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#but i just need to yell about hockey
sophsicle · 10 months
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the rest of them should disappear 😭
pls tell me there is an exclusion for matthew tkachuk (he’s my boy. my main man)??
absolutely disrespectfully fuck the staals and the org tho
bro
i HATE tkachuk ohmygod
mostly brady 2 b fair
but both of them have the worst vibes
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secondpersonpoetry · 2 months
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Franziska Linkerhand, Brigitte Reimann
#do you ever start reading a novel and not even get past the first page before shrieking 'LEON'#incredibly niche content. this is for real just for me#and i understand this HOWEVER it bothered me and rotated in my brain so much i NEEDED to come put this here. stupid!!! hrrrggggghhhrrrh!!!!#and i was just going to put the verdreifachen line and i'm not happy with how it's edited but it's FINE everything's fine it's just.#LEON.#and like granted does this totally hold true no i don't think so it just slots into the terrible terrible universe of quotes i have for him#but i can't articulate it right. also we're throwing this into the Heimat thesis breakdown pile for leon &wherever the brainworms r crawlin#<- that is the one i mean thank you. yelling into the void ash & alice u will never be forgiven for starting this ily#ich möchte mein Leben verdreifachen / um nachzuholen / die lange lange Zeit / als es dich nicht gab#do i put this on the actual hockey blog to have the breakdown there and figure out what i mean? maybe.#but then i KNOW i'd have to translate it so people can read it and already i wouldn't know if i want to say my life in triplicate#or my life thrice over and if it's there was no you or you weren't there. save me translation theory save me (smacks me with a steel chair)#also it is SO raw.#i'm not afraid of the present but the memories i can't fight back against the pictures in ur head i can't see a pain i did not share w/ u..#and i do think the reason it hits so hard as a c/l to me is maybe the idea of this not as i didn't know you then at all#but that they did grow up together. and it's that he didn't have him in the way he does now he doesn't know him like he does now and now#he has to think about the life he had with connor&he want to do it once / twice over now to know to make up for the time he missed with him#but it also falls into the one in every dream i have of you you are making breakfast that even when i dream i'm dreaming of you inside them#(the life thrice over)#anyway. multitude of others it could be however bc it's auf Deutsch it got assigned leon even if it may not fit as perfectly. OH TIME LOOPS#THE JAMIE/TREVOR DUAL TIME LOOPS FIC OH MY GOD YEAH THAT'S THIS HOW DID IT TAKE ME SO LONG TO GET TO TIME LOOPS WITH LIFE THRICE OVER yesss
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Faking It
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Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN
a/n:​​​ This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️
Masterlist
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“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?” 
Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?” 
Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.” 
“He was talking shit about the team!” 
“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.” 
“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown. 
In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was. 
An opportunity to see you. 
And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box. 
“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away. 
Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.” 
“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?” 
“Hey, he did.” 
“They always do.”
Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated. 
“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?” 
Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.
“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.” 
“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him. 
But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one. 
Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not. 
But, damn, were you busy right now. 
Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you. 
Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off. 
God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you. 
He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free. 
“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.” 
You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.” 
Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations? 
Never. Because you were so damn busy. 
“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.” 
You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could. 
“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?” 
“Yes.” 
Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.” 
“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”
“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.” 
Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck. 
He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo. 
“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey. 
Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.” 
You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.” 
You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three. 
“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair. 
“I don’t know. In the night.” 
“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?” 
You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.” 
“Baby—”
“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.” 
“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back. 
“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.” 
“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.” 
You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you. 
“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.
“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.” 
You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin. 
Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him. 
“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream. 
You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.” 
“I wouldn’t call it lying.” 
The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face. 
“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.” 
“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.” 
“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.” 
Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.” 
“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?” 
“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away. 
“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented. 
Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him. 
With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen. 
After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real. 
God, he loved you. 
“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.” 
Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.
“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin. 
“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—” 
“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.” 
“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.” 
Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—” 
“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.” 
“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder. 
His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.” 
“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.” 
“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—” 
You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow. 
Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.
You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”
Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more. 
“Can’t help it. I love you.”
Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for. 
But he always got what he wanted in the end. 
And, more than anything, he wanted you. 
“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?” 
When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.
“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend. 
He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.” 
“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.” 
“I know what first means, baby.” 
“Good.” 
But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually. 
“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket. 
You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?” 
“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”
You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.” 
“Always, baby.” 
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elliezato · 1 month
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✮⋆˙Hockey Player Ellie⋆˙⟡
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HockeyPlayer!Ellie x Reader headcannons<3
Summery: Ellie is your competitive girlfriend who loves to see you at her hockey games!
SFW! Just cute hcs and some fluff
Also I honestly don’t know much about hockey… but could you IMAGINE Ellie on the rink!!! She’d be so hot in those uniforms. I need more hockey Ellie content.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie looks for you in the crowd before her games. She loves seeing you cheer for her. Every time her or her teammates score a goal she looks up at you and smiles to make sure you saw.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie brags about you to all her teammates. She got you a jersey to wear to her games. The back of the jersey says “Williams” so everyone knows you’re her girl.
- You obviously added cute patches that remind you of Ellie on the jersey and you make sure to never miss a game.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie always goes to you first after all of her games. Before going to the locker room with everyone else she steps off the ice and grabs your waist, placing soft kisses on the corner of your lips.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie loves when you skate with her. She bought you a pair of skates so she could teach you but you weren’t very good. She’ll take you on skating dates but has to hold your hand most of the time.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie is always competitive when it comes to sports. You can hear her from the crowd yelling at her teammates when they make a mistake. Her team loves her but can’t stand how competitive she gets. Same goes for when you watch professional hockey at home. She’s standing in front of the tv yelling like a dad watching football.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie’s favorite season is winter because of all the public rinks. She takes you christmas skating every year just to show off in front of all the kids who clearly don’t know what they’re doing.
- She always gets annoyed when she sees the figure skaters spinning in the public rinks. She claims they’re “showing off” even though she’s literally there to do the same.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie loves when you get into the games. You stand up and cheer for her from he crowd making sure you’re loud enough for her to hear. Her teammates tease her about how you still don’t know much about the game but still cheer.
- She tries to explain to you the rules of hockey and you just sit and nod, acting like you understand. Eventually you get the hang of it after watching some many of her games.
✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie laughs to herself from the rink when she sees you stand up in concern every she gets hit for falls. She has bruises on her legs and arms from getting manhandled by the other players. After her games you always give her massages to loosen her muscles.
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theemporium · 5 months
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“Baby, please.” 
“Shhh, focus on your game, honey.”
“Just let me—”
“Eyes on the screen.”
It was torture. It was absolute fucking torture and it was driving him mad. Was it somewhat self-inflicted? Maybe so. But Jack Hughes didn’t believe the punishment matched the crime, in fact he thought it was far worse. Not that he would say as much, not when the risk that you’d torture him even more lingered in the air.
To be fair, he had been neglecting you—even if it wasn’t a conscious choice. 
It was summer. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and for the next few months, Jack was relieved from all his hockey duties and responsibilities. This meant lazy days to lie in bed a little longer, to eat a little less healthy, to enjoy time with his family and friends and girlfriend until hockey season came back around and he was forced to leave on long roadies. 
You and Jack had actually decided to visit the lakehouse a little earlier than everyone else this year, long before his family or even his friends showed up. It was a win-win, with you and Jack getting (what was meant to be) a romantic getaway and Luke getting the Jersey apartment all to himself.
Except, it wasn’t the romantic getaway you expected with your boyfriend. 
You weren’t under any false illusions. You and Jack were never an overly romantic couple. You weren’t expecting picnics by the lake or date nights on the boat or home-cooked meals shared over candlelight. That wasn’t how you two worked. That wasn’t the kind of couple you were. But you expected at least some attention from your boyfriend in the week you had alone before everyone else arrived.
Instead, he had stupidly listened to Trevor and Cole bang on about some video game and, without realising it, the boy had become addicted in the last few days. He was on the console, laughing and yelling with his friends he would see in less than two weeks and you were losing your mind.
You tried to ask him to join you for dinner, and he would just promise you he would join in a couple of minutes. You tried to catch up on some alone time when you were both crawling into bed, but he would either be half-asleep or rambling about the game. You had even tried to seduce the boy with a lacy set you brought with you as a surprise, and he didn’t even notice the number peeking out from under your robe.
Jack was usually an attentive boyfriend, and you knew he was only like this because he was hyperfixated on the game. 
But you were fucking sick of it. You wanted your boyfriend back. You wanted him all for yourself. And you were going to show him what he was missing while he was focused on the silly, little videogame.
“Shit,” he murmured, his breathing a little heavy as he tried to keep his eyes focused on the screen. As he tried to focus on his little figurine, as he tried to focus on the bullets flying his way from all directions, as he tried to focus on anything except his scandalously-clad girlfriend currently grinding down on his thigh. 
Those little shorts he owned were the death of you. And if Jack wasn’t going to fuck you, then you decided you would just have to get yourself off, maybe even remind him of what he could have had if he hadn’t been so focused on something else.
“Careful,” you teased, your voice a little shaky as you rolled your hips. “One button and they’ll hear you, baby. They’ll hear you begging to touch me. They’ll hear your pretty cries to fuck me.”
“Baby,” Jack rasped, his hooded eyes focusing on your face for a short few moments before his gaze dropped to your tits that were threatening to spill out of the lacy nightgown you were wearing. “Please.”
“Maybe I’ll turn the microphone on myself,” you continued, a taunting tone lacing your suggestive words. “Maybe I’ll let them hear how good I feel. Maybe I’ll tell them that I don’t even need you touching me to get off.”
His jaw clenched, the controller in his hands lying limp in his hold as he watched you reach up to squeeze your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples between your fingers.
“Fuck, Jack,” you moaned out, your head tilting back as you began to speed up. “These stupid fuckin’ thighs. Gonna be the death of me.”
“Babe,” Jack pleaded once again, his fingers itching to reach out and grip your thighs. To properly pull you onto his lap and feel you grinding down on his dick instead. To just be inside you while you make those pretty noises.
“You’ve not been a good boy, Jack,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt yourself quickly approaching the edge. “Only good boys get to fuck me.”
“I’ll be your good boy,” he breathed out, his blood rushing to his cock as he watched you grip the fabric of his shirt, leaning against him as your tempo increased.
“Yeah? You wanna be my good boy?” You questioned, your lips twitching upwards as you watched him vigorously nod his head. You leaned forward, your fingers squishing his cheeks together as he let out a small whimper. “You think you deserve to fuck me?”
“Please,” he whimpered out.
Your mouth fell open as you finally tipped over the edge, feeling your orgasm wash over your body as you let out a pathetically loud moan. You gripped onto him as you came, letting the pleasure rush through you as you left his thigh wet and soaking and dripping with your arousal. You leaned your forehead against his shoulder as you catched your breath, as you felt his racing heartbeat beneath your palm.
“If you wanna fuck me, you’re gonna have to prove you deserve it,” you told him, still a little breathless and rough. “On your knees, baby. Wanna see that pretty face of yours between my legs.”
The game was long abandoned as Jack quickly moved to complete your request, his cheeks already flushing with need. “Yes, ma’am.”
.
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ghouljams · 1 month
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Hockey au my light my love. The most chaotic boys. The Goon squad. The bane of coach Price's existence.
"Just talk to 'er mate," Soap nudges Ghost's shoulder. Poor guy has been staring you down all night, glaring like you walked in with his brother.
"What am I s'pposed ta say," Ghost grumbles over the lip of his beer. His eyes hardly budge from staring, watching you like a hawk as you laugh with your friends.
"Oh use a pickup line," Gaz chimes in, leaning around Soap at the bar.
"Good on ya Gaz," Soap pats the man on his shoulder in agreement before turning back to Ghost, "pickup line breaks the ice, get 'er to laugh and youre in."
"You're not suppose to break the ice," Ghost turns to look at his teammates. Soap groans, Gaz snorts, taking a sip of his drink.
"Go up to her and say something hockey like," Gaz chews his lip, thinking, "you should get two minutes for tripping, because I just fell for you."
"That's a good one," Soap says, almost surprised, smacking his hand against Gaz's chest.
"I know," Gaz boasts, sipping his beer.
"Got a better one though," Soap grins.
"Let's hear it," Gaz tips his head, yielding the proverbial floor.
"You want my sweater? 'Cause I think you need my name and number."
"Pretty good," Gaz nods, "how about this one-"
Ghost stands from his seat as Soap and Gaz go back and forth. Pickup line, he can do that, that's easy. He's good looking, he can talk to pretty people in bars. He stops next to your table and watches you turn to look up at him, your smile good natured and your brow raised in question. He stares at you a moment longer, God you're pretty. Prettier up close, he can't take his eyes off the sparkle in your eyes or the crooked tilt of your lips. You're waiting on him to say something, you deserve something good for putting up with his staring.
"Hi," he starts and your smile grows a little wider and everything flies out of his head, "I'm Simon, I'm a goalie."
"You play for the 141 right?" You ask, grabbing your drink to take a sip. It's something dark on ice, it tips in the glass like bourbon. Ghost nods. "You've got a .9 save percentage."
".921," Ghost corrects, "and six shut outs."
You set your drink back on the table and grab your jacket, Ghost doesn't move when you stand, even if it means you nearly bump into him. He wouldn't be mad if you did. He's hoping for it actually.
"You should take me home," you tell him, and Ghost wastes no time settling a big hand on the small of your back to lead you out into the cool night air.
He only realizes the mistake he made in the morning when you shake him awake the next morning and tell him, "We have practice at six, get your ass up."
Ghost groans and cracks his eyes open to stare at you, half asleep. "We?" He asks, not sure what you have to do with him or his practice schedule.
"New team manager nice to meet you," you pat his cheek and roll out of bed, "get your ass up Riley, we got a long day ahead of us."
Ghost sits up, watches you fish around on the floor for your underwear and tries to make the cogs in his head turn the right way. He's gotta stop getting into fights, he thought you said team manager. That- he'd know if you were his manager. He knows the team manager.
You toss a tee at him with a 'what are you doing?' look, "hell are you sitting around for ya fuckin' muppet? You got practice."
Ghost grabs the tee and tugs it over his head with a grumbled swear. You better stop yelling at him or he's gonna fall in love with you.
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hockeybabe · 7 months
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could u do a fic where all the boys are at the lake house and u and quinn are making out in the kitchen or like on a counter and one of the boys walk in
Sneak Away | Q.Hughes
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Not my Gif
Pairings: Quinn Hughes x gf!reader
Summary: the one moment you and Quinn get away from the group you take serious advantage of it.
Warnings: swearing, heavy make out session, getting caught, luke being scared, Michigan boys hyping you up
Word count: 476
Note: short story but in honour of Quinn becoming captain a captain Quinn is coming soon!!! Also I will be doing kinktober so put some request on my page for any hockey players you want.
Luke, Jack, Quinn, and the Michigan boys were at the lake house celebrating Luke's signing with New Jersey and him scoring his first goal. It was an exciting weekend of partying, but as much as you were having fun, you also wanted some alone time with Quinn, as he did too.
The boys constantly teased Quinn about only wanting time with you, and it got to the point where they’d make sexual jokes where you would blush and hide while Quinn smirked or looked at you. Quinn and you were always with each other, connected by the hip, and always wanting some sort of physical touch, but this weekend you couldn’t be more apart.
It felt as if the boys were trying to see how long you two would last without each other before one of you said something. But you both were stubborn. As of now, you were at the pool table watching Quinn as he played against Jack, and the rest of the boys were roaming around and having their own fun.
"You ain’t got shit Q." Jack called out, as Quinn only needed to get the 8-ball. You felt yourself getting bored as the boys tried to get in Quinn’s head. "I’ll be in the kitchen." You whispered into your boyfriend's ear, trailing your finger across his back. Quinn watched you the entire time, causing him to hit the 8-ball in a total different direction, making him miss.
The boys got riled up, pushing Quinn back and forth for messing up as Jack had the opportunity to win. With one push, Quinn was able to get away and swerve through people and to the kitchen, where you were sitting on the counter staring at Quinn. "Look who came around." You say, wrapping your arms around his shoulder as he nestled between your legs.
"I couldn't leave my girl all alone." Quinn says, grabbing your chin and tilting your head up. Your eyes quickly scan the room before looking back at Quinn and smashing your lips together. The kiss was heated, and it quickly turned into a heavy make-out session. Quinn’s hands travelled down your sides and all the way to your back, pulling you closer to his bulge.
You moaned into the kiss, running your hands under his shirt and feeling his warmth. "Such a needy girl." He muttered into your mouth, dragging his thumb over your lips, before you took his thumb in your mouth and started sucking. Quinn’s eyes filled with lust as he watched you do something you’d never done before.
"Wow guys! Get a fucking room!" Luke yelled, and as you two looked to the side, you saw the entire Michigan team cheering, some looking awkward while others just smiled. "Get it, Quinny!" One of the boys yelled, and Quinn simply smirked as you hid your head in his chest.
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wandasfifthwife · 16 days
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(1) running into you | competing series
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hockey coach!wanda x fem!ex figure skater reader
tw: creepy man hits on r, flirting (r and w), mentions to past injury (r), some mommy issues mentioned whoops, the nephew’s name is Tyler (💀)
a/n: not proofread oopsies. DON’T steal/repost my works. anyways enjoy this piece of shit. I’ll come back and edit this later.
It’s a transition going from spending every minute in the rink to living vicariously through your nephew’s newfound interest in the ice. You’ve been taking him to lessons since his parents, your brother, has had to work every minute to make a decent living.
Seeing an ice rink after two years was strangely nostalgic. Spending every waking hour here until you’d gone and screwed your leg during practice.
You would’ve been better off without your coach at the time, your mom, yelling in your ear to get up. It’s in the past and you’re hoping it stays there.
Your nephew was about young teen, unfortunately a stereotypical teen boy who played sports. He was a good kid, but too confident for his own good and feeling the need to size up other players.
The coach of the team had been running them through drills. They were mainly on how to skate and learning specific techniques for hockey such as stopping quickly. He was picking it up quick, again too confident in his efforts but it did get him somewhere.
“Who’s yours?”
You faced the man beside you, “I’m sorry?”
He pointed, waving his finger around and it clicked for you. You waved him off, saying you were here for your nephew.
“Is he your sister’s? Your brother’s?”
“My brother’s. He’s thirteen.”
“And picking it up now? That’s a bit late.”
You laugh, “what?”
The man shrugs and leans back, “he may not be able to make varsity. I mean look.”
The frustration burned through you, feeling annoyed at his audacity. You begin to grab your stuff and move down the bleachers.
“These are kids, and they can do it as a social pastime. I did figure skating and I made it into the region competitions. I was thirteen.”
The man scoffs, “I’m talking about the young boy here and an actual sport, not twirling on the ice. I mean you didn’t go far if you’re here on a Monday night.”
With a shake of your head, you leave and officially move away to the other set of bleachers, closer to where the players got off the ice. It was surprising how aggressive some parents were with their kids doing a sport. It concerned you how concerned they were with their kid succeeding in a sport they once did.
You had sat near the railing towards the bottom, resting your head on it. There was an attempt made to forget your coursing adrenaline, watching your nephew work on sliding across the ice.
It was futile, especially with the way the man was holding his stare in your direction. Whatever his problem was, you wanted nothing to do with it. Men were weird, especially when they’re under some sort of influence.
The group huddled together in the rink, the words being spoken echoed throughout the room. The only word you understood was when they announced their team chant.
You waved back at your nephew when he skated by the window, mouthing something about, “watching him.” It was practice time, where they’re given ten minutes to skate around and practice what they learned.
He flailed around but he still got up proud, acting as if his stop and falling onto the ground was meant to happen. It was amusing, but entertaining and failed for you to realize the man was walking near you yet again.
“Hey ma’am, sorry for the inconvenience. I just thought you were quite beautiful.”
You cringe, “being mean is your flirting technique?”
“Usually chicks dig it.”
You nod and look back to your nephew but he’s relentless and doesn’t want to take no for an answer, even stepping closer to you.
“You alright here miss?”
A woman in skates appeared near you two. She was adjusting the heavy coat around her shoulders, moving to take it off with the obvious sweat on around her face and neck.
The man speaks for you, “we’re fine.”
She raises her eyebrow and tosses the coat onto the bleachers, eyes slowly looking to you for confirmation. You move away from the man and it was enough confirmation.
“Hey buddy, she’s not interested. There’s plenty of fish in the sea but a woman twenty years younger than you isn’t the move.”
With a patronizing smile and wave he began to yell at his son to leave. You thanked her, moving to do the same when she stopped you.
“Who’re you here for?”
“Tyler, what’re you here for?”
She looks confused for a moment, making a subtle gesture towards the skates on her feet, “I’m the coach.”
You swear you feel your confidence melt into a puddle. How long have you been taking him to practices and you’ve never cared to greet the coach?
“I’m terrible sorry,” you put your hand out to shake hers, “I should have introduced myself when I had begun to take him to practice. It’s nice to meet you.”
She smiles and pushes your hand away, “no need. How’re you feeling though, need someone to walk you to your car?”
“That’s quite alright, I believe I’ll be fine.”
Your nephew exits the rink then, coming to sit near you two and untie his skates. He either didn’t notice you two conversing or he didn’t care, because he had come barreling in. You take his helmet off, reminding him to not forget his bag in the locker room.
“You did a great job today, Tyler, how’re you feeling about your stops now?”
“I’m definitely better. I think I’m better than Micah too, he slides into the walls. Man has no clue on how to slide.”
She hums, “then I’ll see you tomorrow. Night.”
He waved and begins to walk behind the bleachers towards the locker room, and she looks back to you.
“I could stand at the door and make sure you two get to your car? I can see him standing at the tables looking this way. My word, is he drunk or something?”
You look and find him standing outside by himself and accept her assistance. It wasn’t that you necessarily trusted her, but she was more trustworthy than the other.
She grabs her coat and stuff on the seat, ready to go just as Tyler had ran out from the locker rooms. He smelt terrible and for some reason felt the need to stand where his sweat melted onto your skin.
“Maximoff what drills are we doing tomorrow?”
She looks relaxed, her eyes focused on him and tone kind while it feels your nerves are spiking when you see the man in your peripheral vision. He doesn’t seem to pay you any mind anymore, he looked distant while his son finished packing up.
“Okay, I’m heading off. Have a good night you two,” she looks to one more time, and you mouth your thanks. She jerks her car door open, throwing her stuff in and climbing in after.
“I love Maximoff. She’s a great coach, very professional if I could add.”
You shove him into the car, and start driving out of the parking lot. It’s fun to watch someone gain traction in a sport and see how much they enjoy learning the next steps to getting better.
“Are you staying for dinner tonight?”
“I am. Your parents aren’t getting back until later tonight, so I’m staying over tonight. Anything you want to do?”
He doesn’t seem very interested in anything you suggest, wanting to go to bed right after you both have dinner. And it’s understandable.
He had gone to bed four hours before his parents had finally begun to come home, your brother being the first home. He found you on the coach, “hey, how’re you?”
“It’s swell. I got hit on at the rink, but other than that it’s fine. Tyler’s asleep now.”
“You got hit on at the rink?”
“Opened with insults and everything.”
He empties his water bottle, his voice slightly muffled from where he was in the house, “are you okay with continuing to bring him to practice? I feel bad enough as it is. We can’t thank you enough.”
“No it’s fine. It was just sudden. I enjoy being able to see you all often,” you dangle your keys, “I’m going to head back to my apartment, I unfortunately have work tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow, get home safe. Maybe tomorrow we can all eat dinner this weekend, we’d like to catch up”
“I’d love to. Sleep well, goodnight,” you wave before shutting the door behind you.
⋆ ˚。⋆ ✧ ⋆ ˚。⋆
“Tyler,” you say while finishing tying his skates, “I don’t want you to hang around Josh anymore okay? He’s a terrible influence.“
“But he’s the second best. At least he isn’t sliding into the walls.”
“I mean his personally is shit, just focus on learning the fundamentals and talk with the others.”
“Isn’t that a bad word—”
“Just get on the ice.”
He puts his hands up in offense and stumbles into the rink. You wipe your hands on your pants, “I swear—“
“That you do,” she comes beside you.
She sets her bags down beside you, leaning her shoulder against the wall. Your attention follows her fingers, a part of you hating the way she’s tying her skates. The other part got caught judging from the expression on her face.
“Are you judging how I tie my skates?”
You get slightly flustered, apologizing and fearing you’ve made her uncomfortable but all it does is grow the smile that was already there.
“Should be sorry unless you have a valid reason.”
“I figure skated,” you blurt and she looks amused.
“Do you still skate?”
“Not anymore after an injury my junior year.”
She looks earnest in her apology. In a response to not spiral you laugh it off.
“I bet it’s painful to realize you won’t be able to enjoy your passion again, but you’re here supporting him.”
“It’s not the end of the world, but it’s disappointing,” you laugh, “And of course, Tyler loves hockey. Especially when he has a coach like you.”
She leans to grab her coat, “what’s special about me?”
It’s something you’re still learning. That being how you have a knack for being flirty when you aren’t usually meaning to. In this moment though? You don’t mind.
You smile cruelly, “it’s 2:00.”
She checks her watch for confirmation and dramatically steps back onto the ice with a sigh. You feel your heart race from within your chest at the look she gave you after.
It felt like you were being called out. Her attention was on you before and after each practice. You enjoyed familiarizing yourself with your nephew’s coach (by familiarizing you mean flirting). It would make sense to leave everything where it was, but you didn’t want to.
You learned it was more than a simple surface friendship with your nephew’s coach when she slipped her number into your back pocket. And maybe the details on there that she wanted to take you out that Saturday at 8.
masterlist | next chap
tags
@xxxtwilightaxelxxx @emiliaisdead
@esposadejoyhuerta @shinysuitcloud
@xxsekhmet @casquinhaa @r0manxff
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bedsyandco · 7 months
Text
𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒
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🫧 — {fem!reader x jack hughes}
🫧 — established relationsip! set a few years in the future. Reader and Jack are married! Reader is pregnant! Kind of set in Jack's POV I guess.
🫧 — in which Jack's wife is pregnant and a little emotional.
WC — 1.5K
"Babe” Jack whispers.
“Hm?”
“Can you scoot over a bit?” he asks
“I’m on the edge”
He looks over his shoulder, right at the face of his beautiful wife.
“Babe, I find that hard to believe,”
“What?” you ask, a little disoriented.
“There’s no way you’re on the edge when your face is pressed into my back, your legs are tangled with mine and our child is kicking me in the back.”
“But I am,”
“You’re not,” Jack argues.
“You scoot over,”
“I can’t. I’m on the edge of our California King bed that you insisted we get because you didn’t want to touch during the night because you always get too hot. Yet, you’re laying on top of me,”
“I am not,” you complain, nuzzling closer, if that were possible. “Shh go to sleep.”
Jack sighs loudly and says, “I can’t. You’re too hot and our child is kicking me in the back.”
“Yeah well, welcome to my world buddy. Can you stop talking? I'm tired.” you say.
Usually Jack wouldn’t care. He’d deal with it because he loved you and he wanted you to be comfortable, but he needed to get up early tomorrow morning and he really needed a good night’s sleep. Jack was beyond stressed. It felt like he was always 2 seconds away from having a panic attack.
His constant worry about you was driving him insane, but then he also had hockey to think about. The Devils had just lost in the third round of the playoffs. They were so close. Jack wanted nothing more than to win and hold that cup up. But then he realised he was about to hold his baby, and that was an even greater prize.
That was if he didn’t kill you first.
Turning over, you glared at him as he popped his head on one arm, looking over her to the amount of space behind you. “Baby, we could literally fit all my teammates beside you,”
“What does that mean?” you ask frowning
“I’m saying scoot the hell over!” he says, his voice rising. “You’re burning me up!”
“I want to sleep with you,”
“You are, but just give me some space so I don’t die of heatstroke!”
“Ugh, fine.” you say annoyed and rolled over to the other side of the bed.
Jack sighs, shaking his head and lays back down. He could finally breathe, but just as he’s about to fall asleep you say, “I just think it’s messed up that you won’t cuddle with me and I’m carrying your child, which is the reason I’m burning up!”
Jack opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. Here they go again.
“Sweetheart, I love cuddling with you. But I have to be up early to do press and clean out my locker. I can’t sleep through that and I definitely can’t sleep with you burning me up and our child kicking me the whole night. I love you though, you know that right?” Jack asks, looking over at you with a soft smile.
But you were glaring, lips pursed as you glared at him. “Oh yeah, I forgot it’s so hard being Jack Hughes and you need all the sleep you can get. While I can’t sleep a certain way due to the fact that it hurts because I’m the thing your child is sucking the life out of.”
“I thought you loved being pregnant.”
“I do!” you yell and his brows go up. “That’s not the point. I’m just reminding you that I don’t get to sleep or do any of the things that I wanna do anymore, but it’s fine. I’ll sleep all the way over here without the love and support from my husband because he needs to get some sleep. God forbid you don’t get any sleep.” you mumble and Jack wants to laugh. You were being ridiculous. But before he could tell you that, you look over to him and say, “And just a friendly reminder Jack Hughes, when this baby comes, say fucking good-bye to sleep.”
“I guess I should say good-bye to sleep now, because I’m sure as hell not getting any more tonight,” Jack says, holding your gaze.
Your eyes darken a little and Jack swears he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as his wife. Even when you’re a little crazy, hostile, and 7 months pregnant, you were still hot as fuck.
“You got that right, I just wanted to cuddle,” you say rolling away from him again.
When Jack hears you sniff he can’t help but smile. The emotional rollercoaster of a pregnant wife was no joke. Reaching out, he went to cuddle with you, but you smack his hand away.
“I don’t wanna cuddle now,” you mutter
“Fine,” Jack sighs, falling back onto his own pillow. Sometimes he just really couldn't win with you.
“I just want you to know, I did want to cuddle. But that’s gone now.”
“I hear you.” Jack replies.
“And I’m very upset.”
“I got that.” he says with a sigh, rolling on his side to look at you.
“I just don’t think it’s fair. I cook, I clean, I work. And I’m carrying your child.”
“And I appreciate you more than words can ever say.” Jack says sincerely.
“Then you'd cuddle with me!” you say exasperated.
“But baby, I need sleep too. And you’re literally a furnace.”
“Well if you need sleep so badly and I’m too hot and our baby won’t stop kicking you then go sleep somewhere else!” you yell
“Seriously?”
“Yes! Go to the couch”
Surely you were joking. But then you yank the covers off him and pull his pillow from under him, throwing both on the floor. He stands up and goes to pick up his pillow.
“I need sleep and I’m too mad to sleep with you here.” you mutter
“Because I won’t cuddle with you?”
“Yes!” you yell tears streaming down your face.
“Then come here, I’ll cuddle.” he says and ducks when you throw another pillow at his head.
“No! I don’t want to cuddle anymore!” you yell
“Then let’s just go to bed.” Jack mumbles
‘No! I’m mad!”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Jack says with a laugh, and why he would do that would be his last thought.
“Go!” you yell.
“If I go, I’m not coming back tonight.” Jack says
“That’s fine. Maybe tomorrow you won’t mind cuddling your wife and child.”
“Sweetheart, I said let’s cu-”
“I don’t wanna cuddle!” you yell laying your head on the pillow with a sob. “I just wanted you to want to cuddle with me!”
Watching as you cried, Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He picked up his pillow and looked at you one more time. “You sure?”
“Yes. You broke my heart Jack.” you say.
He went to say something sassy back but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere so instead he said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t wanna cuddle because of the blazing heat you were putting off. I love you. Good night.”
When you don't answer, Jack chuckles as he walks out of the room. His girl was so stubborn. Heading to the couch he lays down and stares at the ceiling. Only two more months and maybe he would get his normal wife back. He was lucky that some of the guys on the team had kids and also went through this process. If not he wouldn’t know it was normal for his wife to be completely and utterly irrational about the dumbest things.
Tonight it was cuddling.
Last week, it was because he ate the last oreo.
Next week, it might be because he breathed a little too hard.
Jesus. Two more months. He could do it.
Leaning back on his pillow he closed his eyes, thankful that he chose to spend so much money to get a comfortable couch. He hopes you stopped crying. He hates when you cry. He was tempted to check but he really didn’t want you to bite his head off. Just as he was about to drift off he felt someone beside him.
Opening his eyes, he saw you standing there.
You looked adorable, hair a mess, cute pyjama shorts, cheeks flushed. Wearing one of Jack’s T-shirts that you cropped. It kinda made you look like Winnie the Pooh. Jack still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Jack?”
“Yeah babe?”
“Can I lie with you?”
Chuckling to himself he scooted over as far as he could to make space for you. As you lay down your stomach presses into his and Jack wraps his arms around you, kissing you cheek.
“I’m sorry.” you whisper.
“It’s okay baby. I’m sorry too.” Jack whispers.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.” Jack says kissing you again.
The next morning, when he woke up with a sore back, all he could do was repeat three words over and over.
Two more months. Two more months. Two more months.
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residenthughes · 1 month
Text
mad at me - jack hughes
pairing: jack hughes x afab reader
word count: 3.5k
tags/warnings: +18 nsfw, so minors dni, smut, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), creampie, praise, spitting & choking (nothing crazy, i promise!), use of pet names (my girl, sweetheart, baby, princess, sweetheart), slight degradation (if you squint?)
summary: jack's latest game has tensions running high and feelings left unresolved. lucky for him, you know just the solution.
notes: so...this is happening 😭 this is very much inspired by the devils latest game against the kings where jack got pretty heated 😵‍💫 who doesn't love a bit of angry! jack? 🫣 but yes, as i've mentioned before, i don't usually write smut, so this may not be the best so any tips or comments you guys have to share would be much appreciated! 💗this has been partially edited, so if you see any errors along the way, they'll be fixed soon! as always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy! much love! <333
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It takes a lot for Jack to get mad.
A sequence of events that all come to a boil, a mountain of incidents that snowball into an avalanche of his wrath. He’s so sweet, like sunny Sunday mornings that smell of fluffy pancakes and honey syrup - so, even now, so far into your relationship, you’re aware that moments like these occur. Of course, emotions wear thin like tired socks and you’re no stranger to your own and Jack’s that have seen all shades of the rainbow, but perhaps there’s something in the air, some electricity that changes the wiring of your brain because tonight is so different from the rest. Dissimilar from when you leave Jack be when his big emotions demand their place, unlike how you wrap each other in blankets of comfort when tensions have eased and everything is whole again. Because, again, this is not about you. It’s about Jack and how, as the universe has written it to be, gravity pulls straight towards him.
Things have been good - he’s come back from injury, back to his kingdom on the ice and the Devils have won back to back games - truly unheard of during their current season, beating their last opponent in regulation for the first time since 2009. It’s a big deal - the smile on Jack’s face says so, the satisfaction of his tone indicating so when he’s come back from his away games. So, you want this happiness to continue, because you love him and the happiness he illuminates but at the end of the day, his job is hockey. A coin toss of wins and losses that you’re trying to wrap your head around because you’re biassed and see all the commitment that him and his teammates put in everyday. As a result of this, Thursday happens; a dice roll of events that spiral into chaos.
You’re back home in Jersey, comfortably situated on the couch in the warmth of an ending winter that shows peaks of an upcoming spring. You’ve got popcorn in your lap because you’ve rediscovered how much you love the savoury snack, happily munching away as Jack’s game starts and the adrenaline kicks in. The first period is eventful with many saves that have you clawing at the couch, but then the second period starts and all hell breaks loose. Tensions run high and as level-headed as Jack is, he is not immune to agitation - subjected to a nasty hit into the boards, the opposing player purposely banging his elbow into Jack’s head. You’re about to start yelling at your TV screen like some drunken sailor because Jack’s been injured this season and doesn’t need more time away from what he loves, but Jack decides to get his lick back and you’re automatically silenced. Your jaw drags the length of the floor as you watch him crosscheck the hell out the guy, proceeding to rough the player up before referees interfere. Jack and the guy are arguing back and forth as they’re escorted into their teams’ penalty boxes and you’re just left bewildered, a mess of emotions with wide eyes as your stomach turns.
You watch astounded as Jack flushes in his temporary plastic home, eyes wide at he hurtles comments that leave the opposing player with a sour taste in his mouth. Jack’s shaking his head when he’s gotten what he needs off his chest, wiping away his sweat as his anger grinds to a simmer. Your eyes are glued to the TV, perched on the edge of your seat as your heart beats hard in your bruising chest. The power play continues on but you’re lost in a trance, awaiting Jack’s emergence from the penalty box that can’t come soon enough. Once he’s out, he’s sprinting for the puck and manages to get a breakaway that assures New Jersey a goal, but the loser in the penalty box with him is hot on his heels and Jack misses. He’s fuming once again, ranting to the referee that pays him no mind. Jack skates off, smashing his stick against the glass before he’s back on the bench and completely snaps it in half, a string of profanities leaving his lips. 
You sit there in awe, your grinding teeth sinking into the flesh of your fingers as your brain becomes an all-consuming pile of filth. Your precious boy, who loves his three hour long naps and looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky, the hopeless romantic who pulls out all the stops for you simply because you deserve it and who holds you as if you’re fine china - he’s almost unrecognisable now, wearing his emotions like the number of his jersey as his expression pinches and his azure eyes narrow. A rush of emotions you both experience that make a home in the chaos of your minds that long leave the remnants of their havoc.
The clatter of Jack’s hockey bag echoes from the doorway, bringing you out of the syrupy daze you’ve been submerged in far too long. You leap off the couch as your body carries you towards the front door, electricity rippling down the ridges of your spine as your skin tingles with the unknown. You keep your emotions at bay for the time being, unsure of what state Jack may be in as you creep around the corner and catch an eyeful of his demeanour - blinding annoyance. An exasperated sigh pushes from his chest as he slips off his trusted beanie, the ruffle of his wet curls bouncing as his fingers card through his hair. You gulp.
“Ro?” you test the waters - short and sweet just to gauge his reaction, anticipation hanging in the air. 
“Hey.” he bites, not bothering with looking your way as he shimmies his coat off with more force than necessary. 
You gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling helpless. “I saw the game…”
“The one I almost got fucking injured in?” he chirps, looking at you now with a pointed stare that burns with all the fire in his heart. No longer azure, his eyes singe with an almost midnight hue. “What a shitshow.”
“That was a dangerous hit, that guy’s got whatever’s coming to him,” you’re quick to reply, taking small steps towards Jack who hangs up his coat. “But that doesn’t change the fact that people pay to watch you play.” 
Jack stills in his movements, figure unmoving momentarily before his eyes throw you a lasting glance, the beginnings of a smirk working amongst his roseate features. “So, you heard?”
You blush under the heat of his undivided attention, gaze averted as you fumble with the hem of the hockey jersey on you. “Not necessarily.”
“Then what did you hear, baby?” he queries immediately, shifting so that his body now faces yours, an arm resting against the coat hanger as he sizes you up, unabashed and assertive.
Your stomach flips, the race of your heart undeniable. “You’ve got a mouth on you, so it’s easy to read lips.”
You’re chirping, working under his skin in a way that maintains some form of respect but has all the intentions of riling him up, which manifests into the beast you wish to see. A cocked eyebrow and a ticked jaw, flashes of disbelief flickering on his face. Once more, your emotions bear the weight of an anchor as excitement conjures up the swirl in your stomach, your masquerade crumbling at the seams as your nostrils flare, biting back a shit-eating grin.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he questions with a hint of humour, because he knows you like the back of his hand. You give him no response, preoccupied with suppressing the misplaced giggle that threatens to leave your lips. “I can’t believe this.”
The seams fully come undone, a snicker or two bypassing your lips as you retreat from the situation, ending up with your back against the door leading to the basement with Jack hot on your heels. Mirth bathes you in delight and you let it, a plethora of chuckles falling into your hand as you avert your gaze whilst Jack forgets any concept of personal space. Perhaps you’re deserving of whatever damnation comes your way, a punishment you’ve fully brought upon yourself, but when your senses fill with the waft of Jack’s earthy musk cologne and the remnants of his apple shampoo, accompanied by the warmth of his body that leans towards yours, you can’t bring yourself to feel a shred of regret.
His arm, enveloped by his raven black dress shirt, raises as he cages you in, vulnerable and at his mercy. “What else did I say, since you can read lips and all?”
This is a circus of words, meaning riddled in optical illusions that would have someone think none the wiser. Except this is yours and Jack’s circus, an act tailored for two that entertains your minds that run wild. A wildness you feed off as you meet him with the same decisiveness.
“This number,” you start, pointing towards the digits printed on your sleeve belonging to him. “86 is what people go to see - sorry, pay to see.”
You’re not really sorry, the smirk on your face says otherwise. “I think I said a lot more than that, sweetheart.”
“Besides all the huffing and puffing,” his tongue pokes at his cheek, a playful smirk betraying his flaring emotions. “You asked if he was there to play or to hurt people - fair point to make.”
“And all the others weren’t?” Jack’s moved closer, his thigh situating itself between the gap of your legs. 
You bite your tongue at the friction. “You know the answer to that.”
“Maybe,” his caging arm leaves the door, the web of his hand sat against your chin as he holds your face, maintaining the same fiery gaze that unravels you altogether. “But, it’d be better coming from you.”
“Jack,” he’s flexed his thigh, your hand reaching for the button on his dress shirt as you wane in defeat. “Please.”
“I don’t follow.” 
Your bawled fist meets his stacked chest. “Don’t play dumb.”
Jack chuckles, holding all power in the palm of his hand. “I’m just confused as to why my pants are wet.” 
To prove his point, he draws his thigh away because he’s a selfish bastard and shows you the damp spot you’ve left after his thigh made its way between your legs. The shame that washes over you is unbearable. 
Jack’s cold hands find themselves underneath the material of his jersey, one hand dancing along the outline of your underwear with a finger hanging over the top of the seam. “Oh, what to do with you.”
He’s such a tease, his ego large and in charge as you’ve long forgotten any sense of game at hand as your eyes pool with only an anguish he can extinguish. “Fuck me, please.”
“Why?” his tone light and airy, his finger hooked around the seam of your underwear as the material leaves your skin
You shiver at the breeze, eyes closed as your weak fist manages to grapple onto some material of his shirt. “Because, I need you and I think that goes both ways.”
The band of your underwear snaps against your stomach as Jack retrieves his hand, head cocked to the side as he considers the weight of your words with a locked jaw. Your teeth are sinking into the plumpness of your bottom lip, nothing but pleading in your eyes as you gaze up at him with all you can muster. 
His hand lays against your cheek, thumb automatically caressing the skin - a touch that you not only lean into, but shiver towards. “Get upstairs.”
This is a fairly new playing field for you two -  a game of cat and mouse that brings out an unfamiliar side to you, so foreign in nature that you second guess your desires and where your lust leads you. Jack doesn’t allow for any hesitation though, hand in hand with you as he comes into himself too. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips that lift, a soft smile surfacing amongst his features before you’re headed upstairs in a flash, scurrying towards your bedroom with a trail of your clothes left in your wake.
Jack doesn’t take long to meet you upstairs, his pinstripe blazer removed as he unfastens his tie around his neck. He spares you a lingering glance as you lay sheepishly on the bed perched on your elbows, legs ajar as your folds glisten in the soft bedroom light. Jack quickly rids himself of his clothing, slipping his boxers off to reveal his hard on. A comfortable length with all the girth to fulfil you, tip flushed pink as it brims with precum. It takes everything in you not to sink to your knees and fill your mouth with his cock.
As he approaches the bed, he motions for you to turn around and you do so with no questions asked, back arched as you wait in anticipation as you feel the bed dip with his presence. Jack comes up behind you, body so incredibly close yet somehow so far away as his hands make contact with your burning skin, giving the flesh on your back a brief massage. A surprised hum vibrates in your chest as Jack drags a single finger along the dip of your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake before he adjusts himself behind you, to which you push your ass back against his hard on.
“Stop teasing.” you sound more desperate than intended, cheek squished into your cool silk pillow.
“Can’t admire my girl before I fuck her?” The nonchalance of his tone draws a mewl out of you, your hips jutting as they search for any more contact. “Besides,”
Hands resting against the mould of your hips, one shifts as you feel his cold index finger draw in between your folds, fingertips swirling around your clit. You moan brokenly, body curling into itself. “You’re just here to take it, aren’t you, princess?”
You’re nodding before your brain can even compute his words, humming along to accentuate your point as his fingertips continue to swirl along the shape of your clit. It’s too much and not enough - a tug of war of sorts that makes your hips rock into Jack, an action that at one point, has his tip catching against your wet entrance. A hiss from behind you sounds as you grapple onto the pillow beside you. 
Jack’s hand leaves you high and dry, but alias, his patiences dissipates into the night sky as he glides into you in one smooth motion, robbing you of your breath and sanity as your mouth gapes open and eyes roll. Sinking into the mattress, your spread legs accommodate for the snap of Jack’s hips as he starts to fuck you from behind, your back curving as you gladly take everything he’s offering. Face mangled into your hoard of pillows, your fingers cling to the duvet for some kind of security, at the mercy of Jack who pleases you in all the way he knows how. 
“How hard do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, maybe genuinely because his strength seems somehow restricted, but you’re keening high in your throat at how filthy his words fall from his rosy lips so easily. 
“Harder,” you plead, losing yourself in the pleasure as your one hand shuffles to rub against your neglected clit. “Harder, please.”
And, he obliges, bullying his cock into you as you gasp at the impact. A smack lands against your ass, the supple surface sizzling as your hips retract, Jack’s ironclad grip holding you from escaping any further as his fingers make indents into your skin like notches in a bedpost. 
“Hang on,” his pace slows, breath laboured as you feel him pull out of you reluctantly. “Turn around. I need to see you.”
You squirm against the sheets, easily complying with Jack’s wishes that suit you, your body turning as your sweaty-layered back sticks to the duvet. In the dimmed light of your bedroom, you catch a glimpse of Jack, whose wet curls fall in all the right places and how every outline of his well-built body drives you wild. You catch the shallow rises of his chest and the flush against his cheeks and as he tucks stray strands of hairs behind his ears, his hands find purchase at your thighs and draw you closer. It’s when he looks into your eyes, shameless in the pleasure written all over his face as he pushes into you again that you think you could never get tired of this view. 
Your walls mould to the shape of his cock, sucking him in entirely as you both moan at the feeling. To add fuel to the fire, Jack decides to unfold your legs and hoist them over his shoulders, the new angle burying him even deeper and bringing you closer to the edge. A huff of amusement sounds from Jack as he peers down at your parted lips, wasting no time in fucking you into the mattress as the bed creaks underneath the pressure. His earlier annoyance rears its head in his movements, unsettled irritation laced in the impact of his thrusts, your cunt leaking all around him as he pounds into you relentlessly. So close in proximity, Jack takes the opportunity to caress your cheek, a sweet gesture as your breath hitches, all before his hand slowly drifts down towards your neck. An affirmative nod from you is he needs to tighten his grip, your brewing orgasm intensifying tenfold as he maintains all the eye contact to make you shudder.
He’s balls deep in you, each hard thrust punctuated by the smack of the wooden headboard against the bedroom wall. You feel him all around you like some wicked embrace: in your stomach, your lungs and around your throat, the snug clasp his calloused hand holds against your pressure points lolling your mouth open, gasping at the sheer intensity stewing within you. 
Jack takes the opportunity, wet curls stuck to his forehead, leaning closer as he spits directly into your mouth, as he does onto the ice throughout his games. Something twists violently in you, back arching off the bed as your lips fall close to moan from the deepest parts within you, the taste of Jack on your tongue. 
“Taking me like such a good girl,” he praises, your reflection plentiful in his eyes. “If I’d known you liked this, would have done it a long time ago.”
Everything begins to blur at the edges like an old photograph, bliss engulfing you in its heavenly fire as your skin shimmers with sweat and your nails scrape at Jack’s shoulder - a futile attempt to regain control that had been long lost, your bodies movement forgotten as you squirm and shiver all over. 
Oxygen courses back into your deprived lungs as Jack releases his grip, burning hand against your cheek as his thumb brushes your cheekbone, catching your fluttering eyelashes. “I got you, baby. Got you, princess.”
“Never been fucked,” a whimper escapes when Jack notches that spongy spot that buries your nails into his skin, “like this. Feels-fuck, good.”
He laughs lightly, pace stuttering yet hitting all the right places. “Love giving my pretty girl what she wants,”
You clench around him, embedding your nails into the flesh of his back as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, gaze scattered. “And my pretty girl wants to come, don’t you?”
He poses the rhetorical question with a mean pinch at your clit before pushing a heavy hand down on your lower stomach, the pressure accelerating you towards your fast-approaching orgasm. The sounds pour out of you like a waterfall, eyebrows furrowed as you plead with begging eyes. “Kiss me?”
“Whatever you want, baby.” he breathes, almost whiny as his hand circles around your nape, your figure floating as your lips collide in a messy embrace, rhythm unmatched as your yearning seeps through your teeth. 
Jack captures all your moans in his mouth, the new angle of his thrusts adding to the sloppiness of your wet kiss. The smack of his stuttering hips knocks against your clit in a way that has you seeing beyond, swallowed whole by his galaxy of stars as he gives you one last jerky thrust, teeth nipping at your bottom lip to undo you. Frayed at the seams, you come undone, unravelling in a mess that perfectly matches Jack as he quickly comes after you, coating your walls as your cunt spasms all around him as he rides out his high. 
Once Jack’s shallow thrusts grind to a halt, he slowly pulls out a heavy sigh, locking eyes with you as he runs a finger down your sensitive cunt just to get a shiver out of you. Your eyebrows knit, a flare of annoyance mixed in with fatigue written across your face that draws a humoured snicker from your boyfriend. He collapses down next to you, a kiss pressed against your cheek before you both aimlessly stare up at the ceiling. 
Amusement tugs at the corners of your lips. “You should get angry more often.” 
“I was just about to say the same thing.” agrees Jack, laughter making its home between you two as nothing but sweetness lingers in the air.
“Come on,” he urges, his hand nudging yours, body prying itself off your bed as he goes to stand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 
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I love breathing. Love to be a part of it one day
#shitpost#vent#my lungs. hurt so very muchly#i will probably go to the hospital soon but i was prescribed meds to help first but i cant have dairy 1 hr before or 2 hrs after#i would probably just say that i need to go now but my usual childrens hospital has space issues so I'd be going to the adult hospital#its the same system or campus or whatever but i highly doubt i will be provided access to an xbox or hockey table lmao#also i need to pack up my office before i go to college so my parents can reuse the space and i dont want mom doing that for me#and i know it's irrational but my mom has had a very short temper with me lately and i am paranoid that it's because im sick#so in my head if i go to the hospital she will be mad at me. i know that is silly. but alas i am frightened#it's probably an indicator of something. yk its not normal to think your mom is mad at your for being sick.#but i dont really have another explanation as to why she seems so short with me#like usually shes the best communicator in our family (not saying much tbh) so it wouldnt make sense for her to not tell me why she was mad#unless she knew it wasnt a valid reason to be mad at me! but who knows she could just be kind of a bitch like her own mother#based on the only big fight ive ever had with her she's convinced that i exaggerate my symptoms to get my way#and for some reason she seemed to think that i hated her! which was not true until she yelled at me for having memory problems!#i dont hate my mother i am exaggerating. i dislike her at most. honestly im just ready to move out she'll be easier to deal with then#not to overshare her issues but she thinks i favor my dad a lot because he actually was the one to raise me which yeah! yeah i do#her working a lot was very important and necessary to pay for my health but that doesnt change the fact that she wasnt really there#i dont resent her for it i just wish she was aware that she'll never really make up that time. she just pretends!#anyway I've lost the energy to really care about this im watching schitts creek and i just got to literally the sweetest scene ever#so my lungs hurt and my mom is annoying but this fictional love story is going places and i am dreaming that i get a partner soon#so if you read this all the way through thank you for your concern/nosiness (whats the difference) but im all good now#this fictional romance is giving me hope for my upcoming irl college dating sim
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superbat-love · 1 month
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Dick shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Someone must have changed the settings on the AC unit to freezer mode. Mumbling curses under his breath, Dick threw his blanket aside and went out of his room to investigate.
Stepping outside his room, he slipped and had to grab onto the doorframe to stop himself from falling. Dick stared in disbelief at the frost-covered walls and flooring of the manor. Had Mister Freeze escaped from Arkham again?
“Dick! Great timing!” Bruce's voice echoed down the hallway, and Dick turned to see Bruce barreling towards him on ice-skates, holding a fishing net as if it were an ice hockey stick. Dick couldn't believe his eyes. Either he was having a nightmare, or Bruce had finally snapped under all the stress. Dick knew he had to find Alfred.
“Grab him!” Bruce yelled, gesturing upwards with the fishing net. Dick followed Bruce's gaze and gasped in shock. There was a baby floating above him. Forget Alfred—they needed to call a priest.
“Quick! Before he gets away!”
Steeling himself, Dick leaped toward the baby, yelling in triumph as his arms closed around the tiny tot. But instead of falling back to the ground, they continued to rise toward the open skylight.
“Bruce, he’s carrying me away!” Dick screamed, panic rising within him.
“Dick!”
"Hey Dick, you forgot your pants!" Jason yelled out to him when he spotted them from the front yard.
Just as Dick thought that they were about to fly through the stratosphere, he felt strong arms embrace him.
“Don’t worry, I got you. You’re both safe now,” Clark said, smiling brightly like the sun.
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nathaslosthershit · 8 months
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Baby Fever and Annoying Brothers||Quinn Hughes x Reader
Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Reader
Request: Could I get Quinn Hughes with baby fever and his brothers there to make fun of it?
Summary: Quinn gets baby fever real bad and his brothers bug him to propose
A/n: Listen I wasn’t a Quinn girly before but that has recently changed so thank you for these requests
Word Count: 700+
“Quinn, dude, come on let's go.” Luke complained. The brothers had been trying to start a basketball game for the past 45 minutes. Jack and Luke were ready, but Quinn kept pushing it off with a simple ‘5 more minutes then i'll be ready’.
What, you may ask, was keeping Quinn from playing a game with his family? The sight of his girlfriend interacting with the baby of a family friend of theirs. It was quite possibly the most addicting and adorable sight he has ever seen. 
He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, no matter how hard he tried. The whole scene was beautiful. Outside, on the lawn chairs in the backyard, laid his girlfriend of 4 years gently swaying a now sleeping infant in her arms as she quietly spoke to the baby’s mother as well as his own mom. 
“Quinn this is getting-” Jack was cut off when he saw it. His older brother sitting there, oblivious to the heart eyes he was making. It was hilarious to him. His big brother practically brought to his knees at the sight of his longtime girlfriend holding a baby. 
As he stood next to Luke, Quinn finally was pulled out of his trance. Embarrassed at his brother's gawking, he finally went to play basketball. 
But of course the two youngest Hughes couldn’t just not bring it up. It was their brotherly duty to chirp Quinn into his place.
“So when are you gonna actually purpose?” Jack asked. At this, Luke elbowed him in the side, hard. 
“Come on dude let him live” Luke reprimanded.
“Thank you, Luke.” Quinn responded.
“No but seriously, he is right. You spend almost an hour staring at your girlfriend for holding a fucking baby. I know you’ve got a bad case of baby fever after that. When are you gonna actually get started on that shit? Unless you don’t plan on going the whole marital route before kids. I don't’ really know how some people would thi-”
“Can you both please just shut the fuck up about it.”
“Come on, Quinn, we are just chirping you. Although we saw the way you were looking at her. You sure that hasn’t changed anything…” Jack teased. 
He was right of course. While he was staring, he was also envisioning a life with her. A life with his beautiful wife, in a beautiful home, with kids to fill it. Maybe they’d have one, or maybe a whole hockey team. Who’s to say? The last thing he wanted though, was to be discussing it with his brothers when they would just tease him.
“No, nothing has changed. Although things may happen sooner-” “What the fuck does that mean?” Luke asked.
“I just- I don’t need kids right this second.” Quinn stated.
“But?”
“But I do have a ring. I’ve kept it in my hockey bag for the last few months. I just- I just don’t know when I’m gonna propose.”
“Quinn why the fuck didn’t you tell us?” Jack practically yelled.
“Does mom know? She will flip the fuck out if you got it and didn’t tell her?” Luke asked.
“Yes, she knows. She has been bugging me about it every single day. Trying to give me ideas and such but I just need to find the right time and place.”
“Isn’t now the right time and place though? You are with family, in a pretty fucking beautiful place. I mean what's stopping you from taking her on the boat tomorrow and doing it.” Jack joked. But he was right. You had once stated, while intoxicated, that you would have killed Quinn if he proposed in public, as if that was something he would ever do. The secluded boat would be the perfect place.
Quinn smiled to himself as he came to this revelation. He would propose, soon, and get started on the life he had envisioned. He didn’t answer either of them or tell them about his plans, but one look at his face and his brothers knew. They both shared a look as their absolutely smitten older brother went to grab the ball.
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thefreakandthehair · 10 months
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@steddie-week, day 3: discover.
When Steve is five years old, his mom catches him sneaking cookies before dinner. 
The jar is set up on top of the refrigerator, porcelain white in the shape of a teddy bear, and Steve isn’t supposed to be able to reach it. Unfortunately for the Harrington’s, their son is athletic and agile even as a child so of course, he discovers that if he slides a chair over to the counter, he can climb onto the beige laminate and reach the jar on his tippy toes. The head of the bear is removed easily, a cookie (or two) are snatched, and no one is the wiser. His devious heist comes to a halt one night after tee-ball practice when he thinks that his mom is in the shower. Steve ends up being caught with his hand literally in the cookie jar. 
It’s a story his mom tells at dinner parties and family gatherings throughout his childhood, over and over with the same details. Steve hears it enough to visualize what his face must’ve looked like— wide eyes, mouth ajar, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline, cheeks and ears turning pink. 
A few months into (finally) dating Eddie Munson, Steve finds his boyfriend standing in the living room mere feet from where Steve had tried to steal those cookies years ago wearing what he imagines is the exact same expression.
There’s no teddy bear-shaped cookie jar, but Eddie certainly looks caught: caught in a moment of jock euphoria, that is. 
When Steve gets home from his trip to Chicago with Robin a day early, he decides to surprise Eddie rather than call ahead and it may be the best decision he’s made in quite some time because Steve recognizes this sight intimately. 
Eddie’s in the middle of the room, bobbing around in front of the television with his hands threading through his hair and tugging in frustration as he yells things like:
“Are your blades dipped in fucking butter?”  “The puck goes in the net!”  "You can't shoot for shit, just like you can't grow a decent mustache, huh?" “Your job is to use your big ass body to stop the teensy tiny puck from getting around you and that’s a Hell of a lot easier if you stay in the fucking crease!” 
He stands in the doorway in shocked silence, watching in bemused wonder. Even in his crouched position, even as he scuttles from side to side with a phantom hockey stick in his hands with the only light in the room coming from the television screen, he's beautiful.
How long has this been going on though? In the years of friendship that eventually led to their relationship, Steve’s never known Eddie to give a single shit about any sort of organized sport that didn’t involve Steve specifically running around in what Eddie calls his "utterly obscene shorts." 
Hockey’s never been mentioned, not once, but Eddie knows too much to have randomly picked it up in just the two days Steve’s been gone. A ripple of something that feels like guilt washes over him, unsure of what he’s done to make Eddie feel like he needs to hide this from him. 
Long moments pass and Steve continues to go unnoticed when the game rolls into overtime. 
“I can’t take much more of this, Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie moans, his hands falling to his knees as he hunches over. 
Commentators flash up on the screen and Steve supposes intermission is as good a time as any to interject. 
“Would some company help?” 
Eddie whips to the right and there it is: wide eyes, mouth ajar, raised eyebrows, flaring nostrils, and the tell-tale darkening of Eddie’s cheeks. Steve only assumes his ears follow suit— they usually do when he’s flustered but Eddie’s hair blocks the view. His hand flies to his chest, startled on top of it all. 
The Bruins are going into overtime and his deepest, darkest secret was just unceremoniously discovered. 
It’s been a rough day. 
Steve just smiles and crosses the threshold into the room, standing next to his boyfriend who looks like all of the air has been vacuumed from his lungs. 
“You— you weren’t supposed to be home yet! You scared the shit of me, man!” 
“I was trying to surprise you but uh, joke’s on me I guess. Hockey, huh?” Steve gestures at the television with his chin. “Makes sense. It’s fuckin' lawless.” 
Eddie’s features settle into something less abashed and more defensive, his eyebrows knitting together and his head tilting to one side just a hair. 
“What makes sense? There was just nothing else on. It’s not a crime to flip through the channels, Steve.”
His lies are weak, and even under the best circumstances, the bar for Eddie’s ability to lie is on the floor so that's saying a lot. 
“It’s not, no. If it was, you’d probably be doing it,” he teases, nudging their shoulders together. “Besides, you wouldn’t know what the fuck a crease is if you were just casually flipping through.” 
“Wait, wait, shit. How long were you standing there?” 
“Long enough to find out you’ve been holding out on me, Munson.” Steve twists to face Eddie, pointing at the television. “We could’ve been going to games, screaming insults, calling plays together this whole time!”
Eddie groans, titling his head back to look at the ceiling. It’s been a long, long couple of days because even now, Steve can’t stop from staring at the expanse of Eddie’s throat, knowing exactly which spots make him groan for entirely different reasons. 
“Okay, fine. You caught me,” Eddie admits, still staring at the ceiling but turning his body away from Steve and waving his arms in defeat. “I’m a fraud. A hypocrite. I enjoy a sport. You cannot imagine how much it pains me to say this out loud.” 
“Ah, so we’re doing the dramatic thing about this?” Steve mutters, shaking his head. “Eddie, you’re allowed to like things. You know that, right? You liking a sport doesn’t, I don’t know, make you any less metal or whatever. Least I don’t think so.” 
Eddie drops his arms and spins around. “Steve, Stevie, my dear sweet sunshine, I’m not sure if you remember this but I’ve made quite a name and reputation for myself in abject hatred of mainstream… everything. My credibility is destroyed.”
Steve barely chokes back his laughter. Eddie’s sounding and acting more like his Eddie, something equally as endearing as it is ridiculous. He reaches out and pulls Eddie to sit next to him on the couch, not missing the way Eddie glances at the screen to make sure he’s not missing the start of overtime. 
“You know,” Steve starts before making air quotes, “a wise brat once told me that when you finish high school, it’s time to move on from primitive concepts like popularity. Or something like that, it was a while ago. Point is, what you staked your claim to in high school doesn’t apply here. You can be weird, and loud, and anti-mainstream, and like hockey. It’s the most violent of popular sports anyways.” 
Eddie blinks at him once, then twice, before narrowing his eyes and drawing his lips into a tight smile. “Was the wise brat Henderson? That sounds like Henderson.”
Steve laughs and leans back against the couch. “Sure was. Don’t tell him I quoted him, he’ll never shut the fuck up about it.” 
“What brought on a lecture about primitive high school concepts from Dustin Henderson?” 
“He was trying to convince me to date Robin when we were spying on what turned out to be evil Russians at Starcourt who had a lab under the mall. It was a whole thing.” Steve shrugs nonchalantly.
Eddie nods slowly. “Right, yeah, the mall that exploded?” 
“Yep. Same one.” 
“Y’know, I should’ve known you had something to do with that.” Eddie smiles at him, wide and bright, and it’s a strange moment for Steve to realize he’s in love. 
He’s wholly, unconditionally, disgustingly in love with Eddie Munson, with every side and facet, with every sparkling edge of the multifaceted prism of him. Steve’s entire body sighs with relief as his heart finally, finally catches up with the rest of him. 
But there’s an overtime period about to start, and unlike this playoff game, Steve knows he has all the time he could ever need to tell him, show him, exactly how he feels. He starts by cheering for a team he knows shit about, and then by rubbing Eddie’s back when he curls over onto his knees after the Devils score the winning shot.
“Hate to break it to ya, Ed, this is very jock behavior. Think there might be a little jock in you after all.” He jokes, running his hand from the middle of Eddie’s back to the nape of his neck, circling his thumb gently into the flesh there. 
“No the fuck there isn’t,” he mumbles, sitting up straight and turning devilish smile on Steve. “But I’d like there to be.” 
a very, very happy birthday to @hexiewrites! you know that I couldn't let your birthday pass without writing Eddie as a Bruins fan. and I peppered in some of our and @maxineholtzmann's comments and insults from the playoffs liveblogging on discord. <3 hope you have a phenomenal day!!
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luvhughes43 · 2 months
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instagram follows | jamie drysdale
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[luvhughes43 masterlist🌷]
request: reader and jamie have been in a relationship for maybe 5 or 6 months and reader hasn’t said anything but the girls Jamie follows on instagram really bother her. she doesn’t want to seem controlling because of her past relationships but she is trying to find a way to bring it up to him. so one day she is feeling a little more insecure and Jamie is trying to figure out what’s wrong and she finally snaps and tells him. like she would say “you haven’t unfollowed any girls on the gram since we started dating and it makes me feel horrible about myself”
word count: 1.1k
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you knew it was an awful idea even before you decided to scroll through your boyfriends instagram following. it was a bad idea for multiple reasons actually - mainly your own body image issues. however, you had seen what seemed like all the tiktoks in existence about men and their instagram usage pre and post relationship. also, it didn’t help that you kept getting recommended videos of girls' devastating reactions to scrolling through their favourite hockey players following. 
when you first clicked on jamies following list, you thought it wouldn't have been so bad. 
Blondes. 
Boobs. 
Brunettes. 
Canadian University Girls? 
you went into a completely unwarranted deep dive because really, jamie had never given you any reasons to doubt his faithfulness and yet… you were a half-tub deep into your litre of mint chocolate ice cream with grey’s anatomy playing distractedly in the background. 
with jamie gone on a roadie, you had time to push all of your feelings of distrust and discomfort to the back of your mind. you had been in this position before, and with yours and jamies relationship so fresh you didn’t want to say anything. last time you had brought your insecurities up with your ex boyfriend, you had been yelled at and called controlling - which you would rather not relive. even though jamie was much nicer than your ex, you were still having trouble trying to find a way to safely bring the topic up, so you dropped it. 
a week later and jamie had gotten back from his trip, completely exhausted but wanting to spend time with you nonetheless, you had tried your best to forget all about his following list. 
“how’s my girl been?” jamie smiles at you sweetly before wrapping you into a hug. the two of you rock back and forth for a moment. 
“oh you know… the usual,” you shrug, silently loving the glint in jamie’s eyes. he was so pretty. 
jamie brings you back into another hug and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “oh i forgot, trevor wants to know if we’ll go out with him tonight,”
“go out where?”
“some new restaurant downtown,” jamie shrugs carelessly as all men do. “do you wanna go?”
you think about it for a moment, did you really want to go out with trevor? ultimately though, you decide that going out would be the perfect distraction you needed. plus, the extra time with your boyfriend might help reassure yourself about your relationship. 
wrong. three hours later you were dressed, ready, and sat uncomfortably between your boyfriend and his best friend. their friends sat across from you, all of whom were single and making comments on all the girls that walked past your table. their comments weren’t out of the ordinary, but you couldn’t help but wonder if jamie felt the same way as his friends. if like his following suggested - he liked appreciating other girls more than he let on. 
“now she’s hot” 
“you should go ask her for her number! look at her ass,”
“i think i just saw a goddess…” 
“i’d let her dog walk me,”
with each comment you shrunk into yourself, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of your body and your outfit choice. jamie was quick to notice of course, leaning into you and whispering, “are you okay?”
when you nodded your head in response, jamie only frowned.
when everyone’s food arrives and you were still acting off, jamie questions you again, “no seriously… what’s wrong?”
you smooth the sleeves of your top, “i don’t want to get into it here,” 
“what?” 
“jamie, please just drop it” 
things were tense between the two of you for the rest of the night and instead of trying to work through things, you simply order another drink at the restaurant. by the time jamie drops you off at your apartment you were tipsy. 
“can you tell me what’s wrong now?” were the first words out of jamie’s mouth when you locked the door behind him. 
“no,” you respond quickly. 
jamie was rightfully confused. “yn…” 
you pretend you don’t hear him. “do you want something to drink?”
“no! I want you to tell me what's wrong with you!” jamie was clearly frustrated and tired of your refusal to talk. 
you whip around towards him - still tipsy and upset. “you want to know what's bothering me?” you start, to which jamie nods enthusiastically. “you’re bothering me!”
“what did i do…?”
he was so oblivious sometimes. “i know i shouldn't have looked through your instagram followings but i can't unsee what i saw! all the girls…. i feel sick about myself,” 
jamie tries to speak but you interrupt him, “and i don’t want to be controlling and force you to unfollow them but… i just feel so awful and ugly and like… you have so many options out there that you’re probably interested in and-”
“okay wait,” jamie finally interjects. he inches closer to you, his mind still reeling from how fast you were speaking. “first of all, i don’t look at other girls,” you scoff but jamie keeps talking. “and if my following was upsetting you, you could've just told me instead of bottling up your feelings and getting upset with me” 
“i use instagram like, once a year and i honestly don't look at my following list it’s from so long ago. so, if you want me to unfollow the people that make you uncomfortable than i one hundred percent will” jamie continues, stepping closer to you and grabbing ahold of your hands. 
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, sad and confused all at once. you hadn’t meant to blow up all at once, but your past relationships would have never been this kind to you and so you were unsure of how to react. you were almost positive that you were being controlling and you suddenly felt sick. “i didn’t mean it-”
“yes you did,” jamie’s voice is soft now, his hands comfortingly trailing patterns up and down your arms. “and by the way, i think you're the most beautiful girl that i’ve ever laid eyes on. i’m sorry for making you feel bad. i don’t want anybody else,”
“i don’t want anybody else either,” you breathe a sigh of relief and wrap your arms around your boyfriend. 
the next time you check instagram is when you get a notification that your boyfriend had posted a picture “for the first time in awhile”. the pictures are sweet shots of the two of you, taken by trevor whose presence you can never evade. you get curious again though, clicking on your boyfriends profile only to see that his following had significantly decreased. 
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generalllimaginesss · 3 months
Text
author’s note: I blacked out while writing this, so it will be as much of a surprise to me when I wake up and reread it as it will to you when you read it for the first time. It wasn’t requested, just something that my brain came up with and wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. It’s loosely based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s The Grudge and the movie Sweet Home Alabama (my favorite movie). Also, this is completely made up in my head and in no way reflects something that Luke Hughes has done, or will do. It’s also 2:06 AM and I can’t promise that it’s proofread very well because I can barely keep my eyes open (I worked a double today).
Warnings: cursing, ANGST, cheating, kinda sad but has a good ending. Slow beginning, but I promise it gets better!
Without further ado….
The Grudge
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“Hello?”
The single word that was the catapult for the demise of your relationship. The single word that changed the course of what you pictured your future as.
Luke’s side of the call was silent, the only noise able to be heard was his breathing, heavy as if the weight of the world was crushing his lungs, deflating him of life.
He wasn’t supposed to be calling. He had told you he was having a guys week, a time for him to regroup with his brothers and friends at the lake house. It was his own little sanctuary away from the life that he had worked so hard for. A quiet place. He had asked for that time, to which you agreed, he needed a break.
“Luke? Everything ok?”
He wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone in that instance. The reality that he was about to destroy the last bit of trust that you held for him constricting him as he fought with his vocal cords, trying like hell to form some form of vocalization.
“I need to tell you something,” He managed to squeeze the words out, every bit of courage mustered into it. The feeling of facing the mistake that he had made seemed impossible compared to simply just refusing to acknowledge it. He could ignore it all, ghost you, and pretend like he had never ruined everything. He had ruined your relationship, your love. You. He had ruined you, including everything that came from the relationship the two of you developed a couple of summers before he had left to play for Michigan.
Ironic that it would begin and end during the summer.
“Ok. Are you-”
“Are you alone?”
His brothers will kill him when they find out, but your family? The thought of them being there to wipe your tears and listen to your rants that have to do with him break his heart. He had developed a special relationship with your dad, your mom always put a stocking out for him during the holiday season, your brother? He had taught your little brother how to skate, how to play hockey. Even though he couldn’t coach your little brother’s team, he had supported him since the beginning. He had bought him his first jersey. 43.
“Yeah, Luke. You’re scaring me.”
“God, I fucking hate myself. I’m so sorry,” Sobbing, the sound of his arm wiping his nose could be heard. He knew he shouldn’t cry. He chose this.
He knew he didn’t always treat you like you should have, no deserved, to be treated. He didn’t spend time with you like he should have, he didn’t tell you he loved you enough. When you yelled at him about things, he would scream back. He would never hit you, but his words cut through your core, sometimes feeling worse than what you imagined the sting of one of his slaps might feel like.
The anxiety that stemmed from Luke’s call gripped your lungs, confusion coursing through your body outweighing the blood that sucked at carrying the oxygen at the moment. There was nothing random about your relationship, he didn’t surprise you with anything, much less a phone call.
Something is wrong.
The silence was deafening, overwhelmingly so.
“I tried to tell myself that you would never find this out, but there was somebody taking pictures and I need you to hear it from me first, ok?” He closed his eyes forcing himself to find some shred of courage left inside of him.
“Ok,” The word was breathy as it left your lips, a courtesy to encourage him to continue.
“I cheated,” It flowed out of his mouth in such a casual way that it felt like somebody had stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife and watching as you writhed in pain. The taste of iron flooded your senses as you bit your cheek to hold yourself together.
“We went to one of the local bars. She was the bartender, she knew us. Trevor invited her to the house after her shift and me and her ended up alone together while the others were out back and one thing led to another…one of the guys took a picture and posted it on their story. They forgot about you.” He tried to explain it in a way that redeemed himself. He was only 20 years old…this bartender could’ve taken advantage of him, but you knew him.
He didn’t get close to just anybody, he was the gate to his space. Nobody would get through the gate if he didn’t want them to, including this girl. Which made the bile that was building in your throat much more bitter. The fact that he not only cheated, but is trying to play victim makes you bubble with rage. Luke Hughes was very good at many things, but the one thing he had never quite mastered the role of was “victim.”
The shock coursed through your body like metal to a magnet, searching endlessly for something to smash into and deciding your heart was the place to do that. It felt like you forgot to breathe, your lungs aching for a breath.
“Y/N?” He willed you to talk, silence causing more anxiety than your anger ever would have.
“I never would have done this to you,” Your whisper spoke more volumes than a scream would have, cutting through the phone and going straight through Luke’s body. He wished you would scream at him, tell him he fucked up, but the way you said those words made him feel like this was it. He couldn’t come back from this one.
“I’m sorry,” His words were meaningless, but he spoke them nonetheless.
Those two words sent you into a silent rage, one that wrecked the inside of your mind but couldn’t be seen by anyone else. You hung up the phone, throwing it across your room and immediately packing everything that had to do with Luke into a box that you found.
Packing 4 years worth of things that you acquired from him was emotionally draining, each article triggering memories through the years.
His first Michigan Hockey sweatshirt that he had bought himself packed into the bottom of the box reminded you of the date he had planned. He had snuck the two of you into the arena when no one was there and taught you to skate, skills that still stick with you to this day. His first hoodie became yours that night, the smell of his cologne long gone from the comfort it brought you many nights when you felt lonely.
A Devils snow globe and jersey that was decorated with the number 43, his number, packed next. He had bought it for you the day he was drafted, convinced that it would be worth something one day. And it was. Just not to you anymore. The snow globe was attached to a memory that was better left forgotten. It was for your birthday, which happened to be the day after his. When you had gone all out for his 20th birthday, buying him a new custom suit and designer shoes that required months of savings, he gave you a snow globe that “you could add to your collection.” You had said some backhanded things to him, a huge fight came from that. A fight on your birthday, something else that you would’ve never done to him.
The last items consisted of hoodies, a few pairs of sweatpants and boxers, and a couple of jackets. The last thing, however, was something that you didn’t know if you could part with.
It was a letter that Luke had wrote you for Valentine’s Day the second year of your relationship, a sweet surprise that you weren’t expecting with your usual bouquet of daisies and roses, your two favorite flowers.
When you doubted your relationship with Luke in the past, when arguments and fights felt like it was all it consisted of, you always found your way back to his letter. He had told you that you were his end game, that there would never be somebody else that was better suited for him. He poured his heart out in that letter, telling you that he was going to marry you one day. One day when he had made it to the NHL and could roll in money, he was going to buy a rock for your finger and a huge house for all of the babies that you talked about.
Rereading the letter normally made you remember the good times, when things were good, but under the circumstances now it made you want to burn it, to watch his words turn to ash, just like the promises he had made to you.
Meaningless. His words were meaningless now.
It wasn’t always his fault, no. There were instances where you said things that you knew hurt him, things that echoed in the back of his head every now and then. Something along the lines of him never being as good as his brothers, that he would always be in their shadow. That Luke Hughes would be known as “just another Hughes brother.”
Some days he felt like that statement couldn’t be more true, that he would never live up to the records that Quinn and Jack seemed to break every time they stepped on the ice. Some days he just couldn’t see it coming together for him.
But other days he knew he was determined to make a name for himself, for Luke. The Hughes name was a force to be reckoned with. Luke wanted to be even better than his last name. Whatever it took, sometimes at the expense of those around him.
You snatched the letter that was stuck in the corner of the mirror that perched on top of your dresser, the sound of the paper crisp beneath your fingertips. As much as you wanted to destroy the letter, you figured it would be better to send it back to Luke. He needed to see all of the promises he broke and hurt he’s caused.
The paper was the last thing in the box, folded neatly on top of everything else.
Closing the box, you carried it to your car, placing it in the backseat behind the driver’s side. If there’s one thing that could be payback to Luke, it was telling his parents. He thrived on his parent’s approval, likely a symptom of being the youngest brother of an extremely successful family.
Ellen and Jim’s faces burned the back of your mind, so many memories that consisted of the two of them. Countless games at Michigan were spent with the two of them, as well as a couple of trips to New Jersey. You had helped Ellen cook supper many times, and watched as Jim coached his sons. Ellen’s pep talks were rarely intended for you, but you always felt like something could be learned from her wisdom.
The drive was silent, muscle memory the only way you could manage to get there in the state you were in. You didn’t know if the lights were green or if you used your blinker, all you could think about was Luke admitting to cheating. All of the shit you had been through with each other, all of the petty fights, had finally come to a head. You may have gone low, below the belt at some point in time, but this? You never could have ruined him like this, no matter how bad you wanted to.
As hurt as you were, you were numb. Tears wouldn’t fall, your body still in shock over the news.
As you drove up the paved driveway to the house that had become your second home, the emotions hit you when you saw Ellen in the flower beds, digging up weeds and planting new flowers.
She had heard a car approaching, causing her to look up and recognize you. Although she loved for you to visit, you normally didn’t come over unless Luke was with you, especially now that him and Jack owned the lake house.
She wiped at the sweat that was beading her forehead, dirt from her work gloves sticking in some of her blonde locks that were glued to her face. She smiled at you, before confusion flashed and she saw that you were carrying a box.
“Hi, Doll! Luke’s not here, but I’m glad you stopped by!” Her warm tone and kind smile didn’t fade, even if she did notice something off about your demeanor.
Her voice broke you. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her and Jim into this. Maybe you should have just threw everything that connected you to Luke in a garbage can and called it a day.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She walked towards you with her arms open, noticing your quivering lips and teary eyes.
She was drenched in sweat from the summer sun, but you didn’t mind it. Dropping the box on the driveway, you allowed her to wrap her arms around you tightly. Her embrace gave you comfort as sobs racked through your body. How could such a loving mom and dad create such a jack ass? They had done perfect with 2/3 of their sons…what happened with Luke?
“Do you want to go inside? Jim’s working on a sink faucet, but he won’t mind,” She ushered you inside, her hand gently pushing your back.
Nodding, you wiped your nose on your sleeve and allowed her to walk you inside. She quickly washed her hands at the sink Jim was working at, earning a few objections from him, but she hushed him and motioned to you.
His face filled with concern as he noticed something wrong with you. He could fix a lot of things, but girls was something he would leave to his wife.
The leather of the couch soothed the heat that the summer sun had left on your skin. Ellen joined, sitting next to you as she rubbed your back, calming you. She truly was like a second mom.
“Is everything ok?” She held onto your arm, the pressure from her fingers sending tingles to your brain.
“No,” You croaked, the single word rattling your throat as it struggled to exit.
“What happened?” Her voice had dropped below her regular volume, but above a whisper. She cut her eyes at Jim who was attempting to listen from the kitchen.
“He cheated…”
The shock hit his parents as hard as it did you. Quinn would never cheat, Jack? It was questionable sometimes. But they’re baby? The one that had endured the lectures from his parents the longest, the one that had seen his brother’s mistakes and learned from them, the one that seemed so in love with you that nothing could ever separate you both? It seemed nearly impossible. Surely it was a mistake.
“How do you know? The press always lies…” She trailed off, your eyes connecting to hers.
“He told me,” The strength you tried to regain from your prior meltdown was useless as your voice trembled, “…said that he wanted to tell me before somebody else did.”
“Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry,” She pulled you into her arms, watching as Jim rounded the corner to join. You were like the daughter the two of them had always wanted, so seeing you hurt killed them in return. And at the hands of their son? They were immensely disappointed. They didn’t raise him like this.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, and I probably should have left you both out of it,” Your attempts at stopping the free-flowing tears were useless, so you embraced each one as it fell, “…um, I brought his stuff back. I know he’s at the lake house, but I don’t think I can see him right now. I really wish we could have worked. You two will never know how much you and your boys mean to me.”
“Likewise, sweet girl. I wish I could make this all better. You may not feel like it right now, but our family will always hold a spot for you,” Ellen reassured, a hum of agreement resonating within Jim.
“Anytime you want, and I’m serious, our door will always be open for you. No matter the time or circumstance, do you understand?” Jim waited for you to respond, a nod of your head, before embracing you again.
Their words meant so much, but the hurt still ached, seemingly never ending.
You said your goodbyes, taking in the house that you would probably never see again. The walls holding memories that only those in the house would ever understand or appreciate.
Closing the front door felt like closing a chapter on your life. A chapter that felt like it was ending in the middle with no resolve, but it closed.
It needed to.
———
As the New Year approached, your parents reminded you of the plans they had that would draw them away from home. They claimed that they celebrated Christmas with you, but the New Year meant that you were alone in a house that felt big and lonely while they celebrated with their fellow group of middle aged parents.
The months had passed, agonizingly, since Luke’s cheating admittance. The summer turned to fall and fall into winter, getting colder like you were allowing your heart to do.
A few dates here and there did nothing but remind you that the guy wasn’t Luke. They should’ve been better than Luke since they actually treated you with respect and checked every box that a girl had.
But the lack of teasing, of being the biggest pain in your ass and best friend, made the hole in your life bigger. You were sure nothing would help, not even the texts from Ellen and Jim, periodically, made it better.
They all consisted of the same topic: “How are you doing?”
It was the same old same old, until it wasn’t. Until Ellen texted you after Christmas asking you about your plans for New Year’s Eve. The Hughes had always thrown a party for the New Year, packed to the brim with people.
When Ellen asked if you had plans, you had every intention on lying and saying yes. Saying that you had a date and that he was taking you to see the countdown and fireworks that followed, but something told you to tell the truth. So you did.
After you had admitted to her that you, in fact, would be all alone, she reached out and invitation to join them.
The invitation had toggled in your mind for a few days now. On one hand, you wanted to go see how everybody was, talk to his brothers, catch up with his friends. On the other, you wanted to stay home in your pajamas and watch Andy Cohen get shitfaced with Anderson Cooper while wondering if Luke would kiss somebody for the occasion.
The saying “curiosity killed the cat” proved to be true as you had finally decided to go, a sparkly gold dress accentuated your curves, hugging you in all of the right places, the places that Luke had once yearned for. You don’t know how, but your makeup was flawless, your eyeshadow bringing out your eyes in a way that you had never seen, but you loved it. Maybe this was revenge?
Even though you hadn’t made the drive in over 6 months, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Your nerves were working overtime, anxiety squeezing your thoughts the closer you got to the Hughes’ residence.
What if Luke had a new girlfriend? What if his parents were the only ones that wanted you there? Was this actually a good idea?
Too late now.
There was probably 25 or more cars that littered the driveway, most carrying a minimum of 2 people. It was a relief, maybe you could just blend in with the rest of them. A chameleon in the house of your ex lover.
Music blared, drifting from the backyard into the front, making the walk to the door less daunting of a task. There was no use in knocking, the sound of talking and music would most likely just drown it out, so you took a breath as you pushed the door open. It appeared to be the spot for the more mature crowd, Jim spotting you as soon as you walked in.
He was confused as to who you were at first, but as soon as you gave him a shy smile his face lit up with excitement. He had missed you more than he realized.
“Y/N! What a nice surprise! Come in, make yourself at home,” He squeezed you in a tight hug before relinquishing you.
“Y/N! Oh my, I wasn’t expecting you to come, but I’m so glad you did!” Ellen squealed, the clinking of her heels against the hardwood floors becoming faster as she did her best to jog to you, embracing you like her life depended on it. It lasted a few seconds before she held you out at arms length, examining you.
“Gosh, you look absolutely stunning! That dress was made for you!” She gushed.
“Thank you! I just decided to throw something together last minute. I should have let you know I was coming, but I honestly didn’t decide until right before I got dressed,” you chuckled, explaining the lack of communication on your part.
“Honey, you do not have to explain a single thing to me! I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hugged you again, rocking you side to side.
“The kids, sorry, young adults are out back. I do have to warn you…Luke did bring a date,” As she explained the dilemma, you expected yourself to break down. When it didn’t, relief washed over you. It had been almost 7 months, why wouldn’t Luke have moved on? You couldn’t be mad at him for that part, but you still held a grudge against him for allowing you to love him as much as you did and shattering your heart in the end.
There was never another conversation between the two of you. His parents never brought him up, he had never attempted to contact you, so the resolve was the fact that you returned everything. He had nothing left connecting him to you. That was how it was supposed to be, so there was no need to communicate with you. He had gotten the message loud and clear when he had returned home to a box of his things in his old bedroom and an ass-chewing from his parents and brothers. One that he would never wish on his worst enemy.
He learned from his mistake, but felt like the very toxic situation between the two of you was better left where it was: untouched.
He had been trying to move on ever since, sleeping with any girl that reminded him of you, sneaking them out before Jack had noticed, or simply just embracing the newness of being alone. It sucked at first, but he got used to it.
Ellen’s face flushed with concern at the momentary silence that followed her statement, scared that she would scare you off with the news of her son, your ex, having a date that wasn’t you.
“Ellen, it’s ok! I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” Making light of the situation was easier to fake on the outside, but trying to convince yourself was a bit harder.
You talked to Ellen and Jim for a few more minutes, catching them up on the latest details of your life, and then grabbed a Michelob to give you some liquid courage as you walked to the backyard.
There was people dancing, circles of people talking, various games being played, the scene never-ending as your eyes scanned over them. A few people locked eyes with you, recognizing you as the ex, but most everybody just continued to do whatever it was that they were doing. It wasn’t until Quinn’s eyes softened from his party vibes to concerned big brother that you felt nerves wrack your body. He immediately excused himself from the group he was talking to, making his way through the small sea of people to get to you.
For a split second you wanted to run away, but the rational side of you talked you down. It was just Quinn. Quinn had done nothing to you except loved you as if you were his own sister, so why would you run?
“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you…how are you?” You immediately threw your arms around his torso, him returning the gesture, his hug similar to the way Ellen had hugged you.
“I’m good! I had no other plans and Ellen seemed like she really wanted me here…”
“Yeah, she hasn’t shut up about you,” He laughed, recalling how his mom mentions you anytime a girl was over, even one that Luke brought, and always comparing them to you when they left.
You were the standard that she held possible daughter-in-laws to, but they never lived up to you, she would admit.
“Gotta love her,” You chuckled, a slight awkward tension fell between you, a foreign, icky, awkwardness.
“That you do,” Quinn tried to repair the conversation, but some friends began to pull him away. He had mentioned to not leave before telling him bye, and then left with the group.
“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” The voice turned your blood to ice, freezing up what the beer had tried to let loose prior. No matter how many ways you envisioned this interaction to go down, nothing could have prepared you for hearing his voice after so long. It wasn’t like “nails on a chalkboard” irritating, but more along the lines when you pick a scab and it starts bleeding again.
That’s quite literally what it was. He was an old wound in your life that was becoming irritated because it was being messed with. No matter how much time had passed, it was still sensitive.
“Well, didn’t think I would be here either. It’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” You turned around, met with the beautiful, curly-haired boy that was once your everything and a petit blonde that was his temporary. She was gorgeous, you’d give her that. But it wasn’t real beauty. It was bought. There’s nothing wrong with that, but her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and push-up bra was irritating like nails on a chalkboard.
“Do you mind going to get us something to drink?” He turned to his date, giving him the empty bottle that his hand wrapped around.
“Is that a Michelob Ultra?” You almost snorted, her question a breath of fresh air in this unfortunate meeting.
“Not her and I, you and I,” Luke quickly cleared up.
She left with a smirk playing at her lips, kissing his cheek and heading inside.
“God, please let’s go somewhere else,” He grabbed your arm, tugging you to a secluded, area beside the shed out back. Your brain told you to rip your arm from his grip and scold him for thinking it was okay to ever touch you again, but your deemed in control and allow his touch to erupt butterflies in your tummy.
“I don’t know what I was thinking bringing her here,” he groaned, realizing he was still holding onto you, quickly letting go.
“She seems more Jack’s type, if you ask me,” You suggested, Luke squinting his eyes at your words.
“Good thing I didn’t ask…” He may have been the reason the relationship ended, but he wasn’t going to put up with any slander that you had for his current life. The life that didn’t include you.
“Whatever, why did you bring me here?” You looked around at the spot. It had definitely been a spot where the two of you had snuck off to make out several times, escaping the teasing of his older brothers.
“To talk…” He shift his weight to his heels, his hands finding warmth in the pockets on his pants.
“Oh! To talk about you being a complete dipshit and cheating on me this past summer? Yes, let’s talk about that!” Sarcasm dripped from your voice like venom from a snake, targeting the next victim: Luke.
“I’m sorry…” Again, the empty apologies were beginning to grind at you now. You didn’t want the apologies or the excuses. You wanted him to shut up for once, hear you out, and then come up with a genuine apology. He had said his piece, now it was time for you to say yours.
“No, Luke. You’re not sorry for cheating, you’re sorry you got caught. Save the apologies for when you actually mean them,” You started, him immediately shutting up and listening.
“We were so fucking toxic. You know it, I know it. The whole world probably knows it by now. But, God, I loved you so much. I would have spent my whole life trying to fight for that stupid relationship and you turned around and threw it all away. And for what? Some temporary pleasure? You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to get back to me?” Your words shot through him, like bullets hitting glass, shattering the surrounding areas. He couldn’t argue because everything that you were saying was true, but he’d be damned if he let you find satisfaction in being right.
“You said it yourself, it was toxic! You probably would’ve found a problem with me being there without you, anyway!” He tried to defend himself, but he was fanning a flame that he shouldn’t be messing with right now.
“Don’t you dare try to manipulate me into thinking your cheating was justified! Luke Hughes, I’ve said some fucked up shit throughout the years, but I never have, and never will ruin your trust. That’s the type of shit that lasts a lifetime. I can’t date anybody else because there’s always that ‘what if’ of them cheating!” Tears brimmed your eyes, softening the wall that surrounded Luke’s heart. He was a tough guy, but the sight of you hurting was a soft spot for him, an Achilles heel.
“You promised me a future, and then turned around and burned it to the ground without a second thought once you got a taste of fame,” Your finger poked at his chest hard enough for him to wince, expecting to see bruises the next morning.
“You’re a liar! A fucking liar and cheater!” Your voice broke as the words left your mouth, but Luke took the verbal beating that he deserved.
“Do you think I want to be labeled as a cheater, Y/N?! I’ve prayed for months that I’d just wake up and it not be real, that we’d still be together!”
“Awe, so sad, Luke. Truly heart wrenching!” You grabbed at your heart, feigning compassion as he began to clench his jaw, the muscle flexing as his annoyance rose. It was hot, but not hot enough for you to do anything about it.
“Stop being such a bitch, it may suit you, but it doesn’t mean you have to wear it.” His eyes grew dark, almost challenging you to see who would win in a game of insults.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to act however you deemed fit. Even if you’re a cheater…”
“I cheated, I’m not a cheater,” he tried to correct, a viscous chuckle tumbling from your mouth in response.
“I’m not! That’s the one and only time that it will ever happen, I can promise you that!” His voice rose in volume as he continued to defend himself.
“Oh, one and done Luke! How nice! My trust is fixed, so there’s nothing left to worry about!” The sound of people counting down in the background didn’t distract you.
10…9….8…
“If I’ve had anything in the past months it’s peace in knowing I don’t have to put up with your fucking nagging anymore!”
7…6…5…
“Yeah, and I don’t have to worry about you fucking some rando anymore!”
4…3…2…
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
1…
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The voices erupted behind the shed, but the whirlwind of a kiss muffled it all.
Luke eagerly pulled your face toward him, his lips colliding as intensely as a train hitting a car on the tracks. An accident waiting to happen, but there nothing that could be done about it.
It took a second or two, but you kissed back with the same passion as him, him pushing you backwards until your back hit the wall of the shed.
His lips were like home, sweet and comforting. The remnants of his vodka redbull tempting your taste buds to plunge deeper, but you didn’t, you let him set the pace.
One of his hands tilted your chin up, steadying it as the other pulled you closer from the small of your back. Every sense inside of you erupted in fireworks as his tongue tried to gain entrance into your mouth, but you stood your ground, or tried to at least.
The hand that steadied your chin found itself wrapped around your neck, the shock causing you to gasp as he gained entrance.
“Luke! I finally found something to drink, but we missed our-” The voice immediately tore the two of you apart, the fireworks over the lake and store bought pretty interrupting the fireworks that were going off inside of you. Your breathing was a little shallow as you tried to control it again.
“-kiss. What the hell.” She glanced between the two of you before storming off, her stiletto sinking into the grass as she desperately tried to remove it from her foot.
Luke groaned, but the chirping had just begun for you, “One and done, huh?”
“Me and her aren’t even dating!” He squealed.
“We’re talking about this tomorrow, Y/N. Do you understand me?” He pointed at you as he began to smooth over yet another failed attempt at dating, but he wasn’t going to reconcile that one.
“Aye aye, Captain,” You gave him a silly salute, earning an eye roll from him, but as soon as he turned away from you the smile wouldn’t disappear.
Call you crazy, but you hadn’t felt butterflies for a long time, probably since his note to you. What you felt tonight was an army of butterflies being obliterated by fireworks. The feeling of his fingers around your neck, his jaw muscle contracting, everything about him had turned you on.
Did you really fold that easily?
Oh well. The thought of the next day, the possibility of getting him back, along with his family far outweighed your pride.
He could be your Luke once more.
436 notes · View notes