to really make this moment special. But it was only a few hours ago, when the same man he's complaining about now had looked at him with hate, the exact opposite of the softness in your gaze.

"M'starting to think the guy's your boyfriend, the way you're batting for him."

She laughs, skating back as he follows her. "No. I don't have a boyfriend."

This is the first time a topic like this has come up. His heart twists happily. "Would you even date a hockey player?"

"Mm, I don't know. A lot of them are assholes."

She's not wrong. If Jock wasn't enough of an example, Levi definitely is.

"Something tells me you'd put them in their place."

Her hand is on the railing as she peers at him, coy features twisting into a smirk. "Flattery won't let you steal that puck."

Then she's speeding, like a bullet, straight for his net. Levi mimics her move from before, coming to stand in front of the net as she halts. Her eyes move down to his feet, than up to his eyes. Strangely enough, that order of observation is exactly how he teaches people to play.

Her fingers move, and she aims left. Before she can shoot, he's already moving to block her.

Victory shines on her face she she hits the puck to the right.

For a moment, Levi can't even wrap his mind around it. No one, no teammate or opponent or underling, has ever gotten past him like that.

"Jesus Christ," he finds himself muttering under his breath, "maybe you should be on the team."

Again she's grinning, spinning up to him to hook her fingers into the pockets of his suit jacket. "Trust me, you wouldn't want me."

One second, Levi's staring at her, mesmerized.

The next, his lips are on her's, as if to show her just how much he really does want her.

The tension in his stomach snaps, doing the only think he's wanted to do for months, aside from kicking Jock off the team. A flare of annoyance sets off an alarm in his head—he shouldn't be thinking of Jock at a time like this.

The kiss is brief, though, because she immediately pulls away, sliding back with a guilty expression.

Now that's not the look he'd want someone to have after he just kissed them.

"I...the game is in two days," he stupidly reiterates, "I was hoping you'd come watch."

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips nervously. "Levi, I—I can't. I'm sorry." Letting the stick drop, she skates back, putting more distance between them. The rink feels colder than usual. "I really like you, but I...I can't."

There's nothing more he can say as she steps out, hurried and clumsy. All he can do is watch from afar, cussing himself out in his head. The one person he'd felt at ease with all these months, and he had to go and screw things up.

Before she leaves, in a moment of hesitation, she turns back to face him. "Good luck with the game, Levi. Wish Eren and Jean and Jock all my best."

And then she's gone.

The rink and stadium are now completely empty, with only the empty seats and his own gear strewn around to mock him with how lonely they look.

But instead of focusing on that, Levi only has one question.

When had he told her Jock's name?

[nateslehky]

will you do a director’s cut of the amusement park fic? maybe the roller coaster part and/or the scene leading up to it, thank you i love you

anything for you <3 <3 tis below the cut :) fic for reference

come into my ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines. 

Or, send in a ⭐star⭐  to have me select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

The counter digs against Matthew’s back as he leans against it. [the counter digging into matthew was deliberate. throughout the whole fic i tried to include subtle/not-so-subtle annoyances. the counter digging into matthew here is one of those. (actually, one of the working titles for this fic was 'staring at the sunset' --a nice sentiment and beautiful image, but ultimately annoying with the sun in your eyes. i still like title i went with but kinda wish i went with that one haha)] He crosses his arms and tries not to chuckle as Sasha’s frowns in concentration, gaze focused as he takes in the targets in front of him. Sasha always takes everything so seriously, even something as simple as this carnival game. 

If Matthew had to guess, he would say the average age of players at this stand would be probably ten, but Sasha’s expression remains as serious as ever, matching the one Matthew sees on the ice at every game. [i did this just because i wanted to show how competitive and serious sasha is, but like that it calls back to the ice/hockey bc of how everlooming the stanley cup is on matthew's mind in this fc]

It takes him a few tries, but eventually Sasha’s throws find the mark. When the alarm blasts [like a goal horn almost hehe] announcing him as a victor, Matthew does chuckle at the satisfied expression on his face, lips parted in a small smile.

The girl running the stand asks him which prize he would like, gesturing to the highest shelf strewn with various stuffed animals and toys, so full that Matthew wonders at how they aren’t toppling over. Sasha is shaking his head before she even finishes.

“Oh, no,” he says, “it’s okay.”

Matthew rolls his eyes. He knows him; Sasha wanted to win just to win. Matthew, on the other hand, never says no to free shit. [sasha is sort of just along for the ride (no pun intended lol) for this whole fic, not in a bad way, but he's ultimately at this amusement park for matthew. but i feel like this is kinda ~his~ scene, albeit from matthew's pov. i like the peak at his character throughout this scene a lot]

He leans forward and points to the cat plushie at the top of a pile of stuffed animals, and says, “He wants that.”

“Matthew,” whispers Sasha as the girl turns around and stands on her tiptoes to reach it. “What am I going to do with that?”

“Keep it,” he says. “And then every time you look at it you’ll remember that time you went to an amusement park with your cool, hot, younger boyfriend and had so, so much fun.”

“Or,” says Sasha as the girl finally plucks the plushie from the pile. “I could just look at my boyfriend and remember that.” [ever the voice of reason]

“Nonsense,” says Matthew. He reaches across the counter to grab at the cat, then says to the girl, “Thank you so much.” [this whole bit of in this scene dialogue kinda just...flew out of me but i really like how it turned out]

“No problem,” she says. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Sasha mutters his own thanks, then they turn from the stand and continue down the path. Matthew holds out the cat in front of him, running a hand down its fluffy head. “See,” he says. “It’s like a panther.”

“That’s a house cat,” says Sasha. [see comment above re: voice of reason]

“I said like a panther, not that it was. It’s called a simile, Sasha.”

Sasha laughs, then presses his lips together as if annoyed he’d let the laugh out. [sometimes sasha hates how fond he is of matthew's absurdity] After a moment, he asks, “If I keep it, where am I supposed to put it?” [he's definitely keeping it]

“I think it’ll look great with your absurd throw pillows,” says Matthew. “Right in the middle. Like a centerpiece.” [idk why but i really liked the idea of sasha having throw pillows. like i feel like he'd generally be a pretty minimal guy but i liked the image of him having a bunch of pillows that always need to be set on the bed to his specifications. no idea where this lil headcanon game from but i'm quite fond of it (stanley absolutely because a feature of it moving forward)]

With a shake of his head, Sasha starts to say, “You’re—"

“Attention,” drones a female voice over the speakers as the music cuts out. “The park will close in 30 minutes and lines for all rides and activities will cut off in 10 minutes. Thank you for understanding—and remember, always amuse yourself at Amos’!” [there's this time crunch element to the fic because the park's closing which ended up mirroring the time crunch matthew feels in regard to him getting older/being a 'veteran'/running out time to achieve his dreams etc etc (then when they actually race to the coaster there's no one in line, so they actually had more time that they thought/needed--which like, same with the hockey side of things too)

Matthew grabs at Sasha’s forearm, pulling him to a stop. “We gotta ride the coaster!” he says, craning his neck to see if he can spot the wooden structure. “The one from the ad. What’s the point of going to an amusement park without riding a roller coaster?” [matthew is meant to come across as very youthful here. the coaster is this big looming thing (both physically and mentally). matthew saw the ad for it/the amusement park, decided he wanted to go and expierence it, and went for it. it ended up mirroring his desire/want for the stanley cup (which he failed at getting, hence why he wants to ride this coaster so bad)]

“Okay, sure,” says Sasha. “We still have some time.”

“Yeah,” says Matthew. A sign along the path points them in the direction of Storm Chaser, so they can’t be that far. Struck with an idea, he smiles then says, “Wanna race?”

“What?”

“If you beat me, we can get rid of Stanley.” [so fun fact i actually named the cat stanley thinking of the florida panther's mascot. it wasn't until i was revising that i was like...oh right...stanley cup and realized stanley (the cat) pretty much ended up juxtaposing the stanley cup. here's this thing that neither matthew nor sasha had ever had any desire for, but then they actually won it (versus the stanley cup that they both want very very bad but haven't been able to get)(yet).]

Before Sasha can respond, Matthew drops his arm and sprints down the cracked [another annoyance/imperfection] sidewalk. Behind him, Sasha mutters, “Who’s Stanley?”

Matthew holds the stuffed cat above his head as he continues to dodge around lingering patrons, listening close to Sasha’s footfalls and then his laughter as he realizes what Matthew means.

---

this was a lot of fun, tysm for the suggestion!

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Hurt!Michael Masterlist

Blue Masquerade (ao3) - CalumSmiles (dreamforlife) michael/luke E, 85k

Summary: Michael is in love with Luke. That much is clear. Well, to Calum, Ashton and the rest of the world anyway. Luke is blissfully oblivious to the blatant signs. He gets a girlfriend. Michael tries to move on.

Spoiler: he fails.

defy the world to make you smile (ao3) - malumqt (bunwuji) michael/calum N/R, 9k

Summary: "Hey mate. Are you okay?" Calum asked with concern lacing his voice, but the boy simply shrugged. Calum pursed his lips. He wanted to stay and make sure the boy was okay, but that might be weird. Kuma seemed to have a different idea as she noticed his saddness and curled up next to him. Like she had done so many times when Calum was sad.

fire (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke N/R, 1k

Summary: michael takes fire to the face for luke.

Foolishly, Completely Falling (ao3) - lrhskinnyjeans michael/luke G, 3k

Summary: Luke was grinning like an idiot, and he swore that he felt his cheek tingling in the place that Michael's lips touched his skin. He was giddy and joyous as he walked down the stairs, taking them two at a time. And yeah, Luke was gonna call Michael, because if there was anything he wanted in the world, it was to see that boy again.

or alternatively, Luke is a hockey player and he finds figure skater Michael with a sprained ankle and decides to take care of him.

Have Faith In This Fragile World (ao3) - SilentlyFighting michael/calum, luke/ashton N/R, 19k

Summary: Michael Clifford is well known in his school, not for being popular, far from it, he is the nerd. The goody-two-shoes hasn't had the best past but his peers do not know this and a couple of the football team decide that he is their next target. A mysterious group of boys make an appearance, saving him multiple times, and when Michael runs out of money to buy food, they even find ways to get him food.

The boys do not scare him that much but they certainly catch his attention. Michael learns the names of two of the boys but the leader is set to keep his identity a secret. But, when Michael has another run in with the football team and they use him as bait, will the boys identity reveal itself?

hold me down, throw me in the deep end & watch me drown (ao3) - bloodsparks (orphan_account) michael/luke M, 8k

Summary: Luke is hurting, and god knows so is Michael, but being together makes the pain a little less vivid.

I'll look after you (like I've never done before) (ao3) - anykindofgal N/R, 5k

Summary: No one had heard from Michael in a few days. No texting, no calling, no hanging out. They had their own lives and things to do, they understood that much. Only, they all stayed in touched with Michael through the power of memes. But it had been four days, to be exact, and Michael hadn't texted anyone in the group even one meme. Calum decided to text his friend, and if they hadn't heard anything back by the next morning, they were going to his place to check out what was going on.

So, the next day around noon, the three boys arrived at Michael's place.

((in which Michael gets sick and the boys need to care for him))

I'm Gonna Stick Like Glue (Because I'm Stuck On You) (ao3) - onceuponatime michael/calum N/R, 3k

Summary: Calum works in a pharmacy and Michael comes in quite a lot

In This Together (ao3) - berettajane michael/luke, calum/ashton N/R, 2k

Summary: Luke struggles with the aftermath of Michael being in a serious car accident.

Pictures I'm living through for now, trying to remember all the good times (ao3) - AWeekendInMay michael/luke M, 2k

Summary: Luke’s hands automatically went to Michael’s hair, out of habit, but he paused midway unsure of how Michael would react. But Michael grabbed Luke’s hand and pushed it toward his hair. When Luke’s hands carded through Michael’s over dyed locks, Michael let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. “I’m so tired Lukey.”

Or where Luke and Michael try to work shit out.

Take Me Home (ao3) - saturdie michael/ashton E, 1k

Summary: After arguing with Ashton, Michael wanders around town at night. He meets some bad people and gets hurt pretty bad. This is the aftermath.

"Love you too, Ashy." The line went dead, leaving Michael alone again. The dark encased his shaking form, tears mingling with the blood on his face as he kneeled in the cold dirt. His eyes blinked shut, head beginning to burn with the pain. He would just leave them closed until Ashton got there, he decided, letting his lids drift together.

the blood in my veins is made of mistakes (ao3) - sarcasticbarnes michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 1k

Summary: Four months into the Meet You There tour, and Michael is suprised this hasn’t happened sooner.

Or, A security guard pushes Michael into the crowd during Meet You There, and a guy assualts him. Luke loses his shit.

we could work it all out (tell me where it hurts most) (ao3) - jbhmalum ot4 T, 11k

Summary: 3 times Michael takes care of his boyfriends when they need it and 1 time they take care of him.

You're My Brother (ao3) - babybluecal michael/calum T, 2k

Summary: The stinging from his own burn has already started to fade, but there is something in his body telling him something else is very wrong. He looks to his right and catches the sight of Luke, only Luke. His eyes search behind the tall blonde boy in search for black hair. A wave of panic ripples through his body at his best friend of 13 years sudden disappearance. Then suddenly the once illuminated stage goes black, which causes his body to freeze with fear as the realization that something is very wrong hits him in the gut.

Your Insecurities Make You Who You Are (ao3) - orphan_account michael/calum N/R, 3k

Summary:

“Cal?” Michael sighed out, voice sounding tired. “Yeah?” Calum asked, pressing his palms flat to the door. “Do…do you think I’m fat?” And if Calum was worried before, he was on the edge of full-on panic now. “What? No, baby, not at all.” He said, hands pressing harder against the door than before. “Luke said I was.” Michael mumbled softly.

Or the one where Michael is insecure, and Calum wants to show him how much he loves his faults.

[onlyforalwayswith]

as a human, i'm a hard, hard pill to swallow

CHAPTER ONE

Nathan Mackinnon gripped the steering wheel, and just barely resisted banging his head against it. 

            Stupid, dumb-ass. Fuck-up, fuck-up, fuck-

            He pushed the door to his truck open with a little too much force, but by the time he grabbed his bag out of the back the voices had quieted to a dull roar that he’d become an expert at ignoring.

            Sometimes. Or, actually not at all, but he wasn’t going to think about that.

            Instead, he headed toward the red and concrete building in front of him. He’d spent so much time in Cole Harbor Place that the rink had become something like a second home for him. A sanctuary, even, where he knew he could do at least one thing right, even if he was failing at the rest of his life. 

When he stepped through the doors, relief washed over him, a cool shower after a too-hot summer day. 

            “Hey kid.” A firm hand gripped his shoulder, and Nate glanced back with a smile. 

            Jim Thorton stood there in all his middle-aged hockey player glory, his gut hanging over his trousers, his hairline a thing of distant memory. Nate didn’t think he’d ever be able to look at Jim through anything but the golden-tinted glasses of a pee-wee player who’d gotten his first dose of positive affirmation, though. 

            “You’re going to do great,” Jim said, nudging Nate to keep moving. “Sid’s just a guy, a down-to-earth guy.”

            Sid.

            As if they should all be on a nick-name basis with best hockey player—the best professional athlete—in the world.

            “Can’t believe you’ve never met him,” Jim continued, happy as always to carry the full weight of their conversations. They swung toward the locker rooms and Nate tried to control his breathing, because this was so stupid.They weren’t going to see Sid in there. He was probably already out on the ice. 

            Nate should have gotten here earlier. He knew he should have gotten here earlier. 

            Fuck-up, fuck-up—

            “Now my advice to you,” Jim said, as if Nate wasn’t shitting his pants about meeting the man who’d been his idol since he could lace up skates. “Is not to act star-struck. Sid likes to feel normal, all right?”

            Nate managed to make some sound that Jim took as agreement, and they both stopped assessing the stalls. None of them were assigned. Today was just for the volunteer coaches, the kids wouldn’t get here until tomorrow. 

            Sid had wanted everyone to get comfortable with the program first, though. 

            Jim turned to find a place to dump his bags, but Nate shook himself out of his dazed stupor long enough to stop him. “Hey, thanks again for throwing my name in for this. It means…”

            Emotion clogged his throat, made his tongue clumsy. It had been a rough eighteen months, with the car crash, the injury, the idea of just slipping under the age max for draft eligibility when he had been touted as the next phenom before the accident. When Jim had asked him to coach as a volunteer at Sid’s hockey school camp, Nate had nearly wept with gratitude. Sometimes he thought the idea of this week had been the only thing holding him together. 

            “Of course, son, don’t mention it,” Jim said, his own voice gruff. He slapped Nate’s shoulder twice, nodded once and then turned away before any of their messy emotions could spill out onto the locker room floor. 

            As was custom in hockey. 

            Nate went through the motions of lacing up his skates. Sid had told them all to keep their outfits work-out casual, no pads necessary today. It might have been helpful to have the extra couple minutes to collect himself, but he also didn’t want to be late to the ice. 

            He clomped his way toward the rink, leaving most of the other volunteers behind. When he got to the doors, he looked up as he always did and found the pennant. The one that declared this the home rink of Sidney Crosby. He dreamed of seeing his own beside it. 

            And then, slowly, he dropped his gaze to find the man himself. 

[alcego]

somehow, i don't think this is what you had in mind. anyway. cw for Mickey-typical use of the f-slur in the slurious way & canon-typical violence. enjoy?

The Alibi is as busy as it ever gets, which is to say enough to look occupied but hardly enough to pay the bills. For some reason, tonight this also means that the bar is loaded and Kev's actually slinging drinks instead of dragging his sticky cumsock of a rag over the counter and telling Frank to fuck off.

Someone small and blond shoulders his way onto the stool next to Mickey. He's not local--that much is obvious from a quick glance--and he's dressed worlds too nice to be slumming it at the Alibi.

"Seat's taken," Mickey lies, irritated by the uninterrupted stitching on the fucker's 'fashionably' worn leather jacket. "Try again never."

The guy barely acknowledges him. Just raises a finger and all a sudden he's got Kev at his beck and call, tossing him a shot of their most expensive vodka with a predatory gleam in his eye.

Mickey, still three beers short of drunk and well past pissed off, sneers at the guy. Says, "Back your faggoty ass up and find someplace else to drink that watery shit. You got the whole pick of the litter out there."

The guy's face doesn't really change, but it's ice-cold. Like how Ian got, sometimes, before they got the meds right. That hollow vacancy where feelings were supposed to be. The guy says, "I don't like that word."

"Fuck do I care?" Mickey scoffs. "What're you gonna do? Stab me?"

By the time Mickey realizes there's a knife at his gut, it's a little late to do shit about it. He laughs instead, eyebrows launching off his forehead, and even knowing he might be getting real close with his insides soon isn't enough to distract him from the fact he's taller than this fucking guy by a long shot.

Ian's gonna get a kick out of this, once he's done kicking Mickey's ass.

"Yo, whoa, hold on there--" Kev, interjecting, smiling placatingly at the blond midget who's thinking about stabbing Mickey with the same expression on his face he ordered shots with "--we're all friends here, yeah? Just, ah, put the knife away."

The vein in the guy's temple throbs. The knife digs in a little more. Mickey thinks a light stabbing is preferable to losing all street cred to some psychotic midget. That's his whole job, his livelihood, and he ain't throwing that down the shitter because this guy thinks he's all high and mighty for having a knife, of all things.

Ignoring Kev, Mickey jabs a foot into the midget's knee, knocking himself off his stool and onto his feet at the same time. His stomach's a little wet, which he hopes is from spilled beer, but he's not feeling real confident about that right now, for obvious reasons.

"Fuck!" Kevin cries, as if Mickey doesn't see the guy picking himself up off the ground and throwing a haymaker into Mickey's jaw.

Thanks. Lotsa help. Why the fuck did nobody mention this guy could fight? This scrap should be one and done, but here Mickey is, honest to god fighting this short-stack.

"Jesus, Mickey! Watch the knees--"

"The fuck do I care about his knees?" Mickey snarls, throwing a punch past the guy's hold on his sweater and catching his cheekbone. "Who's side you on, anyway?"

"The fucking NHL goalie's, man!"

Mickey shoves the guy off, keeping a wary eye on him even though he seems more subdued (if visibly angrier) than he had a second ago. Kev is pointing to the piece of shit flatscreen in the corner, and when Mickey looks, there is a remarkably short goalie on the screen. Hard to say if they're the same person with the cage, but sometimes Kev is smart. Most times he's dumb as shit. From that scrap alone, Mickey's thinking he's onto something.

"What's a pro hockey player doing at the Alibi?" Mickey snaps. "Surely you got better things to do than slum it up here."

The guy--whose name Mickey did not catch, thanks--glares at him but says nothing. Just goes back to the bar and grabs the whiskey Kev poured for him, no doubt on the house. As if the guy needs the help.

"What? Too good to talk to the little guy? Is that it?"

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Mickey makes a you seeing this shit? gesture at him before grabbing his beer and sulking stubbornly at his spot on the bar. The guy does not acknowledge him. Seems to be pretending Mickey doesn't exist. Mickey's about three seconds away from tossing him out of the Alibi on his ass when the door opens and a scrappy, auburn twink stomps his way in.

His eyes light up when he sees the guy, and flash with very real violence when he notices the blossoming red of his cheek. Mickey pretends not to notice him. Starts wondering just what it is with short assholes in his place tonight. Makes it about as far as thinking he should call Mandy's old number and ask her if his star charts said anything about pissing off tiny asshole fags, because he knows it would piss her off, too.

He catches the reddish haired guy (not nearly as bright or as alien-looking as Ian's) asking about the bruise again. Picks up on the blond's eyes flicking toward him for a half second. Knows, about a half-second before it happens, that he's not putting up with shit tonight.

Shortcake Number Two throws a wide, sloppy punch. Mickey catches it. Grapples with the guy until he's off the stool and has about a millisecond to realize the knifey blond really does not care for this at all.

"Oh fuck me," Mickey manages, right before he gets stabbed. Lightly. In the thigh. Because that totally matters and makes it hurt less, and makes it much more dignified when he hops straight into the bar while clutching his bloody leg. "Goddamn it, the fuck's wrong with you knifey motherfuckers?"

"I've been told it's an attitude problem," Shortcake Number Two says, looking like he wouldn't mind throwing another punch or ten. "Haven't really been working on it."

"Mick," Kev whispers urgently, notably doing nothing to help Mickey with his little bleeding problem, "that's Neil Josten."

"Who?"

Kev gestures at the TV. Presumably this means Neil is also a hockey player, also with the NHL, and also in his bar for some goddamn reason?

"Like I fuckin' care who he is," Mickey snaps. "Go slum it somewhere else, assholes. I've bled here enough times that you couldn't kick me out if you tried."

Neil glares at him. Openly. With full hostility. Mickey thinks he remembers some uproar about a mafia reject in the NHL and thinks he should really get some sort of heads-up system for when he's about to get himself into shit with fuck-off big crime organizations. Make a little calendar notification for Ian: Get stabed by Mafia Rejecks 1 & 2, By Goz!

"Come on," Neil says, looking at Mickey while talking to his (fuck) boyfriend. They're too close to be anything else. "There's a guy off the corner who sells a passable sandwich."

"Oh, Corner Joe?" Kev asks. "Yeah, I wouldn't buy from him. He gets all his stuff out of people's trash cans. Probably all weird and gross."

The blond -- whose name Mickey still doesn't know -- turns to face Neil slowly. His blank expression doesn't change, but it's chilling nonetheless. Neil scowls at Kev.

"It was fine."

"That means nothing, coming from you," the blond says dryly. He looks at Kev. Raises an expectant eyebrow.

Sure enough, Kev recommends them a restaurant, and actually makes it a real recommendation instead of pandering to one of the many ongoing scams like he's supposed to.

Neil and his stabby boyfriend leave, paying Mickey no more attention than they would an annoying cat. Mickey, who is still bleeding down the back of his thigh, makes a what-the-fuck face and gesture at Kev and, for good measure, asks, "What the fuck?"

"Neil's from the neighborhood," Kev says, like this explains anything.

"So? You're siding with those gentrifying fuckers now?"

Kev shakes his head. "No, man. There's something about him. He acts like a stray cat, you know? I can't shake him."

"As long as his psycho boyfriend stays away, I don't care."

Kev makes a disagreeing sound. "I wouldn't count on it. They're kind of a package deal, like you and Ian."

"Fuck you mean package deal?" Mickey snaps. "That supposed to be some kind of gay joke? 'Cause it sucks if it is."

Kev stares at him for a long second. "It wasn't. But you can pretend it was if it'll make you feel better."

"Fuck off," Mickey says, and drinks his beer, and decides to empty the register next time Kev is distracted as retaliation for what was Absolutely a gay joke. He's not ready to think about him and Ian and him-and-Ian, even if they are technically kind of ghetto married, even though Mickey's real married to someone else.

He was three beers to drunk, right? He can close that distance pretty fuckin fast if he has to.

Pleeeeeeeeease, could someone write a fic about Andreil and Gallavich in the same universe 🙏 I would pay to see Mickey and Andrew in a room being smart mouths, talking about their redheaded boyfriends, being the "I hate everyone but you" trope, being violent and bffs, idk I just wish that would happen 🥺

[wdwbabes]

Leaving one of mackies games early? Cuz you felt sick?

((sorry this took so long!))

mackie invited you to one of his games and it just happened to be on the worst day. you received this invitation weeks ago and agreed, very excited to see your friend do what they enjoy most.

then yesterday you got sick. the nauseous type of sickness that does not go away. you do everything you can to try to make it go away, but nothing is working.

it is three hours before the game and now mackie is texting you.

mackie: can't wait to see you in the stands!!

mackie: we're gonna win tonight, i can feel it

mackie: you can still make it right?

your stomach twists, feeling horrible that he is so excited for you to be there but you feel like absolute shit.

y/n: of course i will be there!

you don't want mackie to know you're sick, that's not always the best look, especially for someone you are interested in a more than just a friend way.

mackie: can't wait to see you there! i gotta head in for warm-ups but I'll see you after the game?

y/n: of course

you decide that you might as well try to tough it out during the game since it is only a block from your apartment. you take a quick nap, knowing that you will feel slightly better when you wake up.

it is now 1 hour before the game and you have just woken up from your nap. you take some medication so you aren't horribly nauseous and make your way to your closet.

you pull out an oversized michigan crewneck and a pair of light washed jeans. you throw them on and quickly curl your hair.

before you know it, you are waiting in line to enter yost. you get through security and up to the ticket lady, she asks "can i see your ticket please?" in a very sweet tone.

"my friend gave me his free ticket, he plays on the team," you say, slightly nervous because mackie did not specify how to do this.

"okay dear, whats your name and the name of the player?" she asks, pulling out a tablet and clicking some things.

"my name is y/n, and the player's name is mackie," you smile nervously.

"okay, i got you right here," she hands you a ticket stub with your seat and row number. "you'll be in the box for family and friends of players. you'll take this escalator there! have a good time!"

"thank you," you smile and walk the way she was pointing, still a bit nervous.

you find your way to the box and see plenty of people as well as a ton of food. you help yourself and find a seat. you pull out your phone and decide to text mackie that you are here.

y/n: i have arrived! can't wait to see you play!

you don't expect a response since you can see him skating on the ice for warm-ups, but you send the message anyway.

the puck drops and as you stare at the bright white ice, you begin to feel a bit queasy. you push the feeling away as you drink some water.

the game is going great, michigan is up 2 goals and it is only the first period. it is now intermission when you feel your stomach act up again. this time you take some more medication with the hopes that it will go away.

intermission passed fast and the boys come out from the locker rooms to play the next period. you see mackie skate to his position since he was a starter for this game.

as the second period moves on, you feel sicker and sicker. you find your way to the bathroom and look in the mirror. you don't look good, you are very pale.

you stay in the bathroom until you feel well enough to make it back to your apartment. when you get back, you change into some comfy clothes and lay in your bed with netflix on and a trashcan next to your bed.

you look at your phone once you are settled and see some texts from mackie.

mackie: where are you?

mackie: i didn't see you

mackie: are you okay?

how does he have his phone right now, isn't he playing a hockey game you ask yourself. how did he even notice i wasn't there?

y/n: i didn't feel well so i left early, sorry mackie :/

mackie: are you feeling okay?

y/n: yeah, just a little nauseous

mackie: keep me updated, i'll come over after the game

what does he mean by that, he doesn't even know where you live.

y/n: what

you anxiously are refreshing social media to get updates about the team and the game. you refresh and notice mackie had scored but the zoom in on his face shows that he does not look happy.

another refresh and in front of your face you see mackie try to start a fight, which gets called as a penalty.

you are worried, to say the least.

you refresh and it was a win for michigan, 4-1. you sit back and wait for mackie to respond to your message once he gets into the locker room.

mackie: send your address, i'll be over in 20

y/n: mackie you really don't have to do that

mackie: yes i do now tell me your favorite soup and send that address

you kind of liked demanding mackie, a different side of him then you usually see in class.

y/n: chicken noodle and 12345 s parrot ln, apt 345

mackie: see you soon.

you put on netflix, trying to distract your mind from mackie which is not working at all by the way. why is he doing this? why did he care that i wasn't there? is he bringing me food? is he mad at me? why is he coming over? why?

you run through every question possible until you hear a knock on your door. you wrap your blanket around you and open the door. there, you see mackie. his hair is still wet from the post game shower and he is holding a bag from panera, with a giant smile on his face.

"aw no, are you okay?" mackie says, his face softening when he notices how pale you are.

"very nauseous," you reply, moving to allow him to enter your apartment. "you didn't have to come over, you know?"

he stops in his tracks and turns around, looking down at you, "yes i did. i asked you to come to the game and then you got sick, it is my responsibility to make sure that you are okay." he continues moving, setting the bag on the kitchen counter and then removing his shoes.

"it wasn't your fault mackie," you touch his shoulder, trying your best to show that you really mean what you are saying. "i wasn't feeling well before the game and i still went, so it is my fault." you explain.

you see his face turn into a look of confusion, "if you weren't feeling well, then why did you come to the game?" he asks, now standing in front of you.

"i already promised and you were so excited for me to go," you say, avoiding his eyes at all costs.

"y/n, if you weren't feeling well, you shouldn't have come to the game. i would've been okay with that." mackie explains, his eyes looking at you as both his hands run up and down your arms comfortingly.

"i didn't want to disappoint you," you whisper, still looking down.

you feel mackie's hand leave your left arm to your chin. slightly nudging your face to look up, he says, "you could never disappoint me, y/n."

you gaze up into his eyes and he stares down at you. you could cut the tension with a knife it was so thick.

"i like you y/n, more than a friend." mackie admits, moving a strand of hair that fell down into your face.

you are shocked. your brain is losing it as you try to process what mackie just admitted. the only words you could stutter out were, "me too."

mackie quirks an eyebrow, looking down at you with a goofy grin, "me too?" he says, trying not to laugh.

embarrassed, you shove your face against his chest.

"c'mon, tell me," mackie drags on, trying to coax it out of you.

"that was so embarrassing," you admit, pulling away from mackie's body to look at him once again. "i like you too."

"i'd love to kiss you but i'm not trying to get sick," mackie smiles, "but know i would if you weren't sick. anyways, let's get you back in bed. i'll warm up the soup." mackie ushers you towards your bedroom as he makes his way in the kitchen.

you smile as you get comfortable in bed again, rethinking the events of the past 2 minutes. all of a sudden you hear a big bang come from the kitchen and mackie screaming "sorry!" you laugh and flip through netflix.

a few minutes later, mackie walks in with a glass of water and some piping hot chicken noodle soup. "here you are," he says while handing it to you. "do you mind?" mackie asks, pointing at the spot next to you on your bed.

"nope," you smile, "not at all."

mackie sits down next to you and steals the remote from your lap. "next time, I'll give you one of my jerseys and you can stay the whole game. we'll just make sure you're not sick." he smiles and laughs a bit, putting on the office.

"sounds good to me," you say with a smile.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I saw this post, and all I could think about was this is totally a rant Cassian would go on in my hockey player/figure skater AU, so I had to write it. This is short and sweet, but I hope everyone enjoys :) I might also write a more prequel-esque drabble about Cassian and Nesta first meeting if that’s something people are interested in. Also also, for those unfamiliar with youth hockey levels, midgets are 15-17. 

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

Cassian watches as Nesta glides across the ice. Through the glass that separates the rink from the snack bar and small seating area, the sounds of the music playing are muted, but Cassian already knows it. Nesta had first played it for him weeks ago. It’s all strings and light flute and ethereal. It’s a graceful melody that matches the way Nesta moves through her steps and jumps. Cassian had also watched Nesta practice the incorporated dance elements the other day while he had been studying for an upcoming exam, but they look even more impressive on the ice. 

A pair of boys, who have to be no older than midgets, pull open the doors to Cassian’s right, and he kicks the bag at his feet closer to himself so it won’t be in the way. His practice ended a little while ago, but Cassian knows that Nesta and the other skaters have the other rink for longer so he stuck around to wait for her. 

“I can’t believe we have to practice after the figure skaters,” one of the midget players grumbles. 

“They’re stupid toe picks always ruin the ice,” his teammate agrees. 

The words grate against Cassian’s nerves, and he frowns slightly and clenches his fists. He knows they’re just kids, but they clearly have no idea what they’re talking about. They wish they had half the grace and skill that Nesta does. 

“And they’re silly glittery outfits?” the first player continues. “It’s like, play a real sport.” 

Both players laugh at that, and Cassian has officially heard enough. He turns in his seat to settle both of the players with a narrowed gaze. 

“You don’t think figure skating is a real sport?” Cassian questions them, gesturing toward the ice where the skaters are finishing their session. “They’re out there with knives on their feet, spinning fast enough to make the average person vomit their guts up, jumping in the air then landing back on the ice and casually gliding on as if it’s not the most badass shit in the world.” 

The two teen players share a look between them before looking back at Cassian, but Cassian doesn’t care. It doesn’t stop him. 

“And don’t even get me started on the pairs figure skating. They’re out there putting each other’s skates literal inches from each other’s throats while spinning like a million miles an hour. That’s crazy! The guys are throwing the women eight feet in the air and holding them up with one hand all while on ice. And you want to say it’s not a real sport? When we play hockey, we’re wearing full body equipment at least, but they’re doing all that in leotards and tights.” 

Cassian can still feel the anger thrumming in his veins even as he finishes his rant, his chest heaving slightly. Both the players are looking at him like he’s grown a second head. Neither says anything, just shoulder their bags and make their way out of the snack bar and seating area. Cassian rolls his eyes at the reaction, but then a snort from behind him draws his attention. He turns to find Nesta standing just inside the door. Her arms are crossed across her chest, but there’s no missing the amusement swimming in those smokey blue eyes.

“How much did you hear?” Cassian asks, offering her a sheepish smile. 

“Enough. Who knew you were such a figure skating enthusiast,” Nesta teases gently. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian remarks dryly, stepping closer and slipping an arm around Nesta’s shoulders. “Laugh it up.” 

“I thought it was sweet,” Nesta tells him, going up on her toes and stealing a kiss. 

Cassian can’t help but smile against her lips at the gesture, and he slides his other hand up to cradle her jaw and keep her close. Even with the cold of the rinks, having her in his arms has warmth settling pleasantly in Cassian’s chest, has his heart tripping over itself between his ribs. 

“Takeout and a movie night?” Cassian asks in the breath between them. 

“It’s a date.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist​​​​ @hellogoodbye14​​​​ @nestaspegasus​​​​ @nesquik-arccheron​​​​ @sv0430​​​​ @angelic-voice-1997​​​​ @talkfantasytome​​​​ @secretlovelybeauty​​​​ @dontgetsalmonella​​​​ @swankii-art-teacher​​​ @mis-lil-red

[caterpillarinacave]

Oh man, the couple being “cute” is so true but no one ever talks about it. They always end up clinging to each other in the lutz corner when you’re trying to jump 💀

Things That Happen On Public Sessions At The Ice Rink

from a beginner figure skater, to everyone wanting to write ice rink scenes

- there’s the parents who get on the ice and give it a go, and there’s the parents that sit on the sides on their phones

- these parents will never change roles, no matter much a kid begs

- whenever you want to do anything other than skate in a straight line (jump, spin, anything), someone magically appears right where you want to do it

- there’s people who insist they’re actually really good at skating, despite having fallen down four times in two minutes

- you could do the most atrocious spin of your life and everyone would look at you like you’re about to go to the olympics

- there’s kids whose parents have made them dress like they’re going skiing

- whenever you try to take a video of yourself doing something someone careens in front of the camera at the last second

- someone is trying to run a program when there’s just not enough space

- kids with skate aids go haywire

- there’s a kid who’s like eight years old doing triple axels

- hockey players get on the ice and act like they’re human dodgem cars

- tween girls hold hands and shriek when they’re all pulled down by one friend

- there’s some couple being ‘cute’ (aka annoying) in the middle of the flow of skaters

- about a quarter of the people there are clinging for dear life to the barrier

<3

[lovetorn]

all for the game [dream]

Exy player!Dream x Reader

summary: dream runs into trouble when the florida falcons play the edgar allan ravens.

w/c: 3.4k+ :D

warnings: violence, blood, swearing, ha typical exy shit

a/n: an au based on my favourite book trilogy, all for the game. idea by 🍀 anon <3 i wrote this for my own enjoyment AHHAHAAH. if u don’t understand the rules etc of exy, it’s basically hockey, soccer and lacrosse meshed together, but if u have any questions, send me an ask!

—

Exy is a bastard sport, an evolved sort of lacrosse with the violence of ice hockey. Dream loves every aspect of it. It is vastly different from the usual college football, and it certainly gives you more bruises. Maybe a little too many more bruises. Played in a stadium, on a soccer-sized basketball court with plexiglass to protect the crowd, it brings Dream immense joy.

Scooping the ball into the net of his racket, Dream looks at the wall before he uses his body to launch the ball towards it. The ball is quick to bounce back and plop into Dream’s net. He adjusts his grip on the stick and tilts his head, deciding where his next shot should be.

“Dream?” The dirty blonde turns around and sees you push through the plexiglass door that leads onto the court. “Hey!”

Dream smiles from under his helmet. “Hi, Y/n!” You don't play Exy, choosing to watch your best friend from the sidelines instead. He grips the grate of his helmet and slides his head out of it, his hair sticking up in every direction. “What are you doing here?”

You throw your arms up. “Coming to see you practice the great sport that is Exy,” You laugh before spinning around and looking up at the highest seats of the stadium. “Haven’t broken a bone yet, I assume?” This made Dream laugh.

“No, not yet. Saving that for the game against the Ravens.”

Dream’s determination for Exy scared you a little bit—it was almost like he wanted to get hurt. “Easy, tiger. We all know what happened last time we played them. Never again, please,” You shake your head, walking closer to him. The last time the Florida Falcons played the West Virginia Edgar Allan Ravens, Dream got a concussion so bad he couldn’t walk for a few days. You had sworn they would pay for their damage, but Dream went against you.

Dream rolls his eyes, lightheartedly. “That’s the way the game goes, Y/n. No way you can stop it,” he said that back then, too. You throw him a glare before taking the racket out of his hand to gain his full attention.

“Just, please be careful.” You practically beg. Dream’s eyebrows raise slightly, surprised. He didn’t see that coming.

“Yeah, always,” He follows your eyes as they trace the scar that runs from his temple to the middle of his forehead. You sigh and pass his racket back to him.

—

The dark purple Edgar Allan Ravens bus pulls into the Falcon’s home stadium car park that Friday night. Fans from all over the state and West Virginia crowd the entrances and surprisingly, there are a lot more supporters in purple and black than green and white.

Dream looks down at his forest green Exy uniform and smooths out his jersey. He rolls his neck in a circle to release the building tension. A hand clamps down on his shoulder as Dream slips his hands into his green and white gloves.

“You’re gonna be fine, dude. We all are,” Sapnap says, although Dream can hear the waver in his voice. Dream shakes his head and Sapnap inhales sharply.

“Nah, we won’t be.”

Sapnap slides his hand off of Dream’s shoulder and turns around, probably going to the bathroom to calm his crippling trepidation. The locker room is silent as the team moves around, changing and preparing themselves for the game ahead. Dream tries not to think about the team on the other side of the stadium, who are most likely already warming up despite the game starting in an hour.

Dream opens his locker and fumbles around for his phone. He needs to know that you’re here. Opening his messages, he’s frozen from the notifications coming through.

I hope your little friend prayed for you last night.

You got lucky with that concussion. Take this as a warning.

Dream’s fingertips trail up to hover above the scar on his forehead. He clenches his fist and throws his phone back into the locker, not flinching when the dark green metal dents. Dream leans his head against his forearm that rests on the locker.

“Dream! Dude, calm down,” A voice calls from across the room. Footsteps come up behind him and Dream has to stop the tears collecting on his waterline. “It’ll be fine, Coach said he might put you on for one half.”

George’s comments do nothing to soothe Dream’s anxiety. Dream has told nobody about the threats he’s been getting for a few days leading up to this game. If he told you, he wouldn’t even be here. You.

Dream ducks down to find his phone. George furrows his eyebrows as he watches. “Wha—?”

Grasping his phone, Dream then stalks out of the locker room. He walks down the hallway towards the inner court, presses your phone number on his now-smashed phone, and brings it to his ear. Pick up, pick up. “Dream?”

The sound of your voice makes Dream exhale deeply. “Where are you?” He asks desperately.

Dream can hear the crowd chattering through the phone as he scans over the stadium trying to find you.

“Uh, section 4, row 38, where I am every home game. Why? Is everything okay?” The worry in your voice is evident and it fails to calm Dream down like he thought it would. And when he sees waves of purple instead of green, his anxiety grows.

“I—Y/n. I need to see you, I don’t—I can’t,” Dream screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe through his nose slowly.

“Dream, I’m coming. I can see you in the inner court. Stay there.”

Y/n hangs up after that and Dream looks at his phone.

Scared? A text says from an unknown number.

Dream presses his tongue into the inside of his cheek and blinks a few times. A knock on the plexiglass behind him startles Dream. He turns and sees you smiling. He lifts his hand in a small wave and you do the same, laughing at him. At least he has a way to take his mind off of the shit with the Ravens.

A bell signals the start of the line-up announcements and Dream throws his thumb over his shoulder. You nod, understandingly, and blow him a kiss. Dream smiles shyly, his cheeks growing pink before he turns to leave.

You make your way back up to your seat, your legs bouncing in anticipation as the Ravens walk on the court one by one while the announcer calls the line-up. Once the Ravens are in a line on the halfway line, the Falcons are announced.

Since teams are co-ed, the variances in heights differ greatly. The Ravens are much taller than a majority of the Falcons, which gives them an advantage, to an extent. Dream had told you that being shorter allows you to move around the court with more agility, but being 6’2’’, Dream chose to be a striker instead of a dealer or a backliner.

“Number 2, Dream Tucker.”

At the sound of your best friend’s name, you stand and cheer, earning a few dirty looks from Ravens fans. As the remainder of the team is announced, you grow more nervous than you thought possible. A warning buzzer sounds and both teams go back to their benches.

“Alright, guys, this is our biggest game of the season, again. The last game against these idiots wasn’t ideal, but don’t let that deter you from doing your best tonight. That goes for you too, Dream," Coach looks towards Dream and he nods. Dream draws his bottom lip between his teeth from under his helmet and looks down at the ground. Sapnap’s hand slaps Dream's back in support and then the rest of the team is in agreement.

At his teammates’ words, Dream huffs. He can do this. The starting team goes onto the court, the doors closing behind them with a thump and then the scrape of a lock.

Dream sits on the bench next to Punz and Liliana. They hear the buzzer go off again and then watch as Sapnap flicks the ball into the air and slams it with his racket. There’s a distinctive crack as both teams race off their lines to find their preferred place on the court along with the players they need to mark. Three bodies crash into each other and the ball pops out on the other side, rolling silently.

At the sight of violence, the stadium roars. A Ravens backliner throws the ball and it hits the plexiglass in front of Dream who jumps in surprise. The ball is picked up off the floor by another Ravens player. He throws it to a girl who is running across the court and it lands perfectly into her net. Dream sees Tegan bodyslam the girl into the wall, the glass shuddering under their weight and Sapnap throws his hand up in a thumbs-up at Tegan, who smiles under her helmet.

The ball sails high in the air and players push and shove each other under it. As it comes down, George gets pushed to the floor, skidding to a stop a few feet away. The Ravens striker looks George dead in the eye and smirks as he catches the ball. He then tosses it powerfully towards the home court goal and the Falcons' goalie, Gabby, hits it up the court and away from herself. Dream, Punz and Liliana cheer from their spots on the subs bench.

“Nice one, Gabs! Falcons down the court!” Coach yells through the plexiglass.

Dream wears a smile when he turns back to look at you. You grin back, give him a thumbs-up, and nod. That’s when Dream knows he’s ready.

But, ten minutes into the game, the Ravens break the Falcons defensive line. The ball slips through the gap between Gabby’s torso and racket and lands in the back of the net, the siren above the goal going red and blaring a high-pitched sound. The Ravens don’t hug or cheer and return to their places on the court. Their fans, however, throw insults and middle fingers up at the Falcons while screaming and hollering.

“Fuck’s sake,” Dream mumbles. Punz slaps his pair of gloves against the bench and Liliana shakes her head.

The game went on like this for the rest of the half—the Ravens scoring 6 more goals, the Falcons scoring none. At half-time, Sapnap throws his helmet on the floor of the locker room.

“I fucking hate these guys,” He curses, pacing around the room. Coach sits on a chair, his elbows on his knees.

“We all do, but complaining about it isn’t going to help us win,’ Dream says. “Coach put me on.”

Coach looks at Dream for a moment. The tension in the room is thick and Dream knows he’s pushing his luck by asking. Nonetheless, Coach sighs before nodding stiffly.

“Dream goes on for Peter, Punz on for Drew, Liliana on for Tegan.”

And so it’s decided. Dream’s thumbs fly across his screen as he texts you. You pull your phone out of your pocket at the sound of your text tone and see the message. I’m on.

You smirk softly at it and message him back before you tuck your phone back into your pocket. The warning buzzer sounds and then both teams are back on the court: the Ravens with a whole new line-up and the Falcons with their three new subs.

Dream’s heart pounds in his chest, sending shuddery heat through every inch of his body. He holds his breath in anticipation for the serve, and then it starts. The Ravens are clearly a lot more experienced than the Falcons, but that doesn’t stop the team in green from giving everything they’ve got.

The ball hits the far wall and comes soaring back, thanks to the Ravens goalie. Dream jumps to catch it before it can fly over his head and it lands safely in the soft net of his striker racket. He looks around for opponents and takes 7 steps of his allowed 10, and passes it to George who is open further down the court. George catches the ball, then twists and passes the ball across to Punz. His mark collides with him a moment later and George goes sliding, his arm out with his racket to help him balance. Punz runs down the court, stops, then throws the ball to Liliana. His mark slams his racket down violently on Punz’s in retaliation. The backliner shakes his head in annoyance and continues running.

Dream is already near the goal by the time it gets to him again. He gets the ball and only has two steps to aim and shoot before a Ravens player crashes into him. Dream hits the ground so hard, he rolls. But, the crowd holds their breath as they watch the ball sail past the goalie and into the back of the net. The siren glows red and all Dream can hear is his ears ringing. Sapnap runs up to Dream and helps him up, congratulating him in the process. Dream looks around confused before realising he scored a goal. The entire team rushes towards him, cheering and laughing.

“Good job, Dream! Let’s do that again!” Coach yells. Dream’s surprised he can hear him over the crowd.

The game starts again with Falcons serve. The Falcons’ are fired up and back in the game, even if it is 6-1. And as soon as George throws Dream the ball, he dodges his mark and flies up the court, unguarded and ready to score again. The Ravens’ goalie isn’t prepared for Dream’s throw and misses the ball as it’s thrown at him, making the score 6-2. The crowd gets impossibly louder and Dream looks up into the sea of people to spot you. The smile on your face gives Dream newfound confidence and then everybody is back at their starting positions.

The Ravens are angry, there’s no doubt about that. Sapnap gives the striker a boyish smirk and a snide comment, which Dream can’t hear. He guesses it pisses them off because the second the ball is thrown from the Ravens dealer, the striker goes straight for Sapnap. The younger boy is thrown against the wall of the court and continues to spit insults at the Ravens player, despite his situation.

“Sapnap! Get out of there, bro!” Punz yells, collecting the ball from the ground and throwing it back to Gabby to hit up the court. Sapnap laughs and shakes his head, his lips still moving. Dream sees, out of the corner of his eye, the Ravens player drawing his fist back before punching Sapnap in the nose. The Falcons fans in the crowd start booing at the unnecessary violence and the referees unlock the doors to intervene. Dream meets Sapnap’s eye and raises his eyebrows when he sees Sapnap laughing, blood dripping into his mouth and coating his teeth. The referees pull the Ravens striker off of Sapnap and give him a red card for throwing the first punch. The Ravens fans boo and start swearing at the referees, but their cries are drowned out by the sound of the home crowd.

Due to the incident, the teams are to go back to their positions to start the serve again. Now that the Ravens are down a player, Dream knows the ways to get around them, especially when Sapnap is unguarded.

“Dream!” Sapnap calls when Dream catches the ball. He spins around a little too quickly, loses his balance slightly but throws the ball anyway. As he watches it fly across the court, Dream feels his entire body get crushed against the wall of the court. His head rebounds off the wall from the impact. There’s a heavy weight that pushes him into it more and he can’t breathe. Dream flails his arms, drops his racket, and attempts to push the Ravens player off of him. There’s no doubt that Dream hit his head again. He knows he did. A helmet can only do so much.

Dream can only hear ringing in his ears as he feels the Raven get pulled off—and it isn't the same ringing he heard when he scored the Falcons first goal. He tries to scramble to his feet before he crumples to the ground. Dream blinks a few times, disorientated, but still fails to gain a conscious mind. His eyes start to close when he feels his helmet being tugged off and then someone’s slapping his cheeks. “Stay awake, Dream.”

Dream can barely hear the sound of someone slamming their fists against the plexiglass behind him and then the person in front of him nods. He thinks it’s Sapnap. “Come on, bro, it’s only a few steps and then you can lie down.”

Dream’s head lols to the side, eyes half-open and a lazy grin on his mouth. “Sappy,” he slurs. Sapnap lets out a laugh for the first time since his best friend got knocked out and smiles at him.

“Yeah, dude, it’s me. We’re gonna get you fixed up, okay?” Dream nods before he closes his eyes. “No, no, Coach!” The world fades out around him and Dream falls unconscious.

—

The light is so bright above him. Dream closes his eyes again after he opens them and groans softly. The sound is almost too quiet for you to hear, but you do. And when you do, you lift your head from where you were resting on the edge of his bed. The chair you are sitting in is uncomfortable, so when you stand up, your muscles ache. “Hey, baby, how do you feel?”

If Dream was fully conscious, he would have blushed immensely at the sound of the pet name, but for the moment, he feels like he’s in a dream. His mouth is dry and he struggles to keep his eyes open for longer than 3 seconds. “You don’t have to talk, it’s okay.”

Dream feels pressure on his hand and moves his head slightly to see that your fingers are wrapped around his. You hear him murmur something, and lean down.

“Hi,” He whispers. You furrow your eyebrows at his greeting and look him in the eyes.

“That’s all I get? Hi?” You let out a breathy laugh and use your other hand to brush his hair away from his forehead. But, Dream can’t feel you on his skin. He hesitantly lifts his other hand to touch his forehead and feels a bandage.

“Surprise! Another scar,” You joke. Although, Dream can hear the edge to your words. Your smile disappears from your lips and then you sigh. Your eyes scan over Dream’s face, noting the dull green of his eyes and the pale of his skin. “Oh, Dream. I was so worried about you.”

Dream opens his eyes from when they had fallen closed again and sees the silent tears dripping down your cheeks. “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m fine,” His voice is scratchy and the sound of the word ‘fine’ does not sound fine. You smile sadly at him, then huff, wiping at your face.

“I almost forgot…” You trail off, rounding the bed to the other side to pick up a bowl and a cotton ball. You sit on the edge of the bed and dip the cotton into the antiseptic. You turn Dream’s head slowly to get a better look at the cut on his cheek. You drag the medicine over the gash and watch as Dream doesn’t flinch.

Once you are done, you place both of the things on the side table of the medical bay in the Falcons home stadium and look at Dream. He gives you a lazy smile and his fingers twitch against yours. “Thank you.”

You nod, eyes wide. “Of course, you know I’ll always be here to clean you up.”

Dream can feel his skin heating up. You get a concerned look on your face when you see the rise in pink on his cheeks. “Oh my god, are you heating up? Do you have a fever?”

He wants to laugh so badly. “Y/n, I’m okay. It’s not a fever. I’m blushing,” Dream says bashfully.

You realise why and then grow embarrassed. “Oh.”

The air isn’t tense, but there’s something there and you want to stick around to find out what it is.

Feedback is always appreciated xx

[talesofstyles]

Stitches and Pucks

i swear i tried writing the whole fic from the 3rd and 2nd pov in the beginning but hockey harry is so dang loud he’s like hang on honey this is MY story so let me tell this one ☠️ so here we are. i had loads of fun getting inside his head though, i hope you like it!

massive thank you to my biggest cheerleader @smokeinherperfume 🥺💛 and ken i’m so sorry for making you read an LA Kings fic 😂 @emotionally-imbruised

warning: smut. there’s no actual bow chicka wow wow stuff though but there’s some thigh riding 👀

[17k]

Harry

I swear I’m gonna kill Zayn.

That fucker just slammed my face into the boards, and as I’m trying to push back while flexing my jaw because that’s the right thing to do when you’ve got your face smashed into the boards, he tries to push me back again. Well, not a fucking chance. I give a particularly hard push back to get him off my back and I’m able to free my stick from the boards and put the blade to ice.

Because we’re playing on home ice here at Staples Center and I know its speed and consistency like the back of my hand, it takes nothing but a short tap on the puck and it shoots back between both of our legs. We scrabble, throwing elbows and shoulders and even kicking at it with our skates to expel it out. It’s a hard-fought battle, probably not lasting more than a few seconds, but it’s starting to wind me up because fuck if I’m gonna let them score. We’re up 4-2 against The Sharks, and with only under six minutes left to play in the game, I’d like to keep it that way.

I really don’t see it coming. And as much as we hate each other’s guts, it probably wasn’t even intentional, but it still hurts like a mother when Zayn’s stick pops upward, the end catching me just above my left eyebrow. I don’t feel any pain at first, but red, blurred vision definitely lets me know I’ve got blood streaming down my face. The ref blows the whistle and the play stops as the penalty is called.

The pain hits me next, and I bend over at the waist, my clear eye watching as a stream of blood hits the ice and freezes. In just about a few seconds, I feel a towel covering the cut and I hear the new team doctor say, “alright… let’s get you off the ice.”

Her hand stays steady at my back as I lift up straight, taking the towel in my own hand to hold it in place. The doctor walks alongside me while I skate to the bench, which has an exit door on one end that will lead back to the locker room. A few of my teammates slap me on the shoulder as I walk past. Harvey, who plays the same position as me but on the second-line yells out, “get stitched up so you can come back out and kick his pansy ass.”

I can’t help but chuckle, because that’s exactly what I plan to do.

“Up on the table,” the doctor says briskly and I watch with my one good eye as she quickly starts preparing the necessary supplies. I hop up onto the table, and in just under four minutes, my very own Doctor McSteamy has my injury evaluated, lidocaine injected, and is now closing the cut with stitches.

Good grief, she’s a fucking vision. Has a slammin’ body too, which no doubt would feel fucking fantastic underneath me. She probably doesn’t even realise it, but she’s got her little tongue sticking out the side of her mouth and I bet that’s something she does when she’s trying to concentrate on what she’s doing. I can feel my dick starting to twitch, so I close my eyes and get my mind out of the gutter before I get a hard-on. Fucking embarrassing.

When I’m sure I’ve got my downstairs head situation under control, I open my eyes again. She’s placing what I’m guessing the last suture on the cut and I make sure I put on my most dazzling smile as I look at her because I can be devastatingly charming when I want to be.

“Hey Doc,” I lean a bit closer to her when she’s done and murmur, “you should let me cook you dinner at my place tonight. You know, as a thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she replies without even looking towards me, preferring to busy herself with putting away the supplies that she used to tend to my cut. “I was just doing my job.”

“Alright then, no dinner at my place tonight,” I say with a sly smile. “But how about giving me your number so I can take you out sometime?”

She snorts in reply. “I’m not one of your puck bunnies.”

“No, you’re not,” I smirk at her. My tone is matter-of-fact when I add, “you’re one hot doctor.”

Not sure what I’m expecting, but this is definitely not it. Most women would blush and drop their knickers in an instant when I give them the tiniest bit of my attention, let alone a compliment, and let’s just say that’s why my bed is rarely empty. But it seems like my charms don’t work on this doctor since all I get is a fucking eye-roll.

“Are you always this forward?” She asks, still not looking at me.

“I’m a simple man, Doc,” I tell her with a shrug. “I see something I like, I go and get it.”

“Good for you,” she says dismissively, but I don’t miss the hint of amusement in her tone.

“Does that mean I get your number?”

She lets out a chuckle and finally turns to look at me. “That means I like your way of thinking.”

“So, no number?” I pout like a damn child, and apparently, the sight is hilarious to her. She throws her head back and laughs, and when she looks back to me, I get a wink.

“Sorry sunshine,” she smirks at me and I can’t help but ogle at her lips.

Perfect fucking lips.

“I don’t shit where I eat,” she adds.

Now, this is funny, so this time I’m the one tipping my head back laughing before I bring my gaze back to her. “You know our General Manager, Sloane Knightley?”

“Of course,” she replies, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“She’s with Alex, right-winger,” I tell her with a grin. “Now, Brynne Adams, have you met her yet?”

“The Athletic Trainer?”

“That’s the one, and she’s dating Matt, left-winger.”

“What?” Her jaw drops and it’s the cutest fucking sight. I’ve always thought of myself as a tits-man, but apparently now I’m a jaws-man too.

“Oh I’m not done yet,” I smirk at her. “Sarah Jones, Head of Equipment Manager, do you know her?”

She nods. “I’ve met her twice.”

“She’s with Mitch, right defenseman. Now, you probably haven’t met this one yet, but our goalie, Adam, is the only one married between us first-line players. His wife, Rachel, is the head of our in-house legal team. So look around Doc, everyone’s bloody shitting and eating around here,” I finish with a grin.

“Yeah, that doesn’t change a thing,” she insists. “That won’t be me.”

I give her one last glance as I hop off the table before I walk towards the door, pretty sure my eyes glitter with mischief as I say, “yeah, we’ll see, sunshine.”

—

The Owner’s Box is a local sports bar in El Segundo. Located only a stone’s throw away from the team’s practice facility at Toyota Sports Center, it has become the go-to hangout for a lot of the players ever since the facility opened in 2000. I like this place because it carries 140 types of beer and I like beer, and honestly the food is great as well.

As much as we like to mix and mingle with the fans, which is super fucking cool in my opinion, the manager always ropes off an area on the second floor for the players so we can drink and chill out without fans swamping us. Usually when we arrive, we’ll hang around the first-floor bar area for a bit to give the fans an opportunity to take pictures and ask for autographs before we head upstairs.

It’s always crowded after the game because everyone knows they can find us here, but it always gets extra busy whenever we win. Tonight, there’s an actual line of people waiting to get inside.

I nod at a bouncer and enter, and it takes me a good half an hour to make it to the second floor where I find several of my teammates sitting at some of the tables or standing around talking.

Winding around tables, teammates, and hot women since several puck bunnies have been allowed to go up the second floor and are doing their best to get noticed by the players wearing outfits that fit them like a second skin, I make my way over to Alex and Matt who are already sitting at one of the tables nursing their beers. Those two are my best friends since we’re linemates, but normally I’d go stand over with the single guys and start my selection process for whatever woman who’d warm my bed for the night.

Not tonight though. Never thought this day would come but I’m not here for a hookup tonight.

Alex gives me a knowing grin as I sit down since I told him in the locker room after the game about my exchange with the hot doctor earlier when she tended to my cut and how she turned me down. Well, he and several other of my teammates since there were a few there in the locker room with us and they had ears to listen. I’m pretty sure I could even hear Mitch chuckle, which is honestly one of the world’s seven wonders since the guy barely talks let alone laughs.

“How’s that cut feeling?” Matt asks as I take a seat in front of him.

“Feels like a butterfly kissed me there,” I tell him, which gets a deep belly laugh from both him and Alex. We hockey players would never admit to being hurt in a fight. Ever.

The voices in the second floor immediately go silent and I see all eyes swing towards the stairs, and when I look there I see our General Manager walks in alongside Coach Higgins, followed by some staff of the team. Cheers start ringing as she walks towards our table, no doubt to sit next to her man, and then I hear a low chant, “Sloane! Sloane! Sloane! Sloane!”

Matt and I do the same since not only Sloane is more of a close friend rather than a boss who signs our paycheck once she steps outside of the GM office, but as the only female GM in the league, she managed to turn our team into champions. We won the Stanley Cup last season and no doubt she’s going to push us to victory again this season. Alex has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as his gaze focuses on his girl, looking so damn proud of her. Man, my best friend is fucking whipped.

Sloane blushes, slides a grin to Alex, and when the sound dissipates and the guys all start sitting back down, she says, “shut up you big jerks, do you want me to cry?”

We all bark in laughter.

I stand up to give her access to the booth so she can sit between Alex and I, and Alex immediately wraps his arm around her shoulders when she’s within his reach to pull her closer to him and proceeds to give her a searing kiss. I whip my head at Matt and we both make a fake gagging noise.

“God, I think I’m going to be sick,” Matt says and Alex flips him off, still giving his woman a hell of a kiss and without even looking at us.

“I know, right? Not used to you being so fucking mushy mate,” I add. “Gives me the willies.”

Sloane laughs as she breaks the kiss. She leans over and playfully punches me in the arm. “You’ll have a good woman one day, Harry.”

“Yeah,” I drawl, then I give a faux shudder to make sure they understand I like being single. “No thanks.”

“You sure?” Matt cocks an eyebrow, but before I can reply, something behind me catches his attention. “Ooh, isn’t that the new doctor?”

I whip around so fast I fucking knock a bottle of ketchup off the table and it goes flying across the floor. Matt is laughing so damn hard he almost falls off from the booth, Alex is leaning over as he laughs, pressing one palm down on the sofa with the other to his ribs as if they hurt from laughing and Sloane is dabbing at her eyes as she laughs hysterically.

But yes, holy shit, that’s the doctor stepping off the stairs and onto the second floor with Brynne and Sarah. Now, I know Brynne will most definitely walk towards our table since Matt is here, but Sarah will most definitely walk towards the bar where Mitch is talking with some other guys.

Come here. Come here. Come here.

Fuck, she goes with Sarah to the bar.

“Oh no,” Alex says low and in warning. “I know that look.”

I don’t bother to give him my attention, keeping my eyes pinned on my girl. But I do ask him, “what look?”

“Your gaze just became predatory,” he says with a laugh.

“God, you have it bad for her,” Sloane teases but I ignore her as I stand up. Brynne gives me a wink when I walk past her and now I have a suspicion that my teammates blabbed to their women about what happened earlier tonight and now they’re trying to set me and the hot doctor up. Otherwise, why would she even be here? Fucking crazy, I know, but they’re all nuts.

“Go get her, tiger!” Matt quips as I walk towards the bar without looking back at their table.

The doctor has ditched the white lab coat that she wore earlier tonight at the arena, and I’m glad she has her back to me since I don’t make a secret of my ogling. My eyes are pinned to her ass in those skinny jeans and fucks sake I need to get a grip.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” I say with a smile as I stand next to her, trying to get her attention. That was lame, I know, and I feel like I want to punch myself for not being cool.

She laughs and fuck if that’s not the best sound in the world. It’s warm, rich, and husky, which warms my blood and speaks to my dick for some reason. Not sure if she’s laughing because she genuinely thinks I’m funny or is that just a pity laugh, but honestly I could listen to her laughing all day. Wouldn’t be opposed to hearing her moan one day, preferably with her underneath me, but if her laugh is all I can get at this moment then I’ll take it.

“Can I get you a drink?” I ask her and I mentally prepare myself for her to decline since she turned me down earlier in the arena, so it totally takes me by surprise when she only shrugs and says, “eh, why not.”

I’m sure my smile is ten times wider and she sees it. “What’s your poison?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“What if I want the hard stuff?” I raise a single brow. “Sure you want that?”

“What?” She smirks at me and my inner caveman is screaming for me at the sight to just throw her over my shoulder and take her home right this instant. But obviously I won’t do that, since I’m pretty sure that’s called kidnapping and I know I won’t look good in prison stripes. “You don’t think I can take it?”

“Oh honey, I know you can take it,” I laugh as I lift my finger to the bartender. “I’m only wondering how you’ll handle it.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

—

It’s three hours and many beers later, well for her anyway since I limit myself at two because I’m driving, and we’re stumbling out of the bar, laughing our asses off.

She’s telling me about the funniest thing that happened at the hospital a few months ago. At the beginning they thought they had a domestic situation because the couple came separately; one via ambulance and one via police car. But when they finally got the whole story, it turned out to be an anniversary celebration gone wrong since the wife had a seizure when she was going down on her husband and bit down on him.

“Are you joking?!” I stare at her, mouth gaping in astonishment before I burst out laughing hysterically.

She shakes her head and laughs with me. “I wish.”

“Did you manage to save his manhood?” I ask with a half-grin and half grimace.

“My colleague did,” she replies. “I was busy with the wife, she had rather extensive head trauma.”

“From the seizure?”

“Well, in panic and pain, her husband didn’t think much and just grabbed the closest thing he could find to try to get her to loosen her bite, which sadly was an old rotary style telephone and hit her in the head with it. She was okay in the end, though.”

“That’s one hell of an anniversary to remember for sure,” I chuckle, and the giggle she emits pretty much confirms she’s bladdered. Well, not the kind of drunk where she wouldn’t remember tonight I’m sure, but I bet she’ll wake up with a massive headache.

“I sure hope you’re not driving,” I say as I steady her by the elbow when she wobbles as we step down the stairs.

“Sarah, Brynne and I took an Uber here from the arena earlier,” she mutters as she pulls out her phone from her handbag.

“Let me drive you home,” I quickly say before she gets the chance to order a ride. Not sure why I did that because I certainly have never offered women a ride home without the promise of getting in their knickers, and I can assure you that I won’t be getting anywhere near hers tonight, but maybe I just don’t want this night to end yet.

We’ve been glued at the hip from the moment I bought her first drink, and three hours purely just talking with the same woman? That’s a record in my book. While I’m not ashamed to admit that I also like looking at her, honestly, to me that’s just an added bonus. I think it’s safe to say that I have never met anyone like her before. Granted, with most women usually there wasn’t much talking, but from what I learnt in just the span of three hours is that this doctor of mine is a hell of a lot of fun.

I swear she’s just a pure fucking joy to be around. Conversation with her is like a never-ending merry-go-round and she makes me laugh a lot. She’s bright and witty and she’s one of those people that knows no strangers. She can easily talk about anything from politics to sports even to crude jokes, and add on to that, she’s just so kind and inclusive that several times tonight I actually had to drag her away to one of the back tables so we could have a proper chat without the crowd around us.

“You don’t have to,” she gives me a hesitantly sweet smile.

“But I want to,” I gallantly insist as I turn and offer my arm to her. “Come on, I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

“Well, alright then,” she smirks, her hand easily slides into the crook of my elbow. “I could save a few bucks.”

I roll my eyes and tease her, “didn’t take you to be such a skinflint.”

“Hey!” She playfully slaps my arm with her other hand as she laughs and I’m glad I amuse her.

No, seriously... I like her laugh.

There’s no doubt that she wants me, just as there’s no doubt that I totally want her. We’ve got this really heavy flirting going on all night, and plenty of innuendo, but I won’t be surprised nor disappointed if she doesn’t invite me inside when we get to her home and nothing happens tonight.

We’ll get there, I’m sure.

Until then, I’m completely fine drinking beer, being her personal chauffeur, and getting to know her a little better.

—

We always finish team practice with battle drills. From the end zone face-off spot to either the left or right of the goalie, we pair up and battle for a goal. One on offense, the other on defense, we shoulder, bump, and juke our way across the short distance to the net. It’s a four to five second drill that will make us sweat, and then it’s over. We skate to the end of the line, where we wait to do it again.

“Saw you left with the new doctor last night,” says Matt, my battle partner today, with a shit-eating grin as he taps his stick against my leg. “How was she?”

I ignore his question not only because I don’t have the answer that he’s looking for because nothing really happened after I dropped her in front of her house, but also because this feels different. She is different. Had it been just another one night stand, I wouldn’t think twice before I blab all about the dirty details with my teammates. Great lays, lousy lays, I honestly have no filter and I tell them all.

But this is YN, and fuck if I know why and what this really means. All I know for sure is that I want more than to just tap that. The thing is, my teammates will probably not understand because they can’t really see past the fact that the new doctor is a gorgeous woman who I’ve been lusting after for about a week.

“Dude,” Matt says to get a reaction from me, smacking me a little bit harder with his stick. “How many times did you score her last night?”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I growl.

“Whoa, dude,” he apologises and I swear his grin gets even wider. “Sorry. I guess you’re serious about her?”

“Serious about what?” Alex pipes up from in front of us. He’s paired with Adam, our goalie. There are four pairs of skaters in front of Matt and me, but there’s an equal number on the other side. We’re alternating.

“None of your fucking business,” I mutter, willing the line we’re in to go faster so I can escape from my nosy teammates and head to the doctor’s office.

Alex and Adam take off, Alex with the puck. They ram their shoulders into each other, legs braced and skates digging hard all the way to the net.

“Did you at least kiss her?” Matt nudges me with a sly grin, still trying. Man, he’s not a quitter.

“No,” I answer shortly, hoping that will satisfy him. “Just dropped her at her house and left after I made sure she got inside safely.”

“No. Fucking. Way,” he quips dramatically. “Who are you and what have you done to my teammate?”

Play continues, the next set of skaters in our line taking off and I ignore Matt but apparently he’s not done poking his nose in my business. “Oh, we’re not done yet buddy. Let’s go out tonight so we can squeeze some more gos out of you. Just you, Alex and I, how does that sound? Brynne said the girls are going to have a girls night out so I know he’ll be game.”

The girls means my teammates’ better halves, and honestly, hanging out with just my bros does sound good. Don’t get me wrong, those girls are cool—yes, my boss, Sloane, included—and they’re fun to hang out with. My teammates sure hit the jackpots with their women. But before Sloane and Brynne came along, the three of us were thick as thieves. There was a time where we went out almost every night and that’s why we’re more like brothers than teammates. Sometimes I miss that since we don’t get the chance to do it as often now that they act like old married couples, so yes, this does sound nice.

However, as tempting as it sounds, I want to hang out with my hot doctor more than my mates. That is if she’ll have me though.

“I can’t,” I say, clearing my throat. I lean in towards him and whisper, “I want to take YN out to dinner tonight.”

“Seriously,” he drawls dramatically. “Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”

Again, I ignore his comment.

“Alright, I guess that’s a definite no to dinner with me and Alex then, huh?” Matt says in an exaggeratedly glum tone.

“The doctor is way prettier than you,” I reply blandly.

“Fine, go on your date,” he says with a slap on my back. “But I want to book some time with my best friend in the near future if it’s not too much trouble.”

“We’re going on a four day road trip in two weeks,” I mutter as I roll my eyes at him. “I’ll snuggle you then.”

Matt sidles up to me, lays his head on my shoulder, and bats his eyelashes. “Oooh, I can’t wait.”

I shove him off with a chuckle. That bastard.

—

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope,” I say after two knocks on her office door. I can hear her chuckle as she tells me to come in.

God, I have turned into such a dork. But I like hearing her laugh and there’s nothing I wouldn��t do to hear that sound again and again.

“Hey,” she smiles at me as she looks up from her computer. “What’s wrong?”

“Knee’s a little sore,” I tell her, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt for my lie just so I can have a few moments to talk to her. “Thought you could take a look at it.”

Her brows draw inward with concern and she motions towards a table. “Did something happen?”

“Nah,” I shake my head as I hop onto the table with my legs hanging over the edge and kick off my slides. “Just came off the ice and noticed it.”

“Alright, go ahead and lie back,” she says as she turns to the sink and washes her hands. “I’m going to do some range-of-motion tests.”

I stay silent as she maneuvers my leg, trying not to focus too much on the feel of her soft hands against me or the smell of her perfume. Fuck, she smells good. Fruity and flowery. Like berries and the heart of rose and bitter wormwood, and the scent is fucking delicious.

“Do you feel any pain when I do this?” She asks with one hand on my calf, the other on my thigh as she rotates my knee.

“Not really,” I shake my head. What happens here today will go in my chart and I don’t want to call any attention to my knee.

“How about this?” She asks, rotating the opposite way.

I shake my head again. “Nope.”

The hand on my calf slides down, grasping the bottom of my foot firmly. With the other hand still holding onto my thigh, she pushes hard into my foot. “This cause any pain?”

“Nope,” I say quickly, and then add, “I think it’s nothing more than my muscles getting back in shape. But I figure some ice can’t hurt, right?”

She slowly lowers my leg and gives me a sweet smile. “Well, I don’t think anything’s loose or torn, but if you’re worried about it, I can schedule an appointment with Dr Green.”

She is the team’s orthopaedic surgeon, and hell I’m not about to do that. Talk about an unnecessary red flag. “I think it’s just a lack of conditioning. Got lazy this summer.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” I nod firmly. “I just need some ice and I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Well, alright then,” she says as she turns back to wash her hands again at the sink. “I’ll let Brynne know and have her prepare you an ice bath.”

“Oh hell no,” I quickly shake my head and grimace. “That bloody thing is pure torture and my balls will go into hibernation until next summer. Just an ice pack will do, Doc.”

She laughs again. “Okay, just an ice pack. I’ll be right back.”

She turns and heads through the door to the treatment room and I take a moment to admire her gracefulness as she moves. She looks delectable today in her scrubs, which are the typical light blue you see in the hospitals, and they hang on her tiny frame loosely. I’d actually never seen her in them before since she usually just wears normal clothes underneath her white lab coat in the arena, but I swear this might possibly be the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen her in. I’m sure that has to do with the fact that I respect her so much as a doctor that it just heightens my attraction to her, and I can’t help but wonder if she’ll play dress-up games with me in the bedroom when the time comes. Because, well… I certainly wouldn’t mind getting a thorough exam from her.

“Here you go,” she says when she comes back. “Scoot back on the table and stretch your leg out. Keep this on for twenty minutes, then you can go.”

She places a towel over my knee, then lays the bag of ice on top.

“Thanks, Doc,” I tell her.

“Just doing my job,” she quips, and then walks back over to the box of supplies she had been unloading.

“Well, you’re very good at it,” I add and I can hear her chuckle. But I got nothing in response, so I add, “speaking about good things… I had a good time last night.”

“Did you?” She quips, still not looking at me but I can hear from her tone that she’s smiling.

“Well, yeah,” I say with a confident nod. “Didn’t you?”

“Eh, it was alright,” she smirks at me over her shoulder as she walks towards her desk.

“I want to do that again,” I tell her nonchalantly before I ask with a lopsided grin that I hope she finds charming, “will you let me take you to dinner tonight?”

“I can’t,” she shakes her head as she turns to look at me.

“Why? Got a hot date already?”

“Nah,” she chuckles. “Sarah invited me to a girls night at her place. I wasn’t gonna go because they seem like a tight-knit group and I don’t want to intrude, but Sloane came by here earlier to ask me again and she’s bribing me with tacos and margaritas, and well… I can’t say no to both.”

“Fair enough,” I laugh. “But have fun then. They’re all really nice, you’ll fit right in.”

“Thanks,” she gives me an easy smile, and I hope it’s subtle enough that she doesn’t realise this, but my breath actually hitch a little while I stare at her lips.

“How about tomorrow night then?”

“Well-” she begins, but she’s cut short when she hears her pager beeping. “Oh shit, I need to go back to the hospital. You think you’re okay there? Go to Brynne if you need something else.”

“Okay, don’t worry,” I tell her with an encouraging smile. “You go and save some lives, Doc.”

—

The arena is packed, the fans are at a fever pitch, and we’re in the midst of a fierce battle with the Anaheim Ducks. We’d taken them on in the first round of the playoffs last season, and while we swept them, they’re still a formidable opponent. Not to mention there’s a long-standing rivalry between the two teams, and add on to that, we’re in the regular season now so every win counts. The pressure is on.

As a center, I’m a shooter, not a fighter. That means I’m relied on to score, not to play defense or get tough with other players. My body is too valuable to mess it up in a slugfest, so I’m rarely enticed into a fight. Sometimes it takes everything in me to keep my cool, but I know I’ve got to trust Mitch and Marcel, our defensemen.

Just like right now. We’re late in the second period tonight, and one of the Ducks players, Jeff Azoff, is being a dick. He cross-checked me in the back, not strong enough to slam me into the boards, but it was enough to alert Mitch who’s skating right behind us.

“Do that again and I’m going to kick your ass,” I hear Mitch tell him. That guy doesn’t really talk, but he wouldn’t think twice before beating the hell out of someone if they mess with our team. He takes his job as a defenseman seriously. When he’s on the ice, nobody dares to touch his guys.

The fucker did it again, still not forceful enough for a penalty to be called, but Mitch was quick to drop his gloves and took on that Azoff guy. He kicked his ass good.

Man, I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. Mitch is a badass. Unfortunately though, the fucker did land a lucky hit to his temple and his skin split just to the side of his eyebrow. Knowing Mitch, that will be nothing but a ten-minute trip to the treatment room where YN will stitch him up. I’m sure as hell he wouldn’t let her give him anaesthetic so he can get back on the ice as soon as possible. As I watch him skate towards the exit, I make a mental note in my head to buy him a beer tonight as a thank you.

The play resumed, and there are about forty seconds left on the clock before intermission. The Ducks are down 3-0, and they pull their goalie once they gain possession of the puck since they have nothing to lose. Luckily our stamina is stellar, so our legs are still fresh as we defend.

They pass the puck back and forth, looking for the long shot or a quick dump inside for a goal. My back is to Adam, our goalie, as I keep myself facing the action, letting my stick play loose.

The crowd’s screams escalate in tune to the clock ticking closer to zero. With a sharp flick of the wrist, the puck makes it past Alex, our right-winger, to the inside. Players crash the net, Marcel poke checks, and the biscuit shoots out towards me.

It’s a full-on breakaway as I shoot down the ice, one on one against the goalie.

Tap, tap, tap… back and forth… puck to blade of stick.

I close in on the goalie and juke left.

He goes left and I juke right.

He keeps going left, so I keep going right and flip the puck up and over his shoulder into the back of the net. The red light burns bright behind the net and the fans go wild. That was my third goal tonight, and it’s the perfect timing for intermission since there’s no way we can play with all the hats being thrown onto the ice.

It takes merely a second before I’ve got my teammates surrounding me. Alex, Matt, Marcel, Adam and Niall, one of the defensemen from the second line who’s filling in for Mitch. Pats of their gloved hands on my helmet, stick blades gently against my calves.

We skate to the gate that would lead us to our locker room. We all trudge there, taking up spots around the open space as we wait for Coach Higgins to address us. It’s what he does at the end of every period. If we play poorly, we get our asses handed to us. If we play stellar though, like tonight, he’d be effusive in his praise.

But as much as I’d love to hear nice things from the Coach, there’s nobody I want to see more than my very own Doctor McSteamy. And yes, just to put it out here since I’ve been calling the hot doctor by that nickname, I’ve got to admit that I did watch too much Grey’s Anatomy in the summer because there’s not much I could do during the off-season. My sister didn’t let me watch past season 10 though, because she said it’s not worth it.

“Need to get my knee taped,” I tell Alex on my right as I stand up. We have 17 minutes before we start the third period and I figure that should be enough time to see the Doctor and secure a date in the near future. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bullshit,” he grins and there’s a clear amusement in his eyes. “You want to see your girlfriend.”

“Shut up,” I growl.

“What’s this?” Matt asks curiously as he takes a seat next to Alex.

“Our buddy here wants to see his girlfriend,” Alex’s grin doesn’t lessen as he tilts his head at me. “Needs to get his knee taped, he said.”

“Conjugal visit in-between periods? Classy,” Matt says with a salacious grin and I glare at him. When his laughter dies down, he points out, “okay, jokes aside, that’s a shit excuse. If you really need your knee taped, you’d see Brynne and not YN.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing else here,” I grumble like a stroppy child. “Can’t hit my own head just to get a cut, can I?”

“That would be outright dumb,” Alex laughs. “But come on, I’ll go to Brynne and make up something so at least you can tell the doctor that she’s busy.”

The treatment room is just down the hall from the locker, and when I get there, I notice the door is half open. I see her sitting on the little desk with her computer, so I knock lightly on the door to get her attention.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Her head swings up when she hears my voice and it takes everything in me not to just march there and kiss the fuck out of her when she offers me the sweetest smile. Crazy how much effect this woman has on me. “I need my knee taped but Brynne’s busy.”

“Sure, I was just reading the players’ medical chart,” she replies. “You were on fire out there by the way.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I smile at her.

“Skates, socks, shin pads and pants off,” she says as she walks towards the supply cabinet.

“Jock strap too?” I can’t help but smirk.

“No,” she rolls her eyes playfully as she grabs a towel and hands it to me. “Put this over your lap.”

“Do I have to?”

“Well, yeah, unless you want me to get a peek of your dick.”

“You know I wouldn’t be averse to that, Doc,” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows.

She gives me a school teacher, disapproving-type look but the slight twitch of amusement in the corner of her mouth is hard to miss. “You’re so bad.”

“You have no idea,” I grin, but she doesn’t see it because she has her back to me. She’s pulling another cabinet open to get adhesive, gauze and tape before knocking it close with her shoulder.

This is ridiculous but I’m actually a bit self-conscious of getting practically half naked in front of the hot doctor. I have absolutely no clue why and this had certainly never happened before.

I shed my gear from the waist down and she keeps her back to me until I get on the therapy table and the towel is covering my lap. She lays out her supplies on the table beside us, her slender fingers using a pair of scissors to open a new package of tape.

I take a moment to admire her as she cuts off uniform lengths of tape and attaches them to the table. She’s not in the scrubs I saw her in last week, but if you think I’d be disappointed, even just slightly, then you’d be wrong because you could put her in a burlap sack and to me she would still absolutely look edible.

Tonight, she’s rocking a mustard-yellow trouser suit with wide legs and a cross-over pleated blouse underneath her white lab coat. The crisscross swath of silk that wraps around her upper body does lovely things to her tits, and I realise I’m quite the pig to be thinking about her this way.

“Left knee?” She asks. “I’ve just finished reading your medical chart when you came in. Arthroscopic medical meniscus repair two years ago.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Sometimes it feels a little loose. A good taping is all it needs.”

“Any soreness?” She asks as she steps up in between my legs that dangle over the table.

I shake my head and say, “nope.”

“Clicking or popping?”

“Nope.”

“Locking?” She inquires as she lifts her face up to mine.

She’s fucking close enough I can smell her minty breath. I could easily kiss her, but I’d probably get kneed in the nuts, so I just shake my head and say, “nah, just feels a little loose.”

“Okay,” she says, laying a soft pat on my thigh. It’s nothing but a move of reassurance, but fuck if I don��t feel it all the way through my gut.

She grabs her supplies and I can’t keep my eyes off her as she gets to work taping my knee. It takes merely a few minutes, and then she finishes the wrap, holding the end while taping it with the precut pieces. “There you go,” she says, stepping back.

“I’ve got something to confess. My knee was absolutely fine,” I blurt out, the words popping out of my mouth so suddenly, I’ve got no clue where they came from. Clearly my subconscious decided to overtake my sensibility and make itself known. “I came here because I wanted to see you. Thought I’d try to get your phone number and a date one last time before I give up.”

She gives a tinkling laugh. “You’re not a quitter, are you?”

“Well, no,” I reply with a grin. “So, tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven. How does that sound?”

“Listen,” she smiles at me sweetly as she begins, but I don’t like the sound of it. Nothing good ever comes after ‘listen’. “You’re a nice guy-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I cut her as I hold my hands up. “Don’t go with the ‘nice guy’ brush off. Clearly I’m not if you won’t give me the time of day.”

“I just don’t think we’re looking for the same thing-”

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Look, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem more like the bang ‘em and leave ‘em type to me.”

“Is that really how people see me?” I ask her curiously, without an ounce of defense in my voice because there’s no point in denying that. I really don’t care what people think, but I’d like to hear her opinion.

“You’re a player, Harry,” she says with a chuckle. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re young and in your prime. You should totally be sowing all your wild oats. It’s just… I’m at the point in my life where I realise that meaningless sex without something deeper isn’t very fulfilling. I don’t want that anymore.”

I feel a metaphorical light bulb goes off in my head.

I know she doesn’t mean to, but fuck, she hits me right where it hurts. She’s called that exactly right. This is something that I’ve actually realised and known for a while, especially after seeing my best mates being the happiest they’ve ever been after they found their women. There’s not an ounce of regret in what I did though, because just like my girl right here said, there’s nothing wrong with that. There was a time when burning my way through all the hot women in LA and having them take turns warming my bed had its appeal, but not anymore.

Maybe this is why I’ve been feeling unfulfilled lately. I know I’ve got a great career, more money than I could ever need in a lifetime and endless selection of gorgeous women to warm my bed every night. What more could a man possibly ask for, right? But at the end of the day, it’s just me in a monstrosity of a house that I call home.

Maybe deep down I know I don’t want it to be just me anymore.

“I think I’ve actually known that for a while, but the way you point that out, I think it’s drilled home now,” I admit as I face her.

“What do you mean?”

“That casual, meaningless sex without something deeper isn’t very fulfilling,” I say with a smile. “I mean, yes what I did was fun, but then I look at my best mates and see how happy they are with their women. Of course I rib them good because hey, that’s my job as their best mate…”

She laughs.

“...but that doesn’t mean I never look at them and think, fuck, I want that one day. Maybe the idea didn’t really appeal to me because I had never found the right person, who knows. But I swear I don’t want just sex with you. I want more. Do I know what I’m doing? Fuck, no. I haven’t even been on a proper date in years. But I do know that I genuinely want to get to know you better, Doc, that is if you give me the chance.”

She gives me a dopey smile when she asks, “you mean all that?”

“I really do,” I nod solemnly. “Now let me prove it to you. Go on a date with me.”

“Tell you what,” she begins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “If you go back on the ice and win the game, we can go to The Owner’s Box when you’re done to celebrate just like the other night. And if you behave, I’ll give you my number this time.”

“Want me to behave, huh?” I say teasingly with a waggle of my eyebrows. “Don’t fancy a bad boy?”

“Oh I actually have it bad for bad boys,” she smirks. “My favourite character in Harry Potter is Draco Malfoy.”

“Okay, I’ve got a counter offer,” I say as my laughter dies down. “If I get MVP tonight, which I’m pretty sure I will since you said it yourself that I’m on fire tonight, you give me your number straight away after the game and let me take you out to dinner. I’m thinking seven tomorrow night.”

Another roll of those gorgeous eyes that twinkle slightly at me. “Pushy, aren’t ya?”

“Only when I want something,” I tell her with a grin. “And I want you.”

“So do you want me or do you want to go out with me?” She asks slyly, tilting her head to the side.

“You gonna kick my balls if I say both?”

“I admire honesty,” she murmurs softly in that sexy, husky voice that seems to flow through my body and straight down to my dick.

“Hey boyfriend and girlfriend,” I hear Matt chirps from the doorway and my spine stiffens involuntarily. His shit-eating grin doesn’t lessen a bit even when I give him a glare. “Hate to steal your man, Doc, but the game is starting again soon and we kinda need our favourite asshole right here.”

“You two break a leg,” she chuckles. And then as an afterthought, she adds, “just so we’re clear, I don’t mean that literally.”

—

Manhattan Beach’s high-end strip of boutiques and restaurants are hugged by the beach on one side and some of California’s most expensive real estate on the other. It’s southern end blends seamlessly into smaller Hermosa Beach, which is similarly quiet but has a tight concentration of bars and restaurants near the town’s pier that attract bar-hoppers at night and sun-bleached dropouts during the day.

The Kings players’ houses are scattered evenly across the two towns. Some of us are clustered within a block or two of several teammates; others sprinkled little more than a mile or two away. All but one of the first-line players live in Manhattan Beach though, and we can easily walk or ride a beach cruiser to everyone else’s house.

YN lives in Silver Lake, and the drive to pick her up takes me about forty minutes. I know she must make a pretty good bank being an ER doctor, not to mention that she works at two places, but her house doesn’t scream that. It’s rather tiny, I’m betting not more than seven or eight hundred square feet max, and there’s not much of a porch but on the outer edge is a hanging basket of flowers.

There’s no doorbell so I rap my knuckles on the door. Flecks of peeling paint get knocked loose and fall to the concrete porch.

“Coming,” I hear her yell from inside and I can imagine her plopping in an earring, grabbing her handbag, and wondering if she turned the curling iron off. She sounds frazzled and rushed and I can’t wait to fucking see what she looks like when she opens the door.

And there she is.

She has a black dress on, and it’s not little but it’s spectacular. The neckline of the dress skims just below her collarbone so no skin or cleavage is exposed, but it doesn’t matter because the narrow waist and flared hips, all cocooned in black is sexy as shit. The hem of her dress comes down below her knees and the dress is so well fitted that I know there has to be a slit up the back so she can walk.

“Good grief you’re a sight for sore eyes,” I mutter as I let my eyes roam down and then back up again to find her smirking at me.

She’s got an off-white clutch bag tucked under an arm, and her head is leaning to the side so she can put her last earring in, exactly as I’d imagined.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she says, still smirking at me. I’d worn my best suit tonight in black with black shirt underneath and no tie. Glad she likes what she sees.

I step back so she can lock her door, and she turns to me as she tosses her keys in her clutch. I hold my arm out to her and ask, “ready?”

She nods and smiles as she curls her fingers in just below my biceps, then I escort her to my car.

I’m taking her to this new restaurant that both Alex and Matt recommended when I asked them last night for the finest restaurant in LA. It had been so long since the last time I took a woman out for a proper date, so I knew I needed to ask my mates and that they would have the answer. They both swore by this place called Apron, but then told me it took at least two weeks to get a reservation. Luckily though Alex had booked a table for him and Sloane tonight, and they gladly gave me the reservation. Sure I had to take a good deal of ribbing from my teammates and their women last night at the bar where we celebrated our win, but I knew it would be worth it.

The drive to the restaurant is short, only about ten minutes. And we lapse into the same easy conversation right away, just like we did the other night at The Owner’s Box. Today was my day off and I did absolutely nothing so I’ve got nothing interesting to tell, but she had plenty of exciting cases at the emergency room today, which included a toddler swallowing a penny.

“Holy shit, how did you get the coin out?” I ask her.

She laughs. “You don’t take it out. You’ve got to let the kid pass it naturally.”

“He can do that?”

“Well,” she begins. “I did take an X-ray first to make sure that it was small and could pass safely.”

“Okay, okay, okay… what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to remove from a patient?” I ask her with childish curiosity.

“Honestly, I think I’ve removed everything on the surface of the earth,” she snickers. “Coke bottle, tapeworms, coins, candles, but the strangest has got to be a stuffed animal. It was a Curious George doll, and… let’s just say that he’s no longer curious.”

“You’re joking right?” I bark in laughter as I park my car. We’ve arrived and I swear that was the shortest ten minutes of my life. “I mean… who does that?!”

“I wish,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose. “You’d be surprised if you know how many weirdos out there.”

I’m still chuckling as I exit my car, then I walk over to the passenger side to get her. I hold my arm out to her, and her hand so very easily slides into the crook of my elbow.

“You don’t think I’m one of them, right?”

She gives me a playful shrug. “Well, I don’t know, you might be a weirdo... I mean, I don’t know you well enough yet.”

I give her a smart-ass smirk. “Let’s remedy that then.”

—

“How’s that one?” I ask her as I finish a mouthful of this chocolate thingy. It was a chocolate ball concoction the waiter had poured more hot chocolate over, which then melted the ball to reveal a raspberry chocolate torte inside. She had a bite, but it was too rich for her. I agree though, it was a lot of damn chocolate.

“You’ve got to try this,” she says, spearing the lemon meringue pie with her fork, top it with a little bit of pine nut ice cream and holding it over the table to me.

It’s a completely intimate move and one that I didn’t expect from her tonight. I mean, she was reluctant to go out with me in the beginning and needed some convincing, so I expected her to be reserved and cautious. But hell I’m not complaining.

I lean in and let her feed me the dessert. The flavours explode on my tongue and I think that’s the best we’ve had tonight.

I don’t normally indulge in dessert, but they all sound good so I told her we should order all the ones we like the sound of. Which was most of them except that cucumber mousse and pickle ice cream because those sound like disasters on a plate.

“Good, huh?” She asks with a smile.

“Really good,” I tell her. “I think I like that one best.”

“Finish it then,” she says as she pushes the plate towards me. “I can’t possibly take another bite. I’m stuffed to the brim.”

“Alright,” I say with a chuckle as I pull the plate closer to me. “So, when are you free again so I can take you out to another date?”

She chuckles. “We’re not even finished with this one.”

I roll my eyes at her, then I ask, “are you having a good time?”

Her smile turns dopey and I know she’s just as smitten with me as I am with her. “This is definitely the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

“If we were finished, considering how things have gone, would you go out with me again?”

“I would.”

“Good,” I say with an emphatic nod. “So, weekend or weekdays? When will it work best for you?”

—

I slow the speed on the treadmill, taking me down from a brisk run to a slow walk so I can cool down. Normally I like to run outside in the morning, but I woke up late this morning and we had a team skate scheduled at ten, so I figured I’d just do my workout afterwards at the arena.

Only a few of us actually have a gym membership outside. Most of us prefer to work out at the arena because not only is the equipment better, but we also have an abundance of teammates to work out with and that’s always nice.

I walk for about five minutes to cool down, then I turn the machine off and wipe my face with a towel. I grab my phone and water bottle and turn for the barbells, as today I’m working my chest and shoulders. Mitch and Marcel are already lifting, both defensemen who tend to focus on brute strength versus speed and stamina, so I’m not surprised they didn’t go for the treadmill. I also see Matt there, and I bet Alex will join us too after he’s done cooling down.

“Have a nice run, princess?” Marcel asks dryly as I set my stuff down near the bench press.

“I’m not the one who has to prove my manhood by how much weight I can lift,” I return with a sly grin.

“Yeah, well, your manhood is in a dry spell,” he says as he loads some weight onto the bar. Pre the hot doctor, both Marcel and I were the only single guys in the first line. He’s just as much as a player—on and off the ice—as I was, but now I gladly pass the title to him.

“Not true,” Matt quips with a grin. “He went on a date last night.”

“No shit,” Marcel turns to me in astonishment. “With who?”

Before I can even answer Alex throws a quick glance at us, flashes a shit-eating grin, and yells from the treadmill, “the new doctor.”

“But I saw you two got pretty cosy at The Owner’s Box last week,” Marcel says, as if he’s still confused as hell.

“Well yeah, she was cool, so I took her out again,” I say firmly.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” He blinks at me. Eyes all round and not comprehending. “You never look at the same woman twice.”

“So?” I ask, playing dumb.

“Ooh, I get it,” he says with a smirk. “Pussy that good, huh?”

“Hey,” I cut in with a warning. “I’m not there yet.”

They all suddenly stop whatever they’re doing and turn to me with raised eyebrows. Yes, Mitch included, which I’m actually quite surprised.

“Whoa, hang on,” Marcel says. “You haven’t tapped that yet?”

“You’re serious?” Matt looks at me in disbelief. “Not even last night?”

“Dude, I gave you that reservation last night to give you the opportunity,” Alex says as he walks towards us. “I was genuinely worried about your balls.”

They’re still looking at me confused, but Adam howls with laughter. “Don’t listen to these pigs. Rachel and I took it real slow at the beginning of our relationship too, and I got to tell you, the anticipation was half the fun.”

It’s true. I’m in no rush with YN because I know we’ll get there sooner or later. I can be patient when I want to be, and right now I honestly want to. I want to prove to her that when I said I wanted to get to know her, I meant her as a person and not just carnally.

I could tell that I confused her last night when I dropped her off at her doorstep after our date. I gave her nothing but a soft, brief kiss to her cheek, then told her to get inside, lock up and get some rest. Sure, she was confused for a few seconds, but the smile that I got after she realised that I really did want to take things slow was so much more than worth it.

“So you think this thing with the hot doctor is going to go the distance?” Matt asks me.

“I do,” I say confidently. I’m not dumb enough not to realise that she hasn’t fully let her guard down yet for whatever reason. Maybe she’d been badly hurt in the past, maybe it’s my past that causes her to be a little bit sceptical, I mean... let’s be honest, I was a player through and through. But that doesn’t scare me though, because I know I’m in it for the long haul. So yes, I can say it with confidence that this thing between us is going to go the distance.

“Well, if you fuck it up, I’ve got the first crack at her,” Marcel says with a salacious grin. I don’t think twice before I grab my wet towel and throw it at him. It hits him right in the face, and my teammates howl with laughter.

All this talk about her makes me want to see her again. I’ve secured a second date last night for next Wednesday since that’s when both of us will be free, but that’s still four days away and I can’t wait that long. So I pull up my phone and type out a quick text to her.

Hey, what are you doing today?

I grab my water bottle and take a slug. Before I put my water bottle down, I already got a response. I need to go and get a new bed frame. Really can’t stand this old thing anymore.

I can’t help but chuckle. She did tell me last night about her bedroom set which was apparently really old, but she couldn’t get rid of it since it’d been in the family for a few generations and her grandmother gave it to her when she bought her house.

Want some company? I quickly type.

She’s just as fast in her response. You want to go with me buy a bed frame?

Well, yeah. I’ve finished the team skate this morning and will be done with my workout soon. I’ve got nothing to do after and I want to see you. I reply.

Alright then. She texts me back within a minute. But I’m on-call though so I can be called to the hospital any time.

Doesn’t matter, I still want to see you. I text her back. When can I pick you up?

Give me half an hour.

Perfect.

—

I’ve bought three houses in my twenty-seven years of life; the one I currently live in, one in Toronto when I was still with the Leafs before I got traded to the Kings and one for my mum back in London. And yet not once have I ever gone on a furniture shopping.

Until today.

That was something I never in a million years would have dreamed to do, simply because I hated shopping with a burning passion. Hell, I didn’t even buy things for my own house because I paid the previous owner to leave everything behind. That kind of thing was honestly just something that I would have never taken the time for.

And yet, in shuffling through my memories, I really can’t remember having such a great time before. All I know is that I don’t want the day to end, and I also know that it has everything to do with the company.

I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and technically we’ve only been on one date even though we saw each other quite often at the arena. But there was nothing odd when my hand would find its way to her thigh, or when she’d drape her arm across my shoulders so her fingers could play with my hair as we cruised along from one furniture shop to another. I love that we’re at ease with each other as if we’d known each other forever, not to mention that she’s also one of the easiest women I’ve had the pleasure of talking to in a long time.

Sadly though, it had to end when she was called to the hospital. Luckily, it was just in time after she chose a particular bed frame that she liked. It’s a classic canopy bed in live-edge oakwood with a brushed brass iron base, and I felt like a pig because even as we were still at the shop, I was already thinking about which ties from my collection would work best.

They offered same-day delivery since they had it in the storage, and since she was needed at the hospital, I offered to wait for the delivery at her home for her. She agreed, so she gave me her key after I dropped her at the hospital.

And here I am. Sitting on her bedroom floor trying to build this bloody nightmare because apparently they didn’t offer assembly service. I’ve been at it for an hour and a half now. Okay, no, more like an hour and ten minutes because I spent about twenty minutes fixing the sink in her en suite. I noticed the faucet was leaking, and I needed to step away from that bloody bed for a little anyway.

Now I don’t have another excuse, so I’m back on hammering one of the bazillion nails into the wood. I’m so focused on the task that I didn’t realise YN is home until I hear her chuckling as she walks into her bedroom and say, “you know, that is the kind of pounding that’s supposed to happen after you’re in the bed.”

I can’t help it. I fucking throw my head back and bust out laughing. “Sod off.”

“You don’t have to do it, that looks complicated. I’ll just hire someone to put it together tomorrow,” she says with a sweet smile. “Just get up and go sit on the couch. I just need to go to the bathroom real quick and then I’ll join you.”

“Yeah, that won’t do, Doc,” I say firmly. “I’ll still finish this bloody thing even if it kills me.”

“Stubborn,” she quips affectionately with a roll of her eyes as she heads towards her en suite.

“Smart-ass,” I reply with my eyes pinned to one of the million pieces of her bed frame, also with affection.  

“Harry?” She calls out from her en suite.

“Yeah?” I answer, when I look up, she’s leaning against the doorframe and looking at me confused.

“Am I crazy or did you actually fix my sink?” She asks with an arched eyebrow. “Because I swear the faucet still leaks a little this morning.”

“Yeah, I did,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I needed to walk away from this for a minute and when I went to your en suite, I noticed it leaked. Not a big deal though, took me only about fifteen minutes.”

“Well, good to know that if you ever quit your day job, you have a career in plumbing,” she snickers. “But seriously, you didn’t have to do that, and you certainly don’t have to finish that.”

“It’s what any boyfriend would do, Doc,” I say with a nonchalant shrug.

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

“Yes I am,” I roll my eyes. “I took you on a date last night and I’m taking you out again on Wednesday. I’m not seeing anyone else, so that means we’re dating. And technically that makes me your boyfriend.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she sputters but I can see the amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Besides… I might be seeing someone else.”

“You’re not,” I say with relative certainty.

“How did you change just like that is beyond me,” she murmurs, the appreciation in her voice evident.

I let out a chuckle. “Just get your butt in there and go chill on the couch after. I’m pretty sure I’ll be done in about half an hour, then we can order something for dinner.”

“Yes sir,” she says with a mock salute, which makes me snort.

—

An hour later, her bed is finally built and as I walk into her kitchen I see her putting the plates on the table. It smells phenomenal here, and I’m surprised when I look at the table because how the hell did she manage to cook all that in an hour?

I take advantage of her back facing me by putting my hands at her hips and pressing my chest onto her back. I nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck and it takes everything in me not to kiss her there. The combination of her perfume and the faint smell of antiseptic is sexy to me. So I can’t help but hum and mumble, “smells delicious.”

“The chicken?” She murmurs.

“Among other things,” I reply softly.

She chuckles. “Come on, let’s dig in while it’s still hot.”

I take a seat in front of her before I select a drumstick from a plate of fried, spicy goodness and put it on my plate. There’s something about the fact that YN made it that makes me believe it will be the best chicken I’ve ever had. Today will no doubt go down as one of the best days ever, which I seem to think a lot when I’m around this woman.

As she dishes me some salad, I honestly can’t wait anymore and take a bite of the chicken. Her eyes snap to me when I let out a groan.

“Good?” She asks with a grin.

I can’t help but let out another groan of approval as I take another bite. “Damn, Colonel, you never told me you make a mean fried chicken.”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” she shrugs smugly.

“Or a fine ass,” I tease. “If you want to quit your day job you can totally open up a fast food chain. Your fried chicken puts KFC to shame.”

She laughs as she cuts some cornbread and puts it on my plate. “Now try this, I make a mean cornbread too.”

“Mmm,” I say in pleasure as I take the first bite.

“Okay, you need to stop with the sexy moaning,” she grumbles with a tiny smirk before she turns back to her dinner. “You’re so bad. I think you’re trying to take advantage of me.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I laugh. “And besides, you’re just as bad.”

“True,” she replies with a sly smile. “I can be bad too.”

“But just how bad are we talking here?” I ask with a smirk.

“Not bad enough to sleep with you tonight,” she says before she takes a sip of water. After she swallows, she adds, “but totally bad enough I might get frisky with you.”

I give her a mock groan and look up to the ceiling. “A tease. I’ve saddled myself with a tease tonight.”

She laughs.

We talk about what she did at the hospital today as we eat, and her job in general, and it never fails to thrill me the things that she can do. She’s a jack of all trades when it comes to medicine, needing to be able to diagnose and stabilise, often in pressure-filled situations where time is of the essence. I can’t even imagine having the responsibility of someone’s life in my hands like that, and yet she seems to be able to leave it all behind. She talks openly and often with humour about her work, but she also admits that sometimes she can’t help but bear the burden of death too when her skills just don’t make a difference.

I admire her so fucking much. Never admired a woman before, but in fairness… I never looked too deeply at them.

I’m seeing YN through unfiltered eyes and I like everything that I’m seeing.

—

Something is squirming in my arms and it wakes me up.

I tighten my arm around it in response to the movement and pull it back slightly against my body.

Wait? What?

Sleep.

Couch.

We fell asleep on her couch while watching a film.

It all comes back in a rush. Our totally awesome conversation over equally awesome food she cooked that I couldn’t stop raving about all night. I had three pieces of chicken by the way. We talked more about our backgrounds, me growing up in Cheshire and her childhood in South Carolina. We had a few beers, and when she asked me if I wanted to stay a bit and watch a film or something, of course I said hell yes.

The fact that she asked made me smile, because it meant that she was having a good time too with me. So we ended up on her couch watching Jaws, and I liked that she didn’t even hesitate when I lay down on her couch, pressed my back against the cushions and patted the area in front of my hips. I’m pretty sure she can see the devilish gleam in my eyes when I said, “come on… let’s cuddle.”

“Wow… Harry Styles, big bad hockey player, shameless flirt, total panty dropper. Didn’t peg you as a cuddler.”

“I’m a big teddy bear, honey,” I said with a grin and open arms.

She fell asleep first, and I know I should’ve left but the slightest movement from me would definitely wake her up. I know she must be tired so I decided against it and closed my eyes instead.

“Morning,” she says in a husky, raspy, ‘I just woke up’ voice and it’s sexy as fuck.

“Morning,” I reply, my own voice is still rough with sleep. I wonder if she thinks that’s sexy too. “You slept good?”

“Mhmm,” she hums softly, but then immediately groans as she glances at the clock above the telly. “Ugh, I have to be in the hospital in about an hour.”

She then tries to extricate herself from my arms, but I pull her back in close and nuzzle her neck as I point out, “you work a lot.”

“Ha, tell me about it,” she says with a dry laugh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my job. It’s just I wish I could sleep for three days straight sometimes.”

“Do you even have a day off in the week?” I ask curiously.

“I do,” she answers with a nod. “It was actually my day off yesterday, but I was filling in for a colleague.”

I loosen my hold and let her sit up in front of me. “Go get in the shower, I’ll make us both a quick breakfast.”

“You can cook?”

“Well, if I give you food poisoning you’re heading to the hospital anyway,” I chuckle.

In the kitchen, I grab some eggs and a pack of English muffins from her fridge. A quick breakfast sandwich sounds good, and portable just in case she needs to eat on her way to the hospital. I crack open a couple of eggs, scramble them with a fork and add salt and pepper while my skillet heats up. I put a bit of olive oil in the pan before I toss the English muffins into her toaster to crisp, then set coffee to brew in her Keurig. I’m moving around her kitchen as if I was born here.

By the time I pour the eggs into the pan, she walks out of her bedroom in her scrubs. I smile and nod at the Keurig as I say, “coffee’s ready.”

“And damn, you’re hot in those scrubs,” I add with a grin, giving the eggs a last scramble before pulling them off the heat.

“You’re joking right?” She says, wrinkling her nose as she grabs the milk from the fridge and turns my way, letting the door swing shut on its own.

“I’m serious, Doc,” I say with a smirk. “I wouldn’t mind getting a thorough exam from you. Preferably in your new canopy bed though so I can tie you up after for a payback.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s eight in the morning,” she laughs and I snort in return.

She then pours some milk in her coffee, pulls the cup to her mouth, and blows across the steaming surface. Her eyes meet mine over the edge of the cup as she takes a tentative sip. “Are we still on for Wednesday?”

“Of course,” I say with a confident smile.

“What have you got planned?”

“Well, you’ll have to wait and see,” I tease her. “Just to warn you though, I may or may not gonna put my hands all over you.”

I don’t tell her that by putting my hands all over her, I mean on the ice to keep her from falling since I plan to take her ice-skating on the team’s practice rink. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, and besides, I’d be lying if I said I never thought of other ways too. The way she’s looking at me right now assures me that she does too, and well, that’s good.

We can compare notes on that later when we get there.

—

Blinking at me with a sleepy smile on her face, YN stands up from my couch. I walk up to her and she pushes me down into her seat, and then crawls onto my lap.

This is nice.

Our date on Wednesday was amazing, and as we walked inside, she turned to me and asked, “so this was your big plan to put your hands on me?”

I just laughed in response, and I did have to put my hands on her quite a lot in the end since she didn’t know how to ice-skate. Fuck if I’m complaining though.

Now we’re snuggled up on the couch at my house with full bellies. Last weekend she cooked me amazing food, so today, I wanted to impress her by cooking a roast dinner and introduced her to Yorkshire pudding. Sure, I was on the phone with my mum the entire time so she could give me directions, but I only almost burnt down my kitchen once so I’d call that a success.

I lean forward, which pushes her slightly to the edge of the couch, then I reach an arm over her and grab a packet of KitKat from the coffee table. I’m glad when I learnt that it is actually her favourite chocolate too, because KitKat is elite and it’s good to know we’re on the same page.

“Want another?” I ask her.

“No,” she groans. “I’m so full.”

I chuckle and awkwardly unwrap the chocolate. Awkward because I have to open it in front of her face since I have my arms around her, and once I got it opened, I hold the naked little chocolate bars in front of her mouth and tease, “want a bite?”

She shakes her head.

I wave it under her nose and I guess the smell of the chocolate changes her mind because then she says, “okay, a little bite.”

I break the bars and feed one of it to her, letting her take a bite and then chucks the rest in my mouth. We chew silently as we watch Marlin looking for Nemo, and I sigh in contentment when she tucks her face into my neck and drapes one arm across my chest.

It takes no more than ten minutes before I notice her breathing has slowed down and she’s fallen asleep. I rest my cheek on the top of her head and continue watching these fishies. I’m a little drowsy from all the food, but I resist the urge to fall under. For now, I just want to savour my existence at this moment because as Dory says to Marlin, “I look at you and I’m home”, I truly realise that’s how she makes me feel.

I’m sitting in my house, but for once, it doesn’t feel empty anymore. I just had a wonderful meal where we talked and joked and flirted, and now I have a gorgeous woman who I’m crazy about curled up on my lap.

There is absolutely no other place I’d rather be right now.

—

“Dude, you’re so fucking whipped,” Alex says as he punches me on the shoulder. I jerk slightly and reluctantly take my gaze off YN to look his way.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I take a swig of my beer and promptly look back at my girl. She’s standing just ten feet away, sipping on her own beer and talking animatedly with Sloane and Brynne. We’re at The Owner’s Box tonight having our first triple date, and I’m having a brilliant time. The only thing better would be if YN would quit chatting with the girls and get her sweet ass over here to sit next to me.

“Fucking hopeless,” Matt mutters and Alex snickers.

I blink and turn to look at them. “What? Why am I hopeless?”

“Because you can’t fucking take your eyes off of your girl for more than two seconds,” Alex jeers at me. Then he leans in towards me and murmurs with a mocking sneer, “pussy.”

“Bollocks that,” I say haughtily. “I can take my eyes off of her longer than that.”

“Good,” Matt says, handing me an empty beer bottle. “Go get us some more beer.”

“Assholes,” I say with good nature and head towards the bar. Stopping beside my girl, I kiss her on the temple. “You girls want anything else to drink?”

Sloane and Brynne shake their heads, smiling coyly at me as they watch my uncharacteristic display of affection. I’m immensely pleased when YN smiles at me and rests her hand on my chest. “I’m good, but thank you.”

“Be right back,” I tell the girls, and then I set out to prove Alex and Matt wrong.

I swivel my gaze back to Matt and Alex, and I give a sheepish grin when Matt mouths the word pussy at me. I flip him off and head towards the bar, intent on not looking back at my girl for at least the next few minutes it takes me to get the beers.

“Excuse me,” I hear and feel a tap on my shoulder. “Harry, can we get an autograph and a picture?”

As I turn around with a warm smile in my place, the word sure is out of my mouth before I even see who’s asking. I’m met by a vision of holy hotness as two women stand there with tight-as-hell t-shirts cut obscenely low and with plenty of silicone boobs pouring out.

Just a mere month ago, I would have whispered a prayer of thanks to the big man upstairs for sending these two my way, knowing well that I’d be banging the hell out of one of them before the night was finished. Instead, my stomach tightens and I glance past them to see YN still deep in conversation with Sloane and Brynne.

I bring my gaze back to the women… a brunette and a blonde, both looking at me with promise in their eyes.

“Do you mind taking your picture with us?” The blonde asks with a bat of her eyelashes.

I give her a quick smile and say, “sure, no problem.”

She steps up to me as she hands her phone to the brunette. I lift my arm to sling it companionably around her shoulders, but she uses that opportunity to press intimately into my side, bringing both arms around my waist and mashing her breasts against my ribs.

“Thanks so much,” the blonde says in a seductive voice. “Can we buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” I decline with a smile. “I’ve got some friends waiting for me.”

“An autograph, then?” She asks.

“Sure.”

The blonde digs in her handbag and pulls out a sharpie. She then hands it to me and says, “can you make mine out to Kourtney with a K?”

“You got it,” I say, eager to get this over with because it feels awkward to me to have this woman coming onto me with my girl standing just a few feet away.

“Just sign here,” she says and my jaw drops as she pulls the edge of her t-shirt down her chest, practically exposing her entire right breast to me.

“Uh, you got a piece of paper instead?” I ask her. “I don’t think my girlfriend would like that.”

“You bet your ass she won’t,” I hear my girl quips from behind me and I’m trying my best not to laugh. I like that she immediately snuggles into my side so those women now would have no doubt that I’m totally hers, “wanna go play some pool, baby? Loser buys the drinks.”

“You’re on,” I tell her, Kourtney with a K and her friend are long forgotten. “But just to warn you, I’m really good.”

“Honey, I was practically born on one of these tables with a beer in my hand,” she says smugly, “you’re going down.”

—

“Do you want to come in?” YN asks as she pulls out her keys from her handbag. We’ve just got back from The Owner’s Box and as usual, I walk her to the door.

My tone is low, soft, and barely audible when I say, “Doc, if I come inside tonight, I don’t think I can promise you to keep my hands to myself.”

“I don’t want you to promise me anything,” she replies firmly. “Whatever happens, happens. Now, let’s not dawdle on my porch and get inside. Want some more beers?”

“Whoa, don’t hand me ammunition,” I joke and she laughs. “I’ll take some water though.”

“There’s some water bottles in the fridge,” she says, pointing to the tiny kitchen that sits at the rear of the house, past the living room. “I’ll be right back.”

I get two bottles of water out of the fridge and head back into her living room. I take a seat on the couch and pull out my phone, scrolling mindlessly as I wait for my girl.

When she reappears, she’s wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a white t-shirt. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail and her makeup has been washed off. Her in a t-shirt and tiny shorts is a hundred times sexier than her in literally anything else—yes, including her scrubs—and there’s no stopping my downstairs head from waking up.

“Come here.”

Her eyebrows rise, but I don’t miss the clear interest in her eyes. “Come there?”

I tap my thigh, “right here.”

Her cheeks flush and a little puff of breath blows out of her. With absolutely no hesitation, she crawls onto my lap. Our gazes are locked tight and her eyes darken with intensity. When her chest comes level with mine, and her knees are pressed into the cushion just inches from my crotch, she asks me softly, “you going to finally kiss me?”

“I’m thinking about it,” I tease her as my hands come around her lower back, pressing her onto me.

Fuck, she feels good against me. Just her soft curves and warmth and I’m already starting to get hard before I even lay my mouth on hers.

She looks at me with sizzling eyes as we stare at each other, knowing that once we take this step, our relationship is going to another level.

Leaving one hand on her lower back, I slide the other up and over the shoulder, letting my palm glide up her neck so my fingers can tangle in her hair. She shivers when my thumb strokes her jaw before I cup my hand around the back of her head.

Her hands reach out and circle behind my neck. Then she whispers as she licks her lower lip, “so this is it?”

“This is it,” I tell her, and because I absolutely cannot wait one second longer, I put pressure on the back of her head to lock our mouths together. The first touch of her lips against mine causes pleasure to punch straight through my groin, and the world just absolutely melts away.

There’s nothing else but her.

Lips so fucking soft, tongue tentative and sweet. Her hair silky to the touch and her skin warm as my hand snakes up just under the edge of her t-shirt.

She tilts her head, opens her mouth more and kisses me deeper. I groan and pull her tighter to me. My hand fists tighter into her hair, hampered by the hair tie somewhat but not giving a fuck. Her hips start to rotate slightly, rubbing herself along the top of my thigh. My dick gets achingly hard as she starts to make tiny sounds of need in the back of her throat.

My other hand slips down her back and palms her backside, then I give a tentative squeeze. I think she likes that, because her hips shift forward and she starts to grind her crotch on my leg. I press against her ass, encouraging her to keep moving against me. She does it again and shudders in my arms, so I know it’s hitting her in the right spot.

Pulling on her hair, I break the kiss just enough so I can growl at her, “get yourself off, darling. Right here. On my leg.”

Her eyes fly open and they’re full of fire and sexual need as they stare back at me. Her lips curve up in a wicked smile of acquiescence and I pull her back down to my mouth for a hard kiss.

She rotates her hips in circles, then alternates flexing back and forth. I clench my thigh muscle, wanting to give her as hard a surface as possible to stimulate herself. I slip my hand down the back of her shorts, finding bare skin. I squeeze and push her down on me, helping her to move faster on my leg.

She pants and moans softly as she works herself up. I have to force myself not to push my hand down further between her legs. I’m bound and determined not to go there yet, and besides, this is hot as fuck and completely satisfying to me.

She moves faster and faster, making tiny cries of yearning into my mouth as we kiss. Then she punches her pelvis down hard onto my thigh, going still for a moment before her entire body starts quaking in silent orgasm. I hear nothing but a soft sigh of pleasure escape her lips and slither over my tongue.

Her body goes limp in my arms. She lifts her head, our lips parting, and looks down at me with glazed eyes. I press my lips to her briefly just once more, before I pull my hand out of the back of her shorts and roll her body off me. As I stand up and hover over her for a minute, I see her cheeks flushed rosy and her nipples pebbled hard, even through her t-shirt.

Placing a hand on the couch cushion, I lower myself to her and brush my lips across her forehead. “Get a good night’s sleep.”

“Wait- you’re leaving?” She asks, confusion coating her expression.

“Yes,” is all I say.

“But-”

“I’ll take a cold shower when I get home, no worries,” I assure her with a smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I had a great time tonight, Harry,” she tells me, still looking like a wet noodle on the couch so I don’t think she’ll be getting up anytime soon.

“I did too,” I smile at her over my shoulder as I reach for her door.

It’s in this moment that I’m pretty sure I’m a goner for her.

—

I see the hottest, sexiest, most adorable doctor walking across the darkened parking lot towards me. Well, towards her car. Her head is tucked down and she looks tired. When she finally looks up and locks her eyes on me, the exhaustion melts away and I’m rewarded with a happy, welcoming smile from her.

“You really have to stop stalking me in parking lots,” she quips as she walks closer.

Then closer still until the tips of her shoes touch the tips of mine and she’s offering her mouth to me for a kiss. Obviously, I take it, because who wouldn’t? Her lips are perfect. She tastes like mint gum and smells faintly of antiseptic, and that right there is my favourite combo.

When she pulls back, she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and asks, “seriously, what are you doing here?”

“I wanna take you somewhere,” I tell her as I grab her hand and take her towards my car that’s parked the next row over.

“Where?”

“Just get in the car, Doc.”

“You’re being vague,” she says with an arched eyebrow. “Is this where you kidnap me, take my kidney and sell it on eBay?”

“This is where I’ll find a way to occupy that beautiful mouth of yours if you keep asking questions and ruin the surprise,” I tell her and she gives a tinkling laugh.

“Promises, promises,” she singsongs and I just roll my eyes.

It only takes about fifteen minutes from Cedars-Sinai Hospital where she works to the closest beach where I plan to take her for an impromptu picnic date night. We only had to stop by to get some pizza because I already have a cooler with a six-pack of beers loaded in the back of my car. It’s a little too late for sunset, but the purplish black of twilight is lush.

“The beach, huh,” she deadpans. “You brought me out here to seduce me?”

“You naughty girl,” I clutch a hand to my chest and make an exaggerated gasp of disbelief. “That’s indecent exposure that is.”

She laughs as she opens the door of the car and hops out. I do the same, then I open the back door to pull out the pizza, blanket and the cooler with beers inside before letting her help by taking the blanket.

Somehow we have the beach to ourselves tonight, and she points out a nice spot for us to sit. I agree, so I let her spread out the blanket. After both of us have our butts firmly planted, side by side, facing the ocean, I take two beers out and hand one to her.

“Ooh, we’re going fancy tonight,” she says when she sees that I brought microbrews instead of cheap beer.

I chuckle as I open the pizza box and grab a slice of the cheesy goodness that will probably clog my artery, then we talk about our day as we eat. I tell her the funny things that happened at practice today, including a joke that Marcel told us in the locker room which most would probably find insulting, but I know my girl is used to locker room talk and would find it hilarious, and she tells me what she did in the hospital. Apparently, they were so busy today that her lunch break lasted less than ten minutes.

“You never cease to amaze me, Doc,” I tell her honestly. “It’s so cool what you do for a living. Impressive as hell.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she says softly. “That means a lot.”

It’s completely dark by the time we finish our pizza, but the view is still lush since the moon is bright, causing the water to look like it’s covered in floating, crushed diamonds.

We’re silent as we sip our beers, and I love that we can sit in comfortable silence as well as talk for hours. It’s crazy to think that it’s only been a few weeks that we’ve known each other yet I just feel such a strong connection with her. I love that we’re so in tune with each other that sometimes we say the same things and steal lines from one another. We have a similar sense of humour and we can even exchange an inside joke with just a glance.

I loosen my hold of her when she pulls away from my side embrace. Her head swivels to me, and I can see the moon glittering in her eyes. “I owe you an apology.”

“What?” I look at her in confusion.

“I misjudged you, Harry,” she says with a tender smile. “When you asked me out, I outright told you that you’re a player without even giving you a chance to explain yourself. I made an assumption, and that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

“And your assumption was right,” I tell her honestly with a light chuckle. “There is nothing to apologise for. It was common knowledge, I was a manwhore.”

She snorts. “Shut up, I’m serious.”

“Me too,” I squeeze her hand. “You didn’t misjudge me, Doc, you knew exactly the type of guy I used to be.”

She has a dreamy smile on her face when she says, “kiss me.”

“No, you come here and kiss me,” I say, and I’m pretty sure she can see my eyes sparkling with mischief.

She rolls her eyes and mutters “fine” under her breath as she plants her knees on the sides of my legs, but I don’t miss the light in her eyes which tells me that she likes the idea.

Closing her eyes, she dips her mouth to mine and now I’m wondering if the two years of jail time and a fine for indecent exposure is worth it if I were to take her right here right now.

—

We’re in New York for two away games in a row, tonight against the Rangers which we won 3-1, and tomorrow night against the Devils. I’m chuffed not only because we won and I played great, but I also had a great day today before the game with my girl. We didn’t do much since she wanted me to save my energy for the game tonight, but we did walk around our hotel and ended up napping on the couch in the room that I share with Marcel.

We all ride on the team bus that takes us from the hotel to the arena and back to the hotel after we finish the game. I wanted her to sit next to me, but for both trips, to the arena and back, she gave me a slight shake of her head and sat with the girls along with the rest of the staff in the front.

When I hop off the bus though, I see her waiting for me with a grin on her face. I kiss the fuck out of her, not caring about my teammates who whistle and yell, “get a room.”

“Which floor are you on again?” I ask her as we enter the lift. I want to walk her to her room just to spend a few minutes more with her.

Yeah, laugh all you want. I know I’m fucking whipped.

“Tenth,” she says, pulling her room key out of her handbag and hands it to me so I can scan it then tap the button on number ten.

“Wanna catch an early breakfast with me tomorrow?” I ask her as we approach her room that she shares with the team’s orthopaedic surgeon, Callie.

“Sure. What time?”

“We’re leaving for light skate practice at 9:30, so we should have plenty of time if we meet down there at 8:30.”

“Sounds good,” she nods as we reach her door.

There’s a handwritten note stuck in between the door and the jamb. She puts her key in the card slot, opens the door slightly, and snag the piece of paper. She opens it up and I look over her shoulder at the note as we read it silently together.

YN,

Marcel and Joslynn are hooking up and they’re in his room which means Harry has been kicked out. I’m going to sleep with Macy instead, so you and Harry can have this room. Unless you want Harry to go sleep with Macy?

No? Didn’t think so.

Have fun you two.

Callie

“This is Alex, Matt and Marcel’s doing,” I tell her with absolute certainty as she twists her neck to look at me. “I’ll just get an extra room for tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chuckles. “You can sleep here. We’ve spent the night together before.”

“Yeah, but that was different. We fell asleep on the couch, it wasn’t intentional,” I point out. “I don’t trust myself sleeping in the same bed with you, Doc. I’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“Well, good,” she says, smiling mischievously. “Cause I’m done wait-”

That’s as far as she gets before I push her through the door, backing her into the room. My mouth hits her only moments before her legs hit the edge of the bed and we both go tumbling onto it.

This is when we realise there’s a huge box of condoms with 144 packs inside it in the middle of the bed. On the top, there’s another note and I recognise Matt’s handwriting on it.

You’re welcome by the way

“I freaking love your teammates,” she says with a laugh.

I guess I owe those fuckers some beers.

[onebourbon-oneshot-onetear]

Letterkenny- 5 Times Wayne Fell in Love With You

(Not my Gif)

Notes: This was meant to be a quick little oneshot, but it ended up being five pages long. I figured since there are a few Letterkenny fics I would have to write some myself lol

Warnings: Language (it's Letterkenny, duh...), ooc for Wayne? Fluff?

1. Whenever you helped with the chorin’

- When you were sitting outside, drinking some Puppers in the sun in the middle of an afternoon

- There weren’t enough chairs, but you didn’t mind, so you took your usual seat on the ground next to Wayne so you could lean against his legs

- You had lost track about what exactly the boys were talking about, but it didn’t matter. You were just happy to be sitting around with your friends

-Wayne nudged your head with his knee and you were jolted back into the conversation

- “What do you think, Miss/Mr. y/n?” Dan asked you

- “About what?” you asked

- “Going to MoDean’s for drinks,” Daryl said

- “Sure, I’ll go. When are we going?” You asked

-Wayne gently moved your head from his leg so you didn’t whack it on the chair and stood up. - “As soon as the chorin’ is done, which I was supposed to get help with,” He said, glaring at Dan and Daryl

-You tapped Wayne’s leg so he looked down at you. You held both hands up above your head, silently asking him to help you up.

-He took both your hands and hauled you off the ground with essentially no effort because of the wonderful muscles he hid under his flannels

-As soon as you were on your feet you turned around and started marching towards some of the hay bales

- “Pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er,” You said as you left

- Your back was to the boys so you missed the smile and head nod that Wayne had thrown to your retreating figure

- “y/n isn’t afraid to help with the chorin’, and that’s one of the things I appreciates about them,” Dan said

- “Take 20% off there Squirrely Dan,” Wayne said before marching off to follow you, who was already picking up a hay bale and throwing onto the back of the truck.

2. When you take care of everybody after they’re drinking

- It was hard to imagine since you spent all your time with the group, but you weren’t a big drinker

- You would spend the whole night nursing a beer or two or doing a few shots

-You were definitely the most responsible with alcohol out of everyone

- Which meant it was very often you were stuck with the aftermath of the drinking

- It wasn’t unusual for you to have to shove everyone in Wayne’s truck and drive them all home

- Getting everyone in the truck was the hardest part

-On really bad nights, the three boys were the worst

- “Daryl, I swear to fuck if you try and put your nipples on me one more time, I’m ripping them off,” you growled while helping Gail with putting all the empty bottles on the bar

- “Do you’s want to race me?” Dan barely slurred out, leaning against the bar to catch his balance

- “No, Dan, I don’t,” You rolled your eyes and grabbed the last few bottles and handed them to Gail

-Wayne was fairly easy, he was sitting at the end of the bar, giving a few adorable chuckles about nothing every few minutes

-Finally the bar looked somewhat back to normal and you waved goodbye to Gail and started herding the boys.

-Daryl ran at you with his shirt off, and keeping your promise, gave him the biggest purple nurple he had ever received

-He just laughed at it, but boy would he feel it in the morning

-Dan was now trying to get Wayne to race him, but Wayne was still giggling to himself

- “Hey you two, why don’t you see who can get to the truck first,” you called to Dan and Daryl, and they both damn near tripped over themselves to see who could get there first.

-Daryl definitely won

- You put your arm around Wayne’s shoulders and helped him off the bar stool.

- He flashed you the biggest smile and you were reminded that you actually loved seeing Wayne this drunk because it was the only time he actually relaxed

- “You’re a great fucking gal/guy, y/n” Wayne said between chuckles

-The heat rose to your cheeks, but you assumed he was only saying that because he was so drunk

- “So are you Wayne, now let’s get you home,” You said, leading him to the truck

-Daryl had his bare chest on the door of the car, but you didn’t want to bother with it. You would just let Wayne kick his ass tomorrow

-All the boys were put in the truck and you started your rounds of taking them home

-You got Dan and Daryl to their front doors before you headed to Wayne's house

-Katy said you could stay in her room since she was staying at a guys house for the night

-Don’t worry, you had already threatened the guy with death if he so much as thought about hurting her

- You got Wayne up the stairs and into bed, politely taking his boots off and innocently taking off his jeans and tucked him into bed

-He would give a quiet giggle every few minutes, but he was definitely on the verge of falling asleep

-You got him a glass of water and some ibuprofen and put them on his bedside table before falling asleep in Katy’s room

-The next morning, Wayne would be awoken to the smell of breakfast and he would make his way downstairs to see you in the kitchen in a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt

-He would sit at the table with his head down and you would pour him a cup of juice and set it down in front of him

- “Y/n, thanks for getting us all home,” He would say, albeit much quieter than he usually talked. Probably because of the hangover

- “You’re welcome, Sweetie,” You would say with a huge smile on your face, which would earn you a glare from Wayne, but it would disappear as soon as you put food in front of him. Instead it would be replaced with a grateful smile

-Because he knew you were a great fucking gal/guy

3. When you took care of Stormy

-You loved dogs.

-Like, loved dogs

-More than you loved almost anything else

-So when Stormy wouldn’t leave the barn, you were worried sick

-Wayne was too, but he would never show it

-He would call the vet but even in the small town of Letterkenny the vet wasn’t available 24 hours a day

- When the vet said they couldn’t be there for another day or two, you were devastated

- Wayne said Stormy would be fine for a few days and this wasn’t the first time it had happened

-But that didn’t matter much to you

- So for that whole day you didn’t stray too far from the barn where Stormy was laying

- Katy even brought food out to you when you didn’t want to come in for dinner

-Knowing that you wouldn’t want to leave the poor shepherd for too long, Katy got the couch made up for you to stay with her and Wayne

-He was pretty used to you hanging around the house anyway so it was no surprise and he just accepted it

-What he didn’t expect was to go downstairs in the middle of the night for some water to see the couch was empty

-He went up to Katy’s room but you weren’t there either

-Worry spiked through him as he registered that you weren’t in the house

-Until he saw a light on in the barn

-And he knew exactly where you were

-He put on a coat and grabbed a few blankets and headed to the barn

-When he approached the door, he thought he would see you on one of the chairs, or even laying on the upper deck

-What he didn’t expect was to see you laying in the hay right next to Stormy

-A small blanket covering both of them

-He stared at the sight before him for a minute before placing a heavier blanket on both his girls and taking a seat in one of the plastic chairs

-As he looked you over his heart got that weird fluttering feeling that only happened when he looked at you

-The chair wasn’t comfortable, but he settled down the best he could before closing his eyes

-Because he sure as shit wasn’t going to leave them both out in the chilly night air

4. When you only danced with him

-Wayne wasn’t much of a dancer

-He usually stayed at the bar drinking and watching everyone else

-Until he saw you on the dancefloor with Katy

-Both of you were having fun, without a care in the world

-He didn’t always understand how people enjoyed jumping around a dance floor, pushing into each other

- Until he saw you, smiling and carefree

-He could see how you would enjoy it

- He enjoyed watching you do it

- But when the song changed from an upbeat dance to a slower one, he saw the nervousness on your face

- Katy had gone on to dance with the 2 hockey players, leaving you alone on the floor

- He was going to wave you over for a Puppers, to sit down and have a drink with him

- Until

- Some uptown degen had grabbed your shoulder and spun you around, trying to dance with you

- And even from where he was sitting he could see you say no

- But this degen obviously didn’t know what was going to come to him if he didn’t let you go

- So Wayne took another swig of his drink, stood up, and marched right over to you

- He glared at the guy and shoved him away, standing in front of you until the degen scampered away from the crowd

- “I had him by the ropes,” you muttered, looking down at your shoes

- “Sure you did,” Wayne said, scanning the room to make sure the degen didn’t come back with any friends

- You both stood there awkwardly while everyone else was swaying to the music

- Finally you slyly held your hand out, asking him for a dance

- He looked between your hand and your face, before taking it and pulling you closer to him, his hand on your waist and yours falling on his shoulder

- You were slightly surprised that he had even decided to dance with you, but you weren’t going to question it too much

- It was rare that people saw this side of Wayne, especially in public

- So you just went with it and put your head on his shoulder

- “I thought you didn’t want to dance?” Wayne asked

- “No, I didn’t want to dance with some degen. I’ll always take a dance from you,” you said

- Wayne chuckled and pulled you a little closer

- He’d have to find a way to get you to dance with him outside of MoDean’s

5. When you patched him up after a fight

- Wayne was the toughest guy in Letterkenny

- Everyone knew that

- And for the most part, you liked it

- Except when Wayne had to prove that he was the toughest guy in Letterkenny

- Aka when he had to fight

- He always won, but that didn’t mean he didn’t catch a few hits along the way

- As the reigning tough guy in Letterkenny, Wayne never showed that he was hurt

- He usually hid behind a bottle of Puppers or Gus N’ Bru until the night was over

- Then he would give some half assed attempt to clean himself up

- Except he sucked at it

- So that’s where you stepped in

- Growing up in Letterkenny, you knew how to patch up wounds

- So as soon as you could get him alone, you would, ignoring his protests the whole time

- At first, you had to damn near tackle Wayne to get him to sit down so you could patch him up

- Even jumping onto his back to try and weigh him down

- It didn’t work, he just slung you off and caught you before you hit the floor, set you down, and stormed out of the bathroom

- This happened again and again until you tried a new tactic

- Begging

- Wayne could refuse most people’s begging

- But not yours

- Especially when you hit him with the puppy dog eyes

- So the first time you tried it, and said please, he sat down on the sink in the bathroom with a whispered “fuck a duck”, and let you patch him up

- You wiped the blood from his lip and disinfected the cuts on his knuckles

- And this became a routine almost every time he got into a fight

- Which was a lot

- His reluctance eventually diminished, and you swore that sometimes he looked forward to having you help him

- Although he would never tell his buddies

- But Katy teased you about it from time to time

- The last time you patched him up, Wayne had gotten into a pretty bad fight

- He had a busted lip, a blackened eye, and numerous cuts on his knuckles

- This fight wasn’t a typical ‘Toughest Guy in Letterkenny’ fight

- You had no idea what started this one, but Wayne hadn’t been this hurt in a while

- He had walked into the house where you were watching a movie with Katy, stood in front of you guys for a moment, and then walked into the bathroom and sat on the sink

- Katy had nudged you towards him and resumed the movie

- You walked into the bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit that you had stashed away after the first few fights

- You got out the bandages and hydrogen peroxide and got to work, gently working from his eye to his knuckles

- “I take it this wasn’t a planned fight?” you asked him, throwing a cotton ball into the trash can

- “Not exactly,” he said, “Some fuckin’ degens were talking about some of the girls in town, fucking degens,” he muttered

- “Ah,” I said, putting a small bandage on his right hand

- You're little Batman of Letterkenny

- You went to release his hand but he grabbed yours instead

- You looked up into his eyes and saw that he was already looking into yours

- “You don’t have to patch me up every time, you know,” He said, barely moving his thumb across your own knuckles

- You smiled, your cheeks turning red. “I know, but I want to. Lord knows you can’t do it yourself,” you laughed, not moving

- He gave you a rare smile and let go of your hand

- You finished with his hand and patted his shoulder, signaling that you were done

- He hopped off the counter and watched as you put everything away

- You brushed past him and left the bathroom and went to go sit on the couch and resume the movie

- Wayne went to the fridge, grabbed a Puppers, and sat next to you on the couch

- As the movie played on, you felt your eyes drooping and your yawns had increased, some of them threatening to split your face in half

- At some point your head leaned over onto Wayne’s shoulder and your eyes closed for the night

- Wayne only dragged a blanket onto you and shifted his shoulder down for you to rest your head better

- He ignored Katy’s raised eyebrows and beaming smile and turned his attention back to the movie

- But as he looked at his wrapped hand again, he glanced back at you asleep on his shoulder, and figured enough was enough.

- He would tell you in the morning