p3nislawd

[p3nislawd]

The HORRIFYING Reality of Dating an NHL Superstar | 09: Home-Ice Advantage

Series Masterlist

Word Count; 4.3k

Warnings; very light sexual reference, alcohol.

Notes;

Guys i'm actually so fucking sad it's over... i loved this series so much.

I hope you guys love it! send me thoughts!

I wil write a prologue and epilogue for this series eventually :)

Taglist: @tonyspep @alexis-nhl-f1 @hockeybabe87 @solros-world @smilingnightmare @siennaluvshcky @ashloveshockey @chikadeedees-blog @berarenado @blazedenji @svexhenthusiast @pucks-goals-penalties @justkeepingitpeachy @urfavvballplayer @smdnai @dasiysthings @p3nislawd

You don’t even know how many times you’d told Auston you burn easily–that you’re not good under UV 12, but it seemed that that huge, shiny forehead was just for appearance from the sheer fact that he never listened. 

Right after the huge playoff disaster in Tampa, Auston took about 48 hours of moping around, running around the block exactly 67 times with Felix (because, yes, superstitions were still in full effect), and multiple long FaceTime sessions with Mitch where Auston totally asked to see the baby every time. After that time was up, he told you to pack your bags, and you obliged without thinking. He was kind of scary in the offseason, and even more so clingy. You weren’t sure how that was going to work in Arizona.

Last summer, you were nothing but a waitress at the country club, barely scraping by, scurrying around in a skin-tight mini skirt and eyes that blinked slowly at the tall, dark, and handsome man that always asked for you. You didn’t know his name at first, but you knew he tipped you 100% and had a hell of a wandering eye. Soon enough, the two of you were going at it during your lunch break, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave cherry-red marks that remained even when you had to go back to serving tables. 

This summer, that same man had turned from the most charming and sexy person you had ever met, to your gooey, cuddly boyfriend. The kind of guy who pouts when you’re not completely happy and wraps himself around you like a giant teddy bear when he had the odd free moment. Suddenly, the man who used to rock your world all day and all night was the most important person in your life.

Auston Taylour fucking Matthews.

You love him so much. 

He’s huge and charming and ridiculously smart in a way most people wouldn’t notice. He loves Star Wars and seafood boils and going up the CN Tower like a tourist. He talks about his sisters with light in his eyes and sends his mom flowers every Sunday. He loves hard.

And he loves you, too.

A huge pair of strong, hairy arms wrap around you from behind, fingers squeezing at the meat on your waist. His nose nuzzles at your neck, stubble scraping against your skin as you can’t help but giggle at the attention because yeah, he’s your favourite person in the entire world, and yeah, it definitely tickles a little.

As if he could read your mind, his fingers begin to move deftly against your bare stomach, throwing you into a laughing fit with squeaks and squeals of delightment alike. His own chuckle vibrates enough that you hear it against his broad torso pressed against your back. “I swear, baby, you get cuter and cuter every single day.” 

You blush from the apples of your cheeks, going blotchy around your neck. God, that really never gets old. His lips proceed down the side of your throat, teeth nipping slightly, making you whimper. You don’t even realize when his arms lock around your torso, sweeping your white toes off the ground and suddenly, you’re laying on your stomach on a pool chair.

Auston pulls the adjacent chair closer, sitting in it and running a hand between your raw shoulderblades, applying the most heavenly amount of pressure. “Mmm… feels so nice, Aus…” you mewl, turning your head and blinking slowly, sleepily up at him.

He smiles, rows of perfect white teeth making your stomach flip and flutter. “Yeah?” He responds, continuing his gentle movement, “‘Cause you’re all burnt here. Maybe you should stop showing off so much skin.”

“Maybe you’re just distracted,” You quip back.

“Well, yeah, who wouldn’t be…” He trails off, hand dipping lower, pinky going under your extra cheeky bottoms.

You stick your tongue out at him and close your eyes again. He chuckles, gravelly and deep, and before you know it, he’s slathering cool aloe gel on your back, soothing your burn and massaging you at the same time. It feels incredible, and if you weren’t all burnt and sticky you could totally climb onto his lap and grind against him until—

Something’s… on your leg? 

You scream. Of course you do.

The sound rips out of your chest before you can think, before your eyes have even fully processed what they’re seeing. You just know something with too many legs is crawling up your body, and that is more than enough for you to go full primal. You yank your knees to your chest like you’re auditioning for the high jump, practically backflipping off the chair as your brain conjures every worst-case scenario known to man. Poison. Paralysis. Death.

Auston bolts up immediately, eyes wide, hand reaching for you in sheer panic. “What? What? Are you okay?”

You point, finger trembling like you’ve just seen the Grim Reaper himself. “There was something on me! Crawling. Crawling up my leg—oh my god I think it had a stinger. Auston, it had a stinger.”

He follows your gaze down to the floor beside the chair and—unbelievably—starts laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a breathy little nose exhale. Full-bodied, shoulders-shaking laughter like this is the best thing that’s happened to him in weeks.

You stare at him in complete betrayal. “Are you joking right now? I was seconds away from meeting my maker.”

He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and crouches down. “It’s just a scorpion,” he says, like that’s a normal sentence. Then, to your absolute horror, he extends his hand.

“Auston,” you hiss. “Do not touch it. Do not pick it up like it’s a kitten. That thing is a literal weapon.”

But he’s already scooping it up, gentle and unfazed, cradling it in his palm like he’s Snow White and this is his forest creature bestie. The scorpion just sits there, tail curled but not moving, looking oddly peaceful. You, on the other hand, are standing ten feet away, heart rate at hummingbird levels.

“They’re harmless,” Auston says casually, walking over to the edge of the patio and setting the scorpion down in a patch of gravel. “Well, not totally harmless. But this guy won’t kill you.”

“Oh, thank you. I feel so much better now,” you say, voice dry enough to scorch the desert.

He turns back to you, smile soft now, his eyes crinkling a little. “You okay?”

You nod slowly, still hugging your knees to your chest. “I guess. I mean, my ego might never recover, but sure.”

Auston walks back over and drops to his knees in front of you, hands sliding around your hips, thumbs brushing your skin so gently it makes you shiver. “I got you. No more scary desert bugs on my watch.”

You want to tell him that your heart is still pounding, that your adrenaline is spiking through the roof, but then he kisses your bare thigh and everything sort of resets. Your shoulders relax. Your breath evens. He presses his forehead to your knee and sighs.

“God, you’re so fucking cute when you’re scared.”

You smack his shoulder.

He laughs again, catching your wrist and kissing the inside of it, the tips of his fingers trailing lazily across your shin. “Okay, okay, I’m done teasing. Come back to the chair. Let me rub more aloe on you.”

You let him guide you back, this time sitting sideways across his lap. He wastes no time, squeezing a cold dollop onto your back again, his hands soothing the worst of the sting with practiced tenderness. Your cheek presses to his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as the sun dips lower behind the cacti and the whole backyard turns honey-gold.

For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s just touch, soft breath, and the distant call of some bird you don’t know the name of. The heat has mellowed into something almost bearable, and you feel yourself dozing off, half-listening to Auston's breath slow beneath you, steady and warm. He smells like coconut sunscreen and sunshine and faint traces of pool chlorine, and honestly, you could stay here forever.

Then, Auston clears his throat. "Hey."

You hum, too relaxed to even open your eyes.

"Wanna go out tonight?"

Your brows raise a little. "Out?"

"Yeah," he says, voice light. "Get dressed up. Go somewhere nice. Just us."

You blink up at him, the laziness of the moment lingering as your head tilts curiously. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugs, the move forced and far too casual to be real. “Nothing. Just wanna see you all dressed up.”

You squint at him, suspicious, but too cozy to push too hard. “What should I wear?”

He pauses, like he's putting real thought into it, which is already a dead giveaway. Then he goes, “Something black. Or white. Maybe with a little shimmer.”

That makes you sit up a little straighter. “You never have fashion opinions. What is this?”

He gives you a grin that’s all charm and misdirection, the kind he used to give you back when you were just the girl bringing him vodka tonics at the country club. Then he very obviously changes the subject, brushing imaginary lint off your thigh. But you don’t miss the way he takes your hand in his, lifts it casually, presses a kiss to your knuckles—and then glances, discreet as hell, at your nails.

They’re done.

A fresh coat from three days ago, glossy and pale pink.

You think nothing of it. Just a sweet moment in the sun.

He thinks everything of it. And if his heart starts thudding a little louder in his chest, if he mentally checks off one more tiny box in a long, careful plan—well. You’ll know soon enough.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the Arizona heat still clinging to your skin as the sun starts dipping past the horizon, staining the sky in hazy amber and sherbet streaks. You’ve got one leg crossed over the other, a curling iron poised in your hand like a weapon, trying to tame the last section of your hair while simultaneously not melting into a puddle. Auston had told you to wear something black or white, something with shimmer, and while normally he couldn’t care less what you wore as long as it was wrapped around your body for him to unwrap later, this time he’d been... weirdly specific. Not pushy, just a little too interested. You’d chalked it up to boredom. Now, you weren’t so sure.

Your dress clings in all the right places—black, floor-length, with a low open back and delicate straps that you keep adjusting because they’re barely there. It’s elegant, slinky, but still soft enough to feel like you. You added your favorite silver earrings, the ones that catch the light when you move your head, and a matching bracelet. You’d been hoping to borrow a necklace to match. The makeup’s done—shimmery lids, winged liner sharp enough to kill a man, lips soft and glossy, hair curled to the kind of messy perfection that only happens when you’re too lazy to redo it. You look good. You look really good. Which is why, when you pad down the hall and into Breyanna’s room for a necklace, you’re already floating a little.

What you walk into, though, is not just Breyanna. It’s the whole damn Matthews girl gang, parked in a sunlit corner of the room with their feet tucked under them and glasses of horchata in hand. Ema, radiant as ever in a breezy white blouse, laughs mid-sentence as you open the door. Alexandria, sitting beside her in a pair of yoga pants and a top that somehow still looks designer, turns first. Breyanna grins like she was expecting you.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, immediately flustered, backing up a step. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Get in here,” Alexandria waves you over with a flick of her hand. “You look hot, don’t waste it in the hallway.”

You laugh, stepping in hesitantly, your heels clicking against the tile. Ema’s eyes sweep over you with the kind of warmth that makes your chest ache. “You look beautiful, mija,” she says. “Sit. Have something to drink.”

“I was just looking for a necklace,” you say, cheeks already warming. “Something to match these.” You gesture vaguely to your earrings.

Breyanna hops up immediately and starts digging through a jewelry box while you settle beside Alexandria. She offers you her cup of horchata like it’s some sacred offering, and you sip gratefully, the cinnamon and cream instantly calming your nerves.

“Going somewhere fancy?” Ema asks, but the way she asks it feels knowing. Too knowing.

You nod. “Auston said we should go out tonight. He told me to dress up, which is… rare.”

Alexandria smirks into her glass. “Rare or suspicious?”

“Definitely suspicious,” you reply, and they all laugh.

Breyanna appears beside you a moment later, holding up two necklaces for you to choose from. One’s simple silver with a little sparkle; the other has a tiny star-shaped pendant. You choose the star.

“It’s his favorite,” she says with a shrug, helping you clasp it around your neck like it’s nothing.

You pause. “Really?”

She nods, smiling just a little too sweetly. “He said it reminded him of the way you look when you’re talking about stuff you love. Like you light up.”

Oh.

Ema pats your knee gently. “He notices everything, that one.”

You nod, trying not to melt into the carpet. “He’s been... clingy lately.”

Alexandria snorts. “That’s what happens when someone’s in love with you. Clingy becomes his whole personality.”

You sip the horchata to hide your smile. “Guess I don’t mind.”

The room softens around you. It feels like you’ve been invited into a secret circle—womanhood, sisterhood, something both larger and gentler than you. The love in this house is a loud, warm thing. You hadn’t expected to be welcomed into it so easily, but now that you’re here, you don’t want to leave.

They don’t say anything about what’s coming. But you can feel it, in the way they look at you, in the way Breyanna holds your hand for a beat too long when she gives you the necklace, in the way Ema kisses your cheek before you leave the room and whispers, “Have a beautiful night, mija.”

The drive out is long enough for your nerves to wake up, but short enough you don’t have time to do anything about them. Auston insists on playing music, something soft and summery that’s clearly meant to keep you relaxed, but your brain doesn’t quite get the memo. You’re in the passenger seat of his car, dressed like the version of yourself he always brings out—the one who’s a little more confident, a little more radiant, a little more you. Your dress shifts slightly every time the breeze comes through the open window, and when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he’s already looking. Just briefly. Just enough to make your chest squeeze.

He looks gorgeous. Unfairly gorgeous. Tan like he’s spent years under this Arizona sun, hair pushed back loosely, facial hair trimmed to that exact level of scruff that he knows drives you insane. He’s in a short-sleeved black linen shirt that does absolute justice to his arms, one button undone in a way that feels criminal, and a pair of relaxed, pale khakis that should be ugly but make him look edible. His hand is loose on the wheel, his other resting casually between you, pinky brushing yours every so often. It’s all so domestic. So intimate. You’re not sure when looking at Auston stopped making you nervous—but tonight, something about it makes your stomach twist in a completely different way.

You expect a restaurant. Maybe a rooftop one. Maybe one of those trendy pop-up garden dining experiences that always end up on TikTok. But he drives past the strip, past the clusters of sleek buildings and twinkle-lit terraces, and keeps going. You shoot him a confused glance, but he just smiles, a private little thing you can’t quite decode.

When you finally arrive, you laugh.

Because of course.

It’s a country club.

Not the same one from last year—not the one in Toronto where you met—but clearly a recreation. The desert version. The kind of place where the tiles are too clean and the uniforms too crisp. It’s after-hours—closed to the public—and somehow, Auston has a key. Or a connection. Or both. The parking lot is empty. The lights are low. And when you follow him around the side of the building, your heels clicking on the concrete, you see it: an old bocce court, transformed.

It’s not overdone. That’s the first thing you notice. No string lights or elaborate centerpieces or cheesy rose petals. Just a long, low table set right on the grass, candles flickering in mismatched glass jars, and two deep cushions on either end. Your favorite bottle of wine sits chilling in a bucket. There’s food too, covered but steaming gently, and a tiny Bluetooth speaker playing one of your shared playlists low enough to feel like a heartbeat.

Your own heartbeat stutters.

“Did you… do all this?” you ask, stepping forward slowly.

Auston rubs the back of his neck, bashful for the first time all night. “Kind of. I had help. But the idea was mine.”

You turn to him, that dress you picked now suddenly feeling like fate, your eyes wide and soft and a little glassy. “Why here?”

He shrugs, but his smile is different now. “Figured if I couldn’t take you back to the place we met… I’d bring it to you.”

You bite your lip, blinking back whatever is threatening to well up in your throat. “I think I hated you the first few times you came in.”

“Sure,” he says, stepping closer, tilting his head. “And yet, I remember a certain someone climbing onto my lap in the break room.”

You laugh, unable to help it. “You tricked me.”

“I offered you a smoothie.”

“You said you needed help with your drink order and then stared at my ass for six straight minutes.”

Auston makes a show of pretending to think. "Yeah. That tracks."

You settle onto the cushion as he pours the wine, hands steady, eyes darting to yours every few seconds like he needs to confirm this is still real. The conversation slips into something warm and comfortable. You eat—steak for him, salmon for you—laughing about that one time he tried to cook you breakfast and set off the condo fire alarm. You tease him about the lines he used on you. He reminds you, smugly, that they worked.

There’s a moment, after the plates are cleared and your legs are stretched out across his lap, where the silence goes a little deeper. The playlist loops into something instrumental. The breeze picks up just enough to carry the smell of sun-warmed grass and fading lavender. He’s tracing shapes on your shin, not really thinking, and you’re watching his face like it’s a painting you’ve seen a hundred times but still haven’t figured out.

“I think I knew,” you say softly, “that I was in trouble that first week. When I saw you in that stupid backwards cap, flirting with the old ladies.”

He grins, not looking at you. “They loved me.”

“They tipped me for not spilling drinks on you.”

He laughs, but it fades quickly. His fingers slow against your leg. Then he looks up.

And you know that look.

It’s not the smirk. Not the charm. Not even the warm, gooey version you get when you’re in sweats on his couch with your hair in a claw clip.

It’s something else.

Something serious.

Like the words building in his throat are too big for his mouth.

He swallows. Adjusts your legs in his lap like he needs a second to brace himself.

Then he says your name.

You blink, heart starting to gallop against your ribs in a way that makes you feel half-high, like your skin can’t quite hold everything you’re feeling. And then he says it again—firmer this time, like he’s anchoring himself to it. Like your name is what steadies him when the world gets too loud. You don’t say anything back, can’t—not when his hand is still warm on your ankle, not when his eyes are scanning your face like he’s memorizing it, like maybe he already has and he’s just checking to make sure it’s all still real. You don’t know how you haven’t burst into tears already, with the way your throat is clenched up around all the stupid, enormous things you’ve ever felt for him.

He shifts slightly, brushing your calf with one big, careful hand, and leans forward with that exact look he gets when he’s about to say something he doesn’t want you to laugh at. “I think I’m just… always gonna be in love with you.” The words come out like they’ve been sitting in his chest since the day he met you. Not poetic. Not rehearsed. Just true. You feel them like a punch, clean and deep, your whole chest aching from the sheer sincerity of it.

Auston exhales slow, steady, and then keeps going, like he can’t stop now even if he wanted to. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know how else to say it. You make everything make sense, and I think I’ve been chasing that feeling my whole life. You walk into a room and I’m already better than I was before you showed up.”

You don’t know how he still surprises you. He’s your person—your boyfriend, your best friend, your accidental soulmate—but somehow, he still manages to knock the wind out of you with stuff like this. You feel your eyes prick hot, not because you didn’t know, but because hearing it like this—barefaced and so real it makes your ribs hurt—feels like watching someone hand you their whole heart with both hands. His face isn’t cocky or self-assured, not the version of him the world sees. It’s open and quiet and so earnest it guts you.

He reaches into his pocket. You think you know what’s coming, you think you’re ready, but your entire body still feels like it’s on a delay. Your brain short-circuits when he pulls out a ring box, classic and black and tiny in his palm. He doesn’t open it yet. He just holds it, eyes flicking to yours like he’s asking for permission to keep going.

“I’ve known I wanted to marry you since the day you made me that godawful smoothie in the club kitchen,” he says, voice hitching a little on the word marry like even he can’t believe how much he means it. “You were so annoyed with me. You rolled your eyes and made it with half the ingredients missing and I still drank the whole thing just to hear you call me dramatic. That was it for me. I didn’t stand a chance.”

You laugh through the tears that are now actually, truly falling—no dramatic movie sniffle, just silent, slow, stupidly emotional crying. He looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life, and the ache in your chest becomes this hot, wonderful pressure you can’t quite name. He finally opens the box.

The ring is understated. Nothing flashy, nothing showy. Just classic and pretty and so perfectly you it almost makes you sob. He doesn’t even say the words will you marry me?—just looks at you like he already knows the answer, like he’s known it since you first sat on his lap and told him to shut up with that smile you swore you didn’t mean.

You nod before you can speak. Then you reach for him with both hands and say, broken and breathless, “Yes. Oh my god, yes.”

He exhales, almost shaky, and then you’re in his arms. It’s not delicate or perfectly framed for Instagram—it’s a little clumsy, all elbows and dress fabric and you dropping your weight into his chest like you want to burrow into him. He wraps himself around you like it’s instinct, pressing kisses to the side of your head, his hands cradling your back with the kind of reverence that makes your whole body melt.

He mutters your name again into your hair, over and over, like he’s trying to imprint the memory into every cell in his body. “You’re it for me,” he says, over your shoulder, voice hoarse. “I swear, baby, you’re it. I don’t care what city I play in or what team I’m on—I’m yours. You make all of it worth it.”

You laugh, soaking wet with emotion now, tugging back just enough to look at him. His eyes are shiny. His nose is pink. He looks like someone who’s finally let himself win something he never thought he deserved. “Auston Taylour Matthews,” you say, voice wobbly but sure, “you’re gonna be the best husband. And the best dad. And the best everything.”

He kisses you before you can say anything else. It’s not rushed or hungry or possessive—it’s grounding. Deep. Steady. It tastes like wine and cinnamon and forever. And you kiss him back like you’ve waited your whole life for this one single second.

Somewhere behind you, a cicada buzzes obnoxiously loud. A breeze stirs the edge of the tablecloth. The playlist loops back to the beginning.

But all you feel is him.

All you hear is your name on his lips, and the softest little “thank you” whispered against your cheek—like you just agreed to carry his whole heart around in your hands. And maybe you did. Because this is the horrifying reality of dating an NHL superstar: he might be impossible to ignore in a room, might make every highlight reel, might have arenas full of strangers chanting his name—but when he looks at you like this, none of it matters. When he holds you like this, whispers promises like this, the real shock isn’t that he loves you.

It’s how fiercely you love him back.

And how you’d say yes, again and again, for the rest of your life.

[p3nislawd]

Dog Days

dog dad!Nico Hischier x dog mom!reader

masterlist

summary: a dog park meet cute with the potential to change your life. or: months ago, @theemporium & i went down a spiral ab that picture of Nico & the dog with the devil horns. this fic is what came out of it. 10.1k words

warnings: mentions of alcohol, doodle slander (adopt don’t shop)

There’s a guy in the dog park who’s staring at you. Really, you should be more nervous about it, because he’s a large man, and you don’t know him, and he keeps looking at you. But his dog- Bernie, you think he called her- is cute, and she’s getting along great with your dog, so you’re a bit inclined to let it slide. Besides, he’s not being creepy. He’s probably just checking to make sure you’re okay with your dogs playing together. He’s here often- you recognize him well, but it’s the first time the dogs have taken interest in each other.

You watch another dog join the fray, some sort of hypoallergenic doodle, if you had to guess. The type that costs thousands of dollars for no apparent reason. It’s wearing a Patagonia puffy jacket, which makes you laugh. You hide it behind your hand. You watch as the dog bows low between your dog and Staring Guy’s dog, and then the doodle rolls over in the mud, and-

“Excuse me!” Someone yells. “Excuse me- hey, you! Is that your dog?”

You turn and blink, realizing the woman is talking to you. She’s storming your way in her matching Patagonia coat, face red with anger. You stare, eyes wide. Staring Guy is looking, too, not even trying to hide it now.

“Um. Which one?” You ask.

She gestures wildly. “The- that black mutt,” she hisses. You frown. “The one who was in the mud with my Bessie.”

Staring Guy snorts from his spot twenty feet away. Your eyes flicker to his, and he’s holding back laughter. You chew on your lip to keep yourself from doing the same.

“Yeah, that’s Moose,” you say, turning to look over your shoulder. Moose and Bernie have abandoned Bessie in the mud, more interested in sticks. “Sorry, is something wrong?”

“Yes! My dog is covered in mud now!” The woman snaps, and you rear your head back. “I mean, honestly-“

“Oh, yeah, she really seemed to like that puddle,” you agree, nodding. “You know how dogs are.”

She shakes her head angrily. “Not my Bessie. She’d never do that. So.”

“So?”

“So are you going to pay for her grooming? And the dry cleaner for her coat, oh, that coat-“ the woman sighs. “She’d have never done this if she hadn’t been influenced-“

You turn to look over your shoulder, to where Bessie is still rolling in the mud. “I’m sorry. Are you trying to say my dog influenced yours to roll in the mud? And now you want me to pay for- you understand how ridiculous you sound, right?”

She huffs. “Bessie is a well behaved, purebred Bernedoodle. Yours is-“

She stammers, so you fill in the gap. “Moose is a rescue.”

“Right, so-“ she waves her hand. “You see what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” You say, incredulously.

The woman is so angry, now, that her whole face has gone beet red. She lurches towards you, and you take a couple steps back. Her hands are in fists at her sides. You’re not exactly afraid of her, but you hadn’t been planning on getting into a fistfight in the dog park, and she’s making you feel a little uneasy.

“Hey,” a deep voice says. You turn and find Staring Guy, walking up with his hands in his pockets, brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

You widen your eyes at him, praying he gets the message. He sends you a smile, turning up the corners of his mouth softly. He has a kind face, warm brown eyes, thick eyebrows that arch over them. The woman goes off on her tirade again, about her precious Bessie and your awful influence of a mutt, and how you hadn’t done anything to stop them from playing in the mud. Staring Guy’s dog comes trotting up as she goes on and on, and Moose isn’t far behind. He winds himself in front of your legs, and you reach down to fix one of his ears, the one that always gets flipped inside out. Bessie isn’t far behind. You chew on your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of her, soaked in mud.

“Oh, that’s probably Bernie’s fault, actually,” Staring Guy says, dark brows furrowed. “She really loves the mud. She’s the one who started it.”

The woman splutters. “Oh- but- well- I’m not sure-“

Staring Guy shakes his head. He takes a couple steps forward, effectively placing himself between you and her. Your heart melts just a little. Moose looks up at him, and his ear flips back inside out. You sigh at the sight of him- he is covered in mud, and it’s going to be a pain to get him cleaned up.

“I just think she should’ve tried to keep them out of the mud.” The woman says, though she’s calmed down a bit.

Staring Guy’s deep voice and large stature seem to have calmed her down a bit. If you’re being honest, he’s calmed you, too. He’d make a good mediator, you think. He’s soothing.

“It’s a dog park, not a doggy day care,” he says, voice a little bit more tense. “You’re responsible for your own dog. Says so on the sign.”

The woman huffs and looks between the two of you. She seems to realize she’s getting nowhere, and she marches off, leash in hand, headed for poor Bessie, who’s likely in for the bath of a lifetime. You and Staring Guy watch her go, staring as she stomps across the park, to the gate, and all the way out to her shiny car. She steps in a puddle on the way out and splatters mud up her jeans. You hunch over and start to giggle.

Staring Guy lets out a laugh, too. “That was fucking ridiculous,” he says.

You nod, unable to speak as the laughter takes over. Moose sits down on the grass and stares up at you. Bernie sits down next to him and does the same. They both look incredibly concerned. You wipe tears of laughter from your eyes and stand up.

“I mean, she’s probably right, Moose is definitely a bad influence,” you say, cooing down at your dog. “I mean, look at him.”

Staring Guy laughs and tilts his head. “His name’s Moose?”

“Basic, I know,” you shrug. “They were calling him that at the shelter. I felt bad changing it, so here we are.”

Staring Guy shakes his head. “No, I like it. It’s a good name. This is Bernie,” he says, nudging his dog with his knee. “And I’m Nico.”

He sticks out his hand to shake. You do so, and introduce yourself, too. He repeats your name back to you with a soft smile. Bernie seems to take this as a sign, and she walks up to you, sniffing the air, tail wagging wildly. You crouch down to pet her, running your hands through her thick, sandy fur. She pants happily.

“She’s adorable,” you say, looking up at Nico. “Golden retriever?”

He shrugs. “Mostly, I think. She’s a rescue. I thought about doing one of those dog DNA things, but…”

“It never feels important enough,” you fill in. He’s scratching Moose’s head, and he nods, grinning. “Moose is a rescue, too.”

“They’re the best kind of dogs,” he says, finding the spot behind Moose’s ear that makes his left leg thump against the ground. Nico laughs. “No Schnoodles or Whoodles for me.”

You laugh and stand up, wiping your hands on your jeans. Moose looks between you and Nico, tail wagging happily. Not for the first time, you wonder what he’s thinking. You wish you could read his mind.

“Well, we’ve got to go,” Nico says, toying with the dog leash. “But it was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you both,” you say, giving Bernie one last head pat. “Thanks for your help.”

He shrugs. “Not a problem.”

…..

Weeks slip by, and Nico stays a constant in them. Wednesdays and Fridays, you find him at the dog park in the mid afternoon, Bernie waiting eagerly for you to let moose off his leash. The two of you chat and watch your dogs play and then bid each other farewell to go back to your own lives. It’s nice. He’s nice.

“Are you busy?” Nico asks one afternoon, shoulder nearly touching yours.

Moose and Bernie are playing in a pile of leaves, a week post Bessie-mud incident. You watch as the wind picks one up, and Moose chases after it. Bernie chases after him. You turn to look at Nico, feeling slightly confused.

“Like, now?” You ask.

He nods. “Now, and for a little while? There’s this dog friendly coffee shop down the street. I was going to take Bernie there. Though maybe you’d want to come with me.”

Your heart jumps. He wants you to come with? He wants to see you outside of this dog park, outside of the primary meeting spot. He wants to see you.

You nod. “Yeah, sure, that sounds sweet. You’re not gonna murder me, right?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, I’m not. Has anyone ever said yes to that?”

“Nope,” you say. “And I’m still alive, so it’s working.”

The two of you gather up the dogs and head for the coffee shop. They walk together happily on their leashes- matching ones from the same brand. You and Nico chat about the leashes, and dog supplies in general, and your favorite pet stores. By the time you make it to the coffee shop, you’ve run out of dog topics and moved on to other ones. You talk about coffee and New Jersey and home- which is Switzerland, for Nico, which explains the accent. You order coffee and pastries and take a seat at one of the outdoor tables. The early afternoon sun is shining down. There’s an autumn chill in the air, but the sun takes the edge off.

Nico gets dodgy when you start talking about work. At first, you wonder if he’s some sort of politician- he has the face for it- or a business guy. He doesn’t seem like the type to work in the tall buildings in the city, crunching numbers and barking orders. You’re not sure what else would’ve brought him to the US from Switzerland, though.

“D’you watch hockey?” He asks, and you blink.

“Not really,” you shrug. “It was never my thing. A few of my friends are big fans, though.”

“Of the Devils?” He asks, nodding his head down the street, where, if you walked far enough, you’d find the Prudential Center, home of New Jersey hockey.

You nod and swallow a sip of your coffee. “Mhm. S’that what you do for work? You work for the Devils?”

He shrugs, then nods. “Basically.”

You let it go, then. Maybe he’s just trying to be careful- after all, he barely knows you. You’d done the same, been careful about not telling him where you work. He seems trustworthy enough, but you can never be too careful. The two of you move on to more important topics- which donuts are best, and what the best restaurants in town are. The afternoon slips away quickly and quietly, and you only realize you’re late when your friend calls you.

“Shit,” you mutter, standing up. “I know I said I wasn’t busy but- I have to meet my friends for drinks, and I’m probably going to be late-“

“It’s okay,” Nico says, softly. “I’ve gotta go too. But this was really nice.”

You smile softly. “It was. We should do it again sometime.”

You both wave goodbye and take off down the street in different directions- you, back towards your apartment to drop off Moose, and him towards his, you assume. You can’t wipe the smile off your face the whole way, and it’s still stuck there by the time you slip into the booth at the restaurant a half hour later.

“I’m so sorry,” you gush, as your friend Alyssa sends you a glare. “I was out at the dog park with Moose, and then I lost track of time, and-“

Your other friend Nora laughs. “Were you too busy staring at Dog Park Guy?”

Your face grows hot. “His name’s Nico.”

Both of them blink at you. “Did you actually talk to him?”

You let out a long sigh and launch into the story- Bessie and her bitchy owner, Nico’s rescue, the increased interactions, and the cafe today. Their eyes grow impossibly wider.

“Sounds like a meet cute,” Nora squeals.

“If he’s cute,” Alyssa adds.

You roll your eyes and ignore the looks they’re giving you. “We’re just friends. Because our dogs are friends.”

“Like I said,” Nora says. “Cute.”

Eventually they drop the subject. You have your drinks and catch up, and make plans to hang out again the next night. Alyssa wants to watch the hockey game. She’s the biggest Devils fan you know, could name every player and all of their stats. You and Nora agree to watch, as long as she provides the alcohol.

You show up just after the game starts the next afternoon, Moose in tow. You snag a plate and grab some snacks and join Alyssa on the couch.

“Can you grab me a beer?” You call out to Nora, who’s in the kitchen.

She returns with a bottle in hand, passing it off to you. You thank her and curl up further on the couch, turning to look at the TV. You wonder if Nico’s working, if he has to be at the games or if he does more of the behind the scenes stuff. Maybe he runs the charity branch. That would fit him. You take a sip of your beer, and then nearly spit it right back out.

You turn to Alyssa, who has the remote, and make a frantic gesture. “Rewind it.”

“What?” She asks, not looking away from the TV. “It’s a power play, I’m not gonna-“

“Rewind it,” you say again, reaching for the remote. “Lyss, just-“

“What’s wrong?” Nora asks, frowning at you. “You don’t care about hockey.”

“No, I know, I just- I thought I saw someone,” you say, staring at the screen.

“In the crowd?” Nora asks. You don’t answer, so she says your name. “Babe, what is going on?”

Before you can answer, Alyssa throws her hands up in the air and cheers. Goal. The puck is in the back of the net, and the camera zooms in on the player who scored- number 86, the name Hughes emblazoned on his back. One of his teammates comes skating towards him, nearly shoving him into the wall, and-

You gasp when the camera settles on his face. Number 13, Hischier. Nico Hischier, you would assume, unless Dog Park Nico has a doppleganger hanging around Newark. A doppleganger who also works for the Devils. You work for the Devils? Basically. Oh. Nora doesn’t seem to notice anything, but Alyssa turns to you slowly, eyes wide.

“Wait,” she says. “You wanted me to rewind it, to where?”

“It’s fine,” you mutter.

She’s staring at you, while you stare at the TV screen. “You said Dog Park Guy’s name was Nico,” she says, brows furrowed. “What’s his last name?”

You shrug. “Haven’t asked him yet.”

She blinks once, then twice, and when you see Nico on the screen again, you must react, because she leans over and grabs your face. She pulls you to look at her, then at the screen. She grabs the remote and pauses it, and Nico’s face fills up the whole picture. He’s grinning wide.

“What’s happening right now?” Nora asks. “Somebody fill me in.”

Alyssa points at the screen. “That man, right there, is the team captain. Hischier,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect. “Nico Hischier.”

Nora gasps. You shrink down into yourself. You can’t exactly tear your eyes from the screen. It’s definitely him. You’d know that face anywhere. You can see the smile, can picture it in the dog park as he pets your dog.

“Is that Dog Park Guy?” Nora asks. You nod, figuring there’s no point in lying now. “Oh my god, you didn’t mention he was hot.”

Alyssa groans. “I’ve never been more jealous of you in my life.”

“You’re engaged,” Nora reminds her.

“I know,” Alyssa sighs. “But god, he’s dreamy.”

Nora nods. You curl further in on yourself and reach for the remote to hit play. The game starts back up again, and you try to pretend you’re not watching for his number. Nora and Alyssa don’t let it go for the rest of the night. You have a feeling they won’t be letting it go for a while.

When you see him next Wednesday at the dog park, you greet him with, “Hiya, Cap.”

You’ve walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. Bernie and Moose are rolling around in fallen leaves. Nico smiles at you at first, and then, as if he’s realized what you said, he jolts. His brows furrow, and you grin.

“You work for the Devils, huh?” You tease, grinning widely.

His cheeks go red, and he laughs. “You said you didn’t care about hockey.”

“I don’t,” you admit. “But my friend Alyssa does, and she had the game on when I was at her place the other day, and imagine my surprise when I looked up at the screen and saw you on the ice.”

He smiles sheepishly and shakes his head. “Honestly, I didn’t tell you because I thought it’d come off as bragging.”

Moose barks, and you both turn to look, but he’s just playing with Bernie. The two of them have found a stick in the leaves, and they’re pulling back and forth. Bernie has a leaf stuck to her nose, and it makes you smile even more.

“It’s pretty cool, though, isn’t it?” You ask. “Lyss said you’re like. A rockstar. Team captain, first round draft pick-“

“Oh, she went way back,” he teases.

“She’s a Jersey girl,” you say with a shrug. “You’re lucky she’s already engaged or she’d be here, too.”

He laughs louder at that, and his shoulder bumps against yours. Across the grass, your dogs roll around on the ground, happy as can be. It makes you smile wider, makes your heart warm.

…..

Early fall turns into late fall, a change that brings with it colder weather, something you’re already regretting not noticing. Nico frowns when he sees you in the park. He makes his way over as Bernie runs to greet Moose, and he has his brows furrowed. He’s wearing a beanie and a thick hoodie, and you envy him.

“Almost didn’t recognize you,” he says, tugging at the hood of your thin sweatshirt, which you have pulled tightly over your head. “Where’s your coat? And a beanie, maybe?”

You shrug and bury your hands deeper in your pockets- you don’t want him to see you’re not wearing gloves either. “I live on the third floor. It looked warm out, and by the time I got outside, there was no way I was dragging him back upstairs.”

You shrink slightly under the disapproving look he gives you. He sighs heavily, and you smile at him, like that’ll make it better. You want nothing more than to bury your face in his chest, press yourself into his body and soak up some of the heat. You’re sure he’s warm. He just looks like he runs warm.

You don’t stay long at the park, because your hands are freezing and so is your face. Nico bids you farewell with a little wave, and you rush home to your warm apartment.

Two days later, when you show up to the dog park, Nico’s already there. Bernie’s running circles around him, barking happily. She skids to a stop when she spots Moose, and you let him off the leash to join her. Nico waves, a big grin on his face as the two dogs take off together.

“Still no beanie?” He teases, shaking his head.

“I thought the cold day was a fluke,” you mutter grumpily, hands shoved in your pockets. “I worked from home today. I didn’t know it was this cold.”

Nico continues to shake his head. His next move is so unexpected you don’t quite realize what he’s doing until it’s over- he pulls a beanie from his pocket and pulls it onto your head for you, adjusting it carefully with narrowed eyes. You can’t help the laugh that slips past your lips. Then he slips his jacket off his shoulders.

“Nico-“ you protest as he wraps it around you.

“I wore layers, and I’m warm,” he says, holding the jacket around your shoulders and waiting until you slip your arms through the sleeves reluctantly. “Better?”

His jacket is warm and cozy, and you smile and nod. “Much better.”

He grins back, eyes crinkling at the edges. His cheeks are flushed, and it makes your face feel warm, too. You shove your hands in your pockets- his pockets- and turn back to watch the dogs, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with him. The very first flakes of snow of the year begin to fall. Moose and Bernie don’t seem to notice. If Nico notices the way you lean close to him, trying to shelter yourself from the cold, he doesn’t say anything.

…..

The next time you see Nico, he’s stressed. He’s got his beanie off, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. Bernie, as if she senses his distress, is sitting at his feet patiently, even though her leash is off. You let Moose run over. He sniffs at Bernie, then at Nico’s knee, and whines.

“You’re really bringing down the mood,” you call out.

Nico’s head whips up, bottom lip still tugged between his teeth. Something twists in your chest. You don’t like to see him upset like this, you realize. You’re growing far too attached. And yet. Here you are.

You cock your head questioningly. “You okay?”

He sighs. “Sorry. Yeah. Just- my usual dog sitter apparently moved and didn’t tell me until this morning, and I have to be out of town starting tomorrow, and so now I’m trying to find someone to watch her or somewhere to board her and-“

“I can take her,” you blurt out.

His rambling comes to a screeching halt, and he blinks at you. “I don’t want to inconvenience you, or…”

“Don’t be silly,” you say, shaking your head and smiling. “Her and Moose get along great, and I already know half of her routine. And I think she likes me alright, too. It wouldn’t be a hassle.”

Nico puffs out his cheeks, glancing up at the sky. “That would be… are you sure? Because. I mean-“

“Nico,” you say, softly. His gaze flickers back to yours. “I’d love to watch her. How long are you gonna be gone?”

He bites his lip again. “Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. “Easy peasy.”

You should probably be expecting it, just because it seems like something he would do, but you yelp a little when he hauls you against his chest. You hug him back, though, and laugh into his shoulder, and the dogs both bark at your feet. Then Bernie takes off running, as if she knows everything is fine now. Moose follows happily.

“Thank you,” he says, chest rumbling against you, and your breath catches.

“Anytime,” you respond. You mean it.

He drops Bernie off the next morning before you start work for the day. He texts you from the lobby of your apartment building to let you know they’re headed up, which is sweet. You hear Bernie before he knocks on the door, and when you open it, Moose perks up from his dog bed. He’s up within seconds, tail wagging, searching through his pile of toys for one to bring Bernie.

“Look at them,” you coo, watching the two dogs greet each other happily. “We’re gonna have such a fun weekend, aren’t we, Bernie?”

Nico’s smiling, too, when you look up and meet his gaze. He has a dog bed tucked under one arm, and a bag of other supplies in the other. You let the dogs play while he unpacks the stuff on your kitchen counter and tells you what little you don’t know about Bernie’s routine. When she eats, what toys are her favorites, and so on.

“Normally I tell people about the dog park,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “But you already know that.”

You nod eagerly. In the living room, Bernie is sniffing Moose’s dog bed.

“Oh, um. Sometimes for the first bit she won’t want to eat,” he says. “I got her when she was young, and it was during the lockdown, so. She wasn’t used to being away from me. She’s gotten better about it, but… if she goes too long, you can put a little cheese on her food and that usually helps.”

You nod in understanding. “Moose was the same the first time I left him. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.”

Nico laughs. “I think this is actually the least worried I’ve been about leaving her, ever.”

You set up Bernie’s dog bed in the living room, a little ways away from Moose’s to give them each their space. Nico lays out her favorite toys for her, and a threadbare red hoodie that you’d bet used to be his. He wavers in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, watching as Bernie inspects her stuff. It makes your chest ache a little bit. He seems reluctant to leave.

“D’you have time to sit for a little bit?” You ask. “I have plenty of coffee.”

He turns over his shoulder and grins. “Coffee would be great.”

It should probably feel strange, to have Dog Park Guy sitting at your kitchen table, sipping coffee out of a big mug that looks small in his hands, but it doesn’t. It feels almost natural. Like this was always how this was going to go. He tells you about the away game he’s going to play, about their odds and the other team and how he’s stuck sharing a hotel room with Jack, who he loves but who also talks in his sleep loudly and denies it. You laugh and commiserate & complain to him about your work day, which is full of meetings. By the time the coffee is gone, he doesn’t really seem to want to leave, but he tells you he has to finish packing and get to the rink, and you’ve got a meeting anyways, so. You walk him to the door. He crouches down to pet Bernie one more time, and lets out a big sigh.

“I’ll see you all soon,” he says, smiling. “Have a good weekend.”

Bernie sits down and stares at him. You see his smile waver, so you step forward and pat the top of her head gently, then scratch behind her ears the way you’ve seen Nico do so often.

“Be safe,” you tell him. “We’ll be here waiting.”

Bernie does get a little sad just after he leaves. You feel for her, because you’re strangely sad about him being gone, too. You take most of your work meetings from the couch so she can curl up with her head on your lap. Moose keeps bringing over his favorite toys and dropping them off for her, but she doesn’t take much interest. Nico texts around lunchtime, just before he’s getting on a plane, and asks how it’s going. You send back a picture of her head in your lap, your work meeting in the background.

she seems very interested in Carol’s progress report.

Nico sends back a little laughing emoji, and then She looks cozy. Thank you again!

After work, you leash up both dogs and walk down to the dog park. You want to keep Bernie’s routine as consistent as possible. The two of them do so well together, walking happily, never tugging on the leashes. You snap a pic of them, and send that to Nico, too. He probably won’t see it for a while.

Once you’re at the dog park, you let them off leash to run around. They take off together, barking happily, kicking up piles of dead leaves like the always do. You sit on a bench and fight the urge to text Nico.

It’s just that in the couple of months since you finally spoke to him, you’ve found yourself really looking forward to your dog park chats. Venting about your days or catching up or telling fun stories about your dogs. It’s not the first time he’s been gone, but it’s the first time it’s hit you like this. It’s odd.

You take them both home eventually, calling them over and clipping on the leashes. Back in your apartment, it’s dinnertime- you heat up leftovers for yourself and give the dogs their food. You try not to watch Bernie like a hawk. Nico had said she might not want to eat at first. But when you do sneak a peek, they’re both eating happily. You breathe a sigh of relief- she must feel comfortable enough.

They wander off into the living room before you do, and what you find makes you stop in your tracks. Bernie’s got her dog bed in her mouth, dragging it over next to Moose’s. He sits on his bed happily, wagging his tail at you. Bernie drops the bed and immediately curls up on it, letting out one of her signature big sighs, the ones that Nico always copies. You let out a matching sigh, and she wags her tail.

You snap a picture of the two of them curled up next to each other and send it off to Nico.

He replies just before you roll over to go to sleep. Did she move her bed??

Yup, you answer. Ate all her dinner, too

He takes a while to type his response.

Adorable. Thank you. Again.

…..

You’re not a hockey fan. You know this about yourself. You’ve watched games enough times to know this. But when Saturday rolls around, you turn on the game anyway. Bernie should watch the game, after all. She should watch her dad play.

You cuddle up on the couch with both dogs, who are definitely paying less attention to the screen than you are. They both fall asleep halfway through the first period, and you roll your eyes. You could turn it off, but you find that you don’t want to. It’s suddenly different when you have a reason to be invested. Nico’s on the ice, at least for some of the time.

When he scores, you cheer so loudly you startle both dogs awake. They look around, bewildered. You snap a pic of the two of them with the tv in the background and send it to him.

Bernie & Moose say good job!!

He doesn’t answer until you’re in bed for the night, again. Time differences and media responsibilities and all that. He heart reacts to the photo, and then you watch him type for a couple moments, the little dots bouncing at the bottom of the screen.

How’d you like the game? He asks.

You waffle a bit on what to say back. You wonder if he’s paying enough attention to notice you’re taking a while to answer, or if he’s moved on.

You settle for sending back, it’s a lot more fun to watch when i’m cheering for you

He’s typing back nearly immediately. My good luck charm!

You laugh and lock the phone, setting it down on the nightstand. Bernie and Moose are curled up in bed with you, snoring away. You’re not sure why you feel so happy, but you hope it brings you good dreams.

Nico gets back into town late Sunday afternoon.

There’s a knock on your apartment door. From the couch, you call out “Come in!”

You hear him kick off his shoes in the entryway as he calls out a greeting. He pads towards the living room, and you lean up slightly to see him as he walks in.

“You should really lock your door, you know,” he says. “I could’ve been anyone.”

“But you’re you,” you lilt as he rounds the corner of the couch. “Besides, I’ve got my guard dogs.”

He eyes you skeptically. The dogs are in their same spots as the picture you sent him yesterday. Moose is curled against your chest, while Bernie is laid out over your legs. You’re tucked under a blanket, smiling up at him. Neither of the dogs have moved a muscle, from the knock on the door until now.

“Great guard dogs,” Nico teases.

“Well, they know you. Bernie, look who’s here,” you say. His dog lifts her head, wagging her tail slightly. You shrug. “Guess she likes me more.”

“Can’t blame her,” Nico says, stretching his arms above his head. “You guys look cozy.”

“And you look tired.”

You’re not trying to be mean, but he does. There are purple shadows beneath his eyes, his hair is a mess. The scrubs along his jaw looks to be at least a day old, by your guess.

He snorts. “Thanks. I am.”

You pout. “You could join us, if you want.”

You shift your feet slightly to open up a space for him on the other end of the couch. He eyes the spot with a tired gaze, scrubbing his hand against his jaw. You’re trying to ask casually, to pretend like it won’t make a difference to you one way or the other if he stays or not, but you really do hope he sits down. You’ve missed him- it’s almost embarrassing how much you’ve missed him.

“If I do that I’m definitely gonna pass out,” he warns, voice quieter. “Probably for an extended period of time.”

You nod. “I’d expect nothing less.”

He huffs and drops his car keys on the coffee table. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You laugh when he climbs his way onto the couch. He sits down at the opposite end, his legs side by side with yours. The dogs move to accommodate him, though not without their own grumbling about it. Bernie finally gives in and gets excited to see him, fumbling her way onto his lap. He wraps his arms around his dog and snuggles in, all while you watch, unable to pull your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. He’s here, in your apartment, on your couch. He looks so soft.

When he falls asleep in no more than ten minutes, it makes you feel even warmer. He trusts you enough to fall asleep here. Bernie is curled against his chest, also falling asleep, reunited at last. You find yourself dozing off, too, brought on by how comfortable it all feels.

You wake up to Bernie pacing back and forth on the living room floor, and Moose standing on the couch, his nose in Nico’s face. You scramble to push the dog away with muffled words and limited success. Nico sniffles and raises his head, scrunching his eyes shut in the face of the sun coming in through your window.

“Sorry,” you whisper, fighting the urge to brush strands of his hair from his eyes. “They're getting antsy.”

He’s adorable when he’s just woken up, eyes barely open, cheeks flushed. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand and pets Moose with the other. You get up and start to gather the dogs’ things while he continues to wake up. By the time you’ve got them both leashed up, he’s sitting up on the couch, brighter eyes than before.

“Best nap of my life,” he says.

You think of how much you wanted to cuddle up on his chest, and you wonder if that would take the winning spot.

Nico puts on his jacket at the door, taps his foot impatiently until you roll your eyes and pull on a jacket of your own, and then the two of you head out, dogs in tow. You keep your hands shoved in your pockets, but when you get to the dog park he hands you a pair of gloves, glaring playfully at you. You put them on, feeling warm and fuzzy, and not just from the fabric around your hands. You let the dogs off the leashes in the fenced in area, and you watch them run off through the light snow.

You bump your elbow against his. “You okay? You’re quiet.”

He nods, leans towards you until you’re shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah. M’good. Just tired.”

You nod in understanding. “C’mon, let’s sit.”

You head over to a nearby bench and sink down. He follows suit. And. It’s cold, so really, that’s probably why he sits so close, his thigh against yours, his side pressed to your side. But then he shifts slightly, and his arm falls to the top of the bench behind you. You try not to hold your breath. Across the park, Bernie and Moose bark happily. You lean your head against Nico’s shoulder, and he sighs happily, resting his head against yours.

He sighs. “Wake me up when they’ve worn themselves out.”

He’s joking- he doesn’t fall asleep, you’d be able to tell. You can feel his breaths, can feel him shift every so often, and he laughs when the dogs tackle each other in the snow. But he stays right there, curled against you, warmer than any jacket or pair of gloves could ever be.

…..

When people say it takes a village, you’re pretty sure it could be said about having dogs, too. You’re amazed at how much easier things are when you have Nico to help out. He’s insistent that he owes you one for watching Bernie, but it really turns into the two of you just trading dog duties.

You get held over at the office on one of the rare days you have to be in person, and he picks up Moose and takes him along to the park with Bernie. Nico gets stuck in traffic on the way home from a game in New York City, and you do the same, leaving a container of leftovers in the fridge for him, too. The dog park meetups and coffee shop hangouts keep happening, much to your benefit. You like spending time with him. Probably a bit more than is healthy, really, but you can’t exactly help it. He’s sweet, and funny, and handsome, too, to top it all off.

When you call him early on a Tuesday evening, you know he’ll pick up, because he’s done with practice for the day. He probably assumes you’re checking what time he’s going to be at the dog park, or letting him know you and Moose won’t be there. He gets nervous, now, if you don’t show up. Texts to make sure you’re alright. It’s endearing.

“Hello,” he says. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break Bernie’s heart and miss out on the dog park tonight.”

“Hi, no- my… my power’s out,” you say, sounding as frantic as you feel. “And like. It’s fine, I’ll survive, but it’s already cold in here, and Moose is giving me evil eyes. But I can’t find any dog friendly hotels, so I was wondering if maybe you could take him for the night-“

Nico laughs on the other end. “Come stay with us. Both of you.”

You pause your digging through the cupboards. “Oh, you don’t have to- that’s okay, Nico-“

“I mean it,” he says, firmly. “I’ve got a spare bedroom. And I just ordered way too much pizza, actually. Come over, bring Moose. Bernie’s bored, anyways.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you tell him.

“You could never,” he says. “If you’re not here within a half hour, I’m driving over there to pick you up.”

He hangs up before you can protest again, and you turn to Moose with a sigh. Then you start packing for both of you. 20 minutes later, you’re in the elevator up to Nico’s place, trying not to freak out about all of it.

He lets you in before you even have a chance to knock. Maybe it’s just the fact that your place was cold, but when he ushers you inside, it feels like he’s cranked the heat up a few degrees. Bernie comes racing to the entryway, whining excitedly at the sight of Moose, and you grin down at the two dogs. Then you look up at Nico and find him smiling, too.

“I’ll show you to the guest room,” he offers, nodding his head towards the rest of the apartment. “Pizza should be here any minute.”

It all feels oddly domestic, staying with him. You eat dinner together and watch the news- a habit he picked up from a roommate back in his days playing hockey in Canada, he tells you. Moose and Bernie cuddle up in the middle between the two of you, which you sort of hate. You want an excuse to lean into his side.

You get one when you get up to go to the bathroom. You come back, and both dogs have moved into your spot. Nico smiles up at you and shrugs, patting the spot right next to him. You take a seat without protesting, settling into the soft sofa. He moves the blanket he’s been using so it falls over your lap and rests his arm on the back of the couch behind your head. It probably means nothing, but being so close to him feels nice. Comforting.

When you start to doze off, he nudges you awake and towards the guest room. You fight the urge to lean up and kiss his cheek when he says goodnight. Moose follows you into the room, and you shut the door behind you.

You want to kiss Nico. This is becoming a problem.

It’s just. He’s nice. He’s sweet. He’s a good friend, he helps you take care of your dog, he’s letting you stay with him. But he’s an athlete, and they usually date other famous people, not their dog park friends. You’ve got no chance, probably.

You would roll over and scream into the pillow, but you’re afraid he’d hear it anyways.

…..

You’re standing in his kitchen early the next morning when the front door creaks open. You freeze in surprise- you’d assumed from the fan running in Nico’s bedroom, and the quiet of the apartment, that he’d still been asleep. Maybe he’d gone out for a run already, or had gone to take Bernie for a walk. Footsteps echo in the entryway, and you hear someone trip over a pair of shoes. The muttered swear word is definitely not said in Nico’s voice, and panic bites at your chest. You reach for one of the knives on the counter and hold it at your side. Moose, seeming to sense your anxiety, steps in front of your legs. Your phone sits too far away on the counter, and you swallow. You could yell for Nico, but then whoever is in his apartment would hear you, too.

The footsteps fall closer. The man appears in the doorway to the kitchen, and he jumps nearly a foot in the air at the sight of you, hand pressed to his chest. He looks familiar, with his almost shoulder length hair tucked behind his ears- one of Nico’s teammates. There’s a photo of the two of them hanging on the wall in the living room. You drop the knife on the counter discreetly when he isn’t looking.

“You’re not Nico,” he says, leaning on the counter.

“Neither are you,” you state, heart still racing.

He laughs at that and eyes the dog in front of you. “And that’s not Bernie, huh?”

He leans towards the dog, and Moose presses against your legs and growls. You gasp. Apparently, he hasn’t quite gotten the memo that whoever this guy is, he isn’t a threat. You reach for his collar.

“Moose,” you say in a scolding tone.

“Oh,” the man says, drawing out the noise, a look of understanding washing over his face. “Cool wolf. Is he gonna bite me? I have hockey practice later.”

There’s a flurry of noise before you can respond, and Bernie comes loping into the kitchen. She beelines for the guy, and at that, Moose lets his guard down, his tail wagging happily again. You roll your eyes. A great guard dog until his friend likes the guy, then all bets are off. Nico appears in the kitchen, scratching his head, and his eyes go wide when he spots his teammate.

“Jack,” he says, and the man turns to look at him. “What are you doing here?”

The man rubs his face sheepishly. Your dog scurries over to Nico, sniffing at his ankles excitedly. Your gaze bounces back and forth between the two men.

“You’re Jack,” you say, looking at the early morning intruder.

He nods.

You laugh. “I hear you talk in your sleep.”

Nico sighs while Jack tries desperately to deny it.

Ten minutes later, once Nico’s explained the whole situation, they head off on a run. They take Bernie and Moose with them, on Nico’s suggestion, because both dogs could use a bit of exercise, and, in his words, Jack could use a bit of motivation. While they’re out, you take a moment to tidy up your stuff, and you do the dishes from the night before. Nico had insisted you were welcome to any of the food in the house, so you whip up a light breakfast of cut fruit and yogurt, making sure to save some for him.

He returns a while later, both dogs in tow, minus Jack. He gives you a sheepish smile, sweaty locks of hair falling over his forehead. His t-shirt is clinging to his skin, damp with sweat despite the chill outside. You chew on a piece of strawberry and try not to stare at him.

“Sorry about him,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “I forgot he was coming over. He called, but I had my phone turned down and I slept through it.”

You shrug. “Nico, it’s fine, it’s your apartment,” you say. “Though I did have a knife ready, so he’s lucky he didn’t get stabbed.”

Nico laughs and takes a couple steps into the kitchen, leaning on his hands on the counter. “The Devils hockey organization thanks you for your hesitation.”

You laugh and nod. “I have breakfast, if you want some.”

When he squeezes your shoulder as he walks by, you try not to let it show how nice it feels.

“Thanks, schatz,” he says.

You don’t know much German, but you’re pretty sure that doesn’t mean friend.

…..

Nico goes to practice a bit later and then comes back. The power at your place stays out for the rest of the day. You keep checking, trying to make sure. Realistically, now, you could call Alyssa or Nora and ask to stay with them, instead, but when you offer, Nico looks offended at the suggestion.

He’s laying on the floor with Bernie and Moose both sprawled over him. “I mean. If you want to go, you can, obviously.”

“I just don’t want to overstay my welcome,” you tell him.

He shakes his head and lets it drop back to the floor. Moose shoves his nose under Nico’s chin. “You’re not.”

That’s pretty much the end of the discussion. The two of you take the dogs out to a nearby cafe for a late lunch, a place Nico tells you is dog friendly. He makes sure you’re both bundled up adequately for the chilly walk there and back. In the afternoon, you get some work done on your laptop, Bernie’s head on your lap, while Nico scrolls aimlessly on his phone and plays tug of war with Moose. The routine feels scarily easy to settle into. You make dinner together, pasta and chicken and broccoli. You move around one another with ease, like moons in each other’s orbits. The dogs wait patiently in the living room while you cook. Nico gives them pieces of chicken for their good behavior, and then you dish out dog food while he refills their water bowls. It’s nice. It’s so nice. You’re trying desperately not to get attached to this, to him.

You wake up the next morning to Moose and Bernie in your bed, a text from Nico saying he took them on their morning walk before he left for morning skate, and an alert from your apartment complex that the power is back on. You sigh, kiss the top of Bernie’s head, and roll back over in bed.

He’s gone for most of the day, today, between practices and media requirements and meetings with the team that he’d complained about to you the night before. You could pack up and leave before he gets back, but then you’d be leaving Bernie alone, and it feels weird to not say goodbye to Nico after he let you stay here. So you spend the day how you were planning to, and gather up your things bit by bit.

Nico comes home in the afternoon when you’re halfway packed, and he stands in the doorway of the guest room, seemingly hesitant. He’s frowning. Your heart lurches.

“My power’s back on,” you say quietly.

“Oh,” he responds. “Right. That’s, uh, that’s good.”

You nod. “Just realized I’ll probably have to clean out my fridge, and get new groceries, but yeah. I’ll be out of your hair.”

He frowns, nose wrinkling. “You weren’t in my hair.”

You blink at him. “I just meant… you can have your own space back. You must be sick of us by now.”

Nico wavers, shifting back and forth on his feet. You’re holding one of your t-shirts, and you pull it close to your chest. There’s something hanging in the air.

“I don’t think I’d ever get sick of you,” he says. A spark runs down your spine. “I liked having you here.”

You blink, unsure what to do with yourself suddenly. “I, uh, liked being here. You’re a great host, you know.”

He shrugs, then nods. He opens his mouth, closes it, repeats the motion. Then he releases his grip on the doorframe and takes a couple steps into the room. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, and you try to keep your breathing steady as he walks towards you.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” He asks, looking hopeful.

You blink up at him, the corner of your lips tugging upwards. “Guess it depends on what we’re having.”

You’re trying to be brave about this. Trying to go with the flow, be casual. Maybe he’s just got a meal planned for two, maybe he needs your help to make it. You don’t want to read into it, even as he comes so close that you could reach out and touch him, that you can smell his shampoo and cologne. One of the dogs barks in the living room. You both ignore it, unable to tear your eyes away from each other. The air feels electric.

His hand comes up to touch your cheek, fingertips featherlight. You swallow. Your heart is pounding in your chest. He’s grinning, like he knows it. So sure of whatever he’s about to say.

“I thought maybe we could go out,” he says, casually. “Just me and you, somewhere nice. Let the dogs hang out here and keep each other company.”

You blink, take a breath, nod. “Okay. I can stay for dinner.”

“Cool,” he says, trying to be nonchalant about it. His wide grin gives him away. “Then it’s a date.”

Your breath catches in your chest, but you nod. “It’s a date.”

When he leans down and kisses your cheek, you swear the world stops spinning. When he pulls away it spins faster than it ever has before. You watch him walk away, dumbfounded, heart racing, skin burning.

All that worrying about it all, and it was that easy?

…..

At dinner, you both come to terms with the fact that you can’t really call this your first date. The two of you are too comfortable already, too at ease with each other. Nico claims the real first date was the coffee shop, months ago. You claim it was the day he came to pick up Bernie and took a nap on your couch.

“So I was asleep for half of our first date?” He says, nose wrinkled. “No thank you.”

“Well if it was the coffee shop, then I didn’t get your number for weeks after,” you retort. “So that would be weird.”

Eventually the two of you decide to agree to disagree. Maybe it happened somewhere in the middle without you even realizing. But now it feels official and real, over seafood and wine and warm bread. Nico’s face is lit by the candles on the table, and he holds your hand half the night.

Hours later, you stumble out of the restaurant, wine tipsy and giggling as you lean against his arm. He’s laughing, too, until he’s not, until he’s holding you by your hips on an empty sidewalk, waiting for a cab to roll by. You stare up at him, the dark night sky and city lights behind his head.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, quietly.

“Thought you’d never ask,” you reply.

Nico kisses exactly the way you’d imagined- soft and sweet, at first, in a way that makes you feel everything. And then his tongue slips past your lips and his grip on your hips tightens and you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. It’s a bit all consuming, threatens to leave you breathless, sends shocks across your skin.

He gets you into a cab and gives his address, and then he leans against you, his lips against your temple, his hand intertwined with yours. He speaks quietly against your skin.

“I’ll follow your lead here,” he says, quietly. “If you wanna take Moose and head home, I completely understand.”

You smile and lean into his touch. “Okay,” you say, deciding to leave him hanging. He laughs against your skin like he knows what you’re doing.

When the car pulls up in front of Nico’s apartment building, you step outside while he pays the fare. He grabs your hand again to lead you inside, through the lobby, and towards the elevator. He’s watching your every move, you can feel it- he’s trying to read you. You think he probably sees right through your little game, but that’s okay.

When the elevator doors slide closed, you turn to him, threading your hand through his hair at the nape of his neck.

“You should ask me to stay over,” you whisper, leaning up to brush your lips against his ear.

He groans softly, his hand falling to rest on your hip. “Yeah?”

You nod.

He swallows. “You want to stay over?” He asks, voice breathy. His stubble scrapes against your cheek as he brushes a kiss there.

You lean in to kiss him again. You think that’s answer enough.

The two of you tumble into his apartment a few minutes later, hands wrapped tightly in each other’s. You muffle your giggles with your other hand, and Nico does the same with his own. The dogs are curled up on their dog beds in the living room, snoring away. You take off your shoes carefully, and the two of you tiptoe through the apartment. If you wake Moose, he’ll be needy, begging for attention. Bernie will be the same with Nico.

You make it to the bedroom, and within seconds, Nico’s on you, pressed up against the closed bedroom door. He latches his lips onto your neck, and you sigh happily. His hands are already roaming everywhere, and your whole body is on fire.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks, between kisses, and you melt.

“Positive,” you say, already gasping for air. “Please, Nico.”

He groans into your skin, and you both start to fall apart.

Later, you lay in bed, your cheek against his bare chest. His hand sweeps up and down your back smoothly. You can hear his heart beating, feel the soft rise and fall of his breaths. There’s a lot of things you want to say, but they all feel far too intimate for a first time on a maybe third date, so you keep your mouth shut. You settle for drawing shapes on his skin until he shivers and laughs.

Seconds later, there’s a dog scratching at the door. Moose whines. Then, so does Bernie. You groan into Nico’s chest.

“They’re so needy,” you grumble.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” he responds.

He pulls away before you can retaliate, reaching for his t-shirt and tossing it to you. You pull it on as he tugs on a pair of shorts. Then he opens the door. Two fur covered, heat seeking missiles come shooting onto the bed, barreling into you, making themselves comfortable atop the covers. Nico crawls back into bed before he loses his spot, nudging Bernie out of the way so he can pull you back into his arms.

Moose rests his head against your side. You rub behind his ears as Nico does the same with Bernie. Something about this moment just feels right. The way the four of you all curl up together, around each other, held tight and warm and safe.

Nico kisses your forehead. “Goodnight.”

You kiss his shoulder. “G’night, Nico.”

In the dark, Bernie whines.

“And goodnight to you too, Berns,” you laugh, reaching over to pat her head.

…..

Nico stops in the parking lot, his arm around the back of your seat. You continue staring out the windshield. In the backseat, Bernie and Moose wag their tails happily. You hope he can’t see where you’re holding onto the seat tightly with your right hand.

“Hey,” he says. His hand brushes against your shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if they all hate me?” You ask.

Nico scoffs. “Then they’re all stupid.”

“Nico…”

“Baby,” he murmurs, leaning over, pressing his lips to your temple. “You met Jack, scared the shit out of him, and he still asks about you all the time. And you’ll have the dogs. That’ll win them over immediately.”

You sigh and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants. “You’re their captain. What if I don’t live up to the… I don’t know, Nico-“

He cups your face in his hand and turns your head towards his. There’s a soft, kind smile on his face. You bite your lip.

“You don’t need to live up to anything,” he says, firmly. “I want you there, that’s enough. And if you want to leave, you just tell me. We’ve got the dogs as an excuse.”

You nod. He pinches your cheek lightly, and you laugh. When he climbs out of the car, you follow suit. Moose and Bernie are itching to get out of the backseat- you each unbuckle one dog and get them ready to go inside.

In the stadium, he stops and helps you get the dogs ready- winter coats for them to wear, little shoes to protect their feet that you’ve been getting them used to for months now. Moose still glares at you a bit when you first put them on, but he gets over it quickly.

Nico laces up his own skates and helps you, too, and then it’s out onto the rink, under the lights, staring up at the big empty stadium. The dogs stay close at first, getting used to the slippery surface.

Everyone is here- his teammates, their families, their friends. When he’d invited you, you’d nearly broken down into tears- you know how much it means to him, how much he loves this team and this sport. You’re honored he wants to share it with you. You were the one who suggested bringing the dogs, too. Now, out on the ice, you’re thrilled it all ended up like this.

“Cool wolf,” Jack says, as he skates by. “Hey, Luke- you know what his name is?”

Luke shakes his head.

“Moose,” Jack says, and Luke sighs. “Which one of you is the cuter one, huh?”

“Definitely the dog,” Nico says, squeezing your hand.

“You all suck,” Luke says. He turns to you and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. Not you. You seem great.”

Nico hooks his elbow in yours and nudges you gently. “Wanna do a lap?”

You smile and nod, and he starts to pull you around on the ice. The dogs follow happily, having found their footing. Across the ice, some of the kids point at them excitedly. You think back to the dog park, so long ago, now, and the lady and her dog Bessie. If she’d never gotten angry with you, would you and Nico have ever spoken? Or would you have just stared at each other from across the park forever? You’re not sure you want to know. You’re just happy it ended up the way it did.

“I love you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

He blushes and grins, dimple popping up on his face. “I love you too, schatz.”

He kisses you on the lips, then, a quick peck that still somehow makes your heart skip a beat. At your feet, Moose whines, and Bernie follows suit. You and Nico sigh.

“And we love you two, too,” you say, shaking your head at the dogs.

“So needy,” Nico says.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you tease, elbowing him.

He grins impossibly wider. You feel warm enough to melt the ice beneath your feet. He tends to have that affect on you, and you don’t think it’ll ever grow old.

thanks for reading!!

[p3nislawd]

Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Quinn gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!

[p3nislawd]

JULIA, JULI.

20 years, socal, 02.23, she.

embracing the fictional and the not. THE penis lord.

an unfortunate anaheim ducks fan, a forever naruto obsessor, a newbie to f1, and a harry potter lover at heart. wattpad built me, ao3 refined me, tumblr defines me. please never look into my google docs.

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all my love to you!

[p3nislawd]

JULIA, JULI.

20 years, 02.23, she, socal.

my fanfiction page. nerd content ahead.

unfortunate anaheim ducks fan (but a fan of all hockey), forever naruto enthusiast, newbie to f1, and harry potter lover at heart— just to name a few. wattpad raised me, ao3 refined me, tumblr defined me.

please never look through my google docs. always trying to catch a flight, not a fight. addicted to reblogging. no images used belong to me!

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all my love to you!

[p3nislawd]

halfway to always

quinn hughes x sharks!reader

summary: reader is Macklin and Will's bff who works for the Sharks. She gets invited to the lakehouse after meeting Jack Hughes who thinks she would be perfect for his brother.

There was a week-long break after the Devils played the Sharks, and Jack Hughes was eager to take advantage of a couple of extra days in the sunny weather of San Jose. After a grueling stretch of games, a beach day sounded perfect.

“We just need to stop and pick one more person up, and then we’ll be good to go,” Macklin Celebrini said as he slid into the driver’s seat of the car.

“Who?” Jack asked, shifting in his seat to glance at Will Smith in the back.

“Y/n,” Macklin answered simply.

Will furrowed his brows. “Does she even know we’re coming?”

“No, but I’m sure she isn’t doing anything,” Macklin chirped, grinning. Will snorted in response, clearly used to this kind of behavior from him.

“Who’s Y/n?” Jack questioned, still confused.

“She’s our best friend,” Will said casually. “She also works for the Sharks in player personnel, which is how we met her.”

“Yeah, her job was to make sure we started acting like adults, and now she’s stuck with us forever,” Macklin joked.

Jack smirked. “Is she dating one of you?”

“I wish,” Will scoffed. “She says that we’re babies. But she’s our best friend for real; you’ll love her.”

When they finally made it to your door, Jack immediately understood why they were both so attached to you. You were stunning. Your long hair was piled haphazardly on top of your head, and you answered the door in an oversized Sharks sweatshirt and shorts, your bare legs curled slightly from standing in the doorway. There was an immediate spark of curiosity in Jack, but what entertained him most was the way your expression immediately twisted into mild annoyance the second you saw Macklin and Will.

“What are you doing here?” you asked warily, your voice laced with irritation.

“Come to the beach with us, please,” Macklin begged, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

“I’m busy,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, you aren’t,” Will countered, stepping around you and waltzing into the apartment like he owned the place. “This is Jack, by the way.”

“I know who he is,” you grumbled, stepping aside to let them all in.

“Sorry to intrude,” Jack said sheepishly, and you waved him off.

“This is like every day of my life.”

Will and Macklin made themselves comfortable on your couch as you sighed, resigning yourself to their plans. As much as you griped about babysitting them, they were your best friends. What had started as a work obligation had turned into late-night hangouts, last-minute road trip plans, and a friendship you wouldn’t trade for anything.

You disappeared into your room to change, and when you emerged, Jack’s eyes instinctively followed you.

“Did you bring sunscreen? Food? Water?” you asked, hands on your hips.

Will and Macklin exchanged a sheepish glance before shaking their heads.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, moving into the kitchen to gather supplies.

“She’s like our mom,” Will told Jack, watching as you furrowed your brows in concentration while making sandwiches. “We’d probably die without her.”

“She tells us we’re like Ollie and Andy from Bob’s Burgers all the time,” Macklin added with a groan.

Jack snorted. He leaned against the counter, watching you thoughtfully. There was something about you that reminded him of his older brother.

“She’s kind of like Quinn,” he mused.

“That’s actually a good comparison,” Macklin said, nodding. “They’d be a hot couple.”

“Macklin,” you warned, hearing him loud and clear.

“What?” Macklin shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying. You’re both responsible adults who take care of children like us.”

You rolled your eyes, placing the last sandwich in the cooler. "I've never even met Quinn."

"But you've watched him play," Will pointed out with a smirk. "Remember when you said his edge work was—"

"Finish that sentence and I'm not packing any beer," you threatened, pointing a knife still coated in mayo at him.

Will immediately clamped his mouth shut while Jack's interest was piqued. "What did she say about Quinn's edge work?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "Just professional observations."

Will smartly kept his mouth shut as you finished packing the cooler. Soon, you were all piled into the car, en route to the beach.

Once there, Macklin took off toward the water while you fell into step beside Will, Jack trailing slightly behind.

“You good?” you asked Will softly. He had been acting a little off since earlier—nothing obvious, but you knew him well enough to catch it.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. Too quickly. You shot him a look, and he sighed. “A lot of people are saying I should get sent down.”

Your heart clenched. You knew he was struggling a little, especially compared to how well Macklin was doing.

“A lot of people aren’t Coach,” you said gently. “You know what you need to work on.”

“I know,” he admitted. “The pressure is getting to me.”

“I’ll come in early with you this week to set up drills,” you offered.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re too good to me.” He threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the beach together.

Jack watched the interaction quietly. He knew how tough it was to be a rookie in the NHL, and it reassured him to see that Will had someone looking out for him. He thought about Quinn and how the weight of being a captain seemed to be isolating him more and more.

As the day went on, you and Jack got to know each other better. He was charming, easy to talk to, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than expected.

“Do you have the summer off too?” Jack asked as you reapplied sunscreen.

You chuckled. “No, some of us have real jobs.”

Jack blushed. “I meant, do you get any time off?”

“I take most of my PTO during the summer,” you admitted.

“You should come to the lake with us,” he suggested. “Macklin and Will are already coming, and we have plenty of extra space.”

You hesitated, meeting his hopeful gaze. “I don’t want to intrude on guy time.”

“There will be other girls there,” he assured you. “And honestly, I don’t think they would survive without you.”

Macklin and Will reappeared, both dripping wet.

“Convincing her to come to the lake?” Macklin asked, moving his wet hair purposely over you to drip. You swatted at him but he jumped out of the way laughing. 

“Please come, Y/n,” Will pleaded.

You sighed, leaning back against your towel. “Fine.”

Jack grinned. Maybe this trip would be more interesting than he thought.

—----------------------------------------------------

You landed in Michigan the evening of your first day off. Will came to get you and he swept you up in his arms the second he saw you. 

“I missed you,” he exclaimed dramatically as you giggled, finally pulling apart. 

“It’s been like three days buddy,” you reminded him, passing your bag off for him to carry. 

“Three days too long, it’s been boring without you,” he complained. 

“I doubt that,” you replied, amused. He talked your ear off on the ride to the house, mentioning that you just had time to drop your stuff off before they had a bonfire that night. 

Macklin was sitting on the steps as you pulled up, bouncing up eagerly the second he saw you. 

“Y/n!” He yelled bolting towards you. 

“Hi Mack,” you laughed into him, melting into his familiar embrace. Will carried your stuff in and you let Macklin lead you into the house. 

“Hey Jack,” you greeted, waving to the boy who was waiting in the entryway. He pulled you into a hug. 

“Good to see you, y/n,” he said before tugging your arm. “Let me introduce you to everyone else.”

You met his younger brother Luke, his teammate Nico and his girlfriend, and then finally his older brother. 

“I’m Quinn,” the oldest Hughes brother said, sticking out a hand to you. He had an amused expression on his face which you knew had to do with the two bouncing balls of energy that were behind you. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

"All good things, I hope," you said, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness as Quinn's hand lingered in yours a moment longer than necessary.

"Mostly complaints about how you force them to act like grown-ups," Quinn replied with a slight smirk, releasing your hand. "Which, honestly, is impressive. Getting Macklin to pick up after himself when he stayed with us was a challenge."

You laughed, feeling yourself relax a little. There was something about Quinn that put you at ease—a quiet confidence that contrasted with Macklin and Will's chaotic energy.

"I'll show you where you're staying," Jack offered, grabbing your bag from Will.

"I can take it," Will protested, but Jack was already heading up the stairs.

"You can fight over who gets to carry her stuff later," Quinn said dryly, giving you an apologetic glance that sent butterflies to your stomach. “The fire is already started.” 

Sure enough there was a nice fire going in the backyard. A hodgepodge of lawn chairs and patio furniture surrounded it and you sat down on a comfy outdoor couch, Macklin plopping down right next to you. His arm slung behind you and you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. 

“Long day?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Had to tie up some last minute things at work and then of course saved all the packing for before the flight.” 

“Sounds like you,” he teased and you rolled your eyes smiling. 

“How’s it been here so far?” You asked. 

“Fun, I missed the Hughes’ bros so it’s been good to catch up,” he told you. “The break will be good for us, especially Will.” 

You looked over at Will, who was talking animatedly about something with Luke.

“I’ve been worried about him,” you admitted. 

“Me too,” Macklin agreed. “He’ll figure it out.” 

Quinn was watching you from across the fire, sipping his beer slowly, much to Jack’s amusement. 

“Are you sure they aren’t in some weird throuple thing?” He finally asked, breaking the silence. Jack snorted, glancing over to you and Macklin. 

“I promise you they aren’t,” he confirmed. “Just good friends.” 

Quinn hummed noncommittally, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes hadn't left you since you'd arrived. There was something captivating about the way you fit so seamlessly into their group yet maintained a quiet authority over the rookies.

As the night progressed, you found yourself drifting between conversations. Luke was telling you about his latest game when Quinn finally approached, offering you another drink.

"Thanks," you said, accepting the cold beer from his hands. Your fingers brushed briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through you.

"So, player personnel," Quinn began, settling into the chair beside you. "That's an interesting role for someone so young."

You raised an eyebrow, “thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he backtracked. “Just thinking about how I would have enjoyed coming to the Canucks a little more if it was someone like you helping me versus a fifty year old man.” 

“Someone like me?” You teased, grinning widely as the older brother blushed. 

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled. 

You laughed softly, taking a sip of your beer. “I do, actually. A lot of guys coming into the league are barely out of high school, moving across the country, or even from overseas. It helps to have someone who understands what that transition is like—who can be a little more... relatable.”

Quinn nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Makes sense. I remember my first year was a whirlwind. You must have your hands full with those two.” He nodded toward Macklin and Will, who were now arguing over the best way to roast a marshmallow.

“You have no idea,” you groaned playfully. “They’re like two overgrown puppies. They mean well, but I swear I spend half my time keeping them from doing something stupid.”

Quinn chuckled. “Sounds familiar. Jack and Luke were the same way growing up. Still are, honestly.”

You turned to face him more fully, intrigued. “So, does that make you the responsible one? The one who keeps everyone in check?”

He smirked, taking another sip of his beer. “I try, but Jack and Luke don’t listen to me half the time. I think they see me more as the grumpy older brother who ruins their fun.”

You tilted your head, considering him. “I don’t think you’re grumpy. More like... observant.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he looked away, watching the fire. “Maybe.”

You studied him for a moment. Quinn was quieter than his brothers, more reserved, but there was an undeniable warmth to him—something steady, reliable. You could see why Jack and Luke looked up to him, even if they didn’t always admit it.

“So,” Quinn said, breaking the silence. “What did you say about my edge work?”

Your cheeks immediately flushed, and you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my god, I knew Will was going to say something.”

Quinn’s smirk deepened. “I’m just curious. Professional observations, right?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Fine. I might have said it was some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Might have?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, I did say that. Happy now?”

Quinn took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The air between you felt charged for a split second before Macklin’s voice rang out, breaking the moment.

“Y/n! Come settle this for us. Who’s making the better s’more—me or Will?”

You turned to Quinn, laughing. “Duty calls.”

Quinn watched as you walked toward the rookies, effortlessly slipping back into your role as their unofficial big sister. Jack nudged him from the side, a knowing grin on his face.

“You’re screwed,” Jack muttered.

Quinn just hummed, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The next morning, you woke up at sunrise, admiring the pretty sight from your window. Throwing a sweatshirt on, you headed down the stairs into the kitchen where you were surprised to see you weren’t the only one up. 

“Morning,” Quinn greeted, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.

“I’m shocked to see someone else up,” you greeted, amused. You moved around him to pour your own cup before turning back. 

“My body is too used to early mornings, can’t sleep past 8 now,” he admitted and you nodded. 

“I’m the same way,” you said. “Probably for the best though.” 

You opened his fridge and stood there puzzled. 

“What?” Quinn asked.

“You have literally no food,” you said, turning to him in confusion. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“We order out a lot or just grill,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Is there a grocery store nearby?” You asked.

“I think so,” he said.

“Okay let’s go,” you said, moving to find your shoes. Quinn chuckled but listened, grabbing his keys off the counter. 

He followed you around the store amused, chiming in when you asked him for an opinion but mostly just admiring you. 

“What were you going to eat on the boat today?” You asked, one hand on your hip as you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Good question,” he replied with a grin and you rolled your eyes. 

“Mr. Responsible my ass,” you muttered. He paid for the groceries and you helped him load them into the car before going back to the house. 

Once you were back, the two of you worked in silence. You making lunches for the day while Quinn cooked eggs, sausage, and potatoes for when everyone else woke up. 

The kitchen filled with the aroma of breakfast as you and Quinn worked side by side, falling into an easy rhythm. You'd occasionally brush against each other reaching for utensils or ingredients, each contact sending a small jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

"You're good at this," Quinn observed, watching as you efficiently packed sandwiches for everyone.

"Taking care of man-children? I've had plenty of practice," you replied with a smirk.

He laughed, a warm sound that made your stomach flutter. "I meant cooking, but fair point."

"My mom always said if you're going to do something, do it well," you explained, carefully wrapping each sandwich. "Even if it's just making lunch for a bunch of overgrown hockey players.”

Quinn's eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. "I think we have similar mothers."

The smell of breakfast eventually lured the others downstairs, one by one. Macklin was the first to appear, his hair sticking up in every direction.

"You're cooking?" he asked, eyes widening as he took in the sight of you and Quinn working side by side in the kitchen.

"Someone had to," you replied, shooting Quinn a playful glance. "Otherwise you'd all starve."

"Or survive on takeout," Quinn added.

Will stumbled in next, making a beeline for the coffee. "Y/n's cooking? Thank god."

"Actually, Quinn made breakfast," you corrected, nodding toward the spread of eggs and sausage. "I'm just prepping for the boat."

"Team effort," Quinn said quietly, and you felt a small flutter in your chest at his words.

By the time everyone was fed and the kitchen cleaned up, the sun was high and you had just changed into your swimsuit, throwing on an oversized tshirt as a coverup. You followed the boys down to the dock, laughing with Will about something. Nico and his girlfriend were doing something else for the day so it was just the six of you on the water. 

Jack got in the driver’s seat and brought you all out to the middle of the lake before sitting idle. Macklin flipped off the boat into the water and you laughed as you watched him come back up. 

“The water’s great, get in,” he called out to you and Will. You pulled off your tshirt, revealing the bright red bikini you had chosen for the day and Will whistled. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Quinn muttered as his eyes took in your figure, lost in a trance. Jack gave him a knowing grin which he returned with his middle finger. 

The day went by quickly and you had a lot of fun; it was nice to just relax and not think about work for once. As it was winding down, Jack got ready to drive back but beckoned you over. 

“You want to drive?” He asked and you bit your lip.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted and he patted his lap for you to sit down. You could feel Quinn’s stare from across the boat. 

“Sit,” he commanded and you smirked, settling onto his lap, your back into his chest. 

“I know what you’re doing,” you told him, looking over your shoulder to Quinn.

Jack chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "Just helping out a friend," he whispered, guiding your hands onto the steering wheel. "It's easy. Just keep it steady."

You couldn't help but glance back at Quinn again. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark as he watched Jack's hands over yours. There was something thrilling about his reaction, though you tried to push that thought away.

"Eyes forward," Jack instructed, giving Quinn a smug look over your shoulder.

You focused on steering, surprised by how much you enjoyed the feeling of control as the boat cut through the water. The wind whipped your hair around your face, and you couldn't hold back your laughter as Jack guided you through a slightly sharper turn.

When you finally docked, Quinn was the first off the boat, mumbling something about going to shower.

The guys wanted to go out that night so you quickly showered and changed into a pair of loose jeans with a black lace bodysuit. You curled your hair and applied a thin layer of makeup, relying on the tan that was already appearing on your face to do most of the work. 

Will was waiting outside of your door when you came out and he frowned as he took in your outfit.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, suddenly self conscious but Will just rolled his eyes. 

“What’s happening y/n? Are you going to fall in love with Quinn and leave us behind?” He complained and you barked out laughter.

“Nothing is happening Will,” you promised. “I’ll never leave you.” 

You pinched your cheeks with your fingers and he swatted at your hands. 

“You irritate me,” he grumbled. 

“But you love me,” you cheered, following him down the stairs. 

The bar was packed, buzzing with laughter and music as bodies pressed together in the dim glow of neon signs. You thrived in places like this—loud, chaotic, full of life. The second you stepped inside, you lit up, greeting people as if you'd known them forever. Quinn watched you, as he always did, lingering just close enough to keep an eye on you, but not close enough to draw attention to it.

“Drinks first, then dancing,” you declared, grabbing Luke’s arm and tugging him toward the bar. He groaned but didn’t resist, while Quinn followed a few steps behind, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

By the time you had a drink in hand, you were already scanning the crowd, eyes gleaming with mischief. A new song pulsed through the speakers, and you gasped. “Oh, this is my song! Luke, let’s go.”

Luke barely had time to react before you grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the dance floor. “No, no, no—why me?” he protested, even as he stumbled after you.

“Because you’re fun, and I said so,” you shot back with a grin.

Quinn huffed a laugh into his beer as he leaned against a nearby pillar, watching as you seamlessly slipped into the rhythm of the song. You moved with an effortless confidence, laughing as Luke—reluctant at first—eventually gave in, mirroring your steps with exaggerated, playful movements. You twirled under his arm, your head thrown back in laughter, and Quinn felt something tighten in his chest.

"What are you staring at?" Jack's voice snapped Quinn out of his trance.

"Nothing," Quinn muttered, taking another swig of his beer.

Jack snorted. "Right. Absolutely nothing. That's why you haven't taken your eyes off her all night."

Quinn shot his brother a warning glance. "Drop it."

"All I'm saying is, she's single. And she clearly likes you," Jack said, nudging Quinn's shoulder. "I've never seen you this interested in someone."

"I'm not—" Quinn started, but stopped when he saw Macklin approach you on the dance floor, spinning you around effortlessly. The ease between you made something twist in his stomach.

"She's their friend," Quinn said finally. "It would be weird."

"Or," Jack countered, "it would be perfect. She already knows the hockey life. She puts up with the two of them all the time.” 

“You seem to be forgetting the fact that I live in Vancouver and she lives in San Jose,” Quinn said sharply and Jack took a deep breath. 

“True,” he admitted, not knowing what else to say. 

An hour later you were beat, and desperate to go home. Unfortunately that sentiment wasn’t shared by the others. 

“Just stay a little longer,” Luke begged, and you shook your head, a small smirk on your face. 

“I’ll be fine to walk home, my social battery is just drained,” you told him. Quinn appeared behind you, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“You’re not walking home by yourself,” he said firmly and you rolled your eyes. 

“I’ll be fine,” you argued but he stood strong. 

“I’ll come with you, just let me close my tab,” he said. You started to complain but he was already pulling you along. The two of you set out back to the house in silence, him caught up in his head about what Jack had said earlier. You were in the same boat, trying to figure out your budding feelings for someone you felt like you couldn’t have. 

“Are you tired?” He asked once you reached the house. 

“Not really, just tired of talking,” you admitted and he gave you a small smile. 

“Movie?” He suggested. You agreed and went off to change into something more comfy before joining him in the living room. You sat a healthy distance apart while he put on a Marvel movie, per your request. Halfway through he looked over to see you with your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Cold?” He asked and you tore your gaze away from the screen to meet his. 

“A little.” 

He reached down to grab a blanket from the basket next to the couch and threw it over himself, patting the spot next to him. 

You hesitated for a moment before sliding closer, allowing Quinn to drape the blanket over both of you. The warmth of his body next to yours was immediate and comforting.

"Better?" he asked, his voice lower than before.

"Much," you murmured, trying not to focus on how your thigh was now pressed against his.

As the movie continued, you found yourself gradually relaxing, your body naturally leaning closer to Quinn's. You weren't sure if it was the couple of drinks you'd had or the late hour, but something about sitting here with him felt right in a way you hadn't expected.

When your head eventually dropped onto his shoulder, he tensed for just a second before carefully adjusting his position to make you more comfortable. His arm came around you hesitantly, and when you didn't pull away, he let it rest there.

"This okay?" he whispered.

You nodded sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open. When the credits finally rolled, neither of you made a move to get up. You were drifting off and Quinn was just enjoying the silence. That was shortlived as the rest of the guys got back from the bar, amused at the scene in front of them.

“Good movie huh?” Jack teased and you buried your head into Quinn’s chest in embarrassment. His arm was still hung around you 

"I should go to bed," you mumbled against Quinn's shirt, feeling the rumble of his chuckle vibrate through his chest.

"Probably a good idea," he agreed softly, though his arm remained firmly around you.

Will and Macklin exchanged knowing glances, while Jack made a dramatic show of yawning and stretching. "Well, we'll just head upstairs then. Goodnight, you two."

You reluctantly pulled away from Quinn's warmth, avoiding his eyes as you stood. "Thanks for walking me home. And for the movie."

"Anytime," he replied, his voice a little rougher than usual.

You could feel his gaze following you as you headed up the stairs, and it took every ounce of willpower not to look back.

The next couple of days were filled with you and Quinn dancing around each other, nothing ever happening. As the evening of your last night approached part of you was disappointed but another part was relieved. You didn’t need to get attached. 

The plan for the night was to grill out and Quinn manned the grill while you got the rest of the food set up. You were next to him with a plate for him to pile the burgers on when Will came bouncing over. 

“We should set off fireworks,” he suggested, excitedly. 

“No,” you and Quinn both said at the same time. 

“Fine mom and dad,” he grumbled before stalking off. His words made you catch your breath and you avoided Quinn’s stare from next to you. 

“We do look a little domestic,” he finally said and you giggled. You spent most of the evening with Will and Macklin who were already pre-depressed that you were leaving tomorrow. 

"I'm not even gone yet," you laughed as Macklin dramatically draped himself across your lap on the patio furniture.

"But tomorrow you will be, and then we'll have to go back to San Jose, and you'll be all professional again," he whined.

"I'm always professional," you protested, though the words rang hollow even to your own ears. The truth was, you'd let your guard down here—with Will and Macklin, but especially with Quinn.

"You know what I mean," Will said, sitting on your other side. "No more movie nights, no more beach days. Just you telling us to tie our ties properly and reminding us about media training."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the fondness that washed over you. "We still hang out all the time.. Just... with fewer Hughes brothers around."

Your eyes drifted to Quinn, who was cleaning the grill. 

“Yeah too bad for you,” Macklin teased and you blushed making Will laugh. 

“She’s got it bad,” he sang. You pushed the boys off, shooting them the finger before walking over to where Quinn was. 

“Need help?” You asked. He smiled at your question before shaking his head. 

“Nah, I’m finished,” he told you. “Sit with me?” 

You followed him to the opposite side of where your two gremlins were, in a more private area. Quinn sat down in a lawn chair and you started to sit next to him but he tugged at your hand, pulling you down into his lap. 

You froze for a moment, surprised by his boldness, but then settled against him, your body fitting perfectly against his. The small fire pit in front of you cast a warm glow across your faces as Quinn's arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

"I've been wanting to do this all week," he admitted quietly, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned slightly to look at him, your faces now inches apart. "What stopped you?"

Quinn sighed, his thumb absently tracing circles on your hip. "A lot of things. The distance, for one. My brother being the one who introduced us. Those two over there being attached to you like barnacles," he nodded toward Will and Macklin, who were now engaged in what appeared to be a marshmallow-eating contest.

You laughed softly. "They are pretty clingy."

"I don't blame them," Quinn murmured. “This is selfish because I know you have to leave tomorrow but I just wanted to touch you at least once.”

“I’m glad you did,” you whispered,

Quinn's hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward his. "Yeah?"

You nodded, barely breathing as he leaned closer. "Yeah."

His lips brushed against yours, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as you responded. You shifted in his lap to face him and he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving along yours softly. The two of you were in your own world, caught up in only each other. 

After a bit you pulled away, staring deeply into his eyes before sighing. 

“What’s wrong angel?” He asked and you gave him a sad smile. 

“I like you Quinn,” you admitted, 

“And that makes you sad?” He teased and you let out a short laugh. 

“I’m sad because there isn’t anything we can do about it,” you said and he didn’t say anything for a bit before pressing his lips against your forehead. 

“I know.” 

[p3nislawd]

always a great night when twin @p3nislawd does her biweekly tumblr login and glazes the fuck out of me

[p3nislawd]

🏒 MEET THE CONTESTANTS 🏒

12 players. 9 big names. 3 wild cards. All competing for your heart. Click on their names to learn more about them and why they might just be the one.

🌟 The All-Stars (players you know, love, and maybe already have a crush on)

📌 William Nylander – Swedish charm, effortless flow, and a laugh that might just be addictive. 📌 Brock Boeser – Golden retriever energy in hockey form—loyal, fun, and impossible not to love. 📌 Nico Hischier – Swiss precision on the ice, boyfriend energy off it. A captain who knows how to lead… and how to make you blush. 📌 Wyatt Johnston – Young, fearless, and already making waves. Could he be your next big thing? 📌 Clayton Keller – Sneaky smooth and always a step ahead—both in hockey and flirting. 📌 Sidney Crosby – A living legend. If you’re looking for the GOAT, look no further. 📌 Will Smith – Not that Will Smith, but just as much of a star. The future of hockey and maybe… your heart? 📌 Cole Caufield – 5’8” of pure chaos and goal-scoring magic. Good luck resisting him. 📌 Joseph Woll – A brick wall on the ice, a total softie off of it. Could he be your safe place?

🎲 The Wild Cards (the underrated cuties you should be paying attention to)

📌 Cale Makar – The quiet assassin. Humble, talented, and lowkey deadly in all the best ways. 📌 Leo Carlsson – Swedish baby-faced giant with a heart just as big. 📌 Trent Frederic – Loves a good chirp, but loves winning you over even more.

👀 Check back every week to see who’s stealing the show—and who’s heading to the penalty box for good. Meet them FOR REAL on WEDNESDAY, March 12, 2025 🏒💘

[p3nislawd]

Heartbeat | Macklin Celebrini

"I wanted you to know, That I am ready to go, heartbeat, My heartbeat. I wanted you to know, Whenever you are around, can't speak, I can't speak."

*** Request: I’ve had this reoccurring thought of playing truth or dare with the guys and being dared to give (player of your choice) a lap dance. *you’re just friends but have always been flirty and this is their way of giving you two a push

Summary: A house party & a dare, are you two really just friends? Word Count: 5.9k

Pairing: Macklin Celebrini x fem!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, dry humping/grinding

Notes:

MASSIVE PSA. DO NOT CALL ME WEIRD FOR THIS! I am simply writing for a player closer to my age... we are both legal. If this makes you uncomfortable, simply keep scrolling, you don't have to read.

anyways hi

i deviated from the request a little because I could not physically write a lap dance without it being incredibly corny (I tried). maybe it would work better for an older group of people?

idk maybe I'll try again w/ Matthews possibly

smitty = will smith, william = william eklund

Idk the sharks roster so i just chose some random young players

also idk if macklin still lives with jumbo? i heard he did so

italics represent flashback

cute blushy boys <3 who are freaks over text <33

would love to write some macklin fluff too if someone wants to request that

***

First, it was the gated community—the kind that seemed plucked right out of a Hollywood movie, where all the neighbors had manicured lawns and perfectly clean driveways. Then it was the actual gate that led into the long driveway, winding up to the kind of house that looked like it should have a name, like “Whispering Pines” or “Cedar Haven” engraved on some expensive plaque out front. By the time you’re walking up to the front door, a weird feeling settles in your stomach. Something’s up, and you’re pretty sure it’s not just the butterflies from nervousness. Your eyes stay glued to your phone as you furiously text Smitty, feet still moving forward, each step feeling more out of place.

You: You gave me the right address, right?

You: Does Mack really live here?

You: Hello????

No response. You should have expected that—Smitty could be so reliable right up until the exact moment you needed him. You pause, fingers hovering over the screen, trying to decide whether to just call or maybe turn around and leave altogether. This wasn’t on your bingo card for the year: two guys you met in an arcade in downtown San Francisco pulling you into their world. Not just any two guys, either. Two hockey players. Real-life, NHL-level, professional hockey players. Not just in the minors or some obscure league you’d never heard of—actual, legitimate players. And one of them ridiculously had the same name as a famous actor… rapper? It didn’t matter, the one you knew was baby-faced with blond hair and soft blue eyes.

You roll your eyes at yourself. Why are you even here? Oh, right. A house party. At Macklin’s. Or at least, that’s what Smitty had told you. You’d never been to Macklin’s place before–every time the two of you would hang out, it would be at your place or somewhere out downtown. And every time you tried to bring up this party in conversation, Smitty waved you off, almost annoyingly dismissive. “I’ll give you the address,” he’d say. “Don’t worry about it, just show up.” You figured you’d hang out with them, share some laughs, then head back home and sleep off whatever chaos they managed to rope you into. But standing here, in front of this massive house, nothing felt right.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Hello!”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto a tall man with a long, grey beard. His face is lined, but his eyes are sharp, and there’s something kind of familiar about him—though not familiar enough for you to place where you might have seen him before. Definitely not Macklin. Definitely not Smitty. He’s grinning at you like he knows you, though, which immediately sets your nerves on edge.

“Uh, hi,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady while you glance at the door, hoping maybe you could just slip away unnoticed. “I think I… might have the wrong address?” Your voice lifts at the end, like you’re hoping he might confirm it, let you off the hook so you could leave and pretend this never happened.

Instead, the man’s smile widens. “Oh, no, you’re definitely in the right place. Come on in, come on in.” He steps aside, holding the door open wider, and gestures for you to walk in. Your feet hesitate, but the way he’s looking at you—like he knows something you don’t—makes you feel like you don’t have much of a choice. Plus, it’d be weird to just run away now, right?

“Uh… thanks,” you mumble, stepping inside. Your sneakers squeak a little on the polished floor, and you wince. The house is nice—like, really nice. The kind of nice that makes you feel like you shouldn’t touch anything or even breathe too loudly.

The man shuts the door behind you and claps a hand on your shoulder, guiding you further inside. “You must be Macklin’s friend. I’m Joe, by the way.” He looks down at you expectantly.

“Oh, um, I’m…” You hesitate for a second, your name almost slipping from your tongue automatically, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you second-guess yourself. “I’m… a friend of Smitty’s, actually,” you offer instead, not sure if Macklin would want his name thrown around like that.

“Ah, Smitty. Yeah, they’re having a little get-together out back,” Joe lets out a hearty chuckle, nodding as if everything suddenly makes sense. He guides you over to a large, sunken living room, gesturing for you to take a seat on one of the pristine white couches. You perch awkwardly, your fingers twisting in your lap. “So, you and Macklin, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, a twinkle in his eye that you’re not quite sure how to read.

Your heart skips a beat. “Uh, me and Macklin?” you repeat, trying to figure out what exactly he’s implying. Did he think you were…? Your mind races, suddenly hyper-aware of just how weird this entire situation is. Who was this guy? Was he… Macklin’s dad? He did have that stern, fatherly kind of vibe. But he said his name was Joe, not Rick, and Macklin had definitely mentioned his dad’s name before.

Joe seems completely oblivious to your internal crisis. He takes a seat across from you, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Macklin doesn’t bring friends over all that often. You must be pretty special.”

You swallow, suddenly wishing for a way out. What was Smitty’s problem, sending you here without any kind of warning? You’re about two seconds away from grabbing your phone and pretending you’ve just gotten some kind of emergency text when, as if on cue, you hear someone rushing in from the other side of the house.

“Joe! Joe, hey, uh…” It’s Smitty, and he looks frantic, his eyes darting between you and Joe, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Right behind him, Macklin appears, his eyes widening at the sight of you sitting in Joe’s living room.

“Oh, hey,” Macklin says, sounding breathless, his cheeks flushed in a way that makes you wonder if he’s been running. “Uh, you’re here.”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm as you glare at Smitty. “Nice of you to finally respond.”

Smitty winces, giving you an apologetic smile. “My bad,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I, uh… kind of forgot to tell you to use the side gate. And, y’know, not come in through the front.”

“No kidding,” you mutter, finally standing up, feeling a rush of relief now that you’re no longer alone under Joe’s scrutinizing gaze.

Okay, wow, I recognize the guy, you applaud yourself, Guess learning more about hockey and their legends for these guys paid off.

Joe chuckles, standing up as well. He gives Macklin a knowing look, then pats him on the shoulder. “You kids have fun,” he says, winking at Macklin before turning and heading towards another room, leaving the three of you standing there in awkward silence.

“I… didn’t know you were coming,” Macklin says, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, then darting away again just as quickly.

“Yeah, well, surprise,” you say, forcing a smile, trying to shake off the weirdness of the last few minutes. “Smitty didn’t really give you a heads-up, huh?”

Macklin looks like he wishes the floor would swallow him whole, his eyes flicking between you and the space Joe had just vacated, but he doesn’t say anything. He’d never been great with eye contact, but now he couldn’t seem to meet yours at all. His face was redder than you’d ever seen it—and that was saying something.

“So, uh, let’s, uh, get outta here?” Macklin mumbles, jerking his thumb toward the back hallway.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” you say, more than eager to leave the mansion’s spotlight of judgment, Smitty still giggling like a schoolboy as he falls in step beside you. As the three of you navigate the wide hallway, your eyes kept darting to Macklin. You can’t help but admire how cute he looks, so obviously flustered, and even though it was funny, a part of you felt for him. He’d been trying so hard to build his confidence around you, and it wasn’t exactly easy when his childhood idol was assuming you were his girlfriend.

You follow them out to the back of the property, Smitty leading the way with an exaggerated swagger that only grew more comical as you reached a smaller, less intimidating guest house at the far end of the manicured lawn. There’s a faint thrum of music, a few voices carrying across the yard, and you can’t help but wonder why Macklin hadn’t just led with this—this felt way more his speed. Intimate, comfortable, just enough to make him blush when he’d inevitably steal glances at you, but not enough to send him hiding in his shell.

Smitty throws open the door, revealing a small group of familiar faces—some of Macklin’s teammates. You recognized them from when you’d scoured the San Jose Sharks roster online after Smitty teased you for not knowing anything about them. They turn to greet the new arrivals, and you spot a few guys you’d seen at one of their games, the only one you’ve physically gone to, all sprawled on mismatched couches, one of them cradling a guitar he was half-heartedly strumming.

“Hey, guys!” Smitty bellows, throwing his hands in the air. “Look who’s here! And she brought refreshments!” He reaches for the bag in your hand, and you slap his arm away, shooting him a glare.

“I brought it for everyone, not just you, greedy,” you shoot back, and he laughs, unfazed. Macklin shifts beside you, looking even more awkward now that everyone’s attention is on you both.

“Uh, yeah,” Macklin stammers, scratching the back of his neck. “This is, uh, my friend. We, um, met at the arcade, like… a while back.” His voice trails off, clearly not knowing how much he should explain. The guy holding the guitar—you thought his name might have been William—smirks from the couch, raising an eyebrow.

“Friend, huh?” he says, eyes flicking between you and Macklin with unmistakable interest. “That’s what we’re calling it now? Also, you know, I could’ve brought drinks.”

Macklin turns an even deeper shade of red, and your stomach twists with secondhand embarrassment. You’re starting to wish you’d never walked into that mansion. But before you can say anything, Smitty comes to the rescue—in his own unique, slightly painful way.

“I don’t want Jumbo getting to you, Will.” He pauses, looking at Macklin, “Yeah, yeah, they’re friends,” he says, nudging Macklin playfully. “Except when Mack gets all quiet and blushy around her. And when they hug at the end of the night and don’t let go. Then it’s, like, friend with a lot of question marks.”

You feel a little bit of anger bubbling up, but remind yourself that you came here to have fun, not to overthink every little detail. Smitty is already off, making himself comfortable on one of the couches and grabbing the guitar from William's hands, strumming off-key notes that make everyone groan.

Macklin opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shifts next to you, clearly uncomfortable with all eyes still on the two of you. You nudge him gently with your elbow, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Relax,” you murmur, flashing him a reassuring smile. “I’m just here to hang out, okay? It’s all good.”

He gives you a shy smile in return, his eyes darting quickly to yours before flicking away again. “Yeah, I’m—I’m glad you came,” he manages to say, his voice just barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

Smitty’s voice cuts in before you can respond. “Alright, alright! Enough with the lovey-dovey stuff. Let’s get this party started!” He starts rummaging through the bag you brought, pulling out bottles and raising them in triumph. “This,” he declares, “Is how you know she’s the coolest. She didn’t just bring beer—she brought the good stuff.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile. “Thanks, Smitty. Real smooth,” you mutter, watching as he pours shots for everyone. Macklin is still hovering near you, and you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him. You want to reach out, maybe grab his hand just to show him it’s okay, that you’re here for him—but something holds you back. You don’t want to push him too far, too fast.

Time starts to blur, the room growing warmer, the music louder. The drinks flow, and after a while, the tight ball of awkwardness in your stomach loosens. You're laughing, joking around, and you notice Macklin finally relaxes too, even if he still can't quite meet your eyes without blushing. The space is tight, and you're bumping into each other, limbs tangling with strangers who start to feel less like strangers with each drink.

Eventually, you end up chatting with one of Macklin's teammates—Jack. He’s got this easy smile, the kind of guy who knows how to make people comfortable, and before long, you're caught up in a story he's telling about some road trip disaster involving a broken-down bus and a night spent in the middle of nowhere. You laugh, genuinely enjoying the conversation, even as you catch movement in your peripheral vision—Macklin, sitting on the armrest of a nearby couch, watching you.

His gaze makes your skin tingle, makes it hard to focus on what Jack is saying. You try not to let it show, nodding along, adding a comment here or there, but you can feel the weight of Macklin’s eyes, following every movement, every smile you give Jack. You glance his way, and sure enough, Macklin's looking, his eyes wide, like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t. He jerks his gaze away so fast you almost feel bad.

But part of you likes it—likes that he’s watching, that he’s not sure what to do with himself. You like the way he gets flustered, the way his face flushes, even after all these months. The truth is, you've been dancing around each other for a while now, this slow, careful orbit that neither of you seems ready to break, even though everyone else seems to see it. 

You remember a certain instance where the two of you were at your house, in your parents’ basement, and Smitty showed up out of nowhere. This would’ve been fine, normal, even, but you and Macklin were tangled up in a fleece blanket, almost every inch of your bodies touching, his skin burning into yours. The Switch joycons were strewn helplessly across the coffee table as the Mario Kart theme blared from the TV, but your eyelids were shutting, your ear fully taking in the thump-thump-thump of Macklin’s heart. The two of you shot up immediately when Smitty made himself known, and the teasing was relentless.

Sometimes you wish Macklin, sweet, innocent(for the most part), Macklin, would just make a move already, say something, do something—anything to give you an idea of what he really wanted.

By the time Smitty’s voice cuts through the music, you’re all thoroughly buzzed, the alcohol leaving a pleasant warmth thrumming through your veins. “Alright, alright, listen up!” Smitty calls out, clapping his hands together. He’s grinning like a kid about to do something incredibly stupid. “I think it’s time we take this party old school. Truth or dare, anyone?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Of course, Smitty would suggest something like this. He was always the one to push boundaries, to stir the pot just enough to make everyone uncomfortable in a way that was somehow still fun. A chorus of groans and cheers goes up around the room, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself.

“Oh, come on,” Smitty says, pointing a finger at you. “You’re in, right? I mean, you brought the drinks—you kinda owe us.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you protest, but you’re already nodding, feeling that familiar thrill of anticipation. Smitty whoops, and Macklin shifts uncomfortably on his perch, his eyes flicking to yours and then away again. He looks like he wants to say something, but he just ends up biting his bottom lip instead.

The group rearranges, everyone shuffling to sit in a rough circle on the floor or perching on the couches. You end up sitting between Jack and Macklin, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off Macklin’s arm, though he’s careful not to let it touch yours. Smitty settles across from you, his grin almost predatory as he surveys the group.

Smitty's grin widens as the game begins, eyes flitting between each of you like he's picking out who to tease next. He thrives in chaos, loves stirring the pot, and you're already bracing yourself for whatever’s coming your way.

It starts harmless enough—Jack choosing truth and getting grilled about which of his teammates he’d least want to be stuck on a deserted island with. Then it’s Macklin's turn, picking dare because Smitty goads him, and getting off easy—just a silly challenge to drink his next shot without using his hands. It leaves Macklin fumbling, red-faced, while everyone cheers him on, and you can't help but laugh at the way his gaze keeps flicking to you, like he wants to make sure you're watching.

You are. You always are.

By the time it’s your turn, you're feeling warm and relaxed, pleasantly buzzed, and a little more daring than usual. Smitty turns to you, tapping his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Alright, alright,” he finally says, eyes glinting with mischief. “Truth or dare?”

You narrow your eyes at him, biting your lip as you consider it. You know whatever dare he has in mind will be ridiculous, but the buzz of the alcohol and the thrill of the moment push you to go for it. “Dare,” you say, leaning back slightly, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

Smitty’s grin widens—you can practically see the gears turning in his head. He turns his gaze to Macklin, and that alone makes your heart skip a beat. Whatever he's about to say is going to involve him, isn’t it?

“Alright, I dare you to...” Smitty pauses, dragging out the suspense. Macklin shifts nervously beside you, and you can feel the tension rolling off of him. “Sit on Macklin’s lap for the rest of the game.”

You blink, caught off guard, and immediately feel your face heat up. You turn to look at Macklin, who looks like he's about two seconds away from melting into the floor. His face has gone bright red, his eyes wide as he stares at Smitty like he can't quite believe what he’s just heard.

“I—uh—” Macklin stammers, his gaze flicking to you and then away, his blush deepening. He looks completely overwhelmed, and a part of you wants to tell Smitty to pick something else—but another part of you, the part that’s been waiting for Macklin to make a move for months, can’t help but wonder what would happen if you went through with it.

“What’s wrong, Mack? You scared?” Smitty teases, his grin turning almost wicked. “C’mon, it’s just a dare. Don’t be a chicken.”

Macklin swallows, his eyes darting to yours. He looks nervous, but there's something else there too—something that makes your heart skip a beat. You give him a small smile, hoping to reassure him. “Only if you’re okay with it,” you say softly, your voice just loud enough for him to hear over the buzz of the room.

He nods quickly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before he looks away again. “Yeah, I—I’m okay with it,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You bite your lip, your heart pounding in your chest as you slowly move closer. Macklin shifts, leaning back slightly to give you room, and you carefully settle onto his lap, trying not to put too much weight on him. His hands hover awkwardly at your sides for a moment before he rests them on his knees, his entire body stiff beneath you.

The room erupts in cheers and laughter, and you can’t help but laugh too, even as your face burns. Smitty is cackling, looking like he’s just won the lottery, and you shoot him a glare, though you can’t quite keep the smile off your face.

“Comfortable, Mack?” Smitty calls out, and Macklin lets out a nervous laugh, his face still bright red. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before flicking away again, and you can feel the tension between you, this electric current that seems to buzz under your skin.

“Yeah,” Macklin mumbles, his voice barely audible. He shifts slightly, his hands moving to rest gently on your waist, like he’s not quite sure what to do with them. You can feel the warmth of his palms through the fabric of your shirt, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

You try to focus on the game, try to pay attention to the next round, but it’s almost impossible with the way Macklin is so close, his breath warm against the back of your neck. You can feel every little movement he makes, every shift of his body, and it’s driving you crazy in the best way. You’ve been waiting for something like this—for any excuse to be close to him—and now that it’s happening, you’re not sure what to do with yourself.

His skin is hot, and the flimsy little skirt you stupidly chose to wear tonight isn’t doing anything to shield it, and you know he feels it too. For a second, you have to remind yourself to breathe. Macklin doesn’t say anything, but his face is flushed red, and you can feel the shaky rise and fall of his chest against your back. It’s like every nerve in his body has suddenly lit up the second you touched him—and, God, he looks so fucking cute like this. You’re almost tempted to reach up and ruffle his hair just to make him squirm.

But there’s something else there, too—something that makes your heart pound faster as you shift slightly on his lap, trying to get comfortable. You can feel it, the way he’s tense beneath you, his thighs trembling just slightly, his breathing a bit uneven. It makes your skin tingle, this feeling of knowing you’re affecting him, that this flirty game you’ve been playing for months is suddenly pushing him right to his edge.

“Alright, Mack! Your turn again,” Smitty’s voice breaks through the haze, his tone dripping with mischief. “Truth or dare?”

Macklin shifts beneath you, his hands slipping a bit on your waist as he leans forward. You can practically hear the gulp in his throat when he finally manages, “Uh... truth.” His voice cracks a little, and it’s adorable.

Smitty’s grin is devilish. “How many times have you jerked off thinking about her?” he asks, and the room explodes in laughter. You can feel Macklin’s entire body go stiff beneath you, his face turning so red you think it might catch fire.

You glance back at him, catching his wide-eyed gaze for just a second before he looks away, mumbling something that’s lost in the chaos.

“What was that, Mack?” Smitty calls, cupping a hand around his ear. “Speak up, buddy!”

Macklin swallows hard, his fingers flexing against your waist. “None,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. “Zero times. Fuck off, Smitty.”

The room erupts again, and you bite your lip to keep from smiling too widely. You know he’s lying—and you’re pretty sure everyone else does too. You lean back slightly, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Fuckin’ liar.”

Macklin’s breath catches, his grip tightening on your waist. He lets out a soft, shaky whimper, his hips shifting beneath you. “Fuck,” he breathes, barely audible. “Don’t... don’t tease me like that.”

But you can’t help it. You like the way he sounds, the way his body reacts to every little thing you do. It’s like you’re high on this fucked-up power trip, but your victim is the boy who’s been trying to get your attention for months. You shift your weight just a bit, rolling your hips slowly, and you feel it—the way he’s getting hard beneath you, the press of him unmistakable against your ass.

“Shit,” Macklin mutters, his voice strained, his hands trembling as they tighten around your waist. His hips jerk up slightly, and he leans his head back, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry, I can’t… help it.”

“Don’t worry,” you reply, letting your lips brush his ear again. “It’s natural, right?” You roll your hips again, slower this time, more deliberate, and Macklin lets out a low, shaky groan, his body shuddering beneath you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” His voice is almost a whine, his hips moving up to meet yours, grinding against you. He’s trying so hard to keep it together, but you can feel him unraveling. He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “You feel so fucking good, you have no idea,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

He lets out a soft groan, his hips bucking against you again, and you can’t help the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your belly. You know this is supposed to be a stupid game, but the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, it makes you want more. It makes you want to see just how far you can push him before he snaps.

His hands move from your waist, trailing up your sides, his breath hot against your neck. “Does… does it feel good for you?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, a hint of desperation in his tone.

You almost can’t believe the words that come out of his mouth–almost. It’s Macklin, after all. Always so fucking considerate, considerate enough to ask if it feels good, if it’s okay that he’s grinding against you, practically edging himself at your expense.

You bite your lip, letting out a soft moan as you roll your hips against him again, feeling the way he’s pressing against you, hard and needy. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice low, the words coming out almost as a sigh. “Feels really good, Mack.”

You can feel his entire body shudder beneath you at your words, his breath coming in short gasps, his hips moving up to meet yours again, harder this time, more insistent. “Fuck, you’re so… so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice cracking on the words, his hands trembling against your waist as he pulled you closer, his hips bucking against yours. “Can’t believe you’re even here with me.”

You’ve known for a while now that Macklin is basically hypnotized by you, your allure, your confidence. You’re sure he would drop to his knees for you at any moment if you asked him to, even with the friends label the two of you were still at. You smiled, letting your hands trail up to his shoulders, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you whispered, leaning in until your lips were just barely brushing his ear. “I like being here with you, Mack.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands moving down to your hips, holding you in place as he rolls his hips up, grinding against you. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained. “You have no idea how much I…” He trails off, his breath catching, and you can feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, his entire body trembling.

*** It hadn’t always been like this. Not so intense, not so overwhelming. There had been a time when you and Macklin were truly just friends—when this tension had been nothing more than a small, harmless crush, something you could laugh off. A time when the two of you could text each other about anything without it turning into this heated, desperate back-and-forth that left you both breathless.

It had started innocently enough—a few late-night texts, the kind that seemed like a good idea when you were lying in bed with nothing better to do. You’d send him a picture of something dumb, like your feet sticking out from under a blanket, or your messy hair first thing in the morning, and he’d respond with something equally ridiculous—a picture of his stupid bedhead or a goofy selfie with his tongue out.

And then one night, it had shifted. You couldn’t remember what exactly had started it, but suddenly, you were texting each other a lot more. The messages were longer, filled with little bits of your day, small jokes and random thoughts. It had become this routine—texting each other all the time, even when you were busy, even when you were supposed to be doing other things. It had become something you looked forward to, something you needed.

Macklin: yo

You: what’s up, loser

Macklin: not much, just chillin. u busy?

You: not really. just lying in bed. u?

Macklin: same. miss hanging out at ur place tho

You smiled at that, your heart giving a little flutter. You and Macklin had spent a lot of time together lately, just the two of you—watching movies, cuddling on the couch, falling asleep with his head resting on your shoulder. It had always felt friendly, but now, with the way your heart was pounding, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You: yeah, me too. we should do it again soon

Macklin: for sure. u free tmrw?

You: maybe. depends. what’s in it for me?

You sent the message before you could overthink it, your stomach twisting with a mix of nerves and excitement. There was a pause, and then your phone buzzed again.

Macklin: idk, whatever u want lol

You: oh yeah? anything?

Macklin: yeah. anything for u

Your breath caught at that, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something different about the way he said it—something that made your skin tingle, made you want to push just a little bit further.

You: anything, huh?

There was a long pause this time, and you could almost imagine Macklin on the other end, blushing, trying to figure out what to say. When the next message came through, it was accompanied by a picture.

Macklin: [image attached]

You opened it, and your breath hitched—a shot of his abs, the muscles defined, his skin flushed slightly pink. You could see the waistband of his sweatpants, the hint of the trail of hair that led lower, and your mouth went dry.

Macklin: this what u want?

Your stomach twisted, heat pooling between your thighs. You wanted more, wanted to see how far you could push him. You bit your lip, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed out your response.

You: maybe. u look good, mack

His reply was almost immediate.

Macklin: fuck, don’t say that

You: why not? it’s true

Macklin: cuz it makes me wanna do shit. shit I shouldn’t wanna do.

Your heart skipped a beat, your skin tingling at his words. You swallowed, your fingers hovering over the screen before you finally typed out your response.

You: like what?

There was another long pause, and then your phone buzzed again.

Macklin: like kissing u. touching u. fuck, I think about it all the time

You: yeah? what else do u think about?

Macklin: everything. ur body. ur lips. how you’d look under me. fuck, I wanna make u feel so good.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. You squeezed your thighs together, your skin flushed, heat pooling low in your belly. You wanted him too, wanted to feel his hands on you, his lips against yours. You bit your lip, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed out your next message.

You: come over tmrw. we can make it happen.

*** It never did, though. He texted the next morning, saying sorry, saying he was just tired and delirious and you let it go even though you didn’t want to. Smitty might’ve called the two of you chicken, but what else could you do?

“Alright, alright, I’m calling it!” Smitty’s voice cuts through the thick haze in your mind, and you blink, pulling back slightly to glance over at him. He’s grinning, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re all too drunk for this shit. Truth or dare is officially over.”

The rest of the group groans, but there’s laughter too, the tension in the room easing as everyone slowly starts to break apart, the game over and the drinking winding down. You shift in Macklin’s lap, feeling the way he tenses beneath you, his hands still resting on your waist.

“You okay?” you murmur, glancing back at him. His face is still flushed, his eyes wide, and he nods quickly, swallowing hard.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m… I’m good.”

You smile, leaning in closer, letting your lips brush against his ear. “I think I have to get up now…” you tease, your voice low.

Macklin’s breath hitches, his fingers flexing against your waist. He glances around the room, his eyes flicking over to Smitty, who is already sprawled on one of the couches, his eyes half-closed. The others are starting to scatter, some heading out the door, others settling in for the night. It’s getting late, and you can feel the buzz of the alcohol, the warmth of Macklin’s body, the way his cock is still hard against you.

“Uh, okay,” Macklin clears his throat, his voice barely more than a whisper as you get up, sliding over to sit beside him now. He immediately places one of his hands over his crotch to cover himself, but this time, he actually meets your eyes when he talks to you, placing his other hand on your knee. “You wanna… maybe stay a little longer? After everyone’s… y’know… gone?” His words are hesitant, like he’s not sure if he should be saying them, but the look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know. He wants you to stay—wants this to go further, wants to see where it could lead.

Your heart skips a beat, your stomach twisting with excitement. You nod, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah,” you say softly, your voice just loud enough for him to hear. “I’d like that.”

Macklin’s face lights up, his eyes widening, and you can feel the way his body relaxes like he’s been holding his breath and is finally letting it out. He gives you a shy smile, his cheeks still flushed, and you can see the relief in his eyes.

“Cool,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, his hands still resting on your knee, his fingers brushing against your skin. “That… that’d be really cool. But, um… we have to keep it down, since…” He nods towards the door, towards the main house where, apparently, an entire family lives.

You laugh, elbowing him playfully. “Calm down, horny, we’re not doing all of that tonight.” You start, but when his lips part slightly in confusion, and he starts to flush red again, you laugh even harder. “Just kidding… but, I’m not going to be the one having a hard time keeping quiet, apparently.”

[p3nislawd]

Someday ⊹₊⟡⋆

Nico Hischier x reader // masterlist

summary: an overheard comment at a team party has Nico spiraling about the future- in the best kind of way. 2.9k

or: stache!nico looks like a dilf so I wrote a breeding kink fic. nobody perceive me.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, breeding kink but like. in a for fun way not an actually trying to get pregnant way, unprotected sex, strong language, mentions of future pregnancy

i blame cece & sabrina carpenter

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Nico asks, his voice ringing out through the softly lit kitchen.

You hum, shaking soapy water off your hands into the sink. “Gonna have to be more specific, babe.”

You figure he’s probably talking about something you said when you were at the Lazar’s house for a football game watch party. He’s been a bit pensive ever since you got home, a bit lost in his own head. Not in a bad way- you know the man well enough to know he’s not upset. He’s just been thinking. When you turn to face him in the kitchen, his bottom lip is pink, like he’s been biting at it, and his brows are slightly furrowed. But his eyes are soft. Warm.

He leans on the island, hands splayed against the granite. He’s studying you. You wrack your brain for what you might’ve said earlier to make him spiral like this. Was it the chilli you asked for the recipe for, or the team you decided to cheer for? Was it your comment about the summer in Switzerland, how you missed it already? Was it-

“You were in the kitchen,” he says. “You were helping feed the baby.”

You blink, your heart fluttering slightly. It’d been one of his teammates’ wives, and she’d been trying to juggle the baby and her toddler, trying to soothe both of them. You’d offered to help, willingly tucked the baby into your arms and gave them a bottle. She’d smiled at you, eyes alight with mischief.

“You’re a natural,” she’d said. “You want one of your own someday?”

You’d nodded, without even thinking about it. “Someday,” you’d agreed. “Nico would make such a good dad. Especially with the mustache, my god.”

She’d laughed. You had, too. And then you’d moved on. You hadn’t even realized Nico had heard it.

“You were eavesdropping,” you tease, gently.

He grins sheepishly. “You looked pretty. With the baby.”

He’s treading lightly. You are, too.

“Had to try and match your DILF energy,” you tell him. When he cocks his head, you continue. “You know. Dad I’d like to-“

“I know,” he interrupts, his cheeks going pink. “You- I… you meant it, though?”

You blink. “Yeah, Neeks. We’ve talked about that, remember? Said we were both open to kids, eventually.”

He nods, swallows. “Yeah. In general. We- when we talked it was so… early. But today you said-“

He pauses. You take a good look at him- really look. The flush on his cheeks, the spread of his palms against the counter. His dark, wide eyes. And suddenly, you think you know.

“Today I said you’d make a good dad,” you fill in, and he blinks, slowly. “Especially with the mustache.”

He rumbles out a laugh, his thumb rubbing against the counter. You push yourself away from your spot and round the island, so you’re within arms reach of him. You can practically feel the heat radiating off his body. Warm like a sunny afternoon.

“I meant it,” you add. His shoulders shake, almost imperceptibly. “Did you like that, baby?”

His eyelids flutter, lashes tangling against his cheeks. “I like you.”

He’s deflecting. You laugh, and without any real effort, you slip under his arm to stand between him and the counter. He’s bracketing you in now, one arm on each side, staring down at you. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. You can feel the weight of his gaze. You can feel the tension rolling off of him- good tension. Like a late summer storm, waiting to break.

You reach up and wind your hands around his neck. He shivers, then repeats the motion when you toy with the ends of his hair where they brush against his neck.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” you say. “I wanna know.”

He leans forward and brushes a chaste kiss to your forehead before he speaks. “I liked it. You saying that.”

You hum and tug on his hair, just slightly. “Yeah?”

He swallows and nods. “Yeah. Maybe a little too much. I mean. I know, someday, you know. Now isn’t the time for… for a baby. But…”

You can feel your face grow warm, feel your own pupils grow wide, feel the way you’re leaning into him already. The tension crackles underneath your skin.

“There’s always time to… practice,” you tell him.

That seems to be all the permission he needs, really. His hands fly from the counter to your hips, cold from the granite but warming up quickly. He leans down to capture your mouth in a heady kiss, one that has you feeling desperate within seconds. He presses you close against the island, then presses himself close to you, close enough that you can feel how hard he is underneath his sweatpants. You gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, hot and insistent and needy.

His hands on your hips slip lower, lower, lower, until he’s cupping your ass, hauling you up and away from the counter. You squeal against his lips when he lifts you up, pulling at your legs to wrap around his waist. It changes the angle, lifts your head higher than his, and you cup his face in your hands to kiss him again, relishing in the soft groan he lets out.

He carries you to the bedroom by memory alone, and you bite back a laugh when he bumps into the wall slightly on the way. You’re not laughing much longer, though, when he stumbles his way to the bed and tosses you down onto it. You yelp, landing with a slight bounce, eyes suddenly wide open as you stare up at him. His shoulders are heaving, eyes wild, mustache sitting proudly above his kiss reddened lips. He’s hesitating.

You reach for the hem of your shirt. “You’re gonna make a hot dad, you know. Mustache and all.”

The groan he lets out is deep and ragged. He lurches towards the bed to lean over you, his hands braced on either side of your head. You grin up at him, happily. He has a smirk on his lips when he reaches down and rips your hands away from the hem of your shirt, pinning them above your head easily, both wrists between one hand. You sigh, flutter your eyelashes at him, and arch your back towards him.

“Let me,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”

You shudder beneath him as the smirk turns to a full on grin. He keeps your hands pinned above your head, but his other hand skates down your body, replacing yours at the hem of your shirt. He toys with the fabric before he slips his hand underneath to brush over your skin. His hands are heated, now, as he shoves the shirt up your body, leaving you exposed to him. You feel yourself growing hazier.

“You take good care of me, always,” you tell him, grinning up at him. “Gonna take such good care of us.”

He groans at that, a guttural sound that has fire licking up your spine. You whine, squirming on the bed beneath him, trying to reach for him, to hold on, to pull him close. He lets out a laugh, keeps your hands pinned, and his other hand slips over to lay flat against your stomach. He holds you down against the bed. Your breath hitches.

“Gonna feel me right here,” he says- promises. “Gonna make you mine.”

He gets your clothes off quickly after that. His clothes follow yours into a pile on the floor. The moment of distraction lets you shift on the bed, wiggling your way up towards the pillows. You roll over, half onto your stomach, reaching towards the headboard to pull yourself farther. Nico doesn’t seem to like that- his hands land on your now bare hips, and he yanks, leaving you yelping and giggling as he pulls you back down towards the end of the bed. There’s laughter on his lips when he finds you again, when he climbs up onto the mattress with you, when he engulfs you, his lips meeting yours again, hot and wet and intoxicating.

He’s more rushed than usual, more frantic. His hand slips between your legs to cup your cunt, groaning at what he finds there. You know you’re soaked- how could you not be, when he looks like that and talks like that and kisses you like that. His fingers drift toward your center, his thumb brushing against your clit, and you whine. You reach up to hold onto him, your hands clawing at his shoulders as he teases you.

“Just want you to fuck me,” you admit, voice high and breathy. “C’mon, Nico-“

“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging his lips against your jaw, his mustache scraping against your skin. “Gonna be the death of me.”

He takes his time, touching you until you’re a whining mess beneath him. When he finally gives in, finally takes his cock in his hand and leans close, you’re practically begging him for it. You can see the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks- he’s feeling it too. He brushes the head of his cock over your center and chews on his bottom lip. The noise he lets out when he sinks into you is close to a sigh. Like he’s relieved. When you look up at him through half lidded eyes, he’s watching you. Watching your face. His brow ticks, and you wonder what he sees there. If he can see the way you’re already falling apart.

He splays his hand across your stomach again- you whimper and squirm beneath him, if only to test the way he’s pinning you down. He sighs, again.

“You take me so well,” he coos.

You keen, your eyelids fluttering shut at the words. When he bottoms out, you hear the groan that leaves his lips, and then you feel it when he ducks his head to mouth at your collarbone. He stays put for a moment, the stubble on his jaw brushing against the sensitive skin of your chest.

Then, he starts to rock his hips, and along with that, he starts to run his mouth.

Nico’s always been a talker, at least towards you- outside of bed and in bed. It’s one of your favorite things about him. On a bad day, he can take your mind off things with a long winded ramble. In bed, he can keep up a running commentary of dirty talk that sends you careening towards the edge far faster than you ever have. But if you’d thought it was something good before, now…

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, grinding against you on the end of a roll of his hips. “Gonna take me so well, huh? Gonna let me fill you up, yeah?”

You cry out beneath him on the next thrust, arching off the bed again, trying to wrap your legs around his waist to keep him there. It’s no use. He keeps you pinned, his hand pressing into your thigh to hold you open for him, his other hand still pressed against your stomach.

“Fuck,” he mutters, panting openly against your chest. “Oh, fuck. Good girl. So good for me.”

You reach up and bury your fingers in his hair, to tug and pull and hold. He groans, again, rolling his hips against yours slowly. You pull, again, with a whine.

“Please,” you mumble, into the open air above you. “Need it, Nico.”

He huffs. And then he really starts to talk, punctuating his sentences with lazy but pointed rolls of his hips. He tells you how good you looked that day, how you’d made his imagination run wild. He tells you how he pictured this. He tells you how someday, he’s going to have you like this for real, take you like this over and over again until it works, until you make him a dad. He cradles your face in his palm and kisses you, lets his hand slip down to hold your throat, and tells you how good you’ll look when he’s finished with you, when he’s left his mark.

You don’t realize the repeated pleas that hang in the air are coming from you until he’s shushing you, gently.

“Please what, baby?” He asks, voice soft and sweet, bordering on patronizing. “Tell me what you need, anything you need.”

He rolls his hips again, shuddering when he presses deep. You bite back a wail, your skin on fire. Your hands have found anchor points now, one twisted in the duvet beneath you, the other clinging to his shoulder, sure to leave marks there. The same way he’s going to leave marks on you. The way he’s going to bury himself deep and come inside of you and-

“Please, Nico,” you cry out, cherishing the way his breath stutters in his chest. “I need it. Need you. Need you to fuck me and fill me up and take me- any way you want, just- please, please-“

He smothers the rest of your words with another kiss. You whine into his mouth, let his tongue twist against yours as you melt into the bed. And, as he’d said, he does exactly as you asked. His thrusts pick up speed, pick up intensity, pick up a new edge. He plants his hands beside your head and takes. When he breaks the kiss, gasping for air against your cheek, you open your eyes to look up at him. His pupils are dark and wide, a feral grin on his lips.

You can feel it coming, can feel yourself teetering on the edge. “Oh, Nico,” you whine.

“I’ve got you,” he promises.

He reaches for one of your hands and pulls it to your stomach. He presses his hand over the back of yours, using your own palm to pin you to the bed. You choke on your next breath-it all feels so intense, so heady, so overwhelming.

“Gonna fill you up,” he promises through a groan. “nd then m’gonna do it again. And again. As many times as it takes. And you’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you-“

“Nico,” you gasp,clinging tightly to him. “M’gonna-“

“I know,” he coos. “Just let go, baby. M’right there with you, just-“

When you come around him, he buries himself deep and follows suit. The coil snaps for both of you, and the air is filled with a mix of your sounds. The shockwaves of your orgasm roll through you, and you can feel him coming deep inside you, pulsing and twitching, the way he promised he would, while your vision goes white.

You collapse back onto the bed, utterly spent. He follows quickly after, blanketing you with his body, his face buried in your neck. Your ears ring, loudly, and leftover stars dance in your vision. When you finally come back around, you realize he’s mumbling words into your skin. A mix of English and Swiss German, barely coherent-

“So good for me, schatz, so- verdammte hölle. Take me so well. My good girl. Gonna knock you up. Someday. Someday I’ll do this for real. Eines tages, baby.”

“Nico,” you gasp out, again, and he lifts his head, resting his chin against your collarbone, atop his hand.

“There she is,” he says. “You okay?”

You nod frantically. “So good. That was so good.”

He nods in agreement and rests his cheek against his hand, blinking up at you softly. “It’s like your song.”

You blink, frowning at him. “Huh? My song?”

He nods, drumming his fingers against your collarbone. “You know. The Sabrina one. I might let you make me Juno. That song.”

You blink wildly, your heart twisting, squirming beneath him. Because yeah, you know the song. The one about being so in love you’d let him get you pregnant. One of me is cute, but two though? You’ve had it stuck in your head for days, have been humming it nearly nonstop. Of course he noticed.

“I would, you know,” you tell him. “I’d let you.”

He rumbles out a laugh, eyelids fluttering against his cheeks again. “Good. Stop squirming. Stay put. Gotta make sure it takes.”

You shiver. “Nico.”

You know he knows you’re on birth control. You know he’s not really being serious. But god, it’s hot to think about it. To hear him say it. To feel him pin you to the bed with one hand, his other hiking your leg over his hip.

In response, he rolls his hips against yours, still buried inside of you. You quiver, your hands flying up to his shoulders, nails already scraping at his skin.

“Nico,” you sigh, though you have a feeling it’s no use. “S’too much. Can’t.”

He hums against your collarbone and repeats the motion. Then he reaches up, grabs your wrists, and pulls them down against the bed. He intertwines his fingers with yours, hands next to your head.

“Yes, you can,” he says. “You always take me so well, you can give me one more.”

You whine, but you’re nodding, too.

“Someday,” he adds. “I’ll do this for real. And I’ll do it over and over until it works. M’never gonna get enough of you. Could never get enough.”

You whine his name again. He shushes you, soft and warm.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “Always do, always will.“

His thrusts are lazy, rhythmless. He’s in no hurry this time. He’s got all the time he wants. You melt into the bed and dream of someday.

…..

a/n: thank you for reading! come scream about mustache!nico with me in the inbox!

[p3nislawd]

hi guys promise i’ll post soon BUT KITERALOY WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO @angelwithdemonictendencies BRO THEY WWRE ONE OF MY FSVORITE PAGES EVER AND NOW THEY R JUST.G ONE???

they wrote the most amazing nhl fanfiction eber dude i swear on my life YGS HAVE TO KNOW WHO IM TALKING WBT RIGHT????

dude i swear there were so many i think the last one i read by them was a jeremy swayman one and they were in alaska and he was a fisherman QND UGHHH COME BACK WHQT THE FUCK THEY HAD AM34 AND TZ11 AND JH86 AND QUINNY QND JAMIE DRYSDALE AND EVERYONE WHQT THE HELL I FEEL LIKE IVE JUST BEEN SHOT

[p3nislawd]

[11.6k] when in desperate need for a date to your friend's wedding, the last person you expected to step up was nico hischier. then again, he didn't step up as much as he was thrown into the mess by jack.

inspired by 'the spanish love deception' by elena armas

.

“Come on!”

“When I said a favour, I didn’t mean this!”

“You said you would do anything!”

“Yeah, like help change a flat tire. You know, the normal things!”

“Do you even know how to change a flat tire?”

“Well…”

“Jack.”

The boy let out a noise mixed between a laugh and an exaggerated groan as he threw his head back. He was just fresh out of the shower after practice, hair still dripping and cheeks flushed red, when you found him by the trainers’ kitchen grabbing a protein shake. 

Your friendship with Jack Hughes was one made through the bond of joining the New Jersey Devils together. He was newly drafted and feeling the pressure of being first pick, whilst you were freshly entering the real world on your own two feet with no real plan in your head. It was by chance that a friend of a friend had managed to pull you a job with the hockey team. And it was by chance you ended up befriending the new hot-shot player in a sport you honestly didn’t know all that much about. 

Still from the first day, after a very awkward meeting on both parts, you and Jack Hughes had been the best of friends—which was exactly why you thought he would help you out on being your plus one to a wedding. 

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Jack whined, leaning against the counter that displayed all the blenders and ingredients for the players’ protein shakes and smoothies. “Isn’t it your friend’s wedding? Why do you need a plus one, it’s not like you won’t know anyone?” 

“That’s not the point,” you huffed out, feeling like a disgruntled child as you crossed your arms over your chest and resisted the urge to pout. 

Jack raised his brows. “So, what is the point?” 

“I—” You paused, something bitter and nostalgic twisting in your chest before you shook your head. “Can you do it or not? It’s not like you are running off to the Bahamas on your week off. You said yourself that you were free.” 

“The Bahamas sounds better than a wedding in South Carolina,” he grumbled, his lips twitching upwards when you knocked his shoulder with your own. He looked like he was about to say something else before he paused, his eyes brightening. “So, you really need a date to this thing?”

You shot him a look. “Did the last twenty minutes of me begging not give it away?”

His grin widened, something quite unsettling in the smile. “So, you’re desperate?” 

You frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t say desperate—”

“Nico is free this week!” Jack announced loudly, his grin reaching scary levels of taking over his face before his eyes glanced over your head. “Aren’t you, cap?”

Your eyes widened a little as you whirled around, finding the Devils captain standing a few feet away from the two of you. He was dressed similarly to Jack, in a team-branded hoodie and sweatpants, with his wet hair tucked under a beanie. He looked a bit caught off-guard as he glanced between the two of you, though his eyes lingered on Jack.

“Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, standing a little taller. “I guess. I didn’t have any plans—”

“Brilliant!” Jack clapped his hands together. “Nico can be your fake boyfriend to your friend’s wedding.”

Your head snapped around to glare at your friend. “I just needed a date—”

“Yeah, your date is your boyfriend,” Jack retorted.

Your glare hardened. “And I asked you—”

“And I’m busy,” Jack said with a shrug, almost as if he was saying ‘what could you do?’. “But Nico is free and you know each other. It should be an easy solution, right?” 

You finally had the courage to face Nico, who looked a bit stunned himself. If it were any other day, you would have laughed at the fact that the captain looked so lost and unsure of himself, so unlike himself. But right now—with the tightening band around your chest that felt like it would crush your ribs—you couldn’t find yourself to even smile.

“You don’t have to,” you said eventually, when you finally found your voice again and your thoughts were coherent. “Jack is just—”

“I’ll do it,” Nico blurted out.

You blinked.

“I mean,” Nico paused, looking a little flustered at his own sudden announcement. “If you need someone, I can help out. I don’t mind, really.” He paused again. “We’re friends, right? This is what friends do.”

“Yeah, friends,” you repeated, clearing your throat a little before giving him a strained smile. 

And just like that, Nico Hischier—captain of the New Jersey Devils—was your wedding date.

…

You decided that after this wedding was over and done, you were going to kill Jack Hughes.

In your mind, Jack would have agreed to help you out with your predicament, you would have gone to the wedding and had a laugh together. This would be one of those memories that you two would joke about for years to come, like when he almost burned down your kitchen making boxed macaroni cheese or when you called him sobbing because of a spider in your bathroom. 

You didn’t think he would throw you under the bus like this.

And maybe that was a bit dramatic, but it felt necessary after Nico left the room with the promise he would message to sort out the details of your plans.

Your issue wasn’t with the fact Jack didn’t want to do it. If that was the case, you would have understood. Your nagging and begging was mostly just a bit of friendly banter, and you thought he was reciprocating. 

He was reciprocating. 

But then, instead of being a normal human and telling you he didn’t want to do it so you could find someone else to help you, he just threw a solution at you. 

An—in the kindest way you could put it—unwanted solution.

It wasn’t that you hated or even disliked Nico Hischier. Not at all. Your relationship with the captain was just…non-existent, in a sense. Very superficial, if you were being honest.

When you were new to the team, you didn’t really talk all that much to any of the players. Jack was the exception, someone who was just as lost as you—though his extroverted personality hid it far better. But weeks passed and slowly you began to see some of the players beyond friendly acquaintances. 

But Nico just…never really left that label. 

It wasn’t like he was rude or mean to you, quite the opposite. Even though he was the captain to only the team, that caring and kind personality extended to everyone who worked for the Devils—you included. 

He was a good guy. He was sweet and thoughtful and loyal and kind. He cared more than any person should. He was the kind of person people write in books and movies. 

And it was intimidating, in a weird way. 

There was no logical explanation for it. But something about Nico Hischier felt too perfect for your shit show of a life. He was confident and put together and everything you weren’t. 

Jack knew that. Jack knew how you felt. Jack had laughed about it more than once before reassuring you that there was more to Nico than you realised. 

You just wish you could’ve discovered that side of him during a team night out rather than at your friend’s wedding out of state. 

And because Nico was the perfect guy, it was no surprise when he messaged you that the two of you could take his car down to Charleston, South Carolina with him taking the first shift. 

“I thought you’d be sick of being on the road,” you said to him as you stood outside your apartment complex, bags in hand as you walked towards where Nico had parked his car. 

“It’s a part of me now,” he joked as he reached for your bags, not giving you a chance to say anything before he placed them in the back with his own. “I go crazy if I’m not locked in a moving vehicle for more than three hours.” 

You snorted, turning your face away so he didn’t catch the way your cheeks burned in embarrassment at the noise. 

“I’ve also never been to Charleston,” Nico continued, shrugging his shoulders. “Thought it would be a nice chance to take it all in if we drive.” 

“I really don’t mind driving the whole way,” you said, chewing on your bottom lip nervously as you eyed his car. “You’re already doing me a favour, the least I could do is—”

“It’s a long drive, I wouldn’t want you getting tired behind the wheel,” Nico said, his brows furrowed together. “It’s fine. I promise.” 

“Okay,” you relented and took your spot in the passenger seat for the first stint of the drive. 

…

It was around two hours in when the small talk shifted into something deeper. 

“So, what’s the deal??”

You glanced over at the boy in the driver seat, your lips still wrapped around the straw of your slushie you bought at the last service station. Nico had gaped at you being able to drink something so sweet and cold so early in the morning, but you just grinned and shrugged. You didn’t get much of a chance to say anything before he was paying for it anyways, along with the coffee he got for himself. 

Sensing your confusion, he continued. 

“With the date,” he said, risking a glance at you before his eyes returned to the road. “You just seemed…”

“Desperate?” You supplied.

His lips twitched. “I was going to say insistent,” he corrected. “But yeah, desperate works too. Is it really such a bad thing if you go to your friend’s wedding alone?” 

“Well,” you started, still hesitant to say your thoughts out loud when you knew it sounded immature. “Not really. Lucy wouldn’t care if I brought a cactus with me, she would just be happy I was there for her big day.”

Nico huffed out a laugh. “So, why am I here instead of a cactus?” 

“I’m not a big fan of pricks,” you joked and, to your credit, he did smile. But the look he shot you told you that deflecting wasn’t going to get you very far. “My ex will be there.”

Nico didn’t say anything for a few moments. “And you’re…still in love with him?”

“What? No!” You quickly shook your head, your face scrunched up in a grimace. “God, no. Not at all. Never again.”

“Oh,” Nico murmured, though there was still a look of confusion on his face. “What’s the big deal if he’s there then?”

“Our breakup was…messy,” you confessed, wincing a little as the memories you tried to block out returned like an unwanted slap to the face. “It was ages ago and I’m over it. But the last time I saw a lot of these people was just before the breakup and I just wasn’t in a good place.” 

Nico didn’t say anything, letting you continue. 

“He cheated on me.” you said eventually because there didn’t seem like much point in beating around the bush, especially when Nico was helping you out despite being thrown into the deep-end unwillingly. “It got messy within the friend group and I ended up moving away after we broke up to get a fresh start. Not just because of him, but it was nice to get away from all the mess and drama.” 

“So you came to New Jersey,” Nico finished. 

“So I came to New Jersey,” you confirmed with a nod.

“And having a boyfriend when you see these people will…” he trailed off, his brows furrowed together once again. It was the same expression you saw on his face during games, when he was trying to work out plays in his head before they happened.

“I was originally planning to come myself,” you admitted to the boy. “But then I was on the phone with Lucy and she kept asking if I’d be okay with everything and I just imagined everyone asking me the same thing and,” you paused and shrugged. “I just ended up blurting out that I was using my plus one.”

When you turned to look at Nico, you were surprised to find a sympathetic smile on the boy’s face. 

“If you showed up alone, nobody would’ve thought you moved on. But if you came with someone, people would believe you were actually okay,” Nico finished for you, and it should have been unsettling how well he understood. But his empathy and insight were one of the many traits that made him captain.

“It sounds stupid but I just wanted to come here and enjoy my friend’s wedding,” you said with a dry laugh. “The pitying looks were bad enough the first time around, I don’t need them again.”

Nico hummed, nodding his head. “So, what’s our story?” 

You turned to him, frowning. “What?”

“Our story,” he repeated, a kind smile on his face that made your chest feel tight. “You know, like how we got together. Surely people will ask, no? We should have a plan.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Can’t keep away from the strategies, can you?”

Nico laughed, smiling. “Guess you can’t take the captain out of the man or whatever the saying is.”

You snorted, shaking your head before you settled back in your seat. You thought about his point for a few moments, contemplating your options. 

“I don’t think we have to overcomplicate it,” Nico said, interrupting your thoughts. “You have that look on your face that says you’re scheming.”

You raised your brows. “How do you know that?”

“It’s the same look on your face you get when you plan a prank with Jack,” he responded, smiling a little wider at your shocked look. “Neither of you are subtle. Or quiet.”

“I was just trying to think of an interesting story,” you defended, narrowing your eyes at the boy. “We can’t just have a basic co-workers to lovers situation, that’s boring.”

Nico laughed. “Boring?”

“Yeah!” You laughed back. “We have the chance to make up the craziest love story ever, why not take it?” 

Nico shook his head. “What do you suggest then?”

“A puck was flying at your head and I saved you,” you joked. “Full on spidey sense moment, just caught the puck with my bare hands and you were lovestruck after that.”

The full belly laugh Nico let out made your smile widen. “Caught the puck?” 

“Bare hands,” you nodded. 

“I am sure everyone will believe that,” he teased.

“You clearly haven’t seen me in the net,” you mused. “I have insane reflexes.”

“I’ll let the team know the next time we need a goalie,” Nico retorted. 

In the end, you decided to go the ‘boring’ route. It felt safer to stick with almost-truths, it prevented any possible slip up if the two of you were interrogated separately. And, much to your surprise, there was something quite fun about fabricating a fake relationship with the captain you barely knew. 

…

You arrived in Charleston, South Carolina just after seven o’clock.

The address Lucy had given you was for a massive house by the beach she was renting out for the week. It was gorgeous, over three storeys high and looking like it had been plucked straight out of a postcard. The beach house was slightly secluded as well, far enough from the closest neighbours for all the main wedding party to park their cars outside with no bother.

It felt a little surreal. 

You didn’t even get a chance to step out of the car before the front door swung open and Lucy came running out, squealing as she opened her arms and wrapped them around you. Your chest tightened at the closeness, at seeing one of your closest friends in person after so long of being apart. 

“You’re here!” She exclaimed as she pulled back, her bright eyes finding yours with an understanding shining in them. She missed you as much as you missed her.

“And you’re getting married!” You retorted, watching as her grin—somehow—widened. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Lucy murmured before she brought you into another hug. And you let yourself sink into the embrace, to forget everything else until your friend let out an intrigued hum. “And I’m guessing this is your plus one?” 

Your eyes widened a little when you remembered Nico standing a few feet behind you and quickly pulled back, glancing back at him before turning to Lucy. Something deep in your stomach twisted at the idea of lying to your friend but there was no going back now. 

“Nico, this is Lucy. Lucy, this is Nico,” you said as you gestured between each other, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “My boyfriend.” 

Lucy’s shock was clear. “Boyfriend? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend! You just made it seem like your plus one was a friend over the phone!”

You gave her a shaky smile. “Surprise?” 

Nico, seeming to somehow pick up on the way the guilt was starting to take over you, stepped in and offered his hand to your friend. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And congratulations on the wedding. It’s an honour to be here, even just as a plus one.” 

Lucy’s brows raised in surprise, her eyes briefly finding yours as she shook his hand.. “Wow, you are a…gentleman.” 

“I guess I upgraded,” you joked, wincing a little when you saw her face scrunch up in guilt. 

“Are you sure it’s not weird that he’s here? I know Tom wanted him here but—” But you didn’t give her a chance to continue as you shook her head, reaching out to grab her hand and squeeze softly. 

“It’s fine, Luce, I promise,” you said, though you weren’t totally sure if she believed you or not. In an attempt to solidify your point, you turned back to glance at Nico with a smile. “I’ve moved on. I’m happy. And I want to be here with you to celebrate your wedding. It probably won’t even be that awkward, it’s been years since everything happened.”

Lucy nibbled on her lower lip. “You’re sure?” 

“Positive,” you nodded.

“Okay,” she said before smiling. “Well, I’ll let you two settle into your room. You’re on the top floor but I can get Tom out to help with your bags. Let me go get him!”

You didn’t get a chance to say anything before Lucy ran back inside but you were hit with a sudden realisation that had you turning to face Nico, an apologetic look painted on your face.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, your cheeks warming as he gave you an inquisitive look. “She asked if I only wanted one room and I said yes because I thought I’d be with Jack and it wouldn’t be that bad, but I forgot to tell her it’s changed. We don’t have to stay here! We can get a hotel nearby or—”

“Hey,” Nico stepped forward, his hands placed on your shoulders to ground you for a moment before you started pacing. “Take a deep breath.”

You let out a shaky breath in response. 

“It’s fine,” he told you, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice. “It would have been weird if we were in separate rooms anyways.”

“I can take the floor,” you suggested.

Nico shot you a look. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“But—” 

Nico’s look hardened. 

“Fine. No floor,” you grumbled before you flashed him a sheepish smile. “I really am sorry though. I feel like you have just been thrown into this whole thing and—”

“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to be here,” Nico assured you, squeezing your shoulders before nodding towards the house. “C’mon, we should go inside and freshen up. Then you can tell me everything I need to know, starting with who Tom is and if we like him.”

And that was enough to make you snort, momentarily ignoring the problem of the one bed for now. 

…

You didn’t bump into your ex until later that night.

In retrospect, you should have expected to see him sooner rather than later, but a stupid part of you was still in denial about having to spend the week with him living under the same roof as you. Another part of you was also hoping he just wouldn’t show up, that he would bail on the whole event or maybe even just show up on the day of the wedding. 

But you knew that would have never been the case. Because as close as you were with Lucy was just as close he was to Tom, Lucy’s future husband. In fact, Lucy and Tom had met because of you two, because of the fusion of your friendship groups which now just felt like the biggest joke ever. 

At least someone benefited out of the relationship.

You weren’t even expecting some big confrontation or horrendous outcome when you expected to bump into your ex. You were just expecting to be a little more prepared, to have time to put yourself together. You knew you would see him at dinner that night, that much was inevitable. But you thought you could at least have the upper hand by walking into the room, hand in hand with Nico. 

What you weren’t expecting was to see him for the first time in years when you were waiting by the stairs for Nico (since being the gentleman he was, he had let you go refresh in the bathroom first). 

“Look what the cat dragged in!”

You hated the way your body instantly tensed up at the sound of his voice. You hated the way he was smiling at you like the last time you spoke he hadn’t shattered your whole world. You hated the way you felt so caught off-guard, so unprepared for a meeting you were expecting to have the upper hand in. 

“Jackson,” you managed to grit out as you gave him a strained smile. “Nice to see you again.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, huh?” He said, so lighthearted and casual and dismissive. 

You had to bite your tongue when the urge to say something a little more snarky came up, but you would hate yourself if you created a scene. You were doing this for Lucy. You were here to celebrate a momentous moment in your friend’s life. You weren’t here to get petty revenge on something that happened years ago—at least not in the form of bitter remarks. 

“A couple of years or so,” you answered with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“I was surprised when Lucy said you were coming,” Jackson told you.

You frowned. “Why would that be a surprise? She’s one of my best friends.”

“Yeah but,” Jackson waved his hand like that explained everything. “You haven’t visited since you left.” 

And the underlying words went unspoken. 

You haven’t visited since everything that happened between us. You haven’t visited since you had your heart broken. You haven’t visited so people just assumed you were still hurt and inconsolable after we broke up. I thought that was why you never came back.

“My job keeps me busy,” you stated simply, swallowing the acidic taste in the back of your throat. “Lucy knows that.” 

Something quite like amusement shone in his eyes. “Ah yeah, Tom mentioned something about you working in some ice rink in New Jersey. That sounds super busy.”

You bit your tongue. He was goading you again. You knew that. But fuck, you just wished you could have—

“I would hardly call The Rock just some ice rink,” a voice spoke from behind you and you turned to find Nico settling into the spot next to you, his face remaining very…neutral. 

Jackson stared at the boy, his lips agape as recognition clearly hit him. He blinked and then turned to you. “You work for the Devils?”

“Last time I checked,” you said, a twinge of satisfaction sparking inside you at his disbelief. 

He puffed his chest out a little. “When Lucy said you were bringing a plus one, I didn’t think she meant a co-worker—”

“She didn’t,” Nico interrupted, a look on his face that reminded you of his post-game interviews after the team lost. Before he continued, he wrapped an arm around your waist, making sure the boy saw the movement. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” Jackson repeated. 

“Yes, that is a word Americans still use, no?” Nico retorted. 

“Of course, man,” Jackson said with a laugh, but it felt forced and strained. He tore his eyes away from Nico to look back at you. “Well, I should be heading back. I’ll see you two down there.” 

He didn’t wait before he turned around, heading down the stairs to the dining room where the rest of the wedding party were probably starting their dinner. A few moments passed between the two of you before Nico finally broke the silence. 

“So, that was your ex,” he said.

You snorted before you winced. “I was blinded by young love.”

Nico laughed at that. “I didn’t realise blondes were your type,” he admitted, something different in his voice that he couldn’t quite work out.

You rolled your eyes before you sighed. “They usually aren’t, to be honest. But Jackson was…Jackson.”

Nico seemed oddly pleased with the response. 

“And he’s a hockey fan?” He questioned, his brows furrowing together like Jackson was a rival team’s game strategy he had to study. “He knew who I was.”

A slow grin spread across your face. “His family are from New York.”

Nico raised his brows before he laughed. “Islanders or Rangers?”

“Rangers,” you said with a proud look on your face. 

“That’s why you originally asked Jack,” Nico mused. “You wanted to rub it in that little more.”

“You bet them in the playoffs, I just thought he would like a nice reminder,” you retorted with an innocent look.

He laughed—that full belly laugh once again—before shaking his head in amusement. Before you could say anything more, he was intertwining your hands together and starting to make his way down the stairs Jackson had disappeared down a few minutes ago.

“C’mon, they are probably waiting for us,” he said. 

And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull your hand away. 

…

Dinner was uneventful, though you did enjoy watching Jackson bitterly stew from the other side of the table. 

A sense of familiarity and nostalgia washed over you as you sat at the dinner table, enjoying a meal as you laughed and chatted to a group you once saw daily but now hadn’t properly seen in years. It felt so easy to slip into old dynamics, to laugh at old jokes and tease each other as Lucy and Tom were the first to take such a monumental step from the lot of you.

Nico fit in so well, it almost made your chest feel tight if you thought about it too hard. He didn’t seem to mind the countless questions thrown at him about his job and the team. If anything, you thought he was milking his answers a little just to see Jackson squirm—especially when asked about playoffs. 

Eventually the day-long drive finally caught up with the two of you and you wished everyone goodbye before returning to your room on the top floor. Despite trying to play the gentleman card again, you allowed Nico to go to the bathroom first and tried not to stare too hard when he came out in a tight shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms. 

It took an embarrassing few minutes to hype yourself up in the bathroom mirror before you finally headed back to the room, only to pause at the doorway when you saw Nico lying on the ground by the bed with a pillow under his head and blanket over his body.

“What are you doing?”

Nico frowned a little. “Uh, sleeping?” 

“Why are you on the floor?”

His confusion growed. “Because that’s where I’m sleeping?”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Nico,” you sighed as you shook your head, walking into the room until you paused by his feet. “You’ll fuck up your back. Let me take the floor.”

Nico smiled softly. “My back will be fine. Take the bed, schatz.” 

You ignored the way the nickname made your stomach flutter. “I’m not the one who needs to stay in good shape for hockey, captain. The fans will murder me if you can’t play because you have a stiff back. Now take the bed.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Would you have made Jack take the bed?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly before wincing. “Well, I probably would have shared the bed with him.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, like a sleepover,” you said with a shrug. 

“Then we can do that.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“We can share the bed like a sleepover,” Nico said as he stood up, failing to hide his groan as he stretched his back (and ignoring your pointed look). “We’re friends, right?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Then we can share,” Nico said simply. “Either you take the bed alone or we share. It’s your choice.”

“We may be friends but I am also doing this because the fans scare me and I don’t want to know what they would do to be if I broke their captain’s back,” you said with a pointed look before you climbed into the bed, ignoring the way your heart was thumping as he settled on the other side.

Nico huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”

You rolled onto your side to look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You better not move to the floor when I fall asleep, Hischier.”

Much to his dismay, he blushed at your words. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I know.”

You let out a sigh, allowing yourself to stare at the boy for a little while longer before you rolled over to fall asleep.

“Thank you for helping me,” you whispered.

Nico’s soft smile returned. “It’s what friends do.”

“Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight, schatz.”

…

It took a solid thirty seconds after you woke up to realise you were practically lying on top of Nico Hischier.

As your body started to wake up, you realised how warm and comfortable you were. You snuggled further into your pillow, into the warmth and hoped your body would just fall asleep for a little longer. 

It took longer than it should have to remember that pillows weren’t warm before you opened your eyes and found yourself settled on Nico, your legs tangled together and one of his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. 

You didn’t give yourself a chance to live out a waking nightmare and risk waiting for him to wake up in the next ten seconds, so you pulled yourself away from him and then hid in the bathroom for fifteen minutes freaking out.

By the time you came out, Nico was awake and sat up against the headboard. His hair was ruffled and dishevelled, his eyes still hooded and a sleepy smile on his lips that made you want to turn on your heels and have another bathroom freakout. 

Instead, you smiled back and told him the two of you had to be outside in the next hour for the brunch Lucy had planned before both wedding parties went off to do their last fittings. 

Thankfully, no more bathroom freakouts were required. 

The brunch Lucy had set up looked like something straight out of a Pinterest aesthetic board. It was set in the house’s back porch with a stunning view of the beach and morning sun beating down on the sea. The table was set with plates of pastries, fruits and other brunch dishes, all topped with the morning mimosas Lucy demanded was a part of the experience.

Nico barely gave you a chance to settle down in your seat before his hand reached for the leg of your chair, dragging you closer to him until his arm could settle along the back of your chair comfortably. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jackson watching the two of you. Nico had noticed too.

If anything, it just made him smirk. 

One by one, everyone had made their way from their rooms to settle down at the brunch table like you all had done the night before. However, unlike yesterday, you noted an empty seat next to Jackon that hadn’t been beside him last night. 

Before you could even ask, a high-pitched voice shrilled from inside.

“I’m here! I’m here! I promise I’m not late.”

You turned to look at Lucy, your eyes widening in response but your friend only mouthed an apology before she turned to the door just in time for a redhead to wander out onto the porch. 

“Bryce! Happy to finally have you here!” 

You watched the two of them hug but your whole body had locked up, an unwanted flurry of memories washing over you. And just like that, it felt like another situation in which you should have been prepared for but didn’t get the chance to. Another rug pulled from under your feet. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You could feel him lean closer, hear the concern in his voice. And yet, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the redhead talking to Lucy a few feet away.

You knew. You knew Jackson had a plus one, it was the whole fucking reason you showed up with one of your own because you didn’t want to look like the loser who hadn’t moved on. You had been warned that he was bringing someone else. 

You just never assumed it would be her.

“That’s the girl my ex cheated on me with,” you managed to mumble under your breath to Nico, managed to finally turn your head to look at him. 

His expression was some mix of surprise and anger and, honestly, you would have laughed at the seriousness on his face if it weren’t for the fact you felt the exact same. You didn’t care about your ex and you had moved on, but it was still a bitter sting to know he was still with the woman he cheated on you with all those years ago.

You tried to relax your shoulders and act as unaffected as you could as Bryce rounded the table to take the seat next to Jackson—the seat across from you. But any hopes of the brunch going as smoothly as the dinner yesterday went out the window when her eyes landed on you.

“Oh my god,” Bryce let out a laugh and smiled at you, a smile you were sure was meant to be friendly but just made your skin prickle. “I didn’t know you would be here! Luce didn’t tell me.”

Luce. That was your nickname for her, not Bryce’s.

“I guess we are both surprised then,” you replied with a strained smile.

Nico couldn't help but snort, not even trying to hide his reaction.

Her eyes snapped over to him, calculating. “And this must be your plus one. Your friend?” 

“Boyfriend, actually,” you corrected.

“Hm, how sweet.” 

You still felt on edge as the brunch continued. Nico’s arm around the back of your seat was a comfort but it didn’t help the fact Bryce’s gaze on you felt like daggers against your skin. You ignored both her and Jackson for the most part, listening to the stories exchanged amongst the group and Lucy raving about the final dress fitting later that day. It was easy to zone out until the conversation seemed to focus back onto you and the boy by your side.

“So,” Lucy grinned as she glanced between you and Nico. “What’s the story? How did you meet? When did it happen? I want details, I can’t believe you’ve been holding back on me!”

You flashed her an apologetic look. “You were busy with the wedding, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Well, you can tell me now,” she retorted with a wink. 

“It’s really not that interesting,” you said, shifting in your seat when you felt everyone’s eyes on you. As much as you joked about having an insane love story, the idea of even saying the boring one right now with everyone’s attention directed on you made your skin prickle with discomfort.

But even if everyone else was oblivious, Nico wasn’t. 

“To her, maybe,” he spoke up and everyone’s focus shifted to him, even your own. But he was used to this. He was used to many eyes on him and attention directed towards him. “I still get teased about it by the boys.” 

Lucy’s smile softened. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Nico laughed, his eyes briefly looking at you before his gaze returned to your friend. “I had a huge crush on her when she joined the team. Like, embarrassingly huge. Jack used to tease me all the time on how I seemed to forget how to speak English around her.”

Your stomach dipped and, for a quick second, you almost believed him with everyone else.

“She always did play a little hard to get,” Jackson mused and something visibly changed in Nico’s expression. 

“And she was worth every second of it,” Nico retorted, the same camera-approved smile he gave the journalists during interviews. “Unlike some people though, I have no plan to lose her.”

Jackson clenched his jaw. 

“How long have you been together then?” Bryce jumped in, her narrowed gaze glancing between you both.

“A few months,” you and Nico replied at the same time.

Bryce’s eyes gleamed. “And how long is a few months?” 

“Six,” Nico answered simply before he turned to smile at you. “Best six months of my life.”

Your face warmed in response. “He’s a little cheesy.” 

“You mean romantic,” Lucy teased, but there was something approving in her expression. It warmed your heart a little at the idea that she would have approved of Nico if he really was your boyfriend. “She isn’t used to that.”

Jackson stiffened. 

Nico’s grin widened and before you could even realise what he was doing, he was taking your hand in his and placing a kiss along your knuckles. “I’m honoured to be the one to spoil her, then.”

Thankfully, Jackson and Bryce didn’t say much for the rest of the meal.

…

You felt like you were in an odd routine over the next few days, but you found that you actually quite enjoyed it. 

The wedding frenzy was in full effect but there was something grounding about having Nico by your side for it all. 

Every morning, you woke up first and found yourself tangled in bed with the boy. It also meant the bathroom freakouts had become a part of your routine, but it was worth it to wake up and enjoy the warmth of Nico Hischier’s hold for a few minutes. You two would end up lounging in your shared room, just trying to fully wake up before Lucy dragged you into last minute wedding nonsense. 

But even at night, you found yourself settled into a routine with the boy. He would go first to the bathroom and you’d go second, and then the two of you would be settled against the headboard, rambling away until one of you yawned and the other one turned the lights off for the night.

It almost made you laugh that there was ever a time you were intimidated by the captain—even when that time was just last week.

And yet, for the first time since you arrived in Charleston, there was nothing for you to do. The rehearsal dinner was tomorrow, the wedding was the following day and it was like you were facing the calm before the storm took over your lives. And it was the first time you could all enjoy the beach without a deadline looking over your head.

“C’mon, it will be fun!” 

Lucy snorted. “For you, maybe.” 

Tom grinned down at his future wife, lightly tugging on her hand but she remained sat on the deck chair. “It’s just a friendly game of soccer. Boys versus girls. Come on.”

“Football,” Nico corrected under his breath, making you snort.

“That is hardly fair,” Lucy argued. “You’ll have a professional athlete on your side!”

“Nico is a hockey player!” Tom retorted.

“Same thing,” Lucy waved off and Nico’s expression was enough for you to snort again. “Fine, we play but with mixed teams.”

Tom contemplated for a moment before agreeing. “Deal.”

“And I get Nico on my team,” she added, watching in delight as her fiance gaped.

“But—” He paused, lifting his head to find your gaze. “You’re on my team then.”

“She’s my best friend!” 

“You took the athlete, I get your best friend. That’s the deal.”

“Do we get a choice in this?” Nico murmured to you and you just laughed, shaking your head.

After more arguing and bickering and negotiating between the future married couple, the teams had been decided. Goals had been marked in the sand, a ball had been acquired and the game began. It was stupid and harmless and it was meant as nothing more than a little fun. 

But Tom and Lucy were more competitive than they let on. And it certainly didn’t help the fact Jackson seemed to have it out for your boyfriend before the match even began.

“Think you can handle tackling your boyfriend?” Jackson asked you. 

“I don’t think it concerns you how well I handle him,” you retorted, feeling the weight of Nico’s gaze on you from across the makeshift pitch like a comfort.

“He doesn't seem like your type,” Jackson continued, always sticking close enough so he could keep talking.

“My type is none of your business,” you stated bluntly.

“I mean, a jock? Really?” Jackson shrugged. “Just didn’t think you went for the airhead.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing when I considered what I saw in you.”

He huffed. “You—”

“Don’t want to continue this conversation, Jackson,” you shot him a look. “I’m happy with Nico. I don’t care what you have to say about it. I’m here for Lucy, not you. Don’t get it twisted.” 

“You’ll never have what we had with Nico,” he said. 

“One can only hope.”

…

You were stupid to think Nico wouldn’t be competitive in a friendly game. He was a professional athlete. It was literally written in his DNA.

And honestly? You felt bad for anyone who played against the Devils because you couldn’t imagine how intense Nico was to play against in a proper game when this was how seriously he was taking a stupid football match that meant nothing.

“NEXT GOAL WINS THE GAME!”

The group had been playing for the last hour, the game was tied and you knew that you would have to head back into the house for lunch soon. But neither team wanted to leave the game until there was a clear winner.

Any semblance of friendliness went out the window as the last leg of the game continued. You weren’t too bothered, more than happy to watch Tom and Lucy mostly fight over the ball and constantly try to tackle each other. 

But your stomach dipped a little when you saw Lucy kick the ball back to Nico. And the feeling only got worse when you saw Jackson making a beeline towards the boy, determined to tackle it out of his hold. Before you even knew it, you and the rest of the party were watching the two boys race down the makeshift pitch.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Jackson could never match Nico’s speed. 

You watched as he kicked the ball, right through the makeshift goal that had been created in the sand. The group broke out into a mix of groans and cheers alike, people clapping and whooping as Nico ran back towards you with a massive grin on his face. 

You barely had a chance to react before he was right in front of you, crouching down enough for his arms to wrap around your thighs before he hoisted you over his shoulders. 

“Nico!” You let out a noise mixed between a scream and laugh.

“We won, baby!” He cheered and your cheeks burned at the nickname. 

Your hands tried to hold onto him for balance but a part of you knew he would never drop you. You patted his back and Nico seemed to catch the hint as he slowly dropped your back to the ground, though his arms remained wrapped around you to keep you close.

“You won,” you corrected. “We are on different teams, remember?”

Nico shrugged. “My win is your win.” 

You snorted. “That was cheesy.” 

“Didn’t like it?” He teased, and your cheeks burned warmer. 

“You make it work,” you admitted, the band around your chest tightening when you saw his face brighten at your words. 

“Yeah?” 

For a moment, you forgot that you were surrounded by people. For a moment, it was just you and Nico stood on this beach, smiling and laughing and alone. For a moment, you could have sworn his eyes dipped down to your mouth. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you.

A big part of you wished he did. 

“C’MON, LOVEBIRDS! LUNCH IS READY!”

You blinked, tearing your eyes away from the boy right in front of you and instead turned to look at the others. Some of the group were already making their way back to the house, but a few lingered on the beach. Lucy was grinning at you like a madman with Tom looking equally as happy. However, it was hard to focus on them when Jackson stood a few feet away, glaring at you and Nico.

You cleared your throat, hoping your smile seemed normal as you turned to Nico. “Ready for lunch?”

“Hm,” Nico hummed, looking like he wanted to say more but ultimately just nodding. “Yeah, I’m starving.”

“Scoring the winning goal really does knock you on your ass, huh?” You joked.

Nico just laughed, throwing his arm around you before the two of you began to make your way back to the house. “Running in sand is much harder than skating.” 

“Didn’t stop you from achieving the win.”

“I’m a winner, baby,” Nico grinned. “I don’t like losing.”

…

The football game had sucked the energy out of most of the group, so it was no surprise everyone started to head to bed before the clock had even reached ten.

You were dragging your feet as you followed Nico to your shared room, doing everything in your ability to stay awake as he went into the bathroom first. Every one of your moves felt lethargic and sluggish and you wanted nothing more than to curl up under the duvet to sleep forever.

It was like a cruel joke from the universe that the second your head hit the pillow, you couldn’t fall asleep. And it took a solid ten minutes of twisting and turning before Nico spoke up.

“Are you okay?”

You froze before letting out a heavy sigh, settled on your back as you stared blankly into the dark room. “Just can’t sleep.” There was a pause. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“I wasn’t asleep yet.” he assured you before he shuffled in his spot until he was facing you, even if he couldn’t really see you in the dark. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Your lips twitched upwards and maybe it was the exhaustion, but you couldn’t even stop yourself from letting out a laugh that echoed through the room.

Nico let out a noise of amusement. “What?” 

You shook your head, feeling oddly giddy as you spoke. “Nothing, it’s just,” you paused for a few seconds. “I just remembered Jack telling me how the team joked that you took on the role of the therapist before you became captain. That after bad games, you went out of your way to ask them how they were doing and being the shoulder they needed to cry on.”

Nico frowned a little. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” you answered as you turned to look at him, imagining the features on his face even if you couldn’t see him. “It’s just funny that I knew what you were like this whole time but still…it took me experiencing you to realise how stupid I was.” 

His confusion grew. “Stupid for what?”

“For thinking you were scary,” you admitted in a whisper.

Nico didn’t say anything before he let out a laugh. “You thought I was scary?” 

“Well, not scary,” you corrected, but you couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Just…intimidating.” 

“Is that why you never spoke to me?”

“I spoke to you,” you argued.

“Hardly,” Nico mused. “I don’t think we had a proper conversation until you had almost been with the team for a year. I had to ask Jack if I had done something to piss you off because you seemed to get on with everyone else but me.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise. “You asked Jack?”

“I wanted to apologise if I had done something I didn’t realise upset you,” he confessed, and something in your chest tightened at the thought.

“Oh god,” you murmured, letting out a groan as you raised your hands to cover your face. “Now I feel like even more of a dick.”

Nico huffed out a laugh before he reached over, his palm warm and comforting as it rested on your arm. “It’s fine. We are friends now, right?”

You sighed. “Yeah but—”

“Hey, don’t feel too bad about it, okay? We were both being stupid,” Nico’s words washed over you, his thumb gently rubbing soothing circles on your skin. “And without that, you could have been here with Jack or someone else instead and I would have missed out on a pretty fun week.”

“You’re having fun?”

“Of course I am. I’m here with you,” he murmured, voice thick and full of sincerity. It made your heart race in your chest to the point you almost swore he could hear it. “Plus, it’s pretty funny seeing how pathetic your ex-boyfriend is.”

You snorted. “Not my finest decision in life.”

“As much as I wish you never experienced that kind of pain, I’m glad it happened,” Nico whispered, his hand lightly squeezing your arm. “It meant you moved to New Jersey. It meant that I—that the whole team got to meet you.”

Your cheeks burned but you smiled, even if he couldn’t see it. You placed a hand over his and squeezed back. “I’m glad I met you too. All of you.”

“Bet you wouldn’t have had this heart-to-heart with Jack, huh?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “No, he probably would have fallen asleep before I even left the bathroom.”

Nico laughed but didn’t disagree. 

You don’t remember exactly at what point you fell asleep that night, but you spent a little longer in his arms the next morning. 

It was a risk but you had lost time to make up for with Nico Hischier, even if it meant making up those moments tangled in bed with him.

…

The rehearsal dinner was where everything really hit you.

It had been running smoothly, though you expected nothing less from Lucy. You knew she probably had the day planned down to the minute, and even if the plan deviated, she would have five back up plans that were ready to go. It was just the kind of person she was.

It was held outside on the beach, the slowly setting sun casting the skies orange and pink over the venue. The tables were set to perfection, the fairy lights decorated across the borders and you had truly never seen anyone happier than Lucy and Tom in that moment. Your heart soared at the idea of the two most deserving people finding the happiness they earned.

It was gorgeous. It was perfect. It was the last fucking time and place you should have been hit with the fact that you were maybe, kinda, most definitely falling in love with Nico Hischier.

Lucy had just wanted a calm, laid back rehearsal dinner. The wedding party was just meant to practise walking in and out, before eventually sitting down to enjoy the nice meal set for the occasion. It was nothing intense, nothing high-stress or extreme. 

It was meant to be fine.

And it was, all things considered. Everything ran smoothly, everyone stood where they were meant to stand and there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s head that the wedding itself would run smoothly. 

But it didn’t feel fine in your head. 

You had taken your place in the line of bridesmaids, waiting for your cue to start walking down the makeshift aisle. You had stepped out right on beat, you kept your gaze forward, you stood on your marked spot and then you turned to wait for Lucy to make her way down the aisle. 

Except your eyes shifted away from the bride and found Nico’s gaze. 

He should have turned his head to look at the approaching bride-to-be like everyone else was. He should have been watching the ceremony, enjoying the love shared between the happy couple you were all here to celebrate. He should have been looking the other way.

But he was looking at you. 

He was looking at you with a soft smile—one that only widened the second he realised you were looking right back. The skin around his eyes crinkled with his smile, his chain was peeking out the open collar shirt and the soft breeze was making strands of his hair flutter down onto his forehead and—

Fuck. 

You were falling for Nico Hischier. 

The realisation hit you hard and fast, it almost felt like you were winded by the thought. It was a small blessing that everyone was focused on Lucy, that they were far too preoccupied to watch the way you stumbled slightly in your spot at the weight of your sudden realisation. 

Well, everyone except Nico.

He frowned a little, a crease forming between the brows and you could see the concern in his eyes even with the large distance between you. You could see the way he tilted his head slightly, the silent question hanging between you as you just flashed him a small smile and nodded your head. 

You had to tear your eyes away from him before your lungs caved in or your heart burst out of your chest. You had to force yourself to remember to smile and focus on the rehearsal dinner. You had to force yourself to remain normal.

Because he was Nico Hischier. 

He was captain of the New Jersey Devils. He was your colleague. He was your newly-made friend. He was here doing a favour after Jack practically threw him in the deep-end. He wasn’t here to witness your sudden and mind-boggling realisations. 

So, when the dinner was starting to be served and he found your side again, you didn’t hesitate to lie through your teeth. 

“I’m okay,” you told him, a kind smile on your face that you hoped was believable. “Trust me, Nico, I’m fine. Just got a little dizzy, must have low blood sugar or something.” 

Because you were here for your friend’s wedding. And he was here to help you out. 

There was no place for your newfound feelings.

…

To absolutely nobody’s shock, the wedding went through without a single hitch.

The ceremony ran through smoothly with pretty vows and sweet kisses exchanged between the newly married couple. As the reception rolled around, speeches were given, laughs were shared and dinner was served as the guests all enjoyed the union of Lucy and Tom and their love. 

It was sweet. It was perfect. It was everything your best friend deserved for her wedding.

It didn’t take long after the dinner for the first dance to commence, a soft smile in place as you watched Tom and Lucy softly sway to their chosen song. They looked lost in their own world, so caught up in each other like they forgot everyone else existed. 

A pang of longing hit you but you shoved it away. 

It was somewhere between your third and fourth glass of wine when Lucy found you, dragging you towards the dance floor with some halfhearted rambles about wanting to get pictures of all the bridesmaids and groomsmen dancing before you all got shit-faced drunk.

It was your unfortunate luck that the photographer paired you with Jackson before you had the chance to disagree, to escape the way Bryce was glaring at you like you had chosen him.

“She isn’t you.” 

You tried to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, to try and focus on something other than his hands on your waist. You thought you could zone out and that maybe the song would pass quickly, but the universe had other plans for you.

“It’s not like how it was when I was with you,” Jackson continued. 

“What do you genuinely think this conversation is going to achieve?” You asked him, gaining the courage to lift your head to look him in the eyes. You kept your voice down to avoid attention, to avoid creating a scene. “We’re done. We were done years ago when you chose to throw our relationship down the drain. I’ve moved on, you should too.”

Jackson shot you a look. “Tell me you haven’t felt it this week. Tell me you don’t feel the pull—”

“I don’t,” you stated bluntly. “And I have no interest in what you’ve felt this week. I don’t care.”

He frowned. “Because of your lil’ hockey player?”

“Little isn’t the word I’d use to describe him but no,” you answered honestly. “Not because of him but because of you. You ruined things, Jackson, and I moved on with my life. Accept that.” 

Jackon’s frown only deepend. He opened his mouth and you could only imagine what he was going to say, could only imagine what bullshit he was about to pull out of his ass. But before he got the chance, a firm hand landed on his shoulder to halt his movements. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

Jackson glanced over his shoulder to see Nico standing there, smiling like nothing was wrong, like he wouldn’t happily put Jackson in his place if he disagreed. And maybe your words got through to him or maybe Jackson accepted it was not worth arguing with a man over fifty pounds heavier and four inches taller than him. 

He turned to look at you, saying nothing as his jaw clenched in response before he wandered off. 

Nico hardly wasted any time in taking up Jackson’s spot, one arm wound around your waist and tugging you close whilst the other intertwined with your hand. He looked down at you, eyes full of concern, fondness and something else as he noted how tense you were.

“You okay?” His voice soft and quiet but, fuck, it was exactly what you needed to hear. “He didn’t say anything, right? Because I can—”

“I handled it,” you assured him with a soft smile, squeezing his hand to punctuate your point. “But thank you for being my knight in shining armour.”

“Selfishly, I wanted to do it the second the dance started,” Nico admitted, and if he hadn’t been drinking all night, you would have assumed the pink flush to his cheeks was a blush. “I mean, you’re my date after all. Surely first pick dancing rights go to me, no?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “First pick in the draft, now in dancing…you’re quite the man, Hischier.”

“I’m consistent,” he retorted, tugging you that little bit closer until you had the excuse to rest your head against his chest. 

And for a moment, with your cheek pressed against his shirt and his presence engulfing, you let yourself pretend this moment would last forever. You let yourself enjoy the last day Nico Hischier would pretend to be your boyfriend and imagined a world where it wasn’t really pretend at all.

…

Lucy wasn’t happy that you had to leave early the next morning, but she understood that both of you had to return to New Jersey.

It was dreadfully early—far too fucking early with how late you stayed up the night before—to start an eleven hour road trip, but Nico had just smiled and told you to nap the first few hours whilst he drove the first stint of the journey. 

You knew he was right, that you should have rested and gotten a little sleep but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay asleep for long. You felt like you were wasting time, you were wasting precious hours in this little bubble you had created with Nico that would burst by the time you both returned to Newark. 

So, you did what every normal and sane person did and stocked up on coffee and energy drinks at the next service station stop to keep you fuelled through the drive.

It was no different to the drive down to Charleston except for a shift in the energy. It was easier, in a sense. On the way down, Nico was essentially a glorified stranger to you that you had only shared a number of conversations with. But it felt different now, it felt like you actually knew the boy in the seat beside you. 

And it was bittersweet in that sense, too.

Because you loved this. You loved how easy it was to talk to him. You loved how you got to see the side of Nico Hischier that enamoured the fans, the team and the league. You loved that you got your own special version of him in the last week. And you didn’t want to lose that, you didn’t know if you would ever see this version of Nico again once you reached New Jersey. 

And as the hours passed and the closer you reached your destination, it felt like Nico realised the same. The car was tense and thick with tension, one that went unspoken but reeked of longing and the desire to cling onto the bubble the two of you created over the last week.

It was there, lingering and stewing and, yet, neither of you said anything about it once you reached your apartment complex.

“Thank you,” you said for what felt like the millionth time that weekend, but it was necessary. It had to be said. It meant so much more.

Thank you for coming with me this weekend. Thank you for backing me up. Thank you for being a good friend. Thank you for showing me who you really are even if it’s going to fuck with my head for the rest of my life. Thank you for being you.

“Any time,” he said, the words just as heavy as yours. You wish you knew what he meant by them. “Do you need help with your bags? I can—”

“I’ve got them,” you assured him.

His brows furrowed together. “Are you sure? I—”

“I’m sure,” you said, clearing your throat and finding the courage to finally look at him. You pushed away the stupidest and strangest urge to cry. “Well, see you on Monday then?”

Nico frowned a little but nodded. “See you Monday.”

It felt harsh being so blunt, so straightforward and direct. But you knew you needed to get out of that car as quickly as you could. Because you had spent the last week with Nico by your side the whole time, basked in the warmth of him as a person, and you knew all it would take was a few more moments alone with him for you to blurt out something stupid.

You knew you needed to get out of there and just be alone. To lock yourself in your apartment over the next twenty-four hours before you had to return to work, to attempt to wrap your head around the flurry of emotions bursting inside of you. You knew you needed to get behind that door before you had the urge to run back down to his car.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look back at his car, to see if he drove off, as you reached the door of your apartment complex. You forced yourself to keep your gaze ahead, to put one foot in front of the other until you reached your apartment. You felt your body moving on autopilot as you unlocked the door, stepped inside and dumped the bags you had dragged up. 

And then, the overwhelming realisation and memories of the last few days washed over you. 

Fuck. You were in love with him. You were properly in love with him. You were going to have to go into work on Monday and see him there and pretend everything is normal. You are going to have to pretend for the rest of your life or until your feelings go away. You were going to—

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

You paused, the heel of your palm pressed to the centre of your chest as you tried to regulate your breaths. You had half the mind to ignore the knocks, to hope the person on the other side of the door just left you alone so you could curl up onto your couch with a fluffy blanket and a tub of ice cream.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

But you had a nagging feeling this person wouldn’t leave.

You avoided the mirror in your hallway as you headed back towards your front door, twisting the handle and pulling the door back with the full expectation of seeing one of your neighbours on the other side. 

Instead, it was a panting and breathless Nico.

“Nico?”

“I can’t pretend anymore,” he blurted out, beyond the point of caring whether he was too blunt or straightforward. “I can’t pretend because I have spent the last few years pretending and I’m tired of it.”

Your brows furrowed together. “What are you—”

“I wasn’t lying when I told your friends,” Nico continued, his eyes never leaving yours. It was almost like he was afraid to look away. It was like he was scared you would disappear if he did, or he would lose the confidence he had to say what he had been feeling since he first saw you. “I had the biggest crush on you when you joined the team years ago.”

Your lips parted in surprise, but no words came out. No words were needed as Nico continued.

“And Jack knew. Everyone fucking knew how I felt about you,” he admitted with a laugh, one that was a little dry and self-depricating. “They knew how I felt about you before you even spoke to me. And then Jack saw the opportunity and he tried to help me but it just made everything worse.”

Your heart twisted at his words.

“Because it showed me what life would be like if I was actually yours,” Nico whispered, voice cracking and emotions raw. “It showed me what it would be like for you to hold my hand and call me your boyfriend and introduce me to your friends like I’m this huge part of your life. And now it fucking sucks that it’s not true, that it’s over. And I can’t just keep going on in life and seeing you at work on Monday and acting like I’m still okay with pretending—”

You kissed him.

He was standing at your doorstep confessing a million different things at once, confessing things that had your head spinning and your brain racing to catch up with. But he was standing there and he felt the same way and you just couldn’t help yourself but to grab his face and kiss him.

Nico sunk into the kiss like it was what his body was made for, like an instinctive reaction to grip your hips and pull you closer. Your arms slowly wound around his neck, tugging him down to deepen the kiss as every racing thought in your head stopped and there was just him, him, him.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you murmured against his lips because you genuinely didn’t have it within you to pull away properly, to put any more distance between you.

You could feel him smile against your lips. “No?”

“No,” you swallowed harshly as you lightly nudged his nose with your own. “I don’t want to go back to the way everything was before the wedding. I don’t want you to become a stranger in my life.”

“Never, schatz,” he murmured softly before leaning down to press his lips against yours again, slow and purposeful. 

You let him slowly lead you back into your apartment, listened to the way he kicked the door shut with his boot as he led you towards the coach in your living room. You could feel his smile against your own as you fell back onto the cushions, his body a comfortable and familiar weight on you as memories of your mornings together flashed through your mind.

“Oh god.”

Nico pulled back, holding his weight on his elbows as he looked down at you with a frown. “What?”

“Jack is going to be so fucking smug,” you grumbled, playfully groaning whilst the boy on top of you just laughed. 

“You’re something else,” Nico murmured with a grin.

You raised your brows. “Good something?” 

“Best something,” Nico corrected before he leaned down to kiss you again. 

.

[p3nislawd]

love.

EXPLICIT NSFW CONTENT

CONTAINS : afab, choking, degradation, mentions of prostitution, fingering

hidan had never been one for love. if anything, he was the most devoted to jashin— and to him, he never considered that devotion and love were two different things. he was loyal to jashin, but he never loved him. he couldn’t even say he knew what love was. it was a whispered myth, a legend told only in stories, a feeling he could never find within himself, no matter how desperately he tried. and he hated being lesser. he lacked love where others were plentiful; it made him angry. yet not angry in a typical hidan way. it was a different kind of angry: a quiet, self loathing angry, that made him tear out his hair and bleed the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent.

so he ignored it.

hidan liked pretending love didn’t exist— because if he didn’t have it, what did it matter?

it was unobtainable.

then, came you.

you were young, pretty, sexy. to die for. hidan was enamored, yet somehow his interest never failed to be condescending. you were merely some girl kakuzu surprisingly let ride along with him, in exchange for prostitution and neat collection of his money after you showed your eagerness to work alongside the akatsuki.

hidan called you names. often. he never respected you.

you two often butted heads, especially the first couple of months you had first joined,

“can you just get to cleaning, you crazy fucking bitch?”

you reached up, easily, caught the pretty locks of silver between your knuckles. hidan whined loudly in protest, shouted and scrambled out of your grip.

“the fuck you say to me? clean it yourself, cunt,” you spat, tearing your hand away from him and shaking it off as if it would erase the history of his skin on yours.

fingers were around your neck. you felt your breath hitch. the cool metal of hidan’s ring bubbled against your blazing skin, you sputtered, and looked up at him. his eyes shimmered, his thumb rubbing over your skin as he licked his lips, stared blatantly at the low cut collar of your shirt.

shit. how did he always manage to do this to you?

“what you are doing?” you hissed, ruffling up like some untamed beast, digging into his wrist with your fingers. he left plenty of breathing room. a part of you was surprised he wasn’t strangling you to death at this point.

but your eyes flickered down to his casual wear, and there it was, staring at you.

“oh.”

“such a fucking attitude,” hidan snapped, hot and angry, and your could hear the grimace on his lips, imagined the trace of it on your neck instead of his rough hands. his eyes flickered to his hand on your throat, watched his palm move with bobbing of your swallow. the edge of the counter dug into the small of your back.

“you’re the one who’s been giving me shit since my first day,” you replied, daring to press further into his space, try to take control of the conversation.

he had scoffed, a sound that ignited your stomach with something that was a mix between rage and arousal. “yeah, and you’re the fucking prostitute coat rider, so don’t talk to me like you’re better.”

the arousal left as quickly as it came, and was replaced with vexation. “at least people think i’m hot,” you snapped, pressing down hard on his pulse point until he hissed and retracted his hand from your throat. “and don’t touch me again, you fucking horn-dog. don’t think i didn’t see your hard on.”

hidan chuckled, an unexpected expression that made your blood run hot. “not my fault you hoe around, bitch.”

it was wrong, you knew it. he was disrespectful, condescending.

but the thought that he thought you were at least a little attractive made you queasy, made your stomach churn with heat. yes, you were attractive. you sold your body for that kind of thing. but hearing it from hidan?

“fuck around and find out,” you called out distantly, with a scoff you didn’t really mean, and he turned from where he stood, now at the far length of his doorway.

his eyes were a dazzling magenta, his lips curled into a smirk. “could say the same for you, whore.”

“…what a dick.”

“what a dick,” you murmured beneath your breath, slipping into the main room, exhausted from your recent mission. well, exhausted wouldn’t really be the word. more like disappointed. you had met up with a man at a hotel nearby the current base— you two had sex, if you could even call it that, and then you collected your money and promptly had blackmail immediately after your leave: you had evidence that a well known political had an affair with his wife. kakuzu had said he’d put the plan into work soon, but….

you don’t think you’ve ever had sex so bad. first of all, you were completely and utterly DRY. second off, he had no preparation, and just kind of dry-burnt his way through into you with no lube, but at least some protection. lastly, he gave a couple weak thrusts of his hips until YOU had to do all the work and get him off until he busted, and then he left. didn’t even consider how it went for you. i mean, damn, it was only a hookup, but how fucking lame.

you sighed, slumping down into a lounge chair near the kitchen and letting yourself rest your feet for just a moment in the dark, silence of the night in the base. it was around 4 in the morning at this point. most of the members were probably awake, but they knew well enough to mind to themselves at this point.

“hey, bitch.”

and there was that pretty hand around your neck again. you resisted a squeak of a surprise and jolted. you must had been real tired of hidan of all people was able to sneak up on you. his breath fanned beside your ear, and you whipped around to face him. “what do you want?” you grumbled, eying him where he had slinked up to behind your chair.

hidan’s night clothes were a big, loose fitting shirt, and a random pair of dark bottoms. his hair was a little disheveled, a little cute as he yawned. “it’s fucking late. why’d you just get back?”

you snorted, giving up on protesting and merely relaxing into his hold. his grip was still firm over your throat, and although minuscule, you tried to ignore how soaked it already had you compared to the literal sex you had unaroused a couple hours before. “what do you think?”

his eyes traced your face in the dark, searching for something you couldn’t quite place. “…and?”

��it was fucking lame. i hate fucking them old ass politicians. why do you want to know anyways, weirdo?”

he rolled his eyes, straightened up and took his hand from around your neck. you almost missed it. “nothing. just asking how it went. chill the fuck out, you crazy bitch.”

feeling mad all over again, you shot up from the chair, smacked him on the chest. “you chill out, dick face. you need something to keep your fucking mouth busy,” you spat, purposefully ignoring how he reached out and snagged your wrist in his hand, keeping you in place.

“you offering?” he breathed, eyes blazing.

you couldn’t fight off your flush this time. “fuck no!”

hidan grinned, looking too smug as he let go of your hand and shrugged. “your loss, bitch,” he murmured, sauntering away with a smirk.

you groaned and dragged yourself to your bedroom to wash up.

and by the time you had left the bathroom, hidan had already let himself into your room. “what are you doing here?” you sighed, combing through your wet hair and thankful you had changed before you had left the restroom.

hidan didn’t bother to sit up from the edge of the bed, eyes darting over your form, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he met your eyes. your stomach fluttered and you cursed it, and him. “wanna fuck?”

“….what.”

“c’mon, you didn’t get off with that old guy, did you?” he grinned, rising from the bed and standing right in front of you. “i could show you a good time, bitch. told you i’d get ya eventually, didn’t i?”

“that’s…” you sighed, shaking your head softly. “old guy doesn’t have to do with it. work is work. i don’t wanna fuck your ugly ass. and i’m sure that shit would suck.”

“hiiiidan,” you groaned, head resting on the pillow as he slid his fingertips over your lips, dipping them teasingly in between but never fully letting you feel his fingers. “just fucking put them in.”

“shut up, bitch. tryna enjoy this right now, your fucking voice ruins that shit,” he scoffs, gently opening your folds and whistling softly at the sight. you could feel the heat rush to your face.

“…please.”

hidan snorted. “you think that hoe shit works on me? fucking dumbass.”

you rolled your eyes, grabbed his wrist and dug your fingers into his skin, watching his breath hitch in a mixture of pain and pleasure. “now,” you grumbled, bucking softly against his palm.

hidan leaned down, pressing his lips to the bare skin of your flesh as he wordlessly inserted his middle finger into your slick. “fuck, like that, bitch?” he stammers, half in disbelief, half in laughter as you squirm and moan softly. his fingers were so fucking thick, and as he slipped in his second and third consecutively, the chill and bump of his ring in your pussy made you tighten up, fast. he pressed an open mouth kiss to your throat and you moaned as he slid his fingers out, then thrusted them back in, to the knuckle.

“hidan!” you whined, pressing your hands into his hair as his fingers felt your flesh from the inside, circled around your gumminess and had you seeing stars as he curled them.

“yeahhhaha,” he chuckled, thumb sliding back and forth between your outside lips. “just like that, huh? bet that’s way better than that fucking lame fart. you like that? like my ring inside you? fuuck, it’ll be covered in cum once i pull them out, yeah, bitch?”

the squelch of your pussy around his fingers made him ooo, and he pressed in the third finger just in time for you to gasp and writhe in his hold. “fuck, hidan! nnn, yeah,” you mewled, eyes wide as he opened his fingers back and forth inside you, the stretch making the knot in your stomach churn. “hidan, i’m- i’m-“

“yeah, yeah,” he cut you off, panting as he quickened the flick of his wrist, his palm slapping against your pelvis with the sudden increase and with each thrust of his fingers. “just fucking shut up, let your pretty pussy do the talking, ‘kay, whore?”

you gulped as he rubbed his thumb over your clit and the room fell silent besides the gush of his fingers in your pretty pink lips, and you tugged as his hair feverishly as he lifts his three fingers up and down, consecutively, until the squelch was loud enough for you to start panting.

“yeah, just like that. keep that pretty mouth shut, i’ll fuck it later. just let me fuck around in this pussy, alright? fuuuuck, you’re so fucking hot,” he painted. “you gonna cum for me? cum on my big fat fingers? bet you didn’t do this for those old men, huh? i’m the only one who’s gonna fucking finger you like this, alright, bitch?”

“only you, hidan!” you whimpered, gasping softly as he bit down on the flesh of your throat.

his chest began to heave with effort, and your eyes rolled back as you clenched down, hard.

as he pulled away with a laugh, and pressed his fingers over his tongue, mouth wide open for you to see your own mess, you had a feeling this wasn’t going to end very soon.

[p3nislawd]

meanwhile Gege: 😘😝🤩🥰

[p3nislawd]

[p3nislawd]

[p3nislawd]