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algea · 2 months ago

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Hurricane

prompt: you and jack ride out your first hurricane together and you end up riding something else as well

a/n: this has been on my mind since Debby landed in NC (unfortunately💔) and has been super duper mega nagging me…college sucks and im a little homesick so writing for the Canes makes me a little less homesick...I also began writing this way before he got traded to the Avs </3 (my poor jackie) warnings: NSFW!

You had never experienced a hurricane before moving to North Carolina. You were more accustomed to snow and the cold, not high winds and rain. That’s probably why tornadoes and the torrential downpours scared the hell out of you.

Jack insisted on getting gas cans filled for the generator, water, and anything that you didn’t need the stove for. Obviously you did this for the snow, but you didn’t understand what a bunch of rain could do.

“Jack, why exactly do we need all of this?” You asked, face contorting in confusion. Jack looked up from where he was crouched next to the gas pump, hand holding the handle of the gas dispenser. He smiled softly at you and explained,

“Our power could go out for a while and I’d rather not go a few days without taking a shower or sweating to death.”

His blond hair gently floated in the breeze, pulling pieces of it down across his eyes. The eyes that were locked onto yours, those ocean blue eyes that loved you unconditionally. It was cloudy, causing the light to look grey and dull. You could never feel dullness when you were with Jack, that’s what made him so so special to you. He was always so compassionate, gentle, kind, and patient. That’s what made you fall in love with him even if he was a handsome man already. His laughter was contagious and his smile lit up everything around him, including people. You didn’t envy him for this, it was more like you thought it was admirable.

Jack lugged the cans of gas to the back of the truck and stepped into the drivers seat.

“Alright, let’s go home.” He muttered, cranking up the truck. Pulling out of the gas station, he settled his right hand on your thigh, thumb softly drawing circles on it. It was the little stuff he did that drove you crazy, specifically that. Jack knew it too and loved to tease you a little bit with it.

“Jack…” You warned, voice in a low whisper. Jack’s lips twitched up for a moment before settling back into the straight face he had been trying to maintain. It had begun to rain, only a constant drizzle, and the wind had started to howl. That was when you knew that the hurricane was here. You suddenly felt cold, a breeze of chilly air blasting you. Jack’s hand was searing against your thigh, causing a chill to run up your spine, making you shiver. His grip became tighter, tips of his fingers softly digging into your thigh. You could hear the soft breaths escaping Jack and you glanced at him, scanning his face. His eyebrows were drawn together, lips parted, and the tips of his ears were red. You knew that face all too well, he was just as riled up as you were.

“Fuck, Jackie.” Was all you had to say before Jack let out a loud groan. His hand slipped up closer to your groin, the feeling making you shiver with pleasure. You unintentionally spread your legs a little further apart, sliding down into the seat more. Jack’s pinky finger brushed against the zipper of your jean shorts, adding only a small bit of pressure. It drove you insane, really. Your hand flew up to grab his wrist, trying to force him to add more friction. However, because Jack was the hockey player he was, it wasn’t hard for him to stop your antics.

“Jack.” You whined, hand gripping his wrist tighter.

“Shhh, quiet down, sweet pea.” Jack whispered, pinky rubbing slow circles around your clothed clit. The drive was agonizingly slow, between Jack’s pinky softy rubbing your clit and the raging boner he had, it was certainly testing you. You snaked your hand over his thigh, right underneath where his length was. Jack let out a small hiss, hand gripping the wheel tighter. You let your fingers graze him, testing out the waters. Jack let out a soft moan, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Thankfully the windows were quite tinted, meaning that no one could see inside. Slipping your hand under his sweatpants, your hand made slow circles against him.

“S-Shit, you keep doing that and I won’t last, honey.” Jack sputtered, cheeks burning red.

“You like that, Jackie?”You murmured in his ear, placing a kiss to his lips afterwards. Luckily, you had just pulled into the driveway. Jack’s hands moved at blinding speed, unbuckling your seatbelt and hoisting you over the center console. You straddled his hips, core hovering over his.

“Don’t be a tease, sweetheart.” Jack sighed, hands tugging your hips down. With one motion, you rolled your hips against his.

“Fuck.” Jack hissed, his hands gripping your ass. You softly mewed, dropping your head onto his shoulder. One of Jack’s hands unbuttoned the top of your jean shorts, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin underneath. Your lips found his again, tongues clashing together. His soft fingers grazed the skin underneath your panties and you gasped at the contact. Jack shifted one of his hands to your back, stroking it softly.

"I feel like this is more for the bedroom, no?" You whispered, pressing your lips against his feverishly. He only hummed in response before opening the door and swiftly carrying you into the house. As the front door closed, Jack pressed you up against it, cock grinding into you. He moaned, clashing his lips against yours again. You tighted your legs around his waist, hands roaming his chest. Panting, Jack locked the front door and rushed to the bedroom.

"Tell me if I need to stop, ok?" Jack whispered. You nodded as he gently laid you on the bed. You groaned softly, missing the contact of his body against yours as he stood up to take his shirt off.

"Don't cry darling, I'll make you feel good in just a moment." Jack grinned, hand clasping at the hem of your shirt. You shimmied to help him out just a little as he pulled your shirt off. Jack softly settled his hips between your legs, hands falling beside your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to your lips before trailing down to the sensitive part of your neck.

"You smell so good, pretty girl." Jack murmured, teeth grazing your collarbone.

"Mmm, its my perfume." You respond, nails softly dragging up and down his back. Jack sunk his teeth around the bone, not enough to hurt but just enough to leave a mark.

"I like it. You should wear it more often my love." He groans, trailing one hand down to palm himself. You whimpered out and moved one of your own hands to replace his.

"Babe, will you let me help you?" You suggested, hands dipping below the waistband of his sweats. Jack only nodded and swallowed hard as you slowly pushed down his sweatpants. His cock sprung free and slapped his lower stomach with impressive length, the tip bright pink and leaking with precum. Your eyes slowly traveled up, taking in his insanely toned body. He was trimmed but not clean shaven, just how he knew you liked it.

"My handsome boy, aren't you being so good for me?" You teased, hands caressing his sides. Jack's blush only deepened as he leaned in and kissed you. He tugged down your shorts, revealing a skimpy lace thong you planned on surprising him with tonight. His breath caught in his throat when he saw them, fingers running over them gently. The sight of them made his cock twitch, making it impossibly more hard.

"When'd you get this? You look sexy in it babe." Jack said, nose bumping against your jaw. His hands fondled with the delicate fabric of them.

"I wanted them to be a surprise for later, but things changed." You grinned, half lidded eyes gazing down at his face. Jack didn't respond, but his hands pulled down the fabric. His gaze was fixed on how wet you were already. His thumb ghosted over your clit, making you jump at the contact. Jack looked up through his lashes, his hair falling in his eyes. You pushed him off and rolled over, pulling him underneath you. His hand flew to your face as you trailed your lips over his chest, down to his abs and lower stomach. Jack hissed as your lips drew near his cock, hand tightening its grip on your face lightly.

"S-Shit baby...Please don't tease me anymore, I need you." Jack whimpered, hand moving to the back of your head. You smiled up at Jack and ghosted your breath over his cock.

"Just because you're just so sweet, handsome." You replied, tongue dragging up his shaft. He let out a soft moan, eyes falling shut and eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly going down on him and hollowing out your cheeks as you come back up. One hand goes down to cup his balls, the other to caress the rest that you can't take. Jack's soft moans continued as you worked, climbing more and more loud. One of his hands gripped his navy blue comforter and the other was tangled in your hair, guiding you down. He almost fainted when you went to suck his balls, eyes lifting to make contact with his. They stayed connected as you went back down on him. His hand stopped you from continuing to suck him off, which made you raise an eyebrow.

"I-I wouldn't have lasted..." Jack explained, cheeks turning red with embarassment as he looked away.

"I know my sweet boy. You were just being so good and I wanted to show you how much I appreciate it." You smiled, standing up and placing a kiss to his cheek. Jack turned back to face you, glancing down at how close your pussy was to his cock.

"Will you uh...will you ride me?" He asked, eyes darting away from you.

"You don't have to ask, sweetheart." You laughed, pressing another kiss to his cheek, then one to his lips. You climbed onto the bed and over on top of him, watching him as his eyes tracked your movements like a hawk. Jack's hand gripped his cock, helping you guide yourself down. His breath caught as you slowly pushed his tip in your dripping cunt. Slowly you sank down, letting out a loud whine as his tip pressed into your cervix. Jack gasped and screwed his eyes shut, hands flying to your waist to help guide you. You rolled your hips once, twice, finding a good rhythm for you as you adjusted to him. You then began to bounce, falling foward on his chest, letting him see your tits dangle.

"Oh God, just like that babe." Jack choked out. His breath was erratic, hair a mess, and his blue eyes were clamped shut. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, spare the noises both you and him were making. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he returned eagerly. He pressed his tongue against yours as the kiss intensified and his hips began to thrust upwards.

"You're so beautiful, love." Jack gasped, eyes locking with yours.

"I beg to differ, you're even more handsome." You whispered back, moaning out as he hit your cervix again and again. He began to feel that you were getting tired, so he swiftly flipped you, spreading you open underneath him. His hips slapped against yours with intensified speed, quicker than he's gone before.

"Oh fuuuck Jack, oh fuck Jack, please please please.." You begged, tears pricking your eyes as he pounded into you relentlessly.

"My pretty girl, taking me so good. Look at how much of a mess you are underneath me, my love. Want me to fill you up?" Jack said. You honestly didn't think that he was able to spill that much filth from his mouth, but he always surprised you. You nodded and he groaned, leaning down and kissing you as he picked up the pace even more. His hand reached down and began to rub that bundle of nerves, stimulating you even further. Tears fell down your cheeks as you came, your nails clawing down his back over and over. As soon as you came, he chased his own release, spewing his seed inside you with a loud moan. Jack continued to pump himself into you as he slowed his pace.

He pulled out after a moment, watching as his seed dribbled out of you. His hands came and cupped your face as he asked,

"Are you ok, my love? I wasn't too rough was I?"

"No, it was absolutely perfect Jack. It was so sexy how intense you were. I really didn't know something that filthy could come out of your mouth, though." You replied, kissing his palm.

"Honestly, I didn't either." Jack chuckled bashfully.

"Jack."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I love you so much, handsome."

"I love you even more, my love."

By the time the two of you had finished, it had begun to really storm outside. The wind shook the house and the rain pelted the windows, but you really couldn't feel more safe than in the arms of your lovers embrace.

#nhl #north carolina #canes hockey #carolina hurricanes #jack drury #jack drury x reader #jack drury imagines #hockey #hurricanes

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algea · 3 months ago

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SEBASTIAN AHO Canadiens vs. Hurricanes - 3.28.2025

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algea · 3 months ago

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Best Friends Club

summary: prompt fill. Wally's been your best friend since the Grade 4 puppet show. a disaster that brought you together for life. only now, years later and months away from graduation, Wally needs to get something off his chest. he just...didn't exactly plan to do it this way... (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. friends to lovers. protective behavior. AU. silliness & fluff. Simon and Wally are bros (fight me).

bon reading, frens

___________________________☄️

Best Friends Club

Wally's chatting with Maddie and Charley before school, has his arm around your shoulders as you focus on your phone, laughing and joking and smiling wide until:

"Holy crap, Jake Tremblay just asked me to go out Friday," You announce, pretty eyes wide, blinking in shock at everyone.

Wally goes still, smile sliding off his face as his stomach drops and his heart ups and lodges itself in his throat. God, this hurts.

See, the thing is, you're Wally's best friend. And while he has his arm around you—is always reaching for you, hand on your back, arm, shoulder, whatever—it's never been anything but friendly. Best friendly. Because you and he are f r i e n d s. And it sucks. Royally.

Why? Yeah, no one needs three guesses to figure out that Wally's been in love with you since Grade 4. That massacre of a puppet show the kids put on for their parents during Spirit Week. You and Wally spent the entire performance using sock puppets to have a dialogue about who'd win in a fight: Goku or Sailor Moon. Didn't even notice the blood vessel about to pop in Mr. Toast's temple when things really started to spiral.

Wally only comes down to earth when you say his name for what must not be the first time, everyone's eyes on him. Yours, especially, beautiful and concerned as you stare at him expectantly.

"What was that?" He asks, feeling simultaneously dumb and unable to function.

You repeat, "I asked you what I should say..." and turn to face him fully. Still close enough that your body heat soaks through his hoodie. Fuck, how can he say anything negative when you're giving him that sweet, earnest expression? Seeking advice from someone you trust implicitly.

Against his better judgment—or maybe for it—Wally slaps on a smile and says, "Yeah. You should go for it."

This isn't the first time you've been asked out. Of course, those last few times you didn't look so keen on accepting the offer. When you turn back to your phone, Wally's face immediately falls. He doesn't look at Maddie or Charley, can't handle the pity he knows he'll see in their eyes.

Everyone in the circle knows about Wally's crush on you (fuck, it's so much more than that), but apart from insisting he talk to you, no one points it out. You're the only one who hasn't caught on, Nicole having informed Wally that you giggled over popcorn, what are you talking about? Wally's always like that, when everyone was at the APEX for a midnight screening of some scary movie Wally couldn't have cared less about.

And, sure, Wally is 'always like that': Goofy, charming, flirtatious; standing in line at concessions for you and holding your bag when you go to the bathroom... What you don't seem to grasp is that Wally isn't like that with anyone else. And now you're saying 'yes' to Jake Tremblay and Wally has to muster the strength not to punch a wall.

‗•‗

Simon closes his locker only to jolt backwards. Wally appeared out of the fucking ether, what the hell? He has his forehead pressed against the locker beside Simon's, shoulders slumped, looking all-in-all miserable to exist.

"Yoouu okay?" Simon ventures, raising a brow.

Slowly, Wally turns his head and nothing else, eyes puppy-dog sad and lower lip pursed in a pout, "No." And then, after turning to face the locker again, "She said yes to Jake Tremblay."

"Dude, I've told you a thousand times, talk. to. her." Simon says like a mother insisting Wally clean his room.

Pointed, "Oh, you mean like you talked to Maddie?"

Simon takes a moment to reevaluate his life before, in a placid, neutral tone, declares, "I regret this friendship."

"No you don't." Wally says, but he's still glooming into the locker. "What do I do?"

"Aside from talk to her?" Simon shrugs helplessly. How's he supposed to know? He and Wally have been paddling the same sinking boat for approximately the same number of years. "Do you...wanna threaten Jake?" Simon asks in a pitch similar to that used when asking children if they want to go for ice cream after a tantrum.

Wally seems to seriously consider it but glumly decides, "No. I want her to be happy." A heavy sigh. "Even if it's not with me."

"This isn't going to make you some kind of martyr, you know."

"I know."

Simon doesn't think Wally does know, but fine, he'll play along. "Maybe it'll go so bad that she swears off dating forever."

"A guy can dream," Wally mumbles as he straightens, and, Jesus, he looks like every kitten in the world just got launched at the sun and he was forced to watch.

Simon can see beneath Wally's utter despair to the gears turning in his brain. Can sense what ill-advised plan Wally is cooking up (because this isn't the first time he's done something stupid to ensure you're safe). In an effort to, a) avoid criminal charges and, b) make Wally feel better:

"What if I happen to be in the same place at the same time? I could keep an eye on things for you." Simon suggests and he already wishes he didn't say anything.

Wally brightens, "You'd do that for me?"

"Apparently..." Simon says, questioning himself. "Look, better me than you, right? Otherwise, it'll be exactly what it is and she'll never talk to you again."

"Why? What would it be if I do it?"

"Stalking, Wally," Simon states as he heads into History, Wally at his heels.

"Hey!" Wally protests, "It's not like that!"

Taking his seat, Simon just gives Wally a pointed stare, "Buddy, I know you read those BookTok romances, but following your BFF on her date with another dude isn't a romantic gesture. It's creepy a-f."

"But...you'll do it for me?" Wally wants to confirm, his eyes all wide and pleading.

Simon sighs, thinking this is a terrible idea, but seeing Wally so sad breaks Simon's heart and he can't bring himself to take back the offer. "...Apparently."

‗•‗

Friday comes. It's all you've been talking about since Monday and Wally has had it up to here with Jake This and Jake That, and if he hears one. more. thing. about Jake, Wally's going to burst into a million pieces of ragehate and take the whole school with him.

But he smiles and nods and teases you like he would in any other situation, bumping your ass with his hip when he finds you bent over at your locker at lunch. You don't even need to look to know it's him, simply continue to shove your backpack in your locker and grab your jean jacket.

"Diner?" You give him a sunshine smile that Wally returns, almost forgetting about your date and Jake and how you're not actually Wally's girlfriend.

Not in this lifetime, his brain reminds him bluntly.

His blood stings.

Over lunch at the diner down the street, you outline exactly what Jake has planned. Dinner at the Italian place beside the Arcade (it's fucking Olive Garden, Jake, do better) and then—Jesus, really?!—stargazing on the roof of the old cigarette factory. An organized thing. The planets will be in some kind of super rare alignment or something, and local enthusiasts have banded together to share their telescopes.

"No offense, but since when do you care about the planets?" Wally wonders as he dips his fries into your ketchup.

You shrug, "I mean, it's something to do, right? And you're always telling me to 'branch out and try new things, dorkface'," You exaggerate the last part in a parody of Wally's voice before continuing as yourself, "so, why not astronomy?"

"Because it's outside and you hate outside things before May." Wally chuckles and shakes his head, "You're gonna get cold and complain and steal Jake's hoodie like you've stolen five of mine."

Wally loathed the idea of you stealing another guy's anything, but he smiles through the jealousy. Perhaps a little too intent on smearing more fries through your ketchup as his knee bumps the underside of the table in quick, nervous intervals.

Oh, he is not doing well.

He instantly notices how you've gone still, how you're studying his expression, words, behavior like a zoologist at the gorilla enclosure because Wally can't fucking keep his cool when he's forced to think about you being cozy and cute for someone who isn't him-shaped.

Wally keeps his eyes on his plate for a few moments; long enough that you gracefully change the subject and ask Wally what his plans are for tonight. As if they don't involve hanging out with his phone while he obsessively waits for Simon's updates throughout the course of your date.

"Nothing special," He says, patting himself on the back for keeping his voice even, "just hanging out at home."

‗•‗

It's 8:43PM when Wally's phone lights up with a call. As promised, Simon kept Wally abreast of every. single. thing. you and Jake did on your date. From flirty conversation over unlimited breadsticks to shifting to one side of the booth to split dessert.

It's only been an hour and a half since you and Jake were seated. What on earth could Simon have to tell him that couldn't be texted?

"Don't freak out—" Wally promptly freaks out "—but something happened."

Wally shoots up in bed, where he's been whiling away since he got home from school, and is immediately on alert. Heart pounding, blood pumping, ready for war.

"What's going on? Is she okay?"

"Oh. She's fine." Simon reports. He sounds like he's hiding, voice a harsh whisper just loud enough for Wally to hear. "Jake might be in a permanent body cast for the rest of his life, but she's totally fine."

Wally breathes a sigh of relief, although he's still confused, "What happened?"

Simon clears his throat, "She's probably going to call you in, like, a minute, so you have to act...just...be cool, okay?" And then, finally, he reveals, "Jake tried to stick his hand under her skirt. And I mean, he went for it. Full grope from behind."

At that moment, Wally sees fucking r e d. He's off the phone and in his car faster than a bullet, tearing out of his parents' driveway with a screech. Burns rubber around every corner; breaks several traffic laws; and pulls up just as you're about to get into an Uber. There's no sign of Jake. Unfortunate, since Wally has a surplus of adrenaline thrumming through his veins, and the only cure is beating the guy's face to a fucking pulp.

You look confused for all of a second before your face crumples. Wally gets out of the driver's seat and hurries toward you. Gathers you in his arms as soon as you're within reach, and holds you as you shake. He rubs your back, soothes you with soft words; managing to simultaneously shoo the Uber driver away with a polite nod and a gesture.

"Are you okay?" He asks after a minute. "Do I need to kill him?"

"...No," You mumble into Wally's chest. "I already did that."

Wally grins, though it's sad at its edges. You shouldn't have had to.

"That's my girl," He murmurs into your hair after he places a comforting kiss on your head. "Come on. I'll drive you home."

You go without resistance, even allowing Wally to fuss over you and buckle you in. As he settles behind the wheel, he glances at you again and realizes, "Whose jacket is that?"

You press your lips together and stare at your lap, "I got cold... Besides, after what he did, I think I earned it." You end firmly, crossing your arms.

"Did you take it before or after you kicked his ass?"

"After, duh." You say like it's so obvious, "We were inside before. But I didn't want to wait for my Uber in front of everyone who saw what happened. So...I made him give it to me."

Wally barks a laugh as he takes your hand, holding it in that platonic way, fingers not laced how he wants them to be, but he'll take what he can get. Your knuckles are raw where they made impact with whatever part of Jake you punched. Wally smooths the pad of his thumb over them. Gentle. Loving.

"Where to, sweetcheeks?" He asks, "Home or ice cream?"

"Home." You decide with finality which makes it hard to swallow around the lump of disappointment in Wally's throat.

Call him selfish, but he hoped you'd want to let him comfort you. Regardless, he does as he's told and pulls away from the curb, pulling a uey to head toward your house.

‗•‗

On Monday, Wally finds Jake in the boys' locker room after swim practice, his black eye looking like it needs a twin. Wally punches Jake hard enough that even he sees circling birdies.

He shakes out his hand as he leaves without a word, hardly feeling the pain through the smug satisfaction warming his belly.

‗•‗

It's the next weekend when you invite Wally over for a casual afternoon kick back. I need Best Friend Time, you said, all adorable and gloomy, wanting to put all thoughts of ever dating again behind you (thanks for putting that out there, Simon, you da man!). Wally's in, of course he is, on the road as soon as you hang up.

Your parents are having a late lunch with friends a town over, so it'll be just you and him for a while. Games and snacks and Domino's on the menu for dinner. When you answer the door for him, you've got some of that sunshine glow back in your eyes, your smile making Wally's heart flutter.

You lead him to the basement, everything already set up: coffee table pushed aside for the nest of blankets and pillows on the floor, bags of gummy worms and twizzlers (Wally's favorite) and those Canadian chips you like in a pile beside cans of Dr. Pepper and Coke Zero.

Wally wore his cleanest sweatpants for the occasion, matching your chill vibe. And damn those low-slung yoga pants and that fucking tight-as-sin tank top, no bra because you love to drive Wally crazy.

"Ready to have your ass handed to you again?" You joke as you get comfortable on your side of the nest.

Wally claps back, "Hah! You haven't won in three months, sugarlips, what makes you think today's the day?"

You just smirk and hand Wally a controller, "I have a plan." And that's all there is to it. You don't elaborate, don't hint, don't give Wally any indication whatsoever what this plan might be.

Fishy...but effective. You're already in Wally's head. Hmm, maybe that's the plan? Wally shakes himself to attention and starts the game, grinning like a shark as he gets the lead right off the bat.

Just as he's about to cross the finish line, "So much for your pla—" the world suddenly tilts sideways. He can't finish his thought, barreled over by your weight crashing into him as you grab the controller right out of his hand.

You squeal victoriously, the sound rebooting his brain, and he realizes what just happened.

"Hey!" He tries to grab the controller, but you hold it up and away from him, big smile on your face as the screen announces Wally's demise. "Not fair!" He wraps his arms around you and flips you onto your back; presses his weight into you as he uses the advantage of his longer limbs to snatch the controller back.

Apparently not taking this lying down, you band your legs around his waist then surge up, somehow summoning the strength of five Wallys to roll him onto his back again. Stunned, he stares up at you as you wave the controller victoriously.

"You were saying?" You chuckle, smug as ever, slightly out of breath.

Oh, but Wally isn't done yet, miss ma'am. He snaps his hands up, clamping his fingers for the controller which you arch your back to hold away from him, crying out when he takes advantage of your off-balance position to knock you backward. Once more, he has you squirming beneath him.

He grabs one wrist and then the other, transferring both into the grip of one of his large hands while he plucks the controller from you with the other. That's about the moment he realizes, uh-oh, he can feel your breath on his lips. Your face is such a beautiful shade of pink, and your thighs are on either side of his hips. Wally's body is completely flush against yours. All of him. Every. Last little bit. of him.

Wally should move. Definitely. He should move right now; just get off you and pretend everything's normal and you're not gazing up at him like that and his lips aren't so fucking close to yours, and the air hasn't been sucked out of the room that no longer exists around you and him because there's only you and only him and fuck. Shit.

"Wally~?" You say, voice a whisper tinged with something that makes Wally's cock twitch. Heat, maybe. Or need. You swallow, the sound audible, and, oh fuck, Wally watches your eyes flicker to his mouth then back, like you're finally on the same page, like you want it, too.

His hand flexes around your wrists, body settling more firmly on yours, and he stares at your face as he rocks his hips, just once, experimental, just to see what you'll do. He knows you can feel him, stiff and hardening further, all his inches against the heat of your pussy through your thin as fuck yoga pants.

Your reaction almost explodes Wally's brain. That sweet little whimper, how your eyes glaze over and your lips part; how you mimic the action with one of your own, sending sparks of electricity through Wally's nervous system.

"Fuck," He chokes out, grip loosening around your wrists, but not letting go. He drops the controller. Instead uses that hand to brush his fingers across your cheek and down the slope of your jaw. His breath mingles with yours, the heat in him rises, his heart beating a frenzied tattoo in his chest. Is he really going to do this?

"Please," You say, so soft, so perfect, that, yes, Wally is absolutely going to do this.

He gently bumps the tip of his nose against yours, smiles in wonder that this is really about to happen, and then slowly, to give you a chance to turn away if you don't want this, he leans in, stopping only to tease, "One more time, princess." His voice low and husky.

He feels you tense and then release before whispering, "Please, Wally..."

That's all he needs to lean in and kiss you for the first time, his lips capturing yours with years of hunger and desire and fucking love. So much love it threatens to go nuclear if Wally doesn't share the burden right this minute.

He moans, grinds his hips against yours, his cock throbbing against you, God, he needs you so badly. Has needed you so badly since he first discovered how his dick works and probably even before then. He lets his hand roam down down down, then up under your tank top, fingers caressing the soft shape of your breast.

You keen and arch into the touch, and, holy shit, he can't do this slow. Next time—please Jesus, let there be a next time—he'll do this right. He'll do candles and rose petals and Barry Manilow, but right now, he has to know what it feels like when you come around his cock.

His kisses turn urgent, his movements more hungry, and you match his crazy like a mirror. His shirt first, thrown behind the TV, then yours, tossed somewhere near the coffee table. Wally takes a second to admire your bare chest, licks his lips, and then descends, starving for a taste. He sucks your nipple, twirls his tongue around it, moaning as if it's the best thing he's ever had in his mouth.

Which, as soon as he peels your yoga pants off and resituates himself between your spread-wide thighs, he knows isn't true. This is the best thing he's ever had on his tongue. He spears it in and out of you, moaning and panting as he kisses your pussy deeply, brings one, two fingers into the mix; pumping into you over and over until you shake and beg and arch so fucking pretty for him.

"Fuck, baby, I need to feel you come," He groans, shoving his sweatpants and boxers off and throwing them somewhere to find later.

You agree enthusiastically, reaching for him as you hook one leg over his hip, the other over his shoulder—Goddamn, were you always this bendy!?—and cry out like a heavenly chorus when he drives his cock into you. Fuck, God, his eyes roll back in his skull, it's the most incredible feeling, an indescribable euphoria flushing through him from scalp to soles.

"You feel so...big, Wally, oh my god," You gasp when he begins to move, and doesn't that just rub his ego the right way?

He genuinely can't even find the brain cells to reply, too busy losing himself to the sensation of being inside you, finally, so much more intense than any and every fantasy he's had of you and him entwined like this.

"Baby," He moans, hips pumping faster, fat tip hitting your sweet spot over and over and over until he feels you tighten around him, hears you gasp, and then moan in ecstasy.

He wishes he could last, that he could keep going until you come again, again, again, but he's waited so long for this and it's overwhelming, he can't do it. With one, two, three more quick thrusts, Wally tenses and then groans, grinding his release into you; leaning down to take your lips in a feverish kiss.

As you and he recover, he rests his forehead against yours, releases your wrists—oops—and cradles your face in one hand, his most precious girl a vision in the afterglow. You shift, your hands on his jaw, and you're looking at him like the sun, moon, and stars.

"How long?" You eventually ask.

Wally doesn't need you to clarify. He knows exactly what you mean.

"Grade 4."

He watches you absorb the information, nod, and then your eyes meet his when you make your own confession, "Grade 3. Ms. Houette's class. You made a joke about seagulls that was so lame it was funny."

Wally about short-circuits. He begs your finest pardon, but what was that? "Grade...3?"

"Grade 3."

"...are you saying that I could've been loving on you—" He emphasizes with a roll of his hips, winces from oversensitivity, "—since before I even understood what that meant?"

"I'm saying I've had a big, stupid crush on you since Grade 3." You say, innocent and solemn, "You take that however you want."

Wally chooses to forego the existential crisis and simply enjoy that he has you under him. There's a lot of time to make up for and a lot of fantasies Wally wants to bring to life, which you and he do with gusto until your parents get home and call down a hello.

Later, after redressing in a tornado and greeting your parents face-to-face; after stammered updates and weak conversation; after retreating to the basement to watch a movie and cuddle—Lord, you feel so good in Wally's arms, he never wants to let you go.

After all that, during a lull in the movie, you finally ask, "So, are you going to tell me how you knew what happened with Jake before I told you?" And you prop your chin on his chest, looking up at him with amusement.

Wally gulps, facing the screen as he desperately tries to come up with a feasible answer. Nothing comes to mind, though, so he's stuck offering:

"Uuuh...?"

You sit back, on your knees between his legs, and raise a brow, "I know Simon was there. You can tell him that Groucho glasses do not a disguise make."

Sheepish, "He's a good bro...?"

"A very good bro," You agree primly, "A bro who stalks one of his best friend's other best friend because...?"

Now Wally knows he has to tell you. He sits up himself, hands finding your waist, eyes earnest and sweet as he admits, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't know anything about Jake and you never let me vet any of the guys you go out with—"

"Yes. All three of them." You say flatly, rolling your eyes.

"One, three, five, doesn't matter, baby, I always wanted to make sure they were good enough for you..."

"So, did you make Simon follow me and Dan to the movie last year?" You wonder.

Wally glances away, guilt muddling his expression.

"...Did you follow me and Dan to the movie last year?"

"If I say no, will you believe me and let me cuddle you some more?"

Your jaw drops, eyes round, and for a second, Wally's sure he's about to get the boot. Not just from your house, but from the Best Friends Club altogether. He's already mourning the loss of your touch when you abruptly burst into laughter, crashing into him like you did before, only this time a lot gentler.

You nuzzle your face into his neck and then kiss his face all over, grinning down at him with the same beautiful smile you always give him.

"You're not mad?"

You shake your head, "I made Xavier come with me to that football game you took Melissa to last fall..."

Gobsmacked, Wally blurts, "You hate sports," since it's entirely relevant to how you stalked him as much as he stalked you on dates neither of you wanted the other to be on.

"I don't hate sports. I like sports. I hate all the pauses and the time outs and the—"

Wally cuts you off with a kiss, at first just a stamp of lips to lips but slowly melting into something softer, deeper, more heated.

Wally pulls back a fraction to say, "I love you, babygirl," looking deep into your eyes. One hand on your hip, the other in your hair, releasing a long, shaky breath as he waits for you to say something.

Finally, a smile spreads across your face and you kiss him again, short and sweet and meaningful.

"I love you, too, Wally Clark." Then, completely off-topic and far less romantic: "Do you wanna come with me when I stalk Simon's date for Maddie?"

Tires screech as Wally's brain comes to a full stop. Sorry, what was that? "Wait, Mads wants you to follow Simon?"

"Oh yeah, she's liked him for ages, but he never seems interested so...you know...she doesn't wanna risk the friendship."

"Jesus Christ." Wally looks at you, totally serious when he sighs with the exasperation of an ignored parent, "You know, I've told him, like, a thousand times to just talk to her." A helpless shrug, "He never listens."

‗•‗

Several days later, when you aren't looking, Wally steals the jacket you stole from Jake. Does terrible things to it before throwing it in Jake's face the following day.

Wally replaces the jacket with his letterman and has never been prouder of himself when he sees you slip it on without question.

fin.

☄️___________________________

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Marshmallow Miles.

a cutie-smut-lite oneshot wherein Wally wants to celebrate your birthday away from Split River. Because he can.

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algea · 3 months ago

Text

Forbidden - Seth Jarvis

a/n: i am so so excited to share this!! i worked so incredibly hard on it, worked on it for a few weeks, and it has really paid off :) i have not written any fic this long ever, so it might be a bit repetitive, but i tried my best. hope you all enjoy <3

summary: with seth coming to stay with your family for the summer, your father sets some ground rules, that you can't help but break

word count: 9.2k (grab a snack or something y'all...she's a long one)

“What’s going on?” You ask your parents as you stumble upon them frantically tidying up the entire house. They had gotten home from a shopping trip a little bit ago, and were running all around organizing things, setting things out, and cleaning.

“Didn’t your father tell you? He invited an NHL player to stay with us while he helps your dad out with the summer camp team. He’ll be here in a few hours.”

You let out a sigh and take a seat at the kitchen table as they scrub and scrub at the sink and floor. This was a usual occurrence within your household, with your dad being the coach of a local hockey team for kids aged ten to thirteen, he was always having people come and stay while they assisted him, if they weren’t from here. This year, though, he was coaching a newly formed summer camp for hockey, open to other kids who wanted to try it for a short time.

The work he does for the kids is great, he’s been doing this for years, and has even seen a couple of the boys he worked with years ago make their way to being drafted, one of them even making his debut in the NHL at the beginning of the season.

Every year, he finds ways to get kids interested in the sport and keep with it when they do, and this year, that meant inviting none other than Seth Jarvis from the Carolina Hurricanes out to help mentor this new group of kids.

Just as your mom said, Seth was expected to be arriving today, with the premature end to the Canes season, and was set to be staying at least a couple months here, since you lived a few hours outside of Raleigh. You’ve seen clips of him here and there, your friend always raving about how cute she thinks he is, but you’ve never been into hockey, so you had no clue who this man is or what he’s even like.

It might come as a surprise, with your dad being a coach and everything, but you tried your best to stay away from the sport as a whole. You’ve seen the way guys that play can act, some believe they’re better than everyone else, way too cocky, way too disrespectful; even the kids he coaches have said questionable things here and there to try and fit in with the culture.

“And I want no funny business from you, (Y/N),” your dad points to you when he finishes with the floor, pointing the brush he was using right at you before dropping it in the side of the sink your mother hasn’t cleaned yet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No making comments towards him or about him, no flirting, and absolutely no dating him or sleeping with him.” You can’t help but roll your eyes as he sets the ground rules for Seth’s stay, slightly embarrassed that he would even bring up you potentially sleeping with the guy.

“Believe me, you don’t have to worry about that. I stay far away from hockey players ever since I dated that one dickhead.”

“I told you to stay away from Dean as well, and you didn’t listen.”

“Well, he was really cute, just unfortunate he was a major asshole.” Your mother can’t help but laugh, remembering the situation that went down with your small summer fling a couple years ago. “I won’t be doing that ever again, so you have my word.”

“Good. You better not break that promise, I don’t need Seth being distracted with my daughter.”

His comment elicits another eye roll from you, your arms crossing over your chest as you sit back in the chair, looking out the window to the backyard with the bright shining sun, the grass greener than ever and a beautiful sight to gaze at.

“What’s for dinner?”

—

As the hours tick by, the sun slowly starts to lower in the sky, bringing a stunning orange hue to the houses that line your street. Just as your feet plant on the last step of the stairs, there is a knock on the door. Being polite, you head to open it, but your parents appear, your dad gesturing you to go stand by your mother.

With a slightly defiant sigh, you stand beside her and wait for him to open the door. When he does, there stands a man so handsome, your knees almost buckle. You have to keep yourself steady, and it’s even more of a struggle when his soft brown eyes meet yours. The sun behind him casts a beautiful glow around him, making him appear almost like an angel sent from the gods.

“Hi, I’m Seth, you must be Lewis,” he introduces himself to your dad, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

“Yeah, welcome to Greenville, how was the drive in?” You and your mother stand there awkwardly as they converse.

“Good, not too bad, only an hour and a half. I really appreciate you letting me stay here, it would’ve been a long summer of driving three hours every day to and from.” A short chuckle escapes you, catching the attention of the twenty-three year-old hockey player, smirking softly over at you.

“Our home is always open to visitors. I offer it to everyone I invite to help with the teams, it’s the least I can do, really.” Your father looks back at you and your mother, his eyes widening. “Oh, where are my manners. Seth, this is my wife, Jane, and my daughter (Y/N).”

Seth steps over and shakes your mother’s hand, but she pulls him in for a hug, as she usually does with people she meets. He then steps in front of you, your hand meeting his, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Nice to meet you,” you smile at him, doing your best to hide the fact that you think he is insanely cute.

“Likewise, (Y/N).”

God, the way he says my name.

The two of you share a look for a few seconds before your dad clears his throat to catch your attention, though you were still too busy swooning over Seth’s features.

“Well, dinner should be ready in a little, Seth, I’ll show you to the guest room in the meantime.”

“Great!”

Seth steps away with his suitcase, following your dad down the hall, directing him to the room that he’d be staying in, your mom heading back to the kitchen to check on the food. You were tasked with setting the table, so you grab four plates, four glasses, and four sets of silverware and place them around the dining room table.

“Seth seems very sweet,” your mother says, appearing in the dining room with a plate of veggies, placing it on a pot holder since it was still very warm.

“He does. But who knows, he’s probably like all the other guys dad has stay here.”

“Don’t be so harsh, he could be the complete opposite. From what your dad has said about him, he’s very nice and won’t be causing any problems.”

“You say that now…” you mumble to yourself. Thankfully, your mother drops the topic just as your dad and Seth appear in the room.

Everyone takes a seat at the table, with your dad at the head of the table, your mother to his right, Seth to his left, and you next to your mom. Dinner went very well, the topic mainly being centered around Seth as your parents ask him question after question about himself, which he happily answers with no issues.

You couldn’t help but notice how much he kept glancing over at you, despite you not having said a word. He couldn’t seem to help himself, his cheeks turning pink every time he caught you staring, having picked up on the habit from you, chuckling to himself each time, hoping your parents didn’t notice.

Once dinner ends, you help your mom with cleaning everything and putting away the leftovers while your dad and Seth head out back to chat about how the summer will go, what time he needs to get up every day, even going over the schedule for planned events so far.

“I like him,” your mom speaks up, looking out the back door window to catch a glimpse of the Canadian nodding along to your father’s words. “He’s going to be great help with the kids.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he will. Seems like he knows hockey well.” She smiles over at you and throws the towel on the counter.

“I told him we’d be having a movie night, if you’d like to join. We’re watching the new Bob Dylan movie,” she tells you, patting your shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

You stay put for a moment, your own gaze drifting to where Seth stands, his hands in his pockets as he listens. Again, he can feel you staring at him and he quickly sneaks a glance in your direction, hoping your father doesn’t follow his movement.

Before he can catch another look, you dart off up the stairs and to your room, sighing heavily as you throw yourself onto the bed. Your eyes flutter closed and all that ran through your mind was Seth, his crooked teeth that form such a sweet grin, his energetic voice enough to send butterflies to your stomach, how silky his hair appeared to be…how much you wanted to tangle your fingers in it…

This was going to be a long summer.

—

It has now been a week since Seth has arrived here, and every day, he’s out of the house and at the local ice rink with your dad, assisting in teaching the kids the basics of hockey and how the game is played. You hear about their day every night during dinner, and he seems to be really enjoying having this opportunity to be an assistant coach.

Since the beginning of his stay, your friend Valerie has asked you multiple times to come over and see him, but with him being away all day, there has never been a good time for them to meet. Plus, you were nervous for them to meet, knowing just how crazy she can be about hockey players, especially Seth, one of her favorites.

However, with your parents spending the weekend away at the beach house they own, Seth had some free time, so you figured this would be the best time for the two of them to meet.

Seth hops in your car and you drive to your favorite coffee spot, immediately spotting Val, who was beyond eager and excited for today. You made sure to tell her to be cool and not freak out, but you knew deep down that wasn’t going to be a possibility.

“Hi, oh my god, I love you so so much!” She greets Seth the second you two step over to her. Seth chuckles and opens his arms to offer a hug to her, which she gladly accepts.

“It’s nice to meet you. How long have you been a fan for?”

“I was raised on Canes hockey, it’s in my blood. And I’ve been a fan of you since you made your debut, you’re incredible.” She was gushing over him, practically drooling at the fact that his attention was on her.

“Aw, well thank you, I’m glad to hear it. I can see if I can snag some tickets to a game next season for you, behind the bench,” he smiles, and then looks over at you, “for both of you, obviously.”

“Oh, (Y/N) doesn’t like hockey.” You awkwardly shuffle your feet, hating that you were put on the spot by her, in front of Seth no less. Glancing over at you, he raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“You don’t like hockey?” He repeats in disbelief, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. You shake your head and shrug a little in response.

“Not entirely. Growing up around it so much, I tended to steer away from it when it came to my interests.”

“Well, that is going to change this summer so you can go to the game with Valerie,” he insists, crossing his arms with a confident expression on his face. You copy his stance and cross your arms over your chest, staring him down.

“Not gonna happen.”

“Oh I think I can make it happen,” Seth winks over at you.

After the three of you order, you decide to walk to the local art museum, one you’ve been to plenty of times, but Seth brought it up a couple nights ago at dinner that he’d like to see it one of these days, and it was the perfect day for a museum trip.

“So, what got you into art?” Val asks him, taking a sip of her iced coffee, her eyes focused on him. He opens the door for the both of you before following inside.

“I don’t know, I like all the different aspects of it, how every person can have a different perspective looking at the same piece of art, how detailed they can be, everything about it.”

The three of you stroll along the galleries, Valerie attached to Seth’s side at this point, talking his ear off about everything. You break off from them, going in a different direction in the Impressionism gallery you were in, taking in the beautiful brushstrokes and wispy details that create such dramatic yet inviting images.

“Monet has always been a favorite of mine,” Seth’s voice sounds from right beside you, and you whip your head around to face him. Valerie seems to be missing, and Seth chuckles at your silent questioning.

“She went to the bathroom. That girl can talk.” You laugh with him and look to the ground for a split second before your eyes meet his again.

“Yeah. She was very excited when I finally agreed to let her meet you. I didn’t think my dad would be too happy with it, but since he’s not here for the weekend, I figured it would be alright.”

“She’s very sweet,” he comments, looking back to the painting and taking a deep breath.

The painting depicts a morning sunrise, the purple and blue mixing in the sky, green on the side to denote the trees around a river. It’s a very pretty mix of colors, and you stare at it for a good few minutes, getting lost in the details.

“I love that his main subject is nature. His work is always so relaxing to look at.”

“What’s your favorite of his?” Seth asks, glancing at you again.

“The Japanese Bridge. I love the contrast of the greens he uses and the water lilies underneath,” you describe. “I saw it in an art class I took in college and fell in love with it.” You lift your sleeve up to show him the tattoo you have it.

His eyes widen and he gasps, turning towards you and carefully taking your arm in his hand, running his thumb over the spot on your forearm.

“That’s gorgeous, wow! I guess you really do love it, enough to tattoo it on yourself, that’s some commitment,” he teases lightly.

“Guess you could say that.”

You couldn’t deny the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at his touch, noticing just how warm and soft his skin is. Though Valerie returns shortly after Seth drops his hand from your arm, standing by his side as close as she could get once more.

“Let’s go to the Renaissance gallery,” she suggests, pointing across the hall to the other grand room, filled with paintings and statues.

The rest of the afternoon goes the same, with Val talking Seth’s ear off, asking him about his life, almost like they were on a date. It was starting to feel like you were the third wheel, so you continued to stay to yourself, giving them time to be with one another.

However, you could see that Seth was starting to get a little overwhelmed with her constant conversation, and part of you felt bad; you had no idea she wasn’t going to give him any space. But, he also wasn’t doing anything to let her know that he would like to have some time to look at the art. You could tell he wasn’t the type to say anything, though, not wanting to be rude or anything.

Eventually, Val has to leave to have dinner with another friend, bidding both of you a goodbye and heading to her car.

“I’m so sorry, I told her to keep her cool, I had no clue that she would act like that,” you groan as the two of you get back into your car. Seth chuckles and waves you off like it’s nothing.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s totally fine. I’m glad I was able to make her day and meet her, it’s always nice meeting fans.”

“She’s definitely a big fan of you.” Seth nods and buckles his seat belt, pulling his phone from his pocket. “So, what do you want to do for dinner?”

“We could do that burger place your dad was telling me about,” he suggests.

“Sounds good.”

Later that night, around one in the morning, you were getting ready for bed, but decide to refill your water before doing so. Heading down to the kitchen, you hear what sounds like a plastic cup drop and a short curse following. Stepping through the doorway, your eyes land on Seth standing at the sink, turning around when he hears the floor creak under your feet.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to drop that,” he sighs, turning around to face you. “It slipped from my hand.”

“That’s alright. I was awake anyway, I need more water.” He moves off to the side, leaning against the counter and watching you with admiration. Seeing you in your pajamas, which were a pair of sweats and a plain black t-shirt, he couldn’t help but grin, feeling his heart flutter in his chest.

“What are you doing up so late?” He wonders. At the sound of his voice, you turn around to face him while taking a sip from your now-filled cup.

“I could ask you the same.”

He awkwardly looks down at his hands and lets out a breath, nodding his head in the direction of the living room, silently inviting you to join him. The two of you step into the living room and plop down on the couch close to one another. With another heavy sigh, his hands rub his face and he glances over at you.

“I’m not entirely sure, I just couldn’t sleep, so I thought a glass of milk would help. But I…guess I have a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” You offer. Silence hangs in the air for a moment as he contemplates on saying what he wants. Instead, he places his right hand on yours, which was resting on the back of the couch cushion, stroking his thumb along the back of your hand.

No words are said, the tension between the two of you thickens, and your breath catches in your throat at the simple action. It’s unexpected, but you welcome it.

“I…haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he finally admits in the lightest voice you’ve heard him speak in so far. Surprise washes over you, confusion also filling your mind. “I know I’ve only been here a week, but I think you’re so cute and…I know your dad told me to stay away from you, but—”

“He told you that too?” You interrupt him, causing him to laugh. Your chest tightens at the way his eyes crinkle up, his crooked teeth on full show as the corners of his lips almost reach his eyes.

“Yeah, when we went on the back deck, the first thing he said was not to go messing around with you, meaning romantically and physically. It was incredibly awkward, not gonna lie. I mean, we’ve talked on the phone here and there, but to meet for the first time, face-to-face, and the first thing he tells me privately is not to sleep with his daughter? I didn’t know how to react.”

“What did you say?” You had a huge grin on your face, loving the fact that he had gotten so flustered when speaking to your father about this.

“I said I wouldn’t, obviously. And truly, I had no intentions of breaking that rule, but…” he pauses and brings his other hand up to your face, brushing a stray tendril of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear, “after today, seeing you get so lost in the paintings and statues, it’s fueled my admiration for you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The way his voice lowers with his last sentence sends a shiver up your spine, your breath catching in your throat once again. His hand remains on your face, a subdued grin on his lips, much smaller compared to his previous one, but still enough to show his feelings.

You are far too stunned to speak, between his words and his touch, you had no clue what to say or do. So, Seth decides to take control of the situation. He scoots his body slightly closer to you, keeping his hand on your face.

“Is this okay?” He whispers his ask for consent. You nod meekly and gulp nervously, eliciting a short snicker from Seth. His thumb rubs against the apple of your cheek, noticing the heated skin under his digit. “Can I kiss you?”

Once again, his question throws you completely off-guard, even with how close the two of you are in this moment. It takes you a second to process and respond, but you give in with a confident nod, your tongue darting out to wet your lips in preparation. But that’s not enough for him.

“I need verbal confirmation, sweet girl.”

“Yes,” you voice out, your heart fluttering at his slight demand. Seth takes it slow and leans forward, pausing right before he gets to your lips.

“We can stop this at any moment if you’re uncomfortable, just tap my chest, alright?” He tells you, keeping his voice the same tone and decibel from before. With another short nod, you wait for him to meet your lips.

And when he finally does, your entire body ignites with pleasure, even from a simple little kiss. Seth’s lips are just as soft as his hands and he tastes of the chocolate milk he drank only a short while ago. You almost immediately melt into his touch, kissing him back with the same amount of pressure.

Once the both of you feel a bit more comfortable, the kiss deepens, with Seth’s hand trailing down to grab your neck and pull you closer, the action causing a soft moan to sound from your throat, getting lost against his lips. He can’t help the breathy chuckle he lets out upon hearing you moan for him already.

“Mm…someone’s eager?” He teases playfully, the kiss breaking for a moment. You shove his chest to stop the kiss for the moment, wiping your lips with your hand.

“Shut it. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” You avoid his gaze, too embarrassed. A sigh sounds from his mouth and he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to make fun of you for it,” he apologizes. “I though it was cute.” Your face heats up even more than it already was at his compliment. A small grin finally tugs at your lips and you lean in to kiss him once more.

“It’s alright. I really enjoyed it. And…” your voice tapers off for a moment as your finger traces along his exposed collarbone, “I think we should do this more often.” Seth can’t help the shiver that courses through his body, a smirk spreading on his face at your suggestion.

“I’m game.”

As Seth’s time with your family continues on, the two of you start to sneak around your parents, mainly just your father, to see each other almost every night. Whether that was Seth quietly sneaking up to your room or you sneaking down to his, you made sure to spend at least an hour with each other every night around midnight before finally heading off to bed.

Things were going very well, you were really falling for him, which you hated, but he was so easy to like. His smile and laugh were the most adorable sight and sound you’ve ever seen and heard, he is always so gentle and caring with you, and you’ve had a fair share of deep talks over the course of his time here, leading the two of you to get to know each other on a more deeper level.

Now, a month has passed, you two were still sneaking around and spending nights in each other’s rooms, quietly chatting away or making out. You didn’t expect to like him as much as you do, but it’s been a wonderful time. Now, with your parents going on another vacation, this time for an entire week, you and Seth decide to take advantage of this as much as you can.

“I have plans for us today,” Seth murmurs in your ear as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, swaying you side to side gently. You were standing at the stove, cooking some pancakes and eggs for breakfast for the both of you, Seth having slept in a little with his time off.

“Really? And what would that be, hm?”

“I’m going to teach you how to skate.” You freeze and turn around in his arms, looking at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“We’re gonna go to the rink, and I’m going to teach you how to skate. It’s easy once you get the hang of it, I promise.” You roll your eyes and turn back around, his arms still not dropping from your body.

“Is this apart of the continuous tries for you to get me to like hockey?” He hums softly, hiding his face in your neck, pushing your shirt out of the way so he could kiss along your skin.

“A little. But since you told me a few nights ago that you’ve never even stepped foot on the ice, I’ve been thinking about getting you out there. Don’t you think it’d be fun?”

“What’s fun about falling on my ass and breaking my tailbone?” He groans and finally breaks away from you, leaning against the counter beside you with his hands propped up behind him.

“I promise you won’t fall, baby. Please? I really want to share my one love in life with you.” The way he says this sends chills through you, it seemed to be very important to him, to be able to share a moment like that together, and it brings a smile to your face.

“Fine,” you give in, flipping the pancake that was done from the pan to the plate, stacking it on top of the other ones that were finished. Seth immediately reaches over and grabs it, despite it being piping hot, and takes a bite.

Instantly, he’s attempting to cool his mouth down, breathing in air and attempting to fan his mouth with his hand as the cake-like texture burns his tongue; this entire ordeal sends you into a giggling fit as you watch him struggle and yelp in pain.

“You’re such a dumbass, why would you do that?!” You manage to say through your laughs, grabbing the pancake from him and placing it on the plate you had set out for him.

“I didn’t think it’d be so hot,” he finally mumbles with a full mouth, the doughy treat having cooled down by now.

“I literally just took it off the pan, what do you expect?” He swallows the bite he took and shrugs his shoulders.

“People tell me I’m not the brightest tool in the shed,” he replies nonchalantly.

“You mean sharpest tool in the shed?” You raise an eyebrow. He pauses to think over his words, his cheek turning pink with slight embarrassment.

“Guess that proves my point,” he jokes, grabbing the rest of his pancake that has now cooled down. “So once we finish breakfast, let’s get dressed and head out.”

The two of you soon find yourselves at the local ice rink that he spends five days out of the week at with your father, teaching kids the basics of hockey and working with them to work up their skills in the sport.

“I still don’t have a good feeling about this,” you grumble as Seth ties your skates, already having put his on when you arrived. He insisted on tying them for you, claiming that since you didn’t even know how to skate, he wanted to make sure they get tied correctly; though you could tell by the playful look in his eyes that he wanted to do it just to be a gentleman.

“Alright, you ready?” He stands after patting the side of your foot to be sure your skate was secure enough.

“Not entirely, but you’re not gonna let this go.”

He lets out a short laugh and grabs your hand, entwining your fingers together and bringing you over to the entrance to the ice. He steps back so easily, since skating is second nature to him, keeping his balance and everything. The second your skates hit the ice, you are like a newborn deer, your arms flailing, attempting to keep yourself upright as much as you can.

“Okay, so you wanna keep your knees aligned with your shoulders,” he instructs. “And push off with the side of your foot.”

“That helps none.”

“Just try. I won’t let go of your hands.”

Just as he promised, his hands remain holding your gloved ones, his grip tight and telling of how he plans to keep his word. Pulling you along, he gives you instructions every now and then, saying to readjust the position of your foot or steady relax your upper body. Eventually, you make it a full lap around the rink, but only because he was pulling you along.

“Do you think you can do a lap without me dragging you?” He teases lightly, stopping you by placing his hands on your hips, resting his forehead on yours.

“I’ll try, but if you see me start to go, grab me.”

“Will do.”

Seth’s hands drop from yours and you carefully steady yourself, following his guidance by pushing off your skates, moving forward a bit. You wobble a little, your arms waving as your balance starts to go, and Seth is quick to move close just in case.

“I’m good,” you confirm, finding that movement once again. He stays close by and watches you with a smile, matching your pace beside you; you were far too focused on keeping yourself upright that you didn’t even notice the way he has his eyes on you.

“Fuck yes!” He shouts when you finally make it another full lap without any assistance from him. “I’m so proud of you!” He wraps you up in his arms, spinning around carefully with you.

“That was actually kinda fun!” You exclaim when he sets you back down on the ice.

“Well, we have all day to skate around and for you to improve your seemingly natural skill, so let’s go!”

The rest of the afternoon is spent circling the ice rink, Seth’s giggle ringing out around the somewhat empty building. Other than the two of you, a young girl was practicing some ice skating routines in the middle of the ice, and on one end there were a couple teenage boys shooting pucks at a goal, who, earlier, had immediately recognized Seth and asked him for some tips.

Some hours had passed, though neither of you were even aware, until the sun was starting to lower in the sky and your stomach started to growl, a sign that you should probably end your skating date and get some dinner.

“So…did you have fun today?” Seth asks you as the two of you step into your home around seven at night, the sun finally starting to set along the horizon, the vibrant orange hue shining right into your eyes from the kitchen window.

“I did,” you smile up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and curling yourself into his body. He chuckles and his own arms circle you, bringing you as close to him as possible. “I’m very surprised I didn’t fall once.”

“Not gonna lie, I am too,” he teases lightly. “I was expecting at least two falls.”

“Hey!” Pulling away, you smack your hand against his arm and feign an offended gasp.

“Don’t act so surprised! Falling is normal. Hell, I’ve been skating since I was five and I still fall over nothing.”

“Well, maybe I’m special.” Seth’s gaze soften a little and he grabs you to drag you closer to him again, his eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“Mm, you absolutely are,” his minty breath brushes against your lips, teasing you and leaving you wanting more. You swallow thickly, nervously inching your way closer to him, silently telling him what you want. Thankfully, with the relationship that you two have built up over the past month, there is an immediate understanding and he leans in to meet you for a kiss.

In that moment, everything seemed perfect, like you two were untouchable, falling even harder for one another with every kiss, no matter how long or short. However, nothing lasts forever, and in the morning, with your parents returning before you were even awake, you were in for a long day.

Upon entering the kitchen to make yourself a bowl of cereal, you encounter your father, sitting at the table reading the morning newspaper.

“Do anything fun this weekend?” He questions from behind the thin paper, not even lowering it to speak to you.

“Not really. I hung out with Val a bit, cleaned my room, watched that—”

“So you weren’t at the ice rink yesterday with Seth?” The newspaper lowers and reveals your dad’s irate expression, steam practically coming from his ears. Turning around, you freeze, unable to come up with an excuse.

How did he know?

Your mouth opens and closes, and as if he was reading your mind, he sighs heavily and answers the one question you have.

“Marvin saw the two of you skating around. Says you two were very close and cozy with each other.” Instantly, your shoulders drop, like there’s a weight pushing down on them, the weight of betrayal from your father’s gaze.

“Um…” You are trying your best to think of something, but every single word gets caught in your throat. You two had been caught. And there is no way out of it.

“I had one rule for you this summer. One. But you can’t ever follow the rules, can you?” He lets out a short, almost cynical laugh. “And the funniest thing, you said you swore off hockey players and that it would be no issue, and I trusted you. So for me to get a call from my colleague last night, saying my daughter and the man I invited into my home to help me coach are at the rink, skating around, holding hands, kissing?”

Your face heats up and a worried breath leaves your mouth, your hands nervously running over your face. To hear him say it back to you, it hit you like a ton of bricks. You had gone against the one boundary he had, and you felt awful, even if Seth had been the one to initiate everything, you gave into him so easily; it was just as much your fault as it was his.

“And Seth is a different story, I’ll talk with him later, but you…you specifically doubled down on that rule. And I come to find out that you’re going behind my back to see him? Because I know damn well you two haven’t been with each other like that since just yesterday if you’re hanging all over one another and kissing.”

“Dad, I-I know I promised not to, but…”

“No, there are no excuses! You broke that, and because of that, you’re not allowed to be around Seth anymore. I’ll be paying for a place for him so he’s not here and you’re not messing around with him and distracting him.”

“We never even did anything more, we just talked and-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He shouts, startling you enough to make you jump a little. There is a short pause as he attempts to cool himself down, not wanting to scream at you. “You are to not see him anymore, unless it’s for dinner, which he will still be invited to.”

“Okay,” you murmur defeatedly. Sure, you were an adult and all, but he was right, you made a promise to him to keep your distance from Seth in terms of anything more than a simple friendship; all you could think about was what he was going to say to Seth.

Later that night, after spending the day in your room, blaring your music with your window open and organizing your bookshelf to fit your new additions, you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, tears dripping from your eyes and down your cheek, onto the soft blue cotton pillowcase.

Just as you were closing your eyes, exhausted and ready to fall into a deep sleep, there’s a quiet knock on your door. Sitting up, your eyes strain to see the door, wondering if your ears were deceiving you or if someone was actually there.

Then, the same sound fills your ears again. You plant your feet on the fuzzy carpet and pad over to the door, opening it as slowly as you can. In front of you stands Seth, an apologetic look on his face, not even sure if you want to see him right now.

A surprise to him, you step aside and let him in, quietly shutting the door as to not draw attention, even though your parents were asleep in their room on the first level; you weren’t even sure how Seth managed to be so quiet with coming upstairs, as he usually does.

“I hope you don’t mind me sneaking up here,” he whispers, shuffling his feet nervously and stepping towards your bed. He’s dressed in his usual torn up Canes shirt and a pair of black sweats, his hands hiding in his pockets; you couldn’t help but admire how cozy and cuddly he looked, but you weren’t allowed that anymore.

You don’t say anything, shaking your head a little and dropping your eyes to focus on your hands. Seth stands there, unsure of what to even say or do. So, he does what he knows best.

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling you right into his chest, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can and nuzzling his face into your hair.

Tears instantly pour down your face and staining the ratty t-shirt covering his shoulder, but he of course didn’t care one bit. He just held you, and you assume your father had given him a stern talking to as well.

“I’m not supposed to see you anymore,” you mumble against his shoulder after your tears finally subside. Seth still hadn’t let you go, not wanting to just yet, realizing how emotional you are over this.

“I don’t care,” his tone matches yours. “Why don’t we lay down?”

With a short nod, you break the hug and step over to your bed, crawling under the covers with Seth joining you moments later, bringing you right back into where you were before, curled into his chest. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and start to mess with it, the smooth fabric acting as a soother for you, along with his fingertips running up and down your back underneath your shirt.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he tells you as he presses a few kisses along your forehead.

“I broke his promise,” you choke out.

“I did too.”

With no response from you, Seth cradles your chin and raises it up so that your eyes meet his chocolate brown ones that you’ve grown so fond of. A kind smile displays on his lips, the look in his eyes enough to make you melt.

It was a look of understanding, of reassurance, of comfort. One that is enough to make you melt right there on the spot.

“I’ll talk to him again in the morning and get things straightened out,” he whispers as he places even more kisses to your skin. With a soft sigh, you can’t help but snuggle closer to him, your anxieties and worries washing away with every minute of being in his arms.

It was a feeling you’d never grow tired of, and you hated to think that this was all going to end at the end of the summer, when he has to go back to Raleigh to prepare for the season.

“I can practically hear your mind racing, beautiful,” he chuckles lightly. “Just relax, it’ll be alright.”

“What did he say to you?” A quiet sniffle from you sounds through the room as your head lifts from his shoulder to look at him while he responds. He huffs shortly, biting his lip nervously as he decides on if he should tell you or not.

“He said he’d be getting me an Airbnb for the remainder of my stay. Said it’d be easier and more homey than a hotel, but he can’t trust you around me…so he needs to do this.”

“Of course it’s just on me.”

“Hey, it’s not. But I think he’s so upset that he found out from someone else and not himself, so he feels even more betrayed.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it okay to yell at me alone and just give you a slap on the wrist and say hey, I’ll send you somewhere else so you don’t have to be distracted by my daughter trying to seduce you.” Seth, unable to remain serious, can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips, shaking his head when he sees you frown at his response.

“It doesn’t make it okay, and believe me, I’m going to tell him in the morning I was the one who started all of this, despite you saying many times that we shouldn’t be doing it. I couldn’t stay away from you.”

“Neither could I,” you whisper against his lips. The two of you share a passion-filled kiss, realizing that this may be the last time you’ll be able to see one another for who knows how long.

By the morning, when the sun is shining bright through your curtains, Seth is long gone from your bed, most likely gone with your father to the rink for the day, your mother also at work, the house silent and still as ever.

To get your mind off of everything, you decide to spend the day in the city, getting lunch by yourself and just roaming around, doing your best to keep your mind off the situation that was currently surrounding you. There was no escaping it, no matter how hard you tried.

All you could think about was Seth, and the fact that you weren’t going to be able to kiss him, unless the two of you start to sneak around again, which you didn’t want to do; you’ve already upset your father enough, you’d hate to continue to do it and sneak Seth in through your window with a ladder.

However, there was a small sliver of hope that Seth could change your dad’s mind, as unrealistic as it sounded, maybe he could have a change of heart hearing his side?

When dinnertime came around, the atmosphere was tense and incredibly awkward. Not many words were shared, the only sound was four sets of silverware clinking against the china plates and chewing sounds. It was starting to make your head spin, but you were in no place to start a conversation.

Your mother tried her best to engage in light chatter, asking Seth and your dad about what they did with the kids that day, but the responses from your father were short, and Seth just kept his eyes down on his plate; it was almost like he had gotten reprimanded just as much as you did, though you weren’t entirely sure if he brought the topic up like he said he would.

“(Y/N), could we talk for a second?” Your dad comes up to you while you are rinsing the dishes off. Dropping the plate in the sink, you turn the water off and wipe your hands dry before you follow him out to the back deck.

Things are just as awkward as they were during dinner, but you felt some semblance of positivity, with the tone of his voice being light and almost apologetic.

“Seth talked to me this morning over breakfast,” he begins, wringing his hands together nervously. “I may have come off a little too harsh with you, and I want to apologize.”

Your eyes widen in shock, your head whipping over to look at him, not believing what you heard just yet. Instead of responding, you wait for him to continue.

“He told me that he’s the one who…made the move on you and instigated this whole thing,” he’s waving his hands in the air, gesturing to the two of you sneaking around, “and while I’m still not happy that you decided to go along with it, it was wrong of me to assume it was just you.”

“Thanks,” you awkwardly nod and drop your gaze to your hands, picking at a hangnail anxiously. “I am sorry for breaking that rule, honestly. But we spent that day together and…he was just so charming, I got so caught up in things.” A small smile cracks out onto your dad’s face, surprising you even more than his apology.

“He’s a great guy, and while I’m not happy that things happened the way they did, I can’t stay mad at you for long. I know how you swore off hockey guys, so he must be different.”

“He is,” you grin, thinking about all of the conversations with Seth you’ve had over the past month, and how you’ve really started to fall for him; he truly is nothing like guys you have dated in the past, there was something about him that was so captivating, in a good way.

“You know, my punishment was quite overbearing,” he states after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “Seth is staying here and I won’t keep the two of you from seeing each other.”

“Really?” Your eyes light up as he says this.

You couldn’t believe it. Seth’s talk with him had worked.

“Yeah. As long as it stays PG.”

“Dad,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands as it heats up with embarrassment. Of course he would say that.

“I’m serious, (Y/N). That’s the one rule I expect to stay true, no funny business.”

“I can promise you that.” There’s a pause in the conversation, not much else needing to be said. Stepping over, you give him a tight hug, your heart fluttering in your chest at the thought of getting to spend all night talking with Seth without having to worry if you’d get caught or not.

“It probably won’t be anything more than just a summer fling anyway,” you add quietly, almost disappointed and hurt to admit it out loud.

“Most likely, but now you can enjoy the last month instead of being sneaky,” he says, almost like he was reading your mind. You chuckle and break the hug, pulling back to look up at him.

“Gee, thanks,” your voice is filled with sarcasm, being topped off with an eye roll from you.

“Now, I think Seth mentioned something about a movie night that he was planning, so why don’t you head inside, mom and I will finish up the dishes, and we’ll give you two some privacy for the rest of the night.”

He opens his arms up for another hug and you gladly accept, happy that he was able to come to his senses and realize that this may not be the worst thing in the world.

“Thank you,” you mumble against his chest, sincerity filling your tone. A smile appears on his face, feeling confident in his decision now.

“Of course, honey. Now go inside before he eats all the snacks.”

With a soft giggle, you open the sliding door and rush back in through the kitchen and to the living room, finding Seth sitting on the couch with a ton of pillows, a few chairs from the dining room, and an endless amount of blankets piled up on the floor.

“Well hello there. Welcome to movie night, please take a seat,” he says in a fake posh accent, sticking his hand out for you to take and guide you to the couch.

“What’s all this?”

“We are going to watch as many movies as you desire, after we build a fort and fill it with pillows, blankets, and snacks. And I have popcorn waiting to be popped.” He gestures to all of the items spread out for you, the countless snacks covering the coffee table, from bags of candy to chips and chocolates. All of which were your favorites.

He remembered.

Seth can sense the thoughts running through your mind and steps closer to you, a genuine smile on his face and his eyes as kind as ever.

“What did you say to him?” You question, nodding your head towards the kitchen, keeping your voice down in case your father was listening. He chuckles lightly and rubs the back of his neck nervously, a light blush dusting over his cheeks.

“I may have bribed him with tickets to a game and invited the team we’re working with to attend a morning skate and even get on the ice with us for a bit,” he states.

“You did not.”

“I very much did,” he replies confidently. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I really like you, and I don’t want anyone to come between us. So I did what I could.”

“You could have just talked to him like a normal guy,” you suggest, raising an eyebrow at him, moving closer to him. His hands plant on your waist, thumbs rubbing against the curve of your body as his eyes flicker over your features, trying to gauge your mood, if you were happy with this or if you didn’t like the fact that he pretty much bribed your father for his ‘blessing’, so to speak.

“I could have, but remember? You’re very special to me, I had to get creative,” he winks with a small smirk.

Once your parents are in their room down the hall, the two of you get to work building the fort, making sure the chairs are perfectly aligned and the blankets aren’t going to fall. While Seth makes the popcorn, you arrange the bunch of pillows inside the fort, making them as cozy as possible so you there is a little cocoon for the two of you to fit in.

Eventually, you bring your laptop into the fort, all of the snacks spread on the floor in front of you, the bowl of popcorn ready to be dug into. Seth opens his arms for you and you take a seat next to him, leaning into his side and focusing on your laptop, sitting on the chair directly in front of the two of you.

“What are we going to do when you go back to Raleigh?” You can’t help but ask the one question that’s been on your mind for days.

The movie was about halfway through, the popcorn gone and the bowl tossed aside, a bag of gummy worms opened, as well as sour straws. A short sigh passes his lips and he finishes chewing the handful of Sno-Caps he tossed back moments ago.

“We’ll find a way to make it work,” he reassures you, turning his head to kiss your temple. “I promise. I don’t want this to be some random fling. You mean a lot to me, (Y/N), and I will do everything in my power to make us work.”

His words send your heart soaring in your chest, for the first time, feeling optimistic about this entire situation you found yourself in.

“Really?” Your head turns to gaze into his eyes, wanting to see if he was serious about this. He meets your eyes and nods, his hand raising from your waist to rest around your shoulder, his fingers lightly running up and down your bicep.

“Uh huh. This past month, sneaking around with you, getting to know you, having those late night talks, it’s become one of my favorite things, and there’s no way I can let you go like nothing happened.”

His other hand comes up to caress your cheek, feeling the heated skin under his touch. The moment is so intimate and sweet, a side of Seth that you know so well and have grown to adore, sometimes even more than his goofy and unserious self.

“I don’t want to do that either,” you whisper with a small grin. “I really like you, Jarvy.”

Seth can’t help himself being so close to you, the way you whisper his nickname, how good you smell from your shower a couple hours ago, he ends up leaning in, closing the space between you to steal a quick kiss.

“I really like you too. Promise we’ll figure this out?”

“Promise,” you nod in confirmation, set on keeping whatever this has been in your short time together.

“Alright now that that’s settled,” he pauses his thought to push all the candy out of the way, reaching over to pause the movie, “wanna make out for the rest of the night?”

His question elicits a boisterous laugh from you, playfully smacking his chest as he tackles you gently, laying you on the mass of pillows beneath you.

“You’re such a boy,” you reply with a small shake of your head, gazing up at him in the dimly lit space.

“Can you blame me? I have a pretty girl underneath me, what else do you expect me to do, huh?”

“Be a gentleman and cuddle with me while playing with my hair.”

There’s a pause after your suggestion, Seth pondering for a moment like he was genuinely thinking about it, glancing off to the side at the movie paused.

“Hm…we can do that after we make out for at least an hour,” he says with a cheeky smirk and wink, leaning down to kiss you sweetly, lips moving passionately against yours.

“Mm, you’re so needy,” you tease him, mumbling against his lips. He sighs against your mouth before trailing his kisses down your jaw and to your neck.

“Always needy for you, beautiful.”

200 notes · View notes

algea · 3 months ago

Text

Birthdays in Denver - Jack Drury

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: @smileysvech reached out to me a few days ago about potentially writing a birthday fic for the All-American prince, Jack Drury, and the rest was history!

summary: you and Jack celebrate his 25th birthday--his first one in Denver after he was uprooted from his life in Raleigh....

You wake up to the crisp, cool air of a Denver morning. The sun is still climbing the sky, peeking through the blinds of the apartment you share with Jack. It's his 25th birthday today, and you're eager to start the surprise you've been planning for weeks. You've noticed he's been a bit down, missing the camaraderie of his old teammates from the Hurricanes, and you want to show him that he's not alone in this new chapter of his life. You slip out of bed, careful not to disturb the gentle snores coming from Jack's side, and tiptoe into the kitchen.

You start by brewing a pot of his favorite coffee, something you picked up from a local roastery that reminds him of the small café near his old apartment in Raleigh. The smell of freshly ground beans fills the room as you prepare a simple yet hearty breakfast; you know he's been craving comfort food lately, a taste of home amidst the unfamiliar.

As you move through the apartment, you gather a few small gifts you've picked out, each one carefully chosen to reflect a shared memory or an inside joke from the time you've spent together. You wrap them in paper with a subtle mountain pattern, a nod to the Rockies that now serve as the backdrop to your lives. The gifts are simple, but you hope they convey the depth of your feelings.

You hear Jack stirring in the bedroom, and your heart skips a beat. It's showtime.

You hurry back to the bedside table and place the steaming mug of coffee next to him, along with the wrapped presents. As he opens his eyes, you lean in and whisper, "Happy Birthday," planting a soft kiss on his cheek. His eyes widen in surprise, and a sleepy smile stretches across his face as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What's all this?" he asks groggily, reaching for the mug.

You give him a mischievous smile. "It's your birthday, remember?"

Jack's eyes light up as he takes in the sight of the gifts and the smell of the coffee. He sits up, taking the mug from you, and wraps his arms around your waist. "You didn't have to do all this," he murmurs into your hair.

You lean into the warmth of his embrace. "But I wanted to. You deserve it, especially on your first birthday here in Denver."

Jack takes a sip of the coffee, savoring the familiar taste. "It's perfect. Thank you," he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You pull away slightly, taking his hand in yours. "But that's just the start. I've got a whole day planned for us."

Jack's smile grows as he sets the mug down and starts unwrapping the presents. Each one reveals a treasure trove of thoughtfulness: a book by his favorite author with a handwritten note from you on the inside cover, a framed photo of the two of you at the beach during your first vacation together, and a pair of socks with tiny hockey pucks on them, which makes him laugh out loud.

"These are amazing," he says, holding up the socks. "I can't believe you found these."

You laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I know how much you love a good gag gift. Now, let's get ready. We've got a full day ahead of us. Breakfast is going to get cold if we don't eat soon."

Jack nods, his eyes still sparkling with joy as he puts on the socks immediately. You both sit down at the small dining table, the sun now casting a warm glow over the room. The gifts are scattered between the plates of scrambled eggs and toast, and Jack takes his time savoring each bite, the comfort of your presence making everything taste even better.

After breakfast, you lead him to the living room where you've laid out a map of Denver, marked with little red hearts at various locations. "I know you've been missing your friends, but today is about us exploring this new city together," you explain.

Jack's eyes scan the map, curiosity piqued as he sees spots he's been meaning to visit since the trade. "Where to first?"

You smile, taking his hand. "We're starting with a hike at Red Rocks. It's a beautiful morning, and I thought some fresh air would do us good."

Jack nods, excitement growing. He throws on some sweats and a hoodie, and you both set off into the crisp morning. The drive is filled with laughter as you play a mixtape of his favorite songs from over the years, the car's speakers echoing with the soundtrack of your relationship.

At Red Rocks, the towering sandstone formations greet you, bathed in the soft early light. You choose an easy trail, one that winds through the rocks and offers panoramic views of the city in the distance. As you walk, Jack points out the landmarks he's learned in his short time here, and you share stories about the places you've discovered since moving in together. The conversation flows naturally, a blend of nostalgia and excitement for the future.

The air is cool and dry, with a hint of pine that fills your lungs as you climb. You both break into a light jog for a moment, the kind of spontaneous playfulness that's always been a hallmark of your relationship. You reach the top, breathless, and Jack pulls you into a hug. "This is perfect," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "I needed this."

You share a quiet moment, watching the city come to life below. The early risers are already making their way to work, their cars like ants in a line along the highway. You can see the Ball Arena in the distance, a silent monument to the passion that brought Jack here. You both sit on a rocky outcrop, the morning dew seeping through your pants as you take in the view.

The next stop on your surprise itinerary is the Denver Art Museum. You've been hearing about Jack's love for modern art, something that blossomed during his time in Raleigh. As you wander through the galleries, you're surprised by how much he knows about the pieces. He points out the brushstrokes and the emotions captured in the abstract shapes, explaining the stories behind the paintings with a passion that's contagious. You feel a sense of pride in seeing him in his element, sharing something he loves.

You meander through the exhibits, taking your time to appreciate the art, occasionally stopping to admire a piece that resonates with both of you. The air inside the museum is hushed, the only sounds the distant echoes of other visitors' footsteps and the occasional murmur of appreciation. It's a stark contrast to the noisy arenas where Jack usually spends his time, and you can see the peace it brings him.

As you move from one gallery to the next, you notice a painting that captures a moment of stillness amidst chaos, reminiscent of a quiet moment in the locker room before a big game. You gesture to it. "Jack, look at this one."

Jack's eyes light up as he approaches. "It's like the calm before the storm," he murmurs, lost in thought.

You nod, understanding the parallel all too well. "It's like us," you say softly. "Finding our quiet moments in the middle of everything."

Jack looks at you, his expression reflective. "Yeah," he agrees. "It really is."

Leaving the museum, you head to the next spot on your list: a cozy bookstore tucked away in the Highlands neighborhood. You know Jack has been searching for a rare book about the history of the NHL, and you've called ahead to ensure they have a copy waiting. The smell of aged pages and fresh ink fills your nostrils as you enter, a scent that always brings comfort.

Jack's eyes widen as he spots the book displayed on the counter. "You didn't have to," he says, but the excitement in his voice betrays his protest.

You smile, handing it to him. "I know how much you've been looking for this. Happy birthday, babe."

Jack flips through the pages, a child-like glee on his face. "This is incredible," he whispers, leaning in to kiss you. "Thank you."

You spend the next hour exploring the bookstore, your fingers tracing over the spines of books, sharing titles recommendations, and discussing the merits of various authors. The clinking of coffee cups from the adjoining café blends with the occasional crackle of the bookstore's old-fashioned sound system playing classic rock. It's a simple pleasure, but one that feels rich and meaningful in the context of the day you've crafted together.

As the sun starts to dip in the sky, casting long shadows across the city, you suggest heading home to prepare dinner. You've been practicing a new recipe, a twist on Jack's mom's famous lasagna, a dish that's been a staple at his birthday celebrations since you two started dating. You've made it a point to learn all his favorites, a way of bringing his past into your shared present.

Jack seems content as he flips through the book you've given him in the passenger seat. "You really know me," he says, looking up with a smile.

You return the smile as you navigate the car back to the apartment. "It's what you do when you love someone," you reply, glancing over briefly before returning your eyes to the road.

Once home, you both slip into your cooking rhythm, Jack sipping on a beer he grabbed from the fridge while you prep the ingredients. You've turned on some music, a mix of your favorite jazz tunes that always seem to keep the kitchen vibe light. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce fills the air, mingling with the aroma of the freshly baked bread you picked up the day before. The kitchen is a mess of chopped vegetables, cheese, and ground beef, but you don't mind. It's a mess that means love.

As you layer the lasagna, Jack sets the table with candles and a simple bouquet of flowers. You glance at him, his concentration on the task surprisingly weighty, and you can't help but feel a twinge of affection. He's never been one for fancy dinners out, always preferring the comfort of a home-cooked meal. It's these small gestures that make you realize how much he values your efforts to make him feel at home.

The oven timer dings, signaling that the lasagna is ready. You both pull it out, the cheesy top bubbling and browned to perfection. The apartment fills with the tantalizing aroma of melted cheese and spicy tomato sauce. You plate the food, adding a side salad and garlic bread. The flickering candles cast a warm glow over the dining table, making the space feel intimate and welcoming.

As you sit down to eat, Jack raises his glass of water. "To you," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "For making this birthday feel like home."

You clink your glass against his, feeling your cheeks warm with a blush. "To us," you reply, taking a sip. The lasagna is a hit, the flavors melding together just as well as the two of you have in the past few months. You watch as Jack's eyes close in satisfaction with each bite, his smile growing wider with every mouthful. It's moments like this that remind you why you put so much effort into the day.

After dinner, you clean up the kitchen together, the rhythm of your movements in sync, like a well-oiled machine. The conversation drifts to the rest of the season and his excitement to play in a new conference. You listen intently, asking questions about his teammates and the city's expectations. It's clear he's starting to feel more at home here, and that brings you a sense of peace.

You suggest a quiet night in, and Jack readily agrees. You both sink into the plush couch, the TV flickering with the glow of a movie you've watched a hundred times. It's one of those nights where the familiar comfort of each other's company is all you need. You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm wraps around you, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, as the laughter from the screen fills the room.

As the movie plays, you find yourself lost in thought, watching the flicker of the screen reflect in Jack's eyes. He's been through so much in his career, the trade and the pressure to perform, and you know it's taken a toll on him. But here, in the quiet of your shared apartment, he seems to let his guard down, even if just for a little while. You cherish these moments, the real him, stripped of the hockey mask he so often wears in public.

The film ends, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. You glance at the clock; it's later than you thought. "Cake time?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

Jack's eyes light up. "You got me a cake?"

You nod, standing up to grab the box you've stashed away in the fridge. It's from a local bakery, a small chocolate cake with a single candle on top. The flame dances in the dim light as you place it on the coffee table. "Make a wish," you whisper.

Jack grins, his eyes shining with excitement as he leans forward to blow out the candle. He takes a deep breath, and you hold your breath in anticipation. What could he possibly wish for? The room seems to hold still as the flame flickers out. "Wish made," he says, winking at you.

You cut the cake, the scent of rich chocolate wafting through the air as you serve a slice to him. He takes a bite, his eyes closing in pleasure. "Best birthday cake I've had in a long time," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You both sit cross-legged on the floor, eating cake straight from the plates, the cushions and blankets around you creating a cozy fort. The quietness of the apartment is a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of a birthday bash, but it's exactly what Jack needed. You watch as he savors each bite, the stress of the season and the weight of his new team slowly lifting from his shoulders.

After the last crumb of cake is gone, Jack pulls out a small gift of his own, hidden behind the couch. "I wasn't sure if I should give it to you now or wait," he says, his cheeks flushing slightly.

You take the present with a curious smile. "You didn't have to get me anything," you protest, but the excitement in his eyes makes you eager to see what he's chosen.

Jack laughs. "I wanted to. Open it."

You open the small box and let out a gasp. Inside was a ring, simple yet elegant. Your heart skips a beat as you look up at Jack, who is now on one knee, holding the ring in his trembling hand.

"You've been my rock through all the changes," he says, his eyes searching yours for an answer. "I want to spend every birthday with you, in every city, for the rest of my life."

You stare at the ring, your heart racing. "Jack," you manage to breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

Jack's eyes are filled with hope and vulnerability, and you see the fear of rejection flicker in them for a moment. But then you smile, the biggest smile you've ever given him, and his face relaxes. "Yes," you say.

"Wait, let me ask properly," Jack says, his cheeks reddening. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "Will you marry me?"

The world seems to stop around you as you look into his eyes, the earnestness of his question echoing in the quiet apartment. The ring in the box seems to grow brighter as you consider the gravity of his words. This is the man you've supported through the highs and lows, the one who's made you laugh when you thought you had no more laughter left, the one who's held you close through the darkest nights. You feel a lump in your throat as you nod, tears welling in your eyes.

"Yes," you say, the word feeling like a declaration of love that's been waiting to be spoken.

Jack's smile widens, his eyes sparkling with relief and joy. He takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with a gentle touch. It fits perfectly, as if it had been made just for this moment.

You both stare at the ring for a moment, the reality of what just happened sinking in. You lean in to kiss him, the warmth of his lips a reassurance that this is real. The kiss deepens, filled with the promise of a future you hadn't quite allowed yourselves to dream of yet.

When you pull away, Jack's eyes are shimmering with happiness. "I've been carrying this around for weeks," he admits, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "I wanted to do it right, but I didn't know if waiting was the right move."

You laugh, wiping a tear from your cheek. "It's perfect," you assure him, the ring feeling surprisingly right on your finger. "I couldn't have asked for a better proposal."

Jack's grin is contagious as he stands, pulling you into a tight embrace. His heart beats against your chest, and you realize that this is it: you're engaged to the love of your life, in the quiet solitude of your apartment on his birthday. The simplicity of the moment is what makes it so beautiful, a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of the world you both usually inhabit.

As you sit back down on the couch, Jack's hand doesn't leave yours. The ring feels surprisingly right, a symbol of the unspoken promises you've made to each other over the years. You snuggle closer, the warmth of the couch and each other's bodies a comfort after the adrenaline rush of the proposal.

The TV is still playing, but the background noise fades away as you both look into each other's eyes, the weight of your new commitment hanging in the air like a soft snowflake that's just landed.

Jack squeezes your hand. "So, what do you say to making some more memories in this city?" he asks, his voice low and filled with excitement.

You nod, your heart still racing. "I'd love that."

Jack grins, leaning in to kiss you again. This kiss is softer, filled with the promise of a lifetime of moments like this. "Good," he says, his voice a low rumble against your lips. "Because I've got a few more surprises up my sleeve."

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algea · 3 months ago

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guys hear me out…Luke Elsman

#luke elsman #gym #fitness #gymshark

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algea · 5 months ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY JARVY!!!

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algea · 5 months ago

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guess who just got a 2four tattoo for 24's birthday

#seth jarvis #seth jarvis x reader #north carolina #carolina hurricanes #hurricanes #canes hockey #hockey #nhl

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algea · 6 months ago

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all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

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algea · 6 months ago

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secret santa - j. drury

pairing: jack drury x reader | secret relationship, childhood friends | fluff | wc: 1k+ | a/n: merry christmas, everybody! this is part of our holidays special, so i can’t help but be cute and romantic with my boy jacko. - namu

you were in the back seat of steve's car — jack's best friend — the designated driver for the hour-long journey to your parents' house. as you had taken the previous shift, you were finally able to enjoy a few hours' nap while the others chatted and listened to music to keep up the energy in the car. in the driver's seat was your cousin, julie, on your right was your best friend, annie, and on your left, serving as a pillow, was jack. he was wearing a very comfortable cotton jacket that made it difficult not to snuggle closer to his body.

three months ago, jack asked you to be his girlfriend. you'd been friends since you were teenagers, you moved to the same college together — albeit on different degrees — and you'd kept in touch the whole time. it was the most peaceful decision you'd ever made, since all the intimacy was already there, like a safe haven. inside the car were your accomplices in this surprise, because it would have been impossible to hide their relationship even if they'd wanted to. the greatest danger of letting it slip was julie, but she loved surprises, so she made an extra effort not to leak information during her calls with the family in the meantime.

"i don't know how you expect to pretend until it's secret santa time,” said steve, taking his eyes off the road to look at you quickly through the rearview mirror. “you can't stay apart for a minute."

as a matter of fact, when you were driving, jack was in the passenger seat. the same happened when he was driving - the highway allowed you to hold hands, as a bonus - so the comment was absolutely valid.

"the hardest part is not reacting to them, i need a lot of help with that," annie warned. "any tips, julie?"

"i'm not known for being discreet, you know? that was my hardest mission."

"it's okay, guys. we've always been affectionate with each other, everyone knows that," said jack, giving your hair a little kiss.

the whole conversation passed far from your ears, but it didn't help to reduce your nerves. there was nothing to be afraid of, your families had never been problematic enough to make the two of you insecure. the surprise was just a silly idea to celebrate the end of the year festivities, but you couldn't deny that you both wanted to preserve the privacy of the relationship right from the start. you couldn't escape the eagle eyes of your friends, who had followed the whole “pathetic” process of falling in love with someone you already love so much.

your families still lived on the same street, houses facing each other, specifically. jack's brother was crossing the street carrying a box when julie pulled up.

“hey, guys!" he stopped only briefly.

"go inside and say hello to everyone, then come back to help me carry these things, i'm exhausted."

"always so welcoming," jack said, shaking his head.

you took your things out of the trunk and headed for your house, which had been chosen to host the big event this year. your heart already felt a pang of regret for keeping the secret, as it meant that jack wouldn't be sharing a room with you.

a smile appeared on your face as soon as you set foot inside the house. a neatly decorated christmas tree, decorated cookies on the coffee table, the smell of good food coming from the kitchen, the smell of coffee, different pots of tea, warm lighting compared to the freezing weather outside, a christmas movie playing on the tv, slippers and cozy clothes as the dress code. before you started helping with the chores, you placed your secret santa gifts under the tree.

you couldn't help but notice that jack's present was particularly heavy, but you decided not to push it any further, even though you were immensely curious. he had refused to reveal who he had drawn in the draw, so you didn't reveal your person either. the problem was that jack didn't have a fraction of the curiosity that consumed you, so he always laughed when he caught you staring at the package for longer than usual. usually this smile was accompanied by a kiss on the forehead, but this was the first challenge of the stay.

throughout the day, you took advantage of every opportunity to be together. catching up in the living room? jack was next to you on the carpet by the fireplace. responsible for the dinner dishes? you pretended to play a game to decide who would go, fully aware that your father would send you both to take care of it. the biggest struggle was on the side of your friends - accomplices -, always close by, always making every effort not to burst out laughing or roll their eyes.

***

the next day, at secret santa time, everyone gathered in the living room. warm clothes, full bellies, mugs of chocolate, cinnamon rolls and marshmallows being devoured little by little.

jack cracked a suspicious smile, running his fingers across the gift wrap on his lap.

"my secret friend is actually the person i'm dating."

a few gasps of surprise echoed around the room.

"wow, you and steve finally worked up the courage to stop clowning around,” said his mother."

steve arched his eyebrows, almost offended.

"excuse me? i don't remember ever being asked out,” he replied. "do you think i'd be single by choice?

then everyone looked in your direction, no jokes this time, and found you trying your hardest not to cry. jack couldn't stop smiling, so he handed you the present.

"wow, you and y/n finally worked up the courage to stop clowning around!" said your mother.

applause and celebrations filled the room as you crawled over to jack to hug him tightly.

"i can't believe you kept that from me."

"i can't believe you didn't suspect a bit."

he positioned you to sit sideways on his lap, slipping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. you opened the heavy gift, finding the expensive book that would help you with your thesis research. your eyes widened at jack, meeting the same satisfied grin as before. no words were spoken, you just showered him with kisses.

"it really had to be the two of you,” said annie, holding a smile. "the unbearably perfect combination."

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algea · 6 months ago

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The First Snowfall - Jack Drury

[gif credit goes to @lessrafm]

a/n: i know Jack had hand surgery recently, but for the purposes of this fic, he's not injured

summary: a rare winter wonderland in Raleigh awaits you and Jack...

The first snowflake kisses your cheek, a cool whisper from the sky. You're standing on the edge of the Raleigh city park, your breath frosting in the air, watching as Jack glides across the ice rink. His movements are a mesmerizing dance, powerful and precise, a testament to the hours he's spent honing his skills. The crunch of your boots on the freshly laid snow echoes in the quiet night as you make your way closer to him, the warmth of your scarf wrapped snugly around your neck.

Jack notices you approaching and skates over with a wide smile. The light from the streetlamp above casts a soft halo around his head, making the flakes that cling to his eyelashes sparkle like diamond dust. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and you can't help but think how utterly charming he looks in his winter gear.

"Hey, you made it!" he says, his voice a warm caress against the chilly air.

You nod, unable to find the words to express the beauty of this moment. Jack's eyes are a stormy grayish blue in the dim light, yet they hold a warmth that mirrors the glow of the distant city lights reflecting off the freshly painted ice.

"Want to join me?" He asks, holding out a gloved hand. His voice is like a gentle wind through the pine trees, inviting you into a world where everything moves with a silent grace.

You hesitate, the cold a sudden reminder of your own vulnerability. But the warmth of his smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, it's like a warm embrace promising safety.

"I'm not much of a skater," you confess with a laugh that sounds like a melody in the winter air.

Jack's grin only widens. "That's what I'm here for," he assures you, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll teach you. C'mon, let's get you some skates."

You follow him into the warmth of the rink's small hut, where the smell of hot chocolate and the chatter of laughing children fills the air. He helps you lace up a pair of rented skates, his touch gentle yet firm, like the embrace of a good pair of gloves. The anticipation builds as you both step back onto the ice, hand in hand.

Jack is an exceptional teacher, patient and encouraging. With each wobble, he's there, a steadfast rock, guiding you until you find your rhythm. The cold air stings your cheeks, but the warmth of his hand in yours is more than enough to keep you going. You glide over the frozen surface, the sound of steel blades carving the ice a sweet symphony to the tune of your laughter.

As your confidence grows, so does the space between you, but the connection remains, a silent thread of comfort. The snowfall becomes more intense, each flake a delicate whisper against your skin. You watch as Jack performs a graceful spin, his movements fluid and elegant, the very essence of the season's spirit.

Jack notices you staring and skates closer, his eyes alight with mischief. He leans in and says, "Ready for something more challenging?"

Your heart skips a beat, unsure if he's referring to a skating move or something else entirely. But you nod, eager to experience more of the magic that seems to swirl around him. He takes your hands and pulls you into a spin, your bodies moving in unison, the cold forgotten as the warmth of his touch radiates through you.

As the spin ends, you find yourself face to face with him, the world around you a blur of white and shadow. The silence between you is filled with the thunderous pounding of your heart and the gentle waltz of the snowfall. His eyes searched yours, the unspoken question hanging in the frosty air.

You nod, the barest of movements, and Jack leans in, closing the gap between you. His lips are warm against yours, a stark contrast to the cold that surrounds you. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, as if he's afraid you might vanish like the snowflakes landing on your lashes. But then he deepens it, and you melt into him, the heat of his embrace seeping through your layers.

The world around you fades away, the only sounds the muffled crunch of snow beneath your skates and the distant hum of the city, muted by the thick blanket of white. His hands are steady on your waist, holding you close, and for a moment, you feel as if you're floating on air rather than gliding on ice.

As the kiss lingers, the snowfall thickens, coating your hair and eyelashes with a soft, frosty glow. It's as if the universe has paused to witness this intimate exchange, the only two figures in a monochrome canvas of winter's beauty. The cold air feels alive with the electricity of the moment, charged with a silent promise of more to come.

You pull back slightly, your cheeks now rosy from the blend of exertion and the warmth of Jack's embrace. His eyes search yours, and you see in them a reflection of the awe and wonder that fills your heart. The connection is palpable, a silent agreement that this is the start of something profound.

"Let's go find somewhere quieter," he suggests, his voice a low murmur that resonates through your very soul. You nod, unable to speak as the beauty of the moment overwhelms you.

Jack leads you off the ice, his arm wrapped around your waist to support your wobbly legs. The snowfall has thickened into a soft curtain, muffling the sounds of the city until it's just the two of you, the rhythm of your breaths mingling with the whisper of the flakes. You find refuge in a small gazebo nestled in the park's heart, the wooden structure a cozy sanctuary from the winter's embrace.

Inside, Jack helps you sit on a bench, the snow on your hats and scarves melting into little puddles at your feet. He takes off his gloves and gently brushes the snowflakes from your eyelashes, his thumb lingering on the apple of your cheek. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You blush, feeling a mix of shyness and elation. The intimacy of the gazebo amplifies the sound of your hearts beating in unison. You look up at him, your eyes questioning. "Jack," you say, tasting his name for the first time, "why me?"

Jack's smile softens, his gaze never leaving yours. "Because every time I see you, it's like the first snowfall," he whispers, "beautiful, and it takes my breath away."

The words resonate within you, warming you more than the heat of the gazebo. You lean into him, your hands finding the warmth of his chest beneath his winter jacket. His heart beats a steady rhythm that matches the drumming of the snowflakes against the gazebo's roof.

Jack wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer until there's no space left between your bodies. The warmth of his embrace seeps into your bones, and you realize that you never want to leave this winter cocoon. His scent, a blend of minty gum and the faint hint of his cologne, fills your nose, making you feel at home.

You lean back, looking up at him, the flakes of snow landing gently on your eyelashes like a soft, frozen lullaby. "What happens next?" you ask, your voice as shaky as the first leaves of spring.

Jack smiles, his teeth a bright flash of white against his tanned skin. "Well," he says, "how about we warm up with some hot cocoa?"

You nod eagerly, the thought of sipping on a warm beverage while watching the snowfall outside incredibly appealing. Together, you untangle from your embrace and make your way back to the skate rental hut. The warmth inside is a stark contrast to the cold outside, but the chill lingers on your skin, a pleasant reminder of the kiss you shared.

Jack orders two hot cocoas, his eyes never leaving yours as he pays. The attendant hands them over, the steam curling around the paper cups like a warm embrace. You both step outside, the cold air biting at your faces once more, but the warmth of your shared experience creating a bubble around you. You sit on a bench by the side of the rink, watching as other couples and families continue to glide across the ice, their laughter a harmonious soundtrack to the night.

You take a sip of the sweet, chocolatey drink, the warmth spreading through your chest, mirroring the warmth of Jack's hand as he wraps it around your own. The snow continues to fall, a silent ballet of white, and the world feels as if it's been painted just for you.

Jack sits beside you, his gaze flickering between the rink and your face, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He's the epitome of winter charm, his hair a messy halo of gold in the soft light, his eyes a deep blue that holds secrets and promises.

You take a tentative sip of the hot cocoa, the sweetness dancing on your tongue as you watch the snowflakes pirouette around the streetlamps. "I can't believe it's snowing," you murmur, breaking the serene silence.

Jack chuckles, the sound low and comforting. "It's a rare sight in Raleigh," he agrees, "but somehow it feels perfect tonight." He takes a sip of his own cocoa, his eyes never leaving yours. "What do you say we make a snow angel?"

The childlike excitement in his voice is infectious. You nod, unable to resist the allure of a simple pleasure in the company of someone so enchanting. You set your cup aside and stand, the cold ground stinging your feet through your thick winter boots.

Jack takes your hand again, his grip firm and reassuring as you walk through the thickening snow towards the open field that borders the park. The snow is now a steady cascade, each flake a tiny star in the night's sky, illuminated by the distant streetlights. The city sounds are muffled, leaving only the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots and the occasional laughter from the rink behind you.

You find a spot free from footprints, a fresh canvas for your angelic creation. "Ready?" Jack asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You nod, feeling like a child on Christmas Eve, eager to dive into the frosty wonderland. He gently lowers you onto the snow, your back hitting the cold, soft cushion with a muffled thump. He lies down beside you, your limbs brushing against his, creating a warm friction that contrasts with the chilly air.

"On the count of three," he whispers, his breath a warm cloud against your cheek. "One, two, three."

Together, you spread your arms and legs, moving them in unison to create your snowy silhouettes. The cold bites at your cheeks as you lie there, but the joy bubbling within you is a more potent warmth than any blanket could provide. Jack's laughter is the sound of pure delight, a symphony in the quiet night that sends shivers of happiness down your spine.

As you stand up, brushing off the clinging snow, Jack grabs your hand again and pulls you into a spin, your bodies leaving a swirl of snow in your wake. The world is a blur of white and shadow, the only color coming from the warm lights of the rink. The moment is a dance, a silent promise of more to come, as he dips you low, your heart racing.

The laughter bubbles up from within you, spilling out like the hot cocoa you shared earlier. It's infectious, and soon Jack is laughing too, the sound echoing in the quiet park. He pulls you closer, the snowflakes landing on the two of you like a gentle applause.

"You know what else is perfect for a night like this?" he asks, his breath a warm caress against your cheek.

You tilt your head, curiosity piquing through the cold. "What's that?"

Jack's eyes light up with excitement. "A snowball fight," he declares, already bending down to scoop up a handful of snow. He forms it into a perfect sphere, the snow sticking together like a secret whispered between friends. He stands up and offers it to you with a playful grin.

You laugh, the sound ringing through the night like the peal of a distant bell. The joy is contagious, and before you know it, you're crafting your own snowball, the cold crystals sticking to your bare hands. The first one flies through the air, a silent declaration of war, and hits Jack squarely in the chest. He lets out an exaggerated gasp, feigning injury, and then laughs, the sound deep and rich.

The battle is on.

Jack's eyes sparkle with mischief as he tosses the first snowball. It sails through the air, a silent declaration of war, and smacks you playfully on the cheek. You gasp, more from surprise than cold, and your laughter joins the symphony of the winter night. The snow is now a canvas for your shared joy, each throw and dodge painting a picture of your burgeoning relationship.

The snowballs fly, a silent ballet of white, and you can't help but feel alive. Each hit is a playful jab at the heart of the cold, a declaration that warmth can exist even in the frozen embrace of winter. Your cheeks sting from the cold, but the warmth of Jack's eyes is a more potent balm. You throw a snowball, and it explodes against his shoulder, leaving a puff of white that clings to his winter gear.

Jack retaliates, and you squeal, ducking behind a tree. The snow clings to the branches, creating a frosty crown above your head. You peek around the trunk, watching as Jack searches for you, his laughter a beacon in the darkness. When he's close enough, you leap out, throwing another snowball with surprising accuracy. It hits him on the cheek, and he laughs, the sound echoing through the park.

The game continues, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the city beneath the snow's gentle hush. You're both breathless, not just from the cold but from the thrill of the chase, the joy of shared laughter, and the unspoken promise that lies between you. As the snowfall begins to taper, Jack takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours with a newfound seriousness.

"You know," he says, his breath a warm cloud in the frigid air, "I've never felt so alive."

You laugh, the sound like a chime in the quiet night. "Me neither."

Jack takes your hand again, leading you back to the rink. The snowfall has turned into a serene ballet, each flake pirouetting gently to the ground. You follow him, the cold a mere nuisance as the warmth of his touch sends waves of comfort through your body.

"One more spin?" he asks, his eyes shimmering with a hint of hope.

You nod eagerly, and Jack pulls you into his arms once more, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you twirl around the now-deserted ice rink. The world outside the rink fades away, leaving only the two of you and the soft glow of the lights reflecting off the snow. The cold air nips at your nose, but you're too warm in the cocoon of Jack's embrace to care.

As the music from the rink's speakers fades into a gentle serenade, Jack leans in and kisses you again, the snowflakes now a gentle applause for the love that seems to bloom between you like a spring bouquet in the middle of winter. The kiss is slow, tender, and filled with the promise of a thousand more. You melt into him, feeling his heart beating in time with yours, a testament to the connection that's grown stronger with each passing moment.

When you finally pull away, the world around you seems brighter, as if the snow itself has been kissed by the warmth of your love. You skate hand in hand, the snowflakes now a soft whisper of approval. The cold air feels electric with possibility.

Jack stops you in the center of the rink, the snow gathering around your skates like a frozen aura. "You know," he says, his voice a gentle caress against the winter night, "this isn't just about the snowfall or the skating."

You look up at him, your eyes wide with curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Jack takes a deep breath, the cold air making his cheeks even redder. "I mean, this isn't just a random night at the skating rink. It's a moment that's been building between us for a while now." His words hang in the air, as delicate as the snowflakes that continue to dance around you.

You look into his eyes, searching for the truth behind the words. There's a sincerity there that you can't deny, a depth that you've seen glimpses of before but never entirely acknowledged. "Jack," you murmur, his name rolling off your tongue like the first word of a lullaby, "are you saying what I think you're saying?"

He nods, the snowflakes catching in his eyelashes like stars that have lost their way home. "I'm saying that every moment I've spent with you has felt like a promise of something more. And tonight," he looks around at the snow-covered rink, "it's as if the universe agreed."

Your heart flutters, the cold air a gentle reminder of the world outside this bubble of warmth. You've felt it too, this pull towards Jack, this feeling of rightness. It's been there since the first time you saw him play, the way he moved on the ice like he was born to it, the way the crowd roared his name. But it wasn't just his skill that drew you in; it was the kindness in his eyes when he signed autographs for the kids, the way he always had a smile for everyone.

"Jack," you murmur, feeling a warmth spread through you, "I feel the same."

The confession lingers in the air, as delicate as the snowflakes that continue to kiss the ground. Jack's grip on your hand tightens, and you realize that this moment, this simple act of sharing the first snowfall together, has changed everything.

You skate closer to him, the sound of your blades cutting through the ice a sweet melody of promise. "Jack," you say, his name a whisper that holds the weight of your feelings, "I never knew winter could be this magical."

Jack smiles, his teeth gleaming in the soft glow of the rink lights. "It's all because of you."

The night air is crisp, a canvas for your shared joy. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, a stark contrast to the chill that seeps into your bones. His eyes are a deep blue, a color found only in the heart of a frozen lake. You realize that you've never felt so alive, so seen, so understood.

"I didn't know winter could be like this," you admit, your breath misting in the air between you.

Jack squeezes your hand. "Neither did I," he confesses, his voice a gentle rumble. "But I'm so glad it is."

The snowfall slows to a whisper, the flakes now large and lazy as they drift to the ground. The city lights reflect off the fresh coat of white, painting the night in a soft, ethereal glow. You both stand still, watching the transformation of the world around you, feeling the weight of the moment.

Jack breaks the silence, his voice as tender as the snowfall. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

You blink, the question catching you off guard. "I've never really thought about it."

Jack's gaze holds yours, his eyes searching for something more profound. "Well," he says, "what about love that unfolds with each shared moment? Like the first snowfall of the season, each flake adding to the beauty of the scene?"

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the cold. "I think I could believe in that."

Jack's smile widens, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good," he says, his voice low and filled with something that makes your heart race. "Because every time I'm with you, it feels like the most natural thing in the world."

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