#Toronto maple leafs fluff

[hockeybabe]

Don’t Chirp My Girl | M. Knies

Pairings: Matthew Knies x gf!reader

Summary: Pastrnak say some not so great things about you to your boyfriend and your boyfriend isn’t having it.

Warnings: pastrnaks a dick, protective Knies, swearing, pure fluff, making out in a car, illusion to smut

Word count: 879

Note: saw this and was like yes sir 🫡

Out of all the people for Pastnak to go after he had chosen your boyfriend. The two of you had been dating for almost two years and you decided, as this being Matthew’s first full season, you’d go to as many games as you could. 

When they got into the playoffs, you made it your mission to be at every game. You were born and raised a hockey fan, knowing every single thing from wrongs to rights. And for the past two games, the leafs weren’t doing what they normally did. Auston wasn’t playing tonight, which meant Matthew would have more ice time.

That made you truly happy knowing you’d see your boyfriend more on the ice. As of now, it was the third period, and the game was still tied at 1-1. Things in the playoffs were another level. They were more intense, and the players weren’t having it with each other.

From the glass seat you were at, you could see Pastrnak staring right back at you with a creepy look on his face. The whistle blew and before you knew it; they were playing. Your thumbs twiddled with each other as you watched the two teams battle it out. 

Swayman was able to stop the puck before it reached the net, allowing the refs to stop play and just like always, Boston and Toronto were going at it. However, this time it was your boyfriend and Pastrnak. Pastrnak was pointing over at you while saying something, making Matthew lose his shit. 

You could barely make out the words Matthew was saying, but you could see him push Pastrnak before saying, “that’s what I thought.” You shivered slightly at the look on your boyfriend’s face as the game continued. He’d never looked so angry at someone’s words. 

It was common for chirping to go around in hockey, it what caused fights. But it was also wasn’t uncommon for rookies to have their loved one's being called out. 

As the game made its way to over time you sat at the edge of your seat watching as John skated fast to Swayman, attempting a shot, but it slid past him and two players, leaving the puck all by itself and an open net. You watched Matthew skate up to it, flicking the puck into the net, and the sirens blazed. 

You shot out of your seat banging on the glass and give high-fives to the little leaf fans around you as the Boston ones flipped you off and said random shit, making a smug smirk grace your lips. You had followed Steph through the crowd as you both made your way to the team's tunnel. 

You watched as Matthew came out of the change room first with a smug look. He was happy, but in his eyes he was clearly annoyed. You sigh knowing that it’d be a long drive home. He had greeted all the partners before parting ways with his team. “He’ll get over it.” Max said to you before you followed him to the parking lot. 

“So,” you started. “You gonna tell me what happened?” You asked, getting into the passenger seat. Matthew only bothered to give you a grunt as he continued to drive to the apartment. “Jesus Matthew! Are you really not gonna say shit?” You cried out as his silence drove you crazy.

Matthew’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as his knuckles turned white. You couldn’t lie, the sight turned you on, but he was mad and with mad came silence and built up emotion. “Matt, pull over.” You told him, sternly. Matthew looked over at you before pulling off to the side of the road. 

You unbuckled your seat belt, climbed over the console and sat yourself in Matt’s lap, your back resting on the wheel. You took Matt’s face into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “What’d he say?” You ask again. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He grumbled. “So what, you’ll bubble this anger up till Thursday and then what? Take it out on the guy! It’s fucking hockey, baby! Shit happens.” You cried out, hoping to get your words through his thick skull. 

“He said you’d leave me for someone better in the end.” He mumbled, making your heart stop. “I pushed him and told his to not start and he thought wrong for trying me.” He said, snuggling his head into your neck and placing a kiss on your collarbone. “Well, who the hell would be someone better?” You asked, making his head perk up. 

“Cause I’ve got the best guy I’ve met in a while. And he makes my fucking world.” You said with a big smile, making him smirk. “Oh, really.” He whispered, pulling you closer. You were pulled up into his bulge, making you whimper, shutting your eyes slowly. “Yeah, he’s got this goofy, uh, smile and he, um, he wears the number 23.” You breath out as he placed wet kisses on your neck.

“The number he’s going to ruin me in.” You moan. Pressing your lips onto his. His hands ran up your back, pulling you closer than possible. Your lips meshed as his tongue explored your mouth. “Get in the back.” He said in a husky voice. 

[chukys-mouthguard]

nights like this

3.3k words

featuring: auston matthews x female reader

genre: fluff, suggested smut

summary: Auston has just been named the newest captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, and while you worry about pulling off a surprise dinner, Auston has his own surprise in store for you

Watching from the front row with Auston’s family, you tried your best to not get emotional. Partially because of not wanting to ruin your makeup, but the other half of you knowing Auston would surely laugh at you for it.

Auston had just been named the newest captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, which was such an amazing accomplishment for him still so young in his career. John Tavares shook his hand as he presented Auston with the jersey, the two of them posing together before Auston did a few solo shots.

You smiled at him as you clapped along with the crowd, his eyes finding yours as he shot you a wink. His smile was bright as he held the jersey proudly. The news was not something he’d necessarily expected, but he was so honored to accept.

He’d come home from meetings earlier in the week, to which you assumed were standard team business. But as he greeted you in the kitchen asking to sit you down, you had grown nervous that he was delivering some bad news.

-

“Hey baby, smells good.”

Auston kissed your lips as you were preparing lunch. Wrapping his arms around your waist as he rested his head on your shoulder. Watching your hands as they were busy chopping up some veggies for the dish you were making.

“Is it too much to ask you to pause for a quick second? I’ve gotta talk to you.”

You’d dropped the knife almost immediately, his tone of voice catching you off guard as you grew nervous fast. Turning in the grip of his arms to face him you wiped your hands with a towel.

“Is everything okay?”

He softly smiled as he took your hand, leading you to the couch as he sat you down before taking a seat on the coffee table in front of you. His hands held tight to yours as he looked at the floor.

“Auston, baby, hurry up I’m freaking out inside! And lunch is gonna burn!”

He chuckled as he brought your hands to his lips, kissing them both before he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“So, as you know I had several meetings recently with the team, and it’s nothing bad. It’s actually pretty amazing, honestly. And today, they let me know that they are looking to take the organization in a new direction this season. That new direction is gonna start with me.”

Despite him telling you this was good news, it hadn’t yet sounded like anything good. It started to sound like somehow Auston was being traded with the way he chose to phrase this.

“You’re looking at the newest captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

Your jaw fell to the floor as you stared at him, his smile grew from ear to ear as he watched your reaction. The tears subconsciously welled in your eyes as you were overcome with emotion, wanting to scream and run around the house. But also just wanting to hug him tight and never let him go.

“Auston, stop. You’re serious?”

He nodded his head laughing at your disbelief, “yes, hand to god baby.”

“Babe! I’m so proud of you!”

Jumping up from the couch you wrapped your arms around him as he stood up, lifting you off your feet as he hugged you. Your legs wrapping around his waist as you peppered his face with kisses. Auston just laughed at your reaction, carrying you back towards the kitchen as he saw a pot of water boiling on the stove.

“Auston this is amazing! Oh my gosh, we have to celebrate!”

He set you down as he tended to the boiling pot, stirring the water that was tasked with cooking some rice before he turned down the flame.

“Well, not yet. It hasn’t been announced yet. So we have to wait until next week to do any celebrating after the official reveal and announcement by the Leafs.”

You playfully groaned with a roll of your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tight as you were so in awe of him.

“Fine, I guess I’ll wait a week to let everyone know how amazing you are and how proud I am of you. I love you baby, and I’m seriously so fucking proud of you!”

-

Now the day was finally here to celebrate.

As Auston came down from the stage, the press conference now over, he stopped to hug each of his friends and family in the front row. Leaving you for last as he walked up with the biggest smile on his face.

“I told you no crying allowed today, you’re such a softie baby.”

He wrapped his arms around you as he chuckled, his teasing just making you smile as you couldn’t help your emotions. He kissed your lips before taking your hand in his as he continued through the room to greet and thank other familiar faces for coming.

Auston had kept you by his side for the remainder of the post-press conference festivities, his arm wrapped around your waist as his thumb traced circles over the fabric of your dress. You found it hard not to be in awe of him. To know all of these people were there to support him, to support this new chapter of the organization that was starting with him. To know they believed in a future with him as captain, it made you so proud to call him your boyfriend and get to the by his side throughout this new journey.

“You look stunning tonight baby.”

Auston pulled you in for a kiss as the two of you waited for the elevator, the press conference finally coming to an end after much media attention and thank you’s were expressed to the guests.

“And you look so handsome, Mr. Captain.”

You jokingly teased the nickname, still feeling like it wasn’t real as Auston simply rolled his eyes with a smile. Knowing that were surely going to enjoy that nickname a little too much, but he’d get over it.

The two of you took the elevator down to the parking garage, climbing into Auston’s car as he quickly replied to a couple texts before starting it up.

“Where to for dinner babe?”

You hadn’t told Auston but you planned a surprise celebratory dinner at one of his favorite restaurants for his family and closest friends. The secret was not an easy one to keep as he could usually sniff out a surprise from a mile away, and you were worried he had possibly found out from a teammate to ruin it.

“I actually arranged dinner for us tonight, as a little surprise for you.”

Auston looked at you with a smirk before backing out of his parking spot, it wasn’t that he didn’t like you making plans, he just loved being the one to spoil and take care of you so it never ceased to shock him when you did the same for him.

“Really? You arranged dinner? That’s a nice surprise, where to?”

You’d plugged the directions into his GPS for the restaurant, growing nervous that maybe he’d found out from someone about the surprise. Trying not to give Auston any sign that you were nervous as you sat in the passenger seat as his hand rested on your thigh, the only thing keeping you calm.

“Wow, I forgot how beautiful this place is. We haven’t been here in awhile, I’m excited.”

He leaned over giving you a kiss before you exited the vehicle for valet, Auston taking your hand in his as he led you up the small set of stairs to the restaurant. The hostess greeted you as you gave her the name of your reservation, soon following behind as she led you to the private back room.

You could feel your hand beginning to sweat in Auston’s grip, knowing that it wasn’t the end of the world if the surprise flopped, but you wanted to do this special for him.

Pulling him close to you as you approached the doors to the secluded dining room, you took a deep breath, anticipation slowly building to see his reaction to the room of people.

“Here you two are, right in here!”

The hostess beamed with a smile as you two turned the corner, the small group of friends and family instantly cheering as you came into their view. Auston immediately rolling his eyes with a smile, completely caught off guard by the surprise as he looked at you laughing.

“You did this? Baby, you’re amazing. Oh my gosh.”

He pulled you in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around you to be sure and let you feel how appreciative he was for the surprise. His hands cupping your face as he kissed you once more.

“Thank you baby, this is so special. I love you.”

“I love you too, Aus.”

Auston moved to mingle with the group which included his family, a handful of his teammates that were at his press conference, and a few close friends both from the league and from back home.

You took a seat next to Auston’s mom as you finally felt you could relax, a glass of wine immediately in hand as she offered you cheers in congratulations.

“You did it! Now you can relax and enjoy the night.”

A sigh leaving your lips as you nodded in agreement. So thankful that you’d managed to pull off the surprise, despite it being something small and intimate. You watched as Auston greeted his friends that flew into town, a big smile on his face as they all congratulated him on his captaincy. The only word to describe how you felt in the moment was proud, and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world than by his side.

“Everyone, if I could just take a second of your time before we wrap up the night.”

Auston stood at the front of the room as he gathered the attention of the group, smiling as some of his teammates were chanting for him to make a speech. To which he just playfully shook his head.

“I just wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming tonight, this means so much to me and it was such a pleasant surprise. I’m really excited for this new journey, and honored to be given this opportunity to be captain and I hope I can make the city proud, the fans proud, but also each of you proud so thank you. Lastly, y/n.”

Auston wasn’t an emotional person, but as he looked at you, you swore you saw him getting choked up or teary eyed.

“I don’t know how you pulled this off, mostly because I’m the biggest snoop and always ruin surprises. But this is incredible, and it means so much to me. You have been my rock for so many years, and to know I get to have you by my side as I navigate this new journey, I know that no matter what happens, I’ll be great as long as I’ve got you. So thank you babe, I love you.”

Auston raised a glass to you and the room as everyone reciprocated, all talking a drink together before a final cheer of the room erupted and everyone gathered their things to head out.

You and Auston had stayed to see all of the guests out before leaving, making sure to thank everyone individually once again. Finally heading home after what felt like the longest day, but one you would never forget.

You’d been quiet on the drive, Auston knowing it was a mixture of wine drunk and being tired, so he didn’t bother you much. His hand resting on your thigh as his thumb traced circles over the fabric, a smile on his face as you eventually laced your fingers with this.

“I’m so proud of you baby.”

He chuckled at your somewhat slowed speech from the wine, pulling your hand to his lips as he kissed the back of it. Before resting it on his thigh for the remainder of the drive.

“Thank you, for that, and for tonight. It was amazing, you’re amazing. Tonight was definitely nothing short of amazing.”

The fingernails of your free hand traced up and down his forearm as he pulled into the driveway of your shared home. Parking the car in the driveway before heading over to your door to help you out, but he’d soon realize the wine had certainly kicked your ass tonight.

“Aus, I cannot get out of this car. My heels won’t let me.”

He shook his head as he reached for your hands, helping you out of the car with a chuckle, the reaching back in to grab your bag that was sitting on the floor.

“Seems like someone calmed their nerves with a little red wine tonight huh?”

Pouting your face at him playfully you let out a sigh, doing your best to get yourself into the house on your own as a protest to his joking. Though only making it two steps before stumbling and needing Auston to steady you.

“Gosh baby, falling for me all over again?”

He playfully winked as he helped you regain your composure, laughing as you rolled your eyes at his awful joke.

“Auston Taylour Matthews I swear to-Ah!”

Without warning he scooped you off your feet, earning a slightly shocked yelp from you. A chuckle of embarrassment followed as he carried you inside, taking you into the kitchen where he set you onto the island as he began to work at figuring out the straps on your heels.

“Aus you’re never gonna get them off, just let me.”

“Hush, if I can figure out a bra strap one handed I can get a strap off on a heel.”

You rolled your eyes laughing at his choice of words, watching as he miraculously got the heels off in record time. Tossing them to the side, then resting his hands on either side of your hips as he smiled down at you.

“You were saying?”

He playfully pecked your lips as your fingers played with the chains that were peeking out from under his dress shirt.

“To be honest, you don’t always figure out the bra straps, you’ve definitely just ripped a few bras off of me from time to time.”

Auston rolled his eyes as he discarded his suit jacket, tossing it into the back of the couch before rejoining you in the kitchen.

“Semantics!”

His fingers played with the fabric of your dress at your hips as he placed kisses along your exposed collar bone. His demeanor becomes a bit more timid before you as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

Your hands now resting at the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair as you both just sat in this moment, enjoying the first real opportunity to just be with one another after such a long day.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

As you hummed your response, Auston pulled himself from you as he let out a sigh. The look on his face makes you nervous despite your wine buzz that has overtaken you. His expression was one you couldn’t exactly read as he took your hands in his, the anticipation causing your heart to race.

“Aus, what is it? You’re making me nervous!”

You giggled to hopefully calm his nerves, to which he apologized, not trying to scare you. With another sigh, he took your hands in his as he smiled at you.

“I’m just so incredibly thankful for you. For this night, and every night I get with you. Today was such a long day, of course exciting, but also tiring. And to be able to come home and spend moments like this with you, it’s the best thing in the world.”

You wanted to blame the wine for the tears you felt forming, but knew that would be a lie, your emotions always so easy to elicit when it came to Auston.

“Auston, thank you baby. That means so much to me, I’m so thankful to get to do this with you and be by your side.”

He nodded at you as his own tears were now in his eyes, catching you off guard as he was rarely one to cry. Your hands immediately went to his face to wipe his tears, making him laugh as he could barely get any words out.

“I’m okay, I just. I’ve realized over these last few weeks, that you truly are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You are by my side through the best times, but more importantly the worst times and the toughest times. And in this new chapter, being captain, I have no idea what that will bring for me. But I know that I can’t do any of it without you by my side.”

You were hanging on every last word as he spoke, trying not to ugly cry at the kitchen island as you knew he’d surely poke fun at you for it, but the moment was certainly getting the best of you.

As Auston paused, he opened up the drawer at the counter behind him, taking a deep breath before he turned back to face you. Your eyes immediately searched for what he’d pulled from the drawer.

“Y/n, baby, I know now that you’re my person. I’ve known from the day I met you that you were it for me. You have made me a better man, and I want to continue to be that man for you now and forever. I’m ready to start a new journey with you, to make a promise to love and cherish you forever, to start a family and grow old with you. So, y/n—“

Auston’s arm moved from behind his back to reveal a small black box, with the most amazing ring you’d ever seen. A gasp leaving your lips as you were now certainly ugly crying, but you didn’t care. The emotions overtaking you as you were too stunned to speak.

“Will you marry me?”

Without any hesitation you nodded your head, nervous that if you went to speak you’d say the wrong thing or no words would come out. Auston jokingly confirming with you that you did in fact want to say yes, you simply couldn’t form the words.

He slid the ring on your finger as you could barely hold still, shaking at the sight of the symbol that represented everything he’d just spoken but also so much more.

You immediately pulled him in for a kiss, never wanting to let him go. To stay in this exact moment forever and ever, feeling so in love and on top of the world.

“Oh my god, Auston I can’t believe this!”

You shrieked as you threw your arms around his neck, Auston picking you from the counter as he spun you around. Peopering your face with kisses as he carried you down the hall and towards the staircase to head upstairs.

As he laid you down in bed, you couldn’t stop staring at the ring, earning a sarcastic groan from him as he began to discard his dress shirt. Soon climbing into bed as he hovered over you, peppering your face with kisses before moving down to your neck. His eyes looking up to see you still stealing glances at the ring while you tried to enjoy the moment with Auston.

“Babe, if you can’t stop starting I’m gonna take it away.”

You quickly averted your gaze from your hand, pulling his face up to yours in a kiss that was at first soft and apologetic but soon turned deep and passionate as Auston’s hands snaked up your dress and explored each and every one of your curves. A hand stopping to cup your cheek as he took control of the kiss, his tongue fighting yours for dominance to which you obliged. Smirking against his lips as he slowly pulled away, but not without a playful nibble at your bottom lip.

“I love you Auston Matthews.”

“And I love you, Mrs. Auston Matthews.”

[zieisonline]

Okay I'm late to the party and have never really been a william nylander girl (or cockwarming really) but I am obsessed

Like I need so much more deets, like him waking you up with super slow tender sex and then just staying inside you for hours holding his cum in as you watch movies in bed, or him coming back from a road trip and just being all clingy and finding hugging you, you're still to far away 🥵🫠

I’m so happy your eyes have been open to the world of William 💗🫶🏼 and cockwarming

I think you’ve said it best honestly, but some more filthy Willy thoughts below!

Warnings: detailed descriptions of somno, free use, cockwarming, and unprotected sex

Some days, the early morning is the only time he gets to spend alone with you, so he has to utilize his time wisely, wanting to have something to think back on throughout the day when he inevitably starts to miss you.

You would look so beautiful resting against the pillows, slow, even breaths causing your bare chest to rise and fall rhythmically. He just couldn’t bring himself to wake you, and after all, you had the discussion long ago that he was free to use you whenever he needed, and he needed you often.

Utilizing his strength to maneuver you onto your side to face him, he would pull one of your legs up to hook around his waist, securing you close to him before placing a tender kiss to your forehead.

He works quickly, unwilling to waste any more of the morning without being inside you.

He’s gentle, making sure to warm you up with his hand, not wanting to hurt you.

Your unconscious body reacts to him easily, and soon your hips are unknowingly rolling slowly and lazily onto his hand.

He’s so enamored with you and how you can be so absolutely perfect for him even while you were asleep.

Once you are both appropriately prepped, he enters you happily, burying himself deep inside you, not wanting an inch of space between you.

He raises a hand to move your disheveled bed head from your face and takes a moment to savor the moment of being here with you, safe in the small world you have created within the walls of your apartment.

He debates wasting the rest of the morning exactly like this; cradling you in his arms in a tender embrace as the sun rises in the window behind him.

But then he feels you move. Your walls clenching tightly around him, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you react to something in your dream.

The feeling engulfs him, and he feels the heat stirring in his lower abdomen, making it hard to hold back any longer.

Slowly at first, he begins to thrust inside you, trying his hardest not to wake you.

He doesn’t last long like that, the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped snug around his dick too much to handle, his pace increasing.

It’s a delicious feeling to wake up to. Your eyes are bleary and your body is moving before you can register why or how, and a soft moan falls from you unconsciously.

All of your senses are surrounded by him. By William.

His scent, his heat, his skin, and the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot deep inside of you.

You wrap your arms around him in a feeble attempt to ground yourself, your mind still lost somewhere between awake and sleep, suddenly only focused on chasing the euphoric feeling building within you.

“Good morning.” He would hum, and you would become transfixed in his tender loving gaze, lost in his sweet baby blue eyes.

“M-morning.” You would attempt, but the prickling feeling of pleasure blanketing you proves to be too much to focus on anything else.

He showers you in praises, squeezing you so close that his lips are touching your skin, mumbling about how beautiful you were and how lucky he was to have you.

He would continue to press firmly into you, hitting that special soft spot that drove you crazy until you became a panting, sweaty mess.

After having been together for so long, he can pick up easily on your tells, knowing you are about to cum before you even register it yourself.

He kisses you passionately as you unravel around him, moaning and gasping into his mouth, hands digging deep into his skin as the feeling awakens you fully, pulling you violently down to earth.

He isn’t far behind, the sounds of your orgasm going straight through him, making his dick twitch in pleasure.

You feel as though your bones are rubber, your body a liquified mess beneath him, but you do your best to work him through his high, arching into him, kissing him with the same passion he provided you.

He releases inside you, making you so full you squirm around him.

He nuzzles his head into your skin and lets his satisfied smile spread across his face.

“What a way to wake up.”

He giggles that signature Willy laugh and begins tracing small circles across your skin, unable to spend a moment without touching you.

“I didn’t mean to get you all sweaty.” He admits, looking down at you with his soft gaze. “I’ll go run a bath for you.” He leans down to peck your lips, but your grip on him tightens as a pout appears on your face.

“You still have another hour before you have to go. Let’s just stay like this for a little longer.” You beg, holding onto him as though he may disappear. “Please.”

He blinks rapidly, and wonders when you became a mind reader. When his thoughts became yours.

He would never be the first to pull away, instead settling further into the bed. Playing with your hands, tracing kisses along your exposed skin

You would savor the feeling of him holding his release deep inside of you for so long, feeling so close that even after he eventually leaves for the day you have the feeling of him nestled inside you ghosting throughout your body, reminding you of the morning you experienced.

This feeling would follow you all the way until you tuck yourself into bed at night, naked, just how Willy likes it.

And you would sleep, dreaming of being awoken the same way once again.

[sportswriters]

misunderstandings can be dangerous - j. woll

pairing: joseph woll x female!reader | established relationship | angst if you squint, fluff | wc: 1.2k | a/n: i'm so endeared by this man - namu

the vibes were weird. you were sitting alone in your living room, the tv on in the background. the presenters were talking about the great performance of the toronto maple leafs in today's game, but none of it was really sticking in your head. a few messages from your friend were popping up in your notifications, but you couldn't stop staring at the open photo on your phone screen.

you're not the type of person to worry about speculation or the opinions of strangers, especially when it comes to your relationship with a public person. however, your friend was responsible for forwarding a photo apparently taken after today's game, where the focus was on joseph and a woman laughing with matthew and his girlfriend. the unknown woman was comfortable enough to rest her head on joseph's shoulder. you knew the other couple, but you had never seen this woman before in your life, and you couldn't understand how joseph was so relaxed about such physical contact.

“she must have been invited by matthew's girlfriend, the comments are boiling over against this girl,” said her friend, now on the call. “i had to go on the blogs and see for myself, i'm sorry.”

“it's okay, i get it. it's not often that this happens.”

in fact, you were only the subject of gossip when you first started showing up together, but as soon as the relationship circulated without much to talk about, there were only a few compliments during public appearances and in the comments of photos. besides, joseph had never been the target of scandals, so tranquility could be preserved in everyday life.

“i've seen some people commenting that she's been seen at other games with other friends, that she's probably looking for that wag life,” your friend snorted. “but what this clueless girl doesn't know is that even the gossip blogs love your relationship, so a lot of people are doubting that joey is involved in anything.”

you murmured in agreement, the withering tone not going unnoticed.

“how are you feeling? i know that worry crossed your mind at the beginning of everything.”

“yeah... well, it's just a photo at the right timing. i'll wait for him to get home and have a difficult conversation.”

“that's fine, call me if you need anything. anything.”

you laughed, then replied: “i'll be okay! love you, thank you.”

as soon as she hung up, you went back to staring at the photo, but a message from joseph appeared at the top of the screen.

lovey: you won't believe what happened today

a few minutes later, you heard the security code being typed in, then joseph walked through the door. he only had a simple backpack, probably left his bigger bag in the car. he was restless, rushed, as he always is when he has urgent news - which is usually cute, but today especially there wasn't much space in your head to focus on how adorable he was.

“hi, love,” he greeted, kneeling down to give you a kiss on the forehead. “feeling okay? you look tired.”

“long day, that's all. tell me what you wanted.”

“are you sure? i can cook for us and tell you later.”

“don't kill me with curiosity, joey.”

your voice managed to convey your tiredness, convincing your boyfriend that there was nothing more to it than that.

“you know kniesy's girlfriend? she recently started using her extra invitation to bring a so-called friend to our arena. this so-called friend is always trying to talk too close to me, even though i've already mentioned that you're my girlfriend!”

joseph stood up and started pacing back and forth.

“but today she crossed the line, she was blabbing, laughing and touching my arm while I was waiting for a guy from the staff to give him a lift home. that's actually why it took me so long to get here,” he reasoned, raising his index finger. “who does she think she is? what a horrible woman, love! i hate to be indiscreet, but i had to scold her in front of everyone. i told kniesy's girlfriend to get a grip or i'd talk to the admin who handles these invitations. i'm not the guy she wants to mess with in order to try and get in.”

you had a surprised expression that gradually became comical as he vented. although he had defended many attempts on goal a few hours ago, joseph still seemed to have the breath to speak without breaks.

“i can't believe i went through that,” he muttered, covering his face with his hands. “i wish you were there. actually, no. gee, just thinking about her embarrassing you gives me a bad feeling, my blood pressure goes up.”

“love.”

“i'm going to make shirts with your face on and wear them all the time to make sure this never happens again.”

“joey, come here.”

he finally stopped and walked back to the sofa, snuggling up to you. his slightly irregular breathing indicated his genuine annoyance. a minute passed in silence, with you just stroking his hair. then you finally unlocked your phone and showed him the photo you'd received earlier. joseph's eyes widened, his irritation returning in full force.

“look at that! the timing so terribly perfect it makes it look like i'm laughing with-”

he stopped, stared at the photo, then looked at you with wide eyes. absolutely worried.

“where did you find this? what did they tell you?” he asked, the difference in tone almost making you laugh. joseph looked on the verge of tears.

“i think she was quick to send it to the gossip blogs, but it wasn't very successful. my insider told me that almost no one believed that you were feeding it to her.”

joseph took a few seconds to scan your face for any attempt to hide something, he was genuinely afraid that you had been hurt by it. the seconds inside his own head became obvious externally, so you had to bring him back before he spiraled.

“honey, i believe in you. i need you to calm down.”

“what a mess, love. i'm sorry you have to go through these things,” he said, wrapping your body in a tight hug.

“you can't be immune being a public person, but fortunately we have a very beautiful and healthy relationship,” you replied, leaving a kiss on his temple. “and you went through the worst of it, it must have been very uncomfortable. i'm sorry.”

“how bad were you?” his voice came out muffled in the curve of your neck. you let out a little air through your nose, aware that his focus was different.

“i can't deny it, i was a little shocked, but not out of mistrust,” you admitted. “misunderstandings can be very dangerous sometimes.”

“i hate that, i hate the thought that i might bring doubt to your mind, even if it's just briefly.”

“it's over now, i feel better already.” you continued to run your hand through his hair, feeling his body relax on top of yours.

“i love you.”

“i love you too. as soon as you calm down, we'll cook together while i tell you about this fantastic piece of company gossip.”

joseph raised his head, his wide eyes showing his interest.

“is it about that iced coffee guy?”

“yes, except now he has an opponent on the same level as him.”

he gasped, shifting to sit down. you grumbled as you lost the warmth of his body.

“love, start talking this instant!”

[daeniradraconis]

✨ MASTERLIST ✨ and ✨REQUESTS✨

Welcome to my masterlist—a collection of all my writings, organized for your convenience. Take a look around and enjoy the stories!

more information about Requests - closed

William Nylander🏒 (Series)

The Game We Play - Chapter 1 The Game We Play - Chapter 2 The Game We Play - Chapter 3 The Game We Play - Chapter 4 The Game We Play - Chapter 5

Right Where You Left Me - Chapter 1: A Promise Under the Stars Right Where You Left Me - Chapter 2: The Weight of Silence Right Where You Left Me - Chapter 3: The Quiet Between Right Where You Left Me - Chapter 4: A Life Moved On

Imagines/OneShots🏒

Auston Matthews: All too well (angst) The Starting Lineup (fluff, dad Auston) The Leafs Legacy (fluff, dad Auston) Exactly the Way You Are (fluff) Between the Chapters (angst) , P2: Back to You (angst, fluff) Warm and Sneaky (fluff)

William Nylander x Auston Matthews: All the Lines We Crossed - Part 1 (smut, fluff) All the Lines We Crossed - Part 2 (smut, fluff)

William Nylander: Please learn how to wear a t-shirt, love. (fluff, chat) My Emergency Contact (fluff,) Winter Heat (smut) Plans for the Future (fluff)

Joseph Woll: Extra Foam, Extra Blushes (fluff)

Quinn Hughes: Banter Between the Lines (fluff, chat) Unexpected Overtime (hurt, fluff, smut) Sewn with Love (fluff)

Luke Hughes: Where the Heart Is (fluff) Age Is Just a Number…Right? (light smut, fluff, age gap) Age Is Just a Number… Right? - Part 2. (angst, fluff, light smut, age gap) Age is Just a Number...Right? - Part 3. Small Moments (fluff, smut) Every Freckle, Every Moment (fluff) Secrets and Slapshots (fluff)

Jack Hughes: Faceoff with Love - Jack Hughes (smut, fluff) High Maintenance & Low Expectations (fluff) Jack’s Recipe for Love (hurt, comfort) High on Love (fluff)

The Hughes Effect Saga 1. Age Is Just a Number…Right? (light smut, fluff, age gap) 2. Age Is Just a Number… Right? (angst, fluff, light smut, age gap) 3. Age is Just a Number...Right? - Small Moments (fluff, smut) 4. Face off with Love - Jack Hughes (smut, fluff) 5. Unexpected Overtime (hurt, fluff, smut)

[nylqnder]

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐖 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒

— cozytober masterlist !

summary: you finally convince matthew to face his fears by watching a horror movie.

warnings: definite spoilers of The Conjuring, couple swear words,

word count: 1.11k

notes: fourth installment of cozytober! hope you guys enjoy this one

You shift on the couch, settling next to Matthew with the remote in hand, your excitement barely contained. You clicked through the titles before finding The Conjuring and selecting it.

You glance over at Matthew, who’s leaning back, arms crossed over his chest as he does his best impression of calm confidence. “You sure about this?” you tease, raising an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

“Yes I’m sure. It can’t be that bad,” Matthew replied, voice dripping with forced confidence. “It’s just a movie, it’s fake. How scary can it be?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a laugh. He’s putting on that brave face, but you can see the way his foot taps against the carpet, the slight tension in his posture that gives him away. It’s adorable, really. He’s never been good with horror movies, and you know tonight is going to be no different.

The one thing that you and Matthew seemed to be at odds about was movies. You liked sci-fi and action movies, while Matthew preferred comedy and even the occasional romance. However, your biggest dissimilarity was when it came to horror movies. You loved every gorey flick, every jump scare that had your heart pounding in your chest. Matthew, however, couldn’t stand the genre. He’d never admit that it’s because the category scared him, instead claiming they’re too predictable or cheesy, but he couldn’t seem to get through any horror flick without pausing multiple times and being plagued with nightmares about the movies content. When he watched Childs Play with his brother a few years back, it took a nearly a full month for Matthew to stop seeing Chucky in his dreams.

You raised an eyebrow, doubting his bravado. “Uh-huh, just remember you said that.” You couldn’t help but smirk as you pressed play, the ominous opening music filling the room. Matthew shuffled a little, and you noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders. He might’ve been putting on a tough act, but the atmosphere was already getting to him.

The movie begins, creeping in with its unsettling buildup, and you sneak a glance at Matthew. The tension in his jaw betrays him as the camera pans across the creepy Annabelle doll. His fingers tap against his thigh, faster now, and his eyes are wide, a little too focused on the screen, as if by sheer willpower he can keep the fear at bay.

“You okay there, Matty?” you asked, nudging him lightly.

“I’m fine.” he said a little too quickly. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, but you caught the way he flinched when the first jump scare hit — a door slamming shut. You snickered softly, Matthew throwing you a sideways look. “It was loud, I wasn’t expecting it.” he said.

His tough guy act only lasted so long, the movie beginning to tear down his defenses. Every tense moment accentuated by creepy music, caused Matthew to shift closer to you, whether he realized or not. When the demon finally showed itself, jumping off the closet, Matthew grabbed onto your arm. You glance down at it, his fingers gripping you a little tighter than necessary, but you decide not to say anything. His pride’s already hanging by a thread.

The atmosphere in the room is thick now, and when the climax of the movie hits—the mother’s possession scene — Matthew’s resolve crumbles. His breath hitches, his body tense, and when you turn to check on him, you catch him squeezing his eyes shut, the blanket pulled up so high it’s practically a shield.

“Matty,” you whisper, nudging him lightly, “you’ve gotta watch the rest. You’re missing the best part.”

“I’m watching,” he mutters, voice muffled behind the fabric. “Just… taking a break.”

“C’mon, you gotta see the ending. It’s the scariest part,” you coax with a grin, watching as he cracks one eye open, then immediately shuts it again. A small giggle escapes you, but you let him be. The poor guy’s already hanging on by a thread.

Without even realizing it, Matthew ends up practically wrapped around you by the time the movie reaches its terrifying conclusion. His arms are tight around your waist, like you’re some kind of human shield, and his cheek rests lightly against your shoulder. It’s kind of sweet, really, and you’re definitely not complaining about the sudden closeness.

Finally, the credits rolled, and Matthew let out a long breath of relief, sinking back into the couch like a man who had just survived a battle. He stayed quiet for a second, as if gathering himself.

You turn to him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well? Thoughts? Ready for round two? I hear Insidious is next-level scary.”

The look he gives you is pure exasperation, his eyes wide, like you’ve suggested jumping out of a plane without a parachute. “Not a chance in hell. You’re twisted for enjoying these movies.”

You burst into laughter, the sound filling the room as Matthew shakes his head, still looking a little rattled. He mutters something under his breath about you being a “crazy bitch,” but there’s no bite to it, just fond exasperation.

“Okay, okay,” you say between giggles. “I promise, no more horror tonight. But… maybe next time?”

“Next time?” He raises an eyebrow, still eyeing you warily. “There’s not gonna be a next time.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” you say in a low tone. Despite the movie ending a few minutes ago, your conversation turning playful, you could still sense Matthew dripping with tension.

“You okay?” you ask, rubbing his arm softly.

“I’m fine…” Matthew reassures you. “But I will be seeing that creepy ass woman in my dreams tonight.”

You snort, grabbing the remote from the cushion beside you. “How about we leave off on a lighter note?”

Matthew’s eyes soften with relief as you scroll through the options, finally landing on a colorful, cheerful title. “How about Hotel Transylvania? No jump scares, no possessed moms… just some cute cartoon monsters.”

He visibly relaxes at the suggestion, sinking into the couch as a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, giving you a light squeeze. “Now that I can handle.”

You hit play, and as the goofy, fun atmosphere of the movie took over, you nestled back into Matthew’s arms, both of you finally at ease.

You hit play, settling back into Matthew’s arms as the room fills with the playful, goofy sounds of the animated movie. The tension from The Conjuring melts away, leaving behind a cozy warmth as the two of you snuggle up together. Maybe horror wasn’t his thing, but moments like this? You wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐀𝐍.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — MITCH MARNER x reader (est. relationship) wc — 4.5k synopsis — think hilary duff’s balcony engagement circa 2007

note — this belongs to the i don't remember this bar collection

specific content warnings below the cut.

cw — profanity and other vulgar language, taking the lord’s name in vain + other religious-ish imagery, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected PIV intercourse (multiple) + creampie/breeding kink, discussion/thoughts of cum play, outdoor sex and mention of previous exhibitionism, mention of previous choking + breath play (f!reader receiving), pain kink situation (both), one line of blood play (f!reader receiving), justified violence (not directed at reader!!!), slight d/s dynamics, and possessive!mitch being a domestic little horndog

“Before we talk about that beautiful, game-tying goal in the tail-end of the second and your overall command of the offensive zone throughout tonight’s game, I first want to congratulate you on some major life news. A few weeks belated; my apologies.

For those who don’t know, you came back from the All-Star break with more than just a tan; you came back with—and as—a fiancé.”

Mitch does nothing to dim his megawatt smile or to dull the sparkle in his eyes. The mere mention of you coaxes out an impossibly giddier version of himself, unencumbered by the stress and pressure of a waning season. It’s always been that way.

It's difficult to remember a time before you. He doesn't want to.

Despite of meeting on arguably one of the worst nights of his life, somehow, all he feels when the memory rises to the surface of his mind is joy.

He remembers your laughter, warm and buoyant, and the way the low light painted flattering shadows across your kind face as you spoke animatedly about your passions and dreams. He remembers being treated like a person before anything else, not some character in a video game or a pawn in someone else’s fantasy league, and he recalls your fervent, genuine interest in his off-ice hobbies. Not once did you ask anything invasive or demand he share more than he was willing.

Nor did you fish for tickets.

For Mitch, privacy was paramount, and the sentiment echoed throughout your lengthy relationship. It was your through-line, and it should’ve blanketed the intimate proposal in safety.

He gets hot under the collar just thinking about it.

Mitch will entertain the host’s questions to an extent. Because, despite his insistence on privacy, he will never pass up an opportunity to sing your praises or brag about his luck.

“Did you bring anything else back? Any special souvenir to commemorate such a momentous occasion?”

Mitch is instantly hard, his pale cheeks ablaze, eternally grateful that the camera is filming from the chest up.

Carried in on a warm evening breeze, the evocation is so palpable he can taste the blue curaçao on his tongue and feel its muted burn in the back of his throat. The air smells of pineapple and your fragrant shampoo, a comforting scent that clings to him like a second skin. The phantom of your touch sends a shiver down the expanse of his sore, sweat-drenched back.

“—holy fuck.”

The crinkled, two-word curse tumbles from Mitch’s mouth with little effort.

Every modicum of tact was either battling against the warm rum coursing through his body or fighting to keep his guttural, damning moans at bay.

They are getting hot and heavy on a patio, after all.

Mitch knows this isn’t smart. He knows he should’ve moved the celebration indoors, that he should've waited until you were curtained in safety to give in to his desire and your wandering hands.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

The problem is he just doesn’t care.

Mitch wasn’t about to delay the appreciative mouth of the woman he was going to make his wife, not even for a second.

Even if she dropped to her knees with only a hedge to play look-out. A line of decorative foliage is their first and final defense, the leaves carelessly swaying between them and the rest of the luxury resort he booked for All-Star weekend.

It’s difficult to make sound decisions when the hand wrapped around your cock is newly weighed down by five carats.

The dazzling rock shines proudly in the concluding rays of a setting sun. Glittery and perfect, like the woman who wears it.

Mitch hisses when the tip taps the back of your throat for the first time that night. The sensitive skin melts into your tongue like an ice cube, the creamy droplets of anticipation swallowed greedily by your ravenous mouth. He sees stars in the cotton candy sky peeking through the palm trees.

It hasn’t been that long; his day began with your nose nuzzled against his pelvis, his head limp against the cool tile of the shower a few feet away.

When it comes to you, nothing is ever enough to curb his appetite.

Always needy, never satiated—a pair of perverted peas in a pod.

Your tongue repeats the delicious motion it had previously, too, lazily tracing along the underside of his length until he’s whimpering with no regard for anything besides spilling himself down your throat. He feels you smile around his thickness, pleased by the ease of his undoing. You were damn good; you deserved to be proud.

In all honesty, it took very little effort on your part to make him weak in both his knees and in his resolve.

However, there was a special kind of magic in your pretty face, now dusted by a salty sheen, nestled against his taut abdomen, his cock engulfed by the vice-grip of your throat.

Mitch is close already.

White-hot sparks descend through his quads and calves to zap his sandy toes. Electrified, his hips sputter of their own volition, but like the godsend you are, you accommodate every jolt and tilt in stride.

With one hand braced against his hip and the other gently massaging the heavy weight of his balls cradled in your palm, you peer up at him through a fan of fluttering lashes.

He whines—at the mischievous glint in your glassy eyes or the bite of your manicure as you sink your nails into his burnt skin, he can’t be sure.

Some of your fingers curl into the nasty bruise eating up his lower back, the by-product of a gruesome communion with the ice a few days prior. Sharp nails nip at the fragile skin. Mitch doesn’t know if the twinge of pain was intentional on your part, but he loves it either way. Perhaps a little too much, he thinks to himself as he twitches violently in your grasp.

And perhaps you aren't the only one with a masochistic streak. It's clear from the heaviness of your lids the converse applies to you.

His sweetheart's sick and sadistic. He's never been prouder.

“Get off,” he husks. Abruptly, he steps out from your embrace.

In retrospect, Mitch could’ve been nicer about it. At that moment, however, he was far too desperate for chivalry.

Staring down at your wide, despondent eyes—a pup deprived of her favorite bone—your fiancé amends, “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ll give it back soon. There’s no way in hell I’m wasting a load in your mouth when I know how good your pussy feels around my cock.”

Heat scales Mitch’s spine as he spreads you wide open against the chaise. Your folds glow brighter than the jewelry on your left hand.

With the tip of his finger, he tests the waters. Gingerly, at first, like he's still unsure you'll be able to take him. That charade hardly lasts, but tonight, it's barely a blip.

Your body eagerly welcomes the attention, mouthing at him before sucking the touch past the taut, elastic ring of your entrance. Your faint groans elicited by the intrusion harmonize so sweetly, so perfectly, that Mitch’s eyes fall shut in tranquil bliss.

When your hips rock against his palm, they snap open.

Blinking at him hard and fast, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, turning the plushness a sickly shade of pink—of desperation. Tears crowd your lash line but never cascade down your shiny cheeks; they, like you, are impatiently waiting for reprimand.

Mitch almost laughs. You did jump the gun, so he can't fault you for expecting the corresponding punishment. But it's a special occasion—you're celebrating, so it never manifests.

And Mitch wants to do more than just spank you silly. Plenty of time for that later. A lifetime's worth of it.

Instead, with the flick of his wrist, Mitch encourages you to take your pleasure.

The subtle, tantalizing movements, building in speed and ferocity with each pass, beckon him forward until his sunburnt skin is close enough to burn yours. Feeling you beneath him, feeling his weight rest against your body, feels better than heaven, and he’s barely started.

Like before, Mitch is painfully aware he won’t be able to last long. Judging by how silky-slick you are against his palm, you won’t be either.

With his free hand, he catches your jaw and, with little resistance, tilts your head to keep your gaze from straying. Your mouth falls open when he slips another finger inside. Mitch grins down at your lust-blown pupils and the feel of your hot breath against his lips. He leans down and licks into your idle mouth. A third finger causes your bottom lip to tremble between his and your forehead to ease, every little muscle going soft and pliant between the cushion and his chest.

“Atta girl,” Mitch praises. His lips press briefly to your cheek before beginning their descent along your throat. The touch is featherlight and sends a shiver down your spine, coaxing your chest further into his. “—love seeing you like this, all beautiful and open. And all fucking mine.”

Mitch wouldn't necessarily consider himself a territorial person, and he can't recall ever feeling possessive of a partner. Until he met you.

It had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof; you were his the minute your eyes met through the crowd, and you reassured him of that fact constantly. It was never you that needed a reminder—it was everybody else.

The men who openly leer at you from every corner of Scotiabank Arena. The NHL hopefuls in your Instagram comments shamelessly flirting as if he didn’t exist or wasn’t in the photo, too. The unprofessional commentators who found ways to sneak in a lecherous comment or two under the guise of camaraderie whenever they spoke about his prowess.

You weren’t some object to be won or bought. You made a choice, and he’d make sure they knew and respected it.

Sure, the engagement ring will aid in this up-hill endeavor, but a little due diligence never hurt either.

“Tonight, it's gonna take. I’m making damn sure of that, sweetheart.”

Your walls squeeze his digits in recognition. Mitch chuckles, dark and dry, against your shoulder. You might like the implication more than he does.

You two weren’t trying, but you weren’t not trying either. Seeing you wearing his ring—the one he picked and purchased—kicked him down a perverted spiral. Flipped the last switch, cut the final cord. He wanted to complete the picture. He wanted to give those good-for-nothing losers one more reason to keep their mouths shut and their eyes to themselves.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love for me to fill you in a way that’ll last? C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me how badly you want to be stuffed full of me, how much your pussy needs it—how badly you want to be heavy and swollen with my kid."

Mitch tends to your clit, keeping you borderline incoherent as he tickles your ears with more filth before you can reply to the first goading.

Your eventual responses are muffled by a long, primal whine.

When he has you swaying on the brink of collapse, he’s painfully hard against your inner thigh. There's an iridescent river pearling from the weeping head, freely flowing down to pool beneath your ass. It beams in the dim light like a beacon.

Transfixed and desperately in love, Mitch could cum right now. Just like this.

But staining a stupid fucking cushion would be more of a waste than shooting himself your throat. So, much to your chagrin, he, once again, retreats back onto his knees.

“C-come back,” you whimper with a loud hiccup. The choked sound is as pitiful as your attempts to reach for him. “Please, please, please—”

Satisfaction spreads over the bridge of his nose, leaving him rosy from one cheek to the other. He pins you with a heated, half-lid stare as he strokes himself.

His palm doesn’t feel as good as yours, but Mitch is grateful for that. He wants to drag this out. Instead of rutting into you like a teenager in the backseat of a car, or like himself after a long stint away.

That can’t—and won’t—happen if he keeps touching you. He has to back off before he loses his ever-loving mind.

“Stop being a tease,” you chide. Irritation weighs heavily on your voice. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“There’s something I want you to see first, you little brat,” he replies, adopting your sharp tone as he brings his open palm down on your inner thigh.

You shriek, but your eyes beg for another. Maybe he shouldn't have cut you any slack earlier...

He grants your silent wish with a matching blow to the other side before guiding his rigid cock to rest over your body.

And it was better than Mitch ever imagined.

He groans at the sight, “Can you see it? Can you, sweetheart?”

Mitch waits patiently for it to click in your mind, but the confusion that swiftly overtook your fucked-out features never dissipates. Eyes rolling, he shifts forward. Hand still wrapped around the base, Mitch leans over until the full length of him sits against your bare stomach.

Your body quivers over the contact, so he has to hold your hips down to keep you from wiggling and ruining everything.

“I know you can feel it, but I want you to see it. I want you to see how deep I get inside of you, sweetheart. All the way up…” Mitch trails off as his hands glide from your outer hips to the center of your abdomen.

His voice is so deep. So hungry. Your whole being—mind and body—goes weak at the foreign richness.

With tender thumbs, he applies pressure beneath his swollen tip. “—here.”

Mitch moves slowly at first, as if he'd just been sheathed inside of you. With each careful thrust, his stones caress your aching clit, all puffy and pouting.

It feels wonderful to be touched again, even if only in short bursts. But it's not enough friction or force to do much more than aggravate you further. Even when he picks up speed, it’s more hurtful than helpful.

Still, you cannot tear your eyes away from the angry, ruddy head dribbling out ropes of arousal or voice a shred of discontent. The opaque beads form a nonsensical pattern, but it's mesmerizing nonetheless.

If you were any less needy, you’d take your time running your fingers through the milky mess. Swirling around in the evidence of Mitch’s desire until you had enough to lick clean.

As if privy to your thoughts, he pins your wrists at your sides again.

Mitch isn’t faring much better than you. His eyes are trained on the shadow bisecting your middle. Locked, laser-focused. This little…exercise was as much for his amusement as it is for your education. He knows how far he can reach inside of you—knows how fucking fantastic it feels to be buried at the root, but seeing just how deeply he can fuck you is something else entirely.

It's enough to make him question why and how he ever stops fucking you. He’s an idiot for depriving himself. For neglecting you. An exercise in frustration as much as his fruitless effort to shun the rose-colored perversions dancing wild in his mind, Mitch has wasted so much time.

Fuck penance and fuck propriety—it would be a sin to do anything other than worship at your altar as a devoted acolyte. Cardinal, even.

His stomach tightens as he considers how empty you must feel in his absence—and how deliciously whole you must feel when he drives home. He wonders how forlorn your folds must look right now as he keeps what you covet just out of bounds. His body obstructs the view, but Mitch knows you’re open and fluttering around nothing, pleading for mercy.

If he were a cruel man, he’d ignore your begging and continue on like this until his balls were empty and your chest was covered in ivory threads. Lucky for you, your future husband is of the clement variety.

Before you can get another babble, his mouth is back on yours. He keeps your arms tight to your sides, so you’re incentivized to convey your fervent need for more—of anything, really—through your lips and tongue.

Mitch is greedy when he kisses you and needy while lapping up your fire—happily, and without pause. His head pounds like he finished a handle in a single sip, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Ever. It’s disorienting, and yet, he can’t seem to get enough no matter how much of you he drinks down. Mitch wants to spend the rest of his life drunk on your lips.

Begrudgingly, he tears his mouth from yours. Then, tanned chest heaving, he positions himself between your glistening southern lips. Mitch looks down at you, and when your vision finally focuses, his eyes have been shadowed in darkness by his hulking brow.

His prior impatience dwindles ever so slightly even though he's on the precipice of complete satisfaction. Mitch hasn’t gotten a good look at you since your nimble hands relieved him of his shorts some twenty minutes ago, and you are glorious. A celestial nymph with dominion over his heart, devastatingly beautiful and all-consuming in every conceivable way. The hold you have over him is dangerous, verging on obsession. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or say if it appeased you so.

He isn’t fearful. He’s honored. The gratitude he feels knowing that you were, and remain, receptive to his devotion is overwhelming. And now, watching the lucid waters of lust ebb and flow in your glazed eyes, he’s never felt luckier.

Mitch thumbs the gem resting atop your finger, and you shudder as if it were the one tucked between your thighs.

His other hand lingers around your right wrist, though not as tightly as before. With his pulsing head shallow in your heat, he knows you’ll behave. Disrupting him now would only prolong his teasing. A lesson you learned—and were often reminded of—the hard way.

As his fingers trace the metallic band, warmed by the tropical sun and his furnace-like touch, Mitch pushes his hips forward, slow and steady, until he’s fully enveloped by your wanting walls. With your snug, pillowy softness stretching and constricting to accommodate his generous blessing, his grip on reality slips.

“You’re a fucking dream,” your fiancé rasps.

His hands are now splayed wide on either side of your head, effectively caging you beneath him as he builds a faithful rhythm. Teeth clenched, he works diligently to fashion a tribute worthy of your ethereal beauty and power.

“—always so warm and wet for me, just begging to be split open on my thick fuckin' cock. How long have you been this needy, sweetheart? Since I bent you over on the boat? Right over the railing where anyone could’ve seen you?”

You nod, bruised bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Tears well in your eyes.

Your afternoon tryst had been as quick as it’d been rough. Sundress bunched high, the fragile fabric wrinkled between your hips and the cool metal railing as Mitch’s right hand wrapped around your throat. His talented fingers pressed firmly into your sun-kissed skin, relentless in their torment, as he pawed at the pathetic knot struggling to hold your bathing suit in place. His mouth curled into a smirk as it whispered a heady mix of degradation and praise. All while you preened for him, a large crowd just steps away.

That wasn't the first orgasm you were robbed of today.

The hem of the thin material that clung to your anguished body floated demurely above your ankles, landing just shy of the bone. The sullied garment hid the incriminating evidence that inched down your sore thighs with every step you took. The irony was not lost on you as you walked back to your room.

“D’you know how hard it was to stop myself from fucking you in front of all those people? To hold back like that—to not bend you over and take in broad daylight? Of course you do, you sweet, sadistic minx. You always know how to rile me up—and you always find a reason to.”

Mitch grins against your lips before his teeth momentarily replace yours. They nestle into the grooves as if that was the expressed purpose of the faint indentations.

“With the way you’ve been behaving, I’m willing to bet you want a better souvenir than a gift shop tchotchke, hm? Y'gotta be patient for me, though—good girls wait for their rewards. Jus' wait… Oh, I don’t know, nine months? Give or take? Think you can do that for me?"

He’s being cheeky on purpose. He likes the way gentle irritation plays out between your legs—always has and always will.

Mitch releases your lower lip again, but only after he’s nicked it with his canines. A dainty bead of crimson materializes. Covetous, his tongue laps it up without pause. Painted lips kiss from cheek to cheek.

Your back arches. Your hips lift to rock in time with his thrusts.

“God, I can’t wait till we get those fuckin’ keys,” Mitch mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

The lean muscles of his upper body ripple as he sits up to grab ahold of your jaw, a calloused hand on either side. He has an unimpeded view of your dazed, saccharine countenance. His hips slow until they match the thumbs stroking escaped tears into your cheeks.

“—m'gonna take you in every room, against every surface. That way, there won’t be a single thing in our home that—fuck—that doesn’t remind you of me and how well I take care of you—you and your tight cunt.”

With little fanfare, he threads his arms under your dewy legs. Mitch uses the newfound leverage to tug your body even closer.

A shriek rips through the firm seam of your lips as his length traverses an unexplored depth. Your knees snuggle against the pit of his elbows, pleased to be so close in spite of the pain.

Mitch holds your gaze, reveling in your silent screams. He winks, then slowly lowers himself down until your body is folded squarely beneath his. Your muscles burn with the fury of budding resentment, which you’ll surely feel towards him in the morning after this unprompted foray into acrobatics, but the new angle is too good to do more than just... take it.

His hands are glad to have been relieved of their duty and, eager to take advantage of their newfound freedom, palm your chest as his mouth descends on your poor neck. The delicate skin is utterly defenseless against the desire thumping deep within his chest and spilling over his ribs.

Mitch wants to stake his claim—to mark his territory. A stammer of expletives accompanies the vulgar jut of your hips when he rolls your sensitive nipples, swollen and begging for attention, between thumb and forefinger. Bracketed by his forearms, you surrender completely.

Mitch hums at the lewd, sucking sound made by your arousal. Wet squelches ricochet off the adjacent wall with each and every thrust.

“I’ve really made a mess out of you, haven’t I?”

You nod, eyes pinched in concentration.

You’re close. He can feel your body trying to milk him dry. Fortunately, Mitch isn’t far behind. You feel too fucking good to prolong the inevitable.

He brings a hand to your clit, and it moves in messsy circles as he speaks, “Not done yet, though. Gonna flood this pretty cunt—gonna leave you all sticky and hot. I know you want it, but I need you to cum for me first. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You unravel on command, your chin falling to the side in ecstasy. Mitch’s firm hand is quick to wrench it back; he needs to watch your face contort as you crumble like he needs air to breathe. Mitch won't be able to think straight until he reaps the rewards of fucking and rubbing you through it.

The sob that wrecks your body is high-pitched and perforated by little gasps, and the rush of wetness is more pathetic than any noise you could and would make in your lifetime. More than you ever thought your body was capable of, more than your new fiancé expected, more than either of you anticipated.

He's soaked in a matter of seconds—as are you and the cushion dripping onto the concrete.

Mitch's climax comes in quick succession but, unlike yours, without warning. Undoubtedly, his peak was triggered by the gush of your undeniable satisfaction.

Drained dry, Mitch hunches over to capture your lips once more, determined to distract you from the inevitable bodily ache on the come-down. Delicately, he places your trembling legs onto the chaise and nestles into the space they vacated. He feels every little muscle twitch and spasm when he hugs you tightly to his body.

The world is muted, fuzzy around the edges, and drowned out by the aftershocks, so you miss most of his sweet-nothing rambling, but the relief and contentment that flood your spent body is reply enough.

He isn’t sure how long you stay like that—tangled together in paradise. You doze off, dipping in and out of consciousness, and wake just after the buttery sun slips entirely behind the horizon. Through the darkness surrounding your bare bodies, silvery moonlight replaces the golden rays of sunshine, but you—and your ring—shine as if nothing's changed.

You keep up a quiet conversation. Nothing of importance is spoken; it's carried on purely for the enjoyment of one another’s voice. Mitch peppers your skin, sticky from humidity and exertion, with tender lips, and you return the favor tenfold. You’re both smiling so wide, so happily.

And you keep grinning into the night, even when your cheeks begin to ache. It’s only when the light breeze ghosts over your bare skin that either of you consider relocating. In no rush and reluctant to leave your deep warmth, he’s leisurely about moving into the dim suite.

Mitch freezes abruptly. His stomach splatters at his feet when his mind catches up to his instincts. Murmuring. He hears murmuring. Terror races down his spine like an ice-cold chill. It's quiet at first. Almost as if the evening wind picked up a distant conversation yards away and softly settled it in his paranoid eardrums. He can’t make out any particular words—except his last name.

His mood sours beyond repair with the realization that the juvenile whispering is much too close, the giggles muffled only by the permeable wall of greenery bordering the suite’s ground-floor patio.

“We just wanted to be the first to say congratulations!” A teenage voice devoid of tact and respect calls out above a chorus of snorts and giggles.

Mortified, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. His chain is cold in comparison to your shame.

Mitch growls and reaches beside the chaise. He shouts something that would’ve made even the most shameless of shit-talkers blush, then sends a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon clear through the leaves. It shatters, and the crisp bubbles spill out on the concrete, sending the herd of inconsiderate assholes scattering like mice.

“I’ll go pick up the glass,” he sighs, knowing you’ll chastise him for the mess. "—later."

Mitch couldn’t be honest with the journalist.

He wouldn’t even if he could.

He shares so much of himself and his life with the world already—a hazard of the flashy, public-facing occupation he chose—and you’ve offered up far more of your world than he’d ever ask of you. He doesn’t mind a photo here or a video there, sometimes a press junket or two in a philanthropic context, but Mitch won’t bring the media into your private moments beyond where they’ve already encroached.

Especially not for a leading question intended to bait him into saying something stupid. Or to prematurely announce the impending arrival of your first child.

So, instead, he simply says, “Towels. But if the Four Seasons—or my future wife—asks, I’m totally joking, and I definitely put them all back.”

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog  (writing masterlist) 

⬸ back to the main blog 

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

[residenthughes]

coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your own feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

-

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

-

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

-

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

-

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

-

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Guys, Adam Copeland is not at Dynamite tonight because he’s at the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey game tonight lol. He’s literally sitting in the section across of me lol

[hockeybabe]

Family Skate | M.Knies

Not my gif

Parings: Matthew Knies x gf!reader

Summary: you and mattthew are new to the dating scene and he makes it official to the public by inviting you to the family skate.

Warnings: pure fluff, swearing, insecurities, kissing, slight cocky Knies, ngl rushed af

Word count: 756

Note: this has been in my drafts for a while. Also requests are open, send them in! And I saw Olivia Rodrigo!!!!

The moment you met Matthew, you two instantly clicked. You had lived in Toronto your entire life working for the leafs. To the team you were like their little sister and the John well you were like his kid. When the leafs called up Matthew you had lost your apartment and John was there to help you.

So gradually you lived with the Tavares residence, along with Matthew becoming professional babysitters for John and Aryne. But what the outside world didn’t know was that you and Matthew were a little more involved with each other than just friends. 

You were a couple. One that you kept away from the world because of people not always being accepting. It was your idea. You had seen it happen to so many and while they could handle it; you weren’t sure you could. However, after multiple talks with Aryne and other girlfriends, they finally convinced you to be shown off.

And what better to have it done at the family skate.

“Babe, you ready.” Matt called for you pulling on his jersey. “Yeah.” You said fixing you scarf and pulling your hair out. “How do I look.” You turned around showing him your outfit which consisted of a handmade leafs jacket with his name on it and black leggings. 

Matthew stared down at you with a cheeky smile gabbing you hands at your sides and leant down giving you a kiss. “You look perfect.” He mumbled. “We should probably get going.” He said heading for the door. As he walked away you slowly feel your nerves creeping up. Matthew notices you lack of presence.

“Y/n,” he calls out. “Everything alright?” He asks once you come to the door. “What if they don’t like me?” You asked, twiddling your thumbs. “Who’s not gonna like you?” He asks clueless making you groan. “The fans, you dummy.” You placed your hands on his chest, looking up at him. “What are they gonna do? You’re mine and I’m yours. They’re just gonna have to accept that.” He says, putting loose hair behind your ear.

“But-” “If they judge, they judge don’t let them tear you apart. I love you.” He says, opening the door. “I love you too.” You mumble. “What was that?” You groan, “I love you too.” You said louder. “That’s my girl.” He said, watching you exit the house and getting into the car.

Once you guys got to the rink, you trailed behind Matthew as he waved to the fans what you didn’t expect were the amount of fans calling your name. You had no clue how they knew who you were, but they were cheering for you.

“Looks like you don’t need to impress anyone.” Matthew turned around, looking down at you with a smirk. You gave him a smile, tightening your grip on his hand as you gave shy waves to the fans. When you finally got to the rink, you sat beside Steph. “Looks like they love you.” She commented.

“Could be a facade.” You shrug. “Fans are brutally honest about liking people. I guess they realized that because you've been dating for a while, then there’s nothing they can do.” She said as she watched Mitch and Matthew grab their girl's skates.

“Hi baby,” Matt said, kneeling down and tying your skates as you told him when it was tight enough. “You know you’re going to be dragging me everywhere, right?” You laugh. Matthew chuckled, “I got you.” Once your laces were fully tied, you took his hands and walked to the rink.

Matthew set foot into the ice first and took your hands, holding you tightly as you slightly wobbled in his grasp. “You doing great.” He cheered as he strides across the ice, pulling you with him. When the two of you passed close by the fans, they’d gush about how cute you two looked.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look with rosy cheeks?” He smirked, making you blush. “I would slap your chest, but I’d probably fall.” You grunt. “And now you’re saying you’ll fall for me. How great.” He gave you a goofy smile, making you groan.

“Thank you.” You said to him. “For what?” He asked, confused. “For letting me see past the negatives. I love you.” You said quietly. “What was that?” He said, leaning down. “I love you.” “I love you too.” He responded by leaning down giving you a kiss as the other players' sticks clacked with the ice as they cheered with their partners. 

[yappyappyapp]

babe, only you.

jack hughes x reader

to feed my jack obsession recently, here’s a bit of angst and fluff (no mature content). please, enjoy.

also: there’s no proofread, so..

—————————

you found yourself always wondering; “am i good enough for him?”, “do i deserve him?”. comments had been lashed out earlier this evening to darken those already eerie thoughts that you fought so hard to not reside with. a long, long stay.

jack came into the room, that was the man that’s ‘in love with you’. those thoughts slashed at your mind little cuts kept wracking your head. the trance you were in was broken by your lovers lips lovingly placed onto your head, and you felt the couch slightly dip when he sat down beside you. his arm snaked around your shoulders and pulled you close to him, your head lying on his shoulder.

no one questioned if he did enough in this relationship. no one made snarky comments on how he was so quiet, how he looked like he never put enough effort into how he showed his love, but they did to you. and it was torture trying to hit those thoughts out of your brain. every single one of those comments lingered for longer and longer each time someone made another.

“what’s wrong?”

his soft voice lingered in the room as he ran his calloused hands up and down your arm. the television was playing in the background, an old re-run of big bang theory, muted, but with subtitles.

“jack, it’s just,” you started, why couldn’t you form words. a pang in your heart stung against your chest. “i don’t deserve you.” you whispered, he froze, eyes straying from the tv and to your slumped form against him.

“what makes you think that?” he murmured, his blue eyes connected with your glossy (e/c) ones.

“i- im not good enough-“ you were cut off by a sweet kiss to the lips. “don’t talk like that. i don’t care if your quiet, i don’t care what people say about our relationship, (y/n)!” he exclaimed. “people don’t know you, and how lucky i am to actually know and to be with you. i thank anyone in the skies above that they let me hold your hands. you are everything, my universe, my world. don’t let people tear into you.”

he rubbed his hands up and down your spine as you sobbed painfully into his chest, dampening his shirt.

the thoughts were still there, but at least you had someone to guide you along this long and winding road.

“i love you.”

[zieisonline]

Thoughts about Willy being an ass man? Cause you know his hand is always grabbing something

🙂‍↕️ absolutely! This man is obsessed with touching your ass. Especially in public. It’s his safe space, a way to feel intimate without garnering too much unwanted attention.

💗 He may start innocently enough, his hand pressed to your back as he guides you through a room, but once you get settled, his hand is drifting south. If you were wearing pants with pockets, his hand would slip inside, a firm and secure grip cradling you through the fabric of your jeans. He would pay attention to whatever your friends were saying, but squeezing your flesh as he listened, using you as his own personal stress toy.

💗 It may make him appear a bit more possessive than he really is, but he can’t deny that feeling of pride that swells in his chest when he notices another man register his touch on you, a clear message that you were his alone.

Willy is also a big fan of spanking.

💗 Not just in a kinky way though he loves that too, but also in a comfortable, domestic way. Never holding back when you walk by, slapping your ass as you pass him.

💗 It’s almost second nature, his hand shooting out faster than you can register, leaving you blushing every time, a goofy smile stuck on his face.

💗 You have to scold him when other people are around, whispering pointedly in his ear that he shouldn’t be touching your butt in front of his friends. He would just giggle at you and promise not to, and as you turn to leave, that familiar sting spreads quickly across your clothed skin.

💗 God help him if you ever wear a skirt or a short dress. It doesn’t matter where you are, he would not be strong enough to resist the urge to bend you over and admire the way the fabric rides up and over your perfectly plump ass.

💗 Lounging around at home, he is always sticking his hands down your pants, groping your soft skin with his fingers, sighing deeply as he gets a handful of you, holding on for dear life.

💗 His obsession even bleeds into your text exchanges when he is away and unable to touch or see his favorite parts of you. He begs for photos and videos of you in your underwear to jack off to, the pictures of your ass in the new lingerie he recently bought you being his favorite.

💗 In the bedroom he can’t help but worship the soft swell of your backside, smacking and spanking the skin as he rails you, or sucking sweet love marks on the backs of your thighs after he has made you cum on his mouth.

💗 His mouth waters at just the sight of your rear, and on the rare occasion, he can’t help himself but bite down on the softness, adoring the whines and cries you let out at the attention.

💗 I also think he would love to cum on your ass cheeks, pulling quickly out of your heat, and painting your skin with his seed. The sight so filthy it almost gets him hard again instantly.

💗 He gets immense pleasure in spreading the milky substance around, making a mess of you, groaning at the way your perfect skin was now covered in him.

💗 All in all, Willy is definitely an ass man, and would take any opportunity to touch yours 🫶🏼

[yauchfilms]

fever pitch ✢ connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem!reader 

warnings: fluff!, mentions of vomiting, this is a sick fic!!!, swearing, connor being down bad

summary: connor comes to pick up y/n for their first date. he wasn’t expecting to spend the evening playing nurse…..

word count: 2.3k

author's note: based tightly on one of my favorite scenes in cinema, from the greatest film of all time. 

connor grasps tightly onto the bouquet of flowers he had thrown together earlier in the evening from his weekly trader joe’s run: baby’s breath and daisies haphazardly wrapped in yesterday’s edition of the star tribune that he so graciously “borrowed” from the pr office this morning. nervously bringing his closed fist to the door, he sends it; three curt knocks hitting the front door to your apartment. 

he waits a beat, hearing nothing but what he swears is a loud, ominous groan. perplexed, he knocks again. 

“hey, it’s, uh, it’s connor? kaylee and du- uh, brandon’s friend,” he calls out, not entirely sure that he’s even speaking to anyone. 

suddenly, the handle turns, and he’s met with you – pale, chapped, hair a sweaty, matted mess and totally unlike what you looked like in the photos that his teammate’s girlfriend had showed him last week when she decided you two needed to grab a drink together. 

“oh my god,” you utter, “come back; i’ll call you tomorrow. i’m so sorry, i’m so fucking sick.”

you attempt to close the door, trying to retreat back into the comfort of your apartment to stake your claim back on the toilet bowl, when suddenly an arm is blocking your path.

“wait, wait! what kind of sick? are you- are you in pain?” connor probes, a look of genuine concern washing over him. his blue-gray eyes meet with yours, pleading with you, and suddenly, the amount of guilt in your mind increases tenfold. 

“i- i ate at this new place for lunch, and i think –” you muster, and suddenly a wave of nausea overtakes you once again, and you sprint your way back to the safety of your bathroom, leaving your date at the door once again. 

“are you faking it? because, you know, we don’t have to really do this. we can lie and tell kaylee we went out, if you want,” you hear connor call out to you, him still not daring to cross the threshold. 

you don’t respond, your head too busy shoved into the toilet, trying to empty out the contents of your stomach. you plead to anyone you can to save yourself from this torment – your mom, god, any higher power at this point. 

you hear footsteps suddenly approaching, and you let out another groan. he really won’t take the hint, will he?

suddenly, there’s a knock on the open bathroom door. 

“so, uh, do you wanna call a raincheck on this? i can come back tomorrow if you’re not busy,” he calls to you, his head finally peeking into the bathroom. you can’t believe he’s seeing you like this, as you let out another heave into the bowl. all you can do is groan again.

a few moments pass, and you finally feel a wave of reprieve, sitting back on your heels.

somehow, he’s still standing there, leaning against the doorframe.  

he stuck it out for this long; surely he could be of help in your time of need?

“please stay,” you whisper, voice barely audible in the echoing bathroom. 

suddenly, he’s by your side, helping you up off the ground. steadying your grip on his arm, his opposite hand skirting your waist, not daring to roam anywhere unwanted. he looks around for a trashcan, unable to locate one in your bathroom. he grabs the closest thing he can find – an empty, cloth laundry bag tucked into a metal basket. normally you would complain, but all you want in this moment is your bed. 

he leads you out of the en suite and back into your bedroom, being careful as to not move too quickly or suddenly.

“that’s it, almost there,” he soothes, not quite in your ear, but close enough to where the words feel comforting. 

he leads you to your bed, attempting to prop your weakened body up against the side of it. 

“that’s it; right there,” he mutters, almost to himself. turning quickly, he lets go, and you immediately flop back onto the bed.

“oh fuck!” he exclaims, quickly moving to catch onto you. all you can do is wince at the impact. 

he runs a soothing hand over your aching head. 

“shhh,” he coos, grabbing one of your pillows. he tells you to lift up, and soon he’s placing the pillow under your head. you look back up at him, babbling incoherently about the embarrassment of the situation. but if he heard it, he chose to ignore it. 

he stands back up, smoothing out the jeans he’s wearing. 

“do you have any pajamas?” he asks, and you realise that you’re still in the outfit you had planned on wearing out tonight.

“top drawer,” you manage to get out, pointing lazily towards your dresser across the room. 

he gets a move on, sauntering over to the dresser, clapping his hands together as if creating a game plan in his head. his concern, coupled with his ability to keep the situation light, made you feel at ease. 

opening the drawer, he spots an old, ratty minnesota wild t-shirt, a shirt that has obviously been a sleep staple for years.

he lets out a small giggle, holding it up to show it off to you.

“you know, i think i could get you some cleaner ones; i’m kind of a big deal around here,” he says, a smile appearing across his face. 

you chuckle to yourself. it’s the first time you have felt any semblance of normalcy since the feeling in your stomach first appeared. 

your eyes meet again, and he closes the drawer with the shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. 

putting the clothes down next to you, he grabs your arms and places them around his neck. you rest your chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, a soft, yet manly scent that makes you feel at ease. 

“i’m so sorry about this again,” you whine into his ear. rubbing your back, he assures you that you have nothing to be sorry about. 

suddenly, you’re standing up, chests pressed tightly against each other. you pause to really take in his features – reddish hair tousled loosely against his forehead, freckles lining the bridge of his nose. looking down to meet your eyes, he brings a hand up to push back the hair caked to your forehead from sweat.

“i’m gonna help you change, if that’s okay. i promise i won’t look.”

all you can do is nod your head. 

his hands fall to your waist, lightly gripping the bottom hem of the top you’re wearing. it’s in that moment that you forgot that you had forgone a bra today, suddenly feeling exposed, but honestly not even caring at this point. 

he lifts the material over your head and lets out a deep sigh.

“okay, i looked. sorry. they’re nice,” he confesses, and all you can do is laugh at the absurdity of the moment. picking the t-shirt from the bed, he tucks it over your head, guiding your arms through the holes. at this point, you are more than aware that you could dress yourself, but there’s something about the intimacy of it all that you find exhilarating. 

next to go is your jeans, the long t-shirt fortunately covering your lower half. you unbutton them yourself, so as not to take things too far too soon. you hold his shoulders to help you stand up, the soft muscle under his shirt making your mind race. he brings the shorts up your legs, his fingers trailing up ever-so-gently your thighs. if you weren’t so ill right now, you might just jump his bones. 

“feel better?” he asks, waiting for your approval. you give him a quick nod, signaling to him that you’re ready for bed. you look back behind you, ready to crawl up on the bed yourself, when suddenly, his arm is scooping under your thigh, and he has you in his arms. you could have walked there yourself, but you must admit, this is kind of nice. 

lowering you to the bed, you hear him mutter, “hey, it’s gonna be okay; there’s nothing left to throw up; i promise!” there’s a sweetness and sincerity to his voice that makes you melt. 

“and if you do, you got your hamper right here,” he continues, and you know he’s being serious, but you can’t help but laugh. 

he gives your hand a squeeze, and you reciprocate, his touch feeling oddly calming to you. he looks around the room for a second, unsure of his next move, until he walks out of your bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. within minutes, you fall asleep. 

you had assumed connor had left. there was no more reason for him to stay, right? so when you wake up to the sound of shuffling in your room, you’re caught by surprise. connor walks toward you, placing a bottle of gatorade on your bedside table. he leans down, pushing a loose piece of hair from your face. you know you must look like a mess.

“hey, drink this when you feel like it, baby,” he whispers. baby. hm. you liked how he said that. it must’ve been a force of habit for him, but you wouldn’t complain. 

his calming touch sends you back to sleep almost immediately, you whispering your thanks to him as you drift off.

suddenly, you’re awake again, but you swear you’re still dreaming because you look into your bathroom, and there he is, on his hands and knees, scrubbing your toilet. there’s no way any of this is real, and you think to yourself that you just might have to propose when you’re coherent enough. 

the next morning, you wake up, feeling significantly better than the night before. you quickly retreat to the shower, washing away the sweat and filth that coated your body, and thinking about the absolute fever dream that was last night. slipping into your bathrobe, you brush your teeth to rid the last bits of funk from your palette. 

walking into your living room, you fully expect to find yourself alone, but instead, there connor is, asleep on your couch, cuddled up with your dog, ernie. you smile to yourself, clearing your throat. ernie scrambles off the couch, and connor bolts awake. 

“oh my god, i’m so fucking sorry,” he exclaims, embarrassment settling across his face. 

“no, no, it’s okay, i just wasn’t expecting you to actually stay,” you respond, the smile on your face never wavering. 

he gets up off the couch fully, sauntering over to you. you’re now finally standing face to face, both of you fully coherent. you can see him taking you in, his breath hitching. you look him over, fully realizing just how attractive he is. you take his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“you didn’t have to stay, but you did. that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. thanks for cleaning the bathroom by the way.”

“yeah, it’s no- it’s no problem. i couldn’t let myself leave you like this. i would’ve been kicking myself if i knew you had gotten worse if you were all alone,” he replies. 

“there’s more gatorade in the fridge, by the way. it was 3 for $6 at the bodega and i figured you should probably continue stocking up on those electrolytes, you know,” he continues, a shy blush stretching across his cheeks. 

“wow, you would think you’re some kind of professional athlete or something,” you jest, and his face breaks into a mischievous grin. 

“yeah, i’ve picked up a thing or two, i guess,” he retorts.

“well, connor, i definitely think i owe you a better date. do you want to go get breakfast?” you ask, silently praying that you hadn't turned him off with the awkwardness of the night before. 

he pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking at the time, a wince escaping his lips.

“unfortunately, i’ve got practice in an hour, so i don’t think i can do breakfast. if you give me a few hours, though, i can swing back by and we can grab lunch around 2? if that works for you?”

you nod your head in agreement, and boldly, you wrap your hands around his neck. his hands find comfort on your hips, fingers toying with the belt of your robe. 

“you know, as far as first dates go, this was definitely the most interesting one i’ve had,” you smirk, and he looks down at you, eyes lingering towards your lips. 

“oh is that right?” he teases, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. “can i kiss you?” he mumbles, the nervousness in his voice evident. 

“i did just brush my teeth…” you trail off, your face settling into his hand. 

he leans down, placing a chaste, yet sweet kiss to your lips. you chase him, deepening it, melting into his touch. it was silly, making out with a boy you just met in your living room, after he spent the night cleaning up your vomit. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

suddenly, you’re interrupted by the sound of his phone pinging. 

“oh shit, i forgot i’m supposed to be picking dewey up for practice this morning,” he sighs, not wanting to sour the moment.

“it’s okay, you go. you know where to find me when you’re done,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your voice. 

he gathers up his things, heading towards the door, giving ernie a pat on the head on his way out. you stop him before he leaves, planting one last kiss to his lips, before he’s fully out the door and walking down the hall with a quick “see you later”. you close the door behind you, finally noticing the bouquet of flowers he had left on the catch-all by the door. you let out another deep sigh.

yeah. you were screwed. 

[ohsunnyboy]

never again | yoon keeho ˚₊‧⁺˖

you don't know what's cuter. you're boyfriend, yoon keeho, or the delusion that the leafs will win the cup in either of your lifetimes.

TAGS: established relationship, toronto leafs fan!keeho, boston bruins fan!reader, screaming and shouting at a tv screen, fluff, maple leafs hockey is its own tw, drinking games!! keeho is lowk ooc

A/N: based off this iconic video. game 6 changed my brain chemistry and gave me hope until... well iykyk... here's the match recap. this is so niche it's entirely self indulgent sorry in advance lmao

WORDS: ~1000

If you're going to be a hockey fan, you should know the number one rule: don't date within the division.

The notorious ad aside, it's pretty clear, once it gets to playoffs with you two, everything's off the table. Especially if you're throwing couch cushions across the room when you're team can't convert on a power play. Cough, the leafs, cough.

Which made it especially weird when you, a Boston Bruins fan ended up dating Yoon Keeho, a fucking Toronto Maple Leafs fan.

"Oh my god are the refs blind?! That's clearly a holding call!" he cries. Ah, it really doesn't get sweeter than this.

"Shut up, he just boarded Lohrei with that! Penalty for both of them," you snarl out, eyes fixated on the tv screen, watching the play-by-play slo-mo of the hit. Lohrei crumpling against the boards as Holmberg practically folds him. "Look! They're not even calling it. Did you see Carolina yesterday? they were calling everything that breathed wrong."

With a sigh, both you and Keeho take a shot. At this rate, you both could be professional alcoholics with how many missed penalty calls there've been this series. You can already feel the regret in the morning trying to sink in with this drinking game.

Keeho hums beside you, but he's been practically vibrating out his skin the entire game. "That's just Svechnikov no? He's massi—OH MY GOD WILLIAM NYLANDER YOU SWEDISH BEAUTY!"

The screen erupts as Nylander finally opens the scoring for the Leafs. A sea of horrific blue and white exploding into cheers. Idly, you think it's the most lively you've seen Scotiabank Arena in years.

"Ugh, really?" And you just have to flop back into the couch corner as Keeho takes his victory lap around the room. Dressed in, of course, his Nylander jersey.

"Oh yeah baby! I could marry that man," he laughs, before very comically and somehow very seriously turning back to you. "After you, babe. Of course after you, love of my life, angel of my univer-"

You hurl one of your last pillows at him. "Sit back down, idiot." The high flush on his face is pretty adorable, even if his alcohol breath stinks when he curls in next to you on the couch. Both of you are going to be crawling out of bed tomorrow for sure.

From above and below your small apartment you can hear the same screams. With the window propped open, you can even hear horns go off in the streets. Capital of Hockey and all that. Moving here to be with Keeho had been hard to do, but so much more worth it for the hockey. Especially when Boston comes rolling into town: being the only Bruins fan for rows on rows was intimidating but so much sweeter if they won.

"I'm your idiot, idiot," he croons into your neck. Peppering you with cute and sloppy kisses across your skin. You finger's curl idly into his hair as you watch the ads spin by on the tv, signalling the end of the second period. His cold fingertips curl around your waist, idly smoothing circles into it. Curled up like this, it's the cosiest you could ask for - and somehow you don't mind the lack of pillows. You both make up for it with your shared body heat.

Carefully, you extract your phone from under him like he's a jenga tower about to fall, but game-drunk like this, he could probably sleep through the Leafs Stanley cup parade if they did win for once.  

Twitter's the same as you left it: another TicTacTOmar clip of Lohrei and Holmberg, more Steve Dangle commentary and your Boston moots crowing about how the Leafs will lose it in the third period. Very, very secretly, you don't think they will. Swayman vs Woll as goalies are brilliant – and terribly good looking – but it must be the phase of the moon or something stupid, but Toronto might just win it this game.

Looking down at your sleeping beauty, Keeho is blissfully passed out on your chest. Face semi-flushed, mouth agape and drool leaking out. Yeah, this is going in the camera roll.

A quick snap and a venture into your settings is all it takes to set the glorious picture as your lock screen. And, if you squint, you can see Draisaitl's neon orange Skip ad in the background. Exactly why you're dating him in the first place.

"You really are my idiot, idiot," you murmur and you press a kiss to his hairline, a warm feeling roiling in your stomach.

Stashing your phone away, you ready yourself with a minute on the clock until the third starts. Saying that, you should really wake sleeping beauty up. "Hey... hey, get up. The Leafs lost in overtime again."

His eyes blink blearily as he processes your words. Slowly, then all at once, you can see the panic settle into his eyes as he sees your shit-eating grin. “No they didn't,” he whispers, but it borders on desperate.

You really can't help yourself. "Yup! There was even a line brawl," you sigh dramatically, bringing your hand to your forehead with a flair. "Swayman was even fighting Woll, a whole goalie scrap and you missed it."

"Nope! Not believing it." Keeho finally has the common sense to turn to look at the screen and realise the third's just begun. The stare of disappointment he gives you is cold enough to give Winnipeg a run for its money. "Never again."

You roll your eyes but just pat the space next to you for him to settle down properly on. "C'mon, whoever loses this has to get breakfast."

“You’re so on,” he huffs to agree, taking a bodily effort to sit back against the couch and on your cold feet. There’s a fire in his eyes that makes you regret this already. “I’m so making you drive to Timmy’s.”

Deep in your heart, if you had to choose Boston or Toronto to win the cup, you'd still choose Boston. But no matter how this series ends, you'd still love your boyfriend very, very much.

if this in any way endeared you to hockey come check my sideblog @wannadewar where i lament and fangirl! if you somehow enjoyed this, a like or reblog would be lovely :) ⭒ masterlist

[daeniradraconis]

The Game We Play - C1.

About the story: Odette Beaumont never thought she'd be starting over, but thanks to her best friend Quinn Hughes, escaping a toxic relationship led her to a fresh start in Toronto. New city, new life, and suddenly she's realizing a few things: 1. Her new apartment is amazing. 2. Her sexy Swedish neighbor is even more amazing than the apartment. 3. She really shouldn’t get involved with him—he’s her future coworker after all. But... William Nylander clearly has other ideas.

Themes: daddy Nylander vibes, so much fluff, found family energy, healing from toxic exes, and all the tooth-rotting sweetness you can handle. ➵ Chapter 2

Odette stood at the large bay window of her new apartment in Toronto, the city skyline sprawled out before her. The scene below was alive with energy, the endless lights pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. It was a far cry from the quiet streets of Montreal where she had grown up, but it felt right. Her time in Vancouver had been marked by both love and pain, struggle and strength. The weight of everything that had happened in the past few months settled over her, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of hope.

The decision to leave Vancouver hadn’t been easy, but it was necessary. She had spent years trying to please people who would never be satisfied. Her mother, Madeleine, had been the first to make her feel like she was never enough. No matter what she did—whether it was her career, her relationships, or her very identity—her mother’s cold disapproval had always lingered. It had been impossible to live up to the expectations of a woman who saw the world through a lens of privilege and perfection.

Then there was Danton, her ex. The man she had spent six years with, who had promised a future but never delivered. It had been a slow burn, the way their relationship had unraveled. She had always wanted more—a family, stability, someone who would stand by her through the highs and lows. But Danton never wanted the same. He had been content with their routine, the lack of progress, the endless excuses for why things couldn’t change. When the proposal never came, when she finally realized their life goals were miles apart, the decision to leave became inevitable. It had been painful, but it had been the only way to preserve herself, to save her future.

And so, she had taken the job with the NHL as a photographer. It wasn’t just an escape—it was a step forward, a chance to carve out a new identity, a fresh chapter. She’d be based in Toronto, working for the Toronto Maple Leafs, and though it meant leaving the comfort of her old life behind, it felt like a new beginning. She had found a small, luxurious high-rise apartment in the heart of the city—modern, sleek, and all hers. It was a place where she could reinvent herself.

But as much as she was excited to begin this new journey, the weight of leaving her past behind lingered. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe everything would be easy. Her family—especially her mother—wouldn't understand her choice. They would never accept it. But it was a decision she had made for herself, one that would set the course for her future.

She’d only been in Toronto for a few days, but already, the city felt like a strange but welcome embrace. It was busy, alive with possibilities, and it was all hers to explore. The NHL had been a dream of hers for years, and now it was reality.

Quinn Hughes had been the first person to really encourage her to make this move. Their friendship had grown quickly, much faster than she had anticipated. Their first meeting had been completely unplanned—at an art exhibition in Montreal a few months ago. She had been covering the event for a local photo gallery, her camera snapping away as she immersed herself in the art. Quinn had been there just to enjoy the exhibits, but as fate would have it, they had crossed paths in front of an installation. They had both stood there, silent for a moment, simply taking in the pieces in their own quiet way. It had been a strange, unspoken connection, something that felt deeper than mere coincidence.

Their conversation had started with the paintings—light, casual banter about the colors, the brushstrokes, the moods of the art. But soon, it had shifted. Books, life goals, shared interests. They spoke of their love for the quieter things in life, the small moments that made all the difference. It hadn’t taken long for Odette to open up about her struggles—her fractured relationship with her mother, her failed relationship with Danton, and her growing desire to break free. And when she confessed how suffocating her relationship with Danton had become, it had been Quinn who listened, offering no judgment but instead quiet support.

In the months that followed, their friendship had deepened. They’d started talking almost daily—about books, movies, and the pressures of their careers. Quinn had a way of making her feel seen, understood in a way that few people ever had. He had been there when she had begun considering her escape, encouraging her to go for the job in the NHL. And when she had finally made the decision to leave Vancouver, it was Quinn who helped her navigate the logistics of the move, offering practical advice about Toronto even though he himself was living in Vancouver.

Their friendship felt effortless, and though they were in different cities, Odette couldn’t imagine her life without Quinn’s steady presence. He was a constant, always there when she needed someone to talk to. It was hard, knowing that their paths would now diverge. Quinn played for the Vancouver Canucks, and their cities were far apart. But she had hope. With her new job, she would be traveling often, and there was no doubt in her mind that she and Quinn would find ways to see each other. They’d made it work so far, and she knew they would continue to.

But the distance between them still tugged at her heart. Toronto was her new home, but it was hard to accept that she wouldn’t have him around as often. Their friendship had grown quickly, becoming a crucial part of her life. And though she was excited for her new job, part of her couldn't help but feel a little sad about the separation. She hoped the NHL would give her the chance to travel and meet up with Quinn whenever she could. After all, it wasn’t just about her career; it was about finding balance, keeping the people who mattered close—even if they weren’t nearby.

As she unpacked the last of her things and placed a framed photo of Luc on the windowsill, she felt a little bit of the weight lift from her shoulders. It wasn’t perfect, this new life, but it was hers. And it was the beginning of something new—something that could be better, something that could finally be all her own.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a message from Quinn.

"How’s the new place? Missing you in Vancouver already, but I know you’ll make it work in Toronto. Can’t wait to hear about your first day with the Leafs. You got this!"

Odette smiled, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she typed a quick reply.

"Thanks, Quinn. Couldn’t have done this without you. And I promise, we’ll figure out a way to keep this up, no matter where we are. Missing you too."

She hit send, and for a moment, she just sat back, letting the weight of it all settle. Life was changing, but she was ready. She had a new city, a new job, and the support of a true friend who would always have her back. And maybe—just maybe—this was the fresh start she had needed all along.

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm amber glow over Odette’s apartment as she finished unpacking her last box. She was exhausted, but the apartment was finally starting to feel like home. Luc, her husky mix, had been quieter than usual, curled up at her feet on the couch, making it the perfect moment for a small break.

But just as she placed the box down, a sudden noise broke the stillness. Luc’s ears perked up, and before she could react, he shot up and bolted toward the door with a bark that echoed through the apartment.

“Luc, no!” Odette gasped, her heart leaping into her throat.

Luc had already reached the door. With a quick push, he managed to open it, darting out into the hallway as the door swung wide. Odette’s eyes widened as she realized she hadn’t fully closed the door when she set the box down—Luc had gotten out. Panicking, she scrambled to her feet.

“Luc!” she called, but the dog was already a blur, racing down the hall with his tail wagging furiously, completely oblivious to her frantic calls.

She bolted after him, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she tried to catch up with him. By the time she reached the hallway, Luc had already slipped into the apartment next door.

Odette skidded to a stop as she saw the door open, revealing a man standing in the doorway, trying to control her overzealous dog. Luc, ever the playful one, had jumped up onto the couch in the apartment next door, his tail wagging wildly as he tried to lick the stranger’s face.

“Luc!” Odette called again, breathless as she rushed over to the door. The man, tall with sun-kissed blonde hair and icy blue eyes, looked up at her with a calm expression, holding Luc’s collar as if he were used to this kind of thing. “Looks like your dog’s a little... enthusiastic,” he said, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Odette felt her face flush with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” she said, stepping forward to grab Luc’s leash. “He’s still adjusting to the new place. And to me, honestly.”

The man smiled, his demeanor surprisingly calm, and released Luc’s collar after giving the dog a gentle pat on the head. “It’s no problem. I’m William, by the way. I live just a couple doors down.” He gave Luc a quick glance as the dog’s tail continued to wag furiously. “Seems like he’s got quite the personality.”

Odette’s cheeks were burning with embarrassment. “Odette,” she said quickly, shaking his hand. “I’m really sorry again. I was just finishing up moving in and... I left the door open for a second.”

“No harm done,” William said with a relaxed smile, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Dogs can be a handful sometimes.”

Odette laughed nervously, trying to steady her breathing. “I’ve been trying to train him, but... well, it’s a work in progress. His previous owner was Swedish, and I keep forgetting the commands in Swedish. It’s so frustrating! Every time I try, I end up mixing up the languages.”

William raised an eyebrow. “Swedish, huh? I’m actually Swedish myself.”

Odette blinked in surprise. “Wait, really?” she said, taken aback. “I had no idea. You... you didn’t have an accent.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Born here, but I was raised in Sweden. I live here now. Guess I’ve gotten used to speaking both languages fluently.” He glanced down at Luc, who was still wagging his tail enthusiastically. Then William said: “Lägg.”

Luc lowered himself without a doubt. “It looks like Luc doesn’t mind Swedish. But, uh, maybe he’s picky about who’s speaking it.”

Odette couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Honestly, this dog’s like a little Swedish nationalist. He was trained by his old owner in Swedish, so now, whenever I try speaking to him in English, he just refuses to listen. It’s like he’s saying, ‘I may understand English, but I’m loyal to Swedish! You can’t just switch the language on me now!’”

William chuckled. “Sounds like he’s got a strong opinion on things. You might be right about the Swedish loyalty.”

Odette winced slightly as she realized how ridiculous she must have sounded, but William’s calm and collected nature was oddly reassuring. She’d been expecting him to be frustrated, maybe even angry, but instead, he seemed to take it all in stride.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” William said after a moment, a knowing smile on his face. “But hey, if you need any help, I can teach you some Swedish commands. It’s not that hard, I promise.”

Odette felt a warmth spread through her chest at his easy offer, but quickly tried to brush it off. “I appreciate it,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I’m still getting used to the idea of learning a new language for dog training, though. But I’ll definitely take you up on it.”

Just as they were about to part ways, the door to William’s apartment opened slightly, and out trotted two dogs. They were medium-sized but not tiny—more like Luc’s size, and both were doodles, with curly coats and playful expressions. The dogs immediately took notice of Luc, and before Odette could stop him, Luc dashed toward them, tail wagging with excitement.

Banksy, the smaller of the two, yipped and quickly ran behind William’s legs, his eyes wide as Luc came barreling toward him. Pablo, the larger one, tried to stand his ground but wasn’t prepared for Luc’s energy. Luc skidded to a halt in front of Pablo, nearly knocking him over in his excitement.

“Whoa, easy!” William said, grabbing Luc’s collar before he could cause more chaos. “Pablo doesn’t like being knocked over by a giant husky.”

Pablo, who had barely stayed upright, gave a small bark before darting under the coffee table, clearly wanting nothing to do with Luc’s rambunctious playstyle. Banksy, still hiding behind William, barked again, trying to be brave but clearly outmatched by Luc’s energy.

Odette laughed despite herself, the sight of William managing the two dogs with such ease amusing her. “Looks like Luc has met his match,” she said, still chuckling as Luc whined at the coffee table, trying to figure out how to coax Pablo out.

William raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, I think Luc might need a little... doggie diplomacy here.”

Odette’s heart fluttered, feeling a little embarrassed but also strangely attracted to William’s calm demeanor in the middle of all the chaos. There was something about his easy confidence that was disarming.

“Well, I think we both know who’s in charge here,” she said, gesturing to Pablo and Banksy, who were both now safely hidden out of Luc’s reach.

William chuckled, giving Luc a final pat. “Just a matter of finding the balance.” He stepped back and gave Odette a reassuring smile. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. But if you ever need help with the dogs—or Swedish lessons—just knock.”

Odette smiled, trying to keep it casual, though she was feeling that flutter in her chest again. “Thanks, I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

William gave her one last smile and turned to go back into his apartment, Luc still happily wagging his tail, looking proud of himself for causing such a scene.

As Odette closed her door behind her, she let out a deep breath. She was grateful for William’s calmness, but something about his easy confidence kept her mind racing.

She glanced down at Luc, who had already curled up on his bed, as though nothing had happened. “At least you’re easy to please,” she muttered with a smile.

But as she walked toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, something about William lingered in her mind. The way he carried himself, his relaxed demeanor, and even the playful way he interacted with his dogs—it all felt oddly familiar.

Odette leaned against the counter, her brow furrowing in thought. She was a hockey fan—always had been. Growing up in Montreal, she had cheered for the Canadiens with the fervor of any good Habs fan. Moving to Vancouver had shifted her allegiance somewhat, especially with Quinn Hughes playing such an integral role in her life. The Canucks had become her second team, though her loyalty to the Habs never truly wavered.

She tried to shake the thought, but something kept nagging at her. His name—William—and those icy blue eyes. She knew them from somewhere.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she grabbed her phone, typing "William Toronto hockey" into the search bar. Within seconds, the answer popped up, and her breath caught in her throat.

William Nylander. A star player for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

She stared at the image on her screen, her eyes darting between the photo and the memory of the man who had just offered to teach her Swedish commands for Luc. It was him. Of course it was.

Odette laughed, a mix of disbelief and amusement bubbling up. “Figures,” she muttered, shaking her head. “He’s a Maple Leaf.”

The Leafs had always been the team she loved to hate—the eternal rivals of her beloved Canadiens. And yet, here she was, living a few doors down from one of their star players.

She glanced back at Luc, who was snoozing contentedly on his bed. “Guess we’ll have to be on our best behavior now,” she teased, though the words were mostly for herself.

As she turned off the lights and headed to bed, her thoughts still raced. Life in Toronto was already proving to be full of surprises. And while she had no idea where this new chapter would take her, one thing was clear: her world just got a whole lot more interesting. ➵ Chapter 2

Author’s Note (a.k.a. My Excuse for Everything):

Hey there, lovely readers! First of all, THANK YOU for diving into this chapter—seriously, you’re the best. Now, a quick heads-up: English is not my first language, so if you spot a weird phrase or some rogue grammar, just smile and wave. I’m also a total newbie to Tumblr (what do all these buttons do??), so bear with me while I figure out how to make things look cool here.

This story idea hit me like a puck to the face after the Leafs’ recent performance left me crying into my snacks. To cheer myself up, I decided to channel my hockey emotions into this little brainchild and finally write down the story I’ve been daydreaming about for ages.

It’s going to be around 10 chapters long (unless I get carried away, which happens more than I’d like to admit), and I hope it makes you smile, swoon, or at least feel slightly entertained. Thanks for reading, and let’s see where this ride takes us! 🏒✨

P.S. If the Leafs are stressing you out too, welcome to the club. 💙

[chaotickryptonitetree]

do you think you'd miss me (a lot or a little) | joseph woll

something about his saving-himself-for-marriage-ish charm has bewitched me and made me feral. its hot but not smut...sorry in advance. it's long

...

You knew what this would become as soon as it started. Or maybe you just knew yourself too well. There was no doubt in your mind that your older neighbor would become slightly more than your older neighbor soon enough. 

Even on move in day–when you first saw him–you knew. You ran a hand through your hair as sweat fixed your tanktop to your stomach, box resting on your hip. He barely looked at you, only long enough for you to take in the icy blue of his eyes. You pursed your lips as he stepped in, hanging up the tail end of a phone call. Part of you wanted to introduce yourself right away–instantly add some intrigue to your new city life. But you were patient. There was no need to rush. The fun was in the chase anyways. 

One of the first things you noticed was that he was just so sweet. Like, disgustingly so. Always chatting with the doormen and holding open the door for Ms. Johnson down the hall and playing with the kids who lived on the second floor while their mom regained composure in the elevator. Unequivocally good. 

Perhaps it was that goodness that first drew you to him–desperate to find something off, something wrong. Or perhaps it was how he looked, if you were honest. 

He was tall in a way that made you wonder if he would fit into the elevator when he first stepped into it, not lanky but not intimidatingly large either. He just looked comfortable–mobile and warm and cozy? There was always a twinge of a blush on his cheeks and on his nose, and his bright blue eyes only ever seemed to glisten with a terribly, relentless kindness. It was overwhelming, the good kind–like the sigh of relief after a crisis averted. 

But you probably were causing the crisis. He was quiet–not to everyone, though. He had no trouble with other neighbors or the kids or the staff of the apartment building. But when it was just you two in the elevator, he grew quiet. Not even a nervous quiet or a judgemental quiet–just quiet, like he didn’t have anything to say (which might’ve been worse). After the first time you had been in the elevator with him, he pushed five without asking–just as you had memorized that he lived on six. He would hold the side of the door so it wouldn’t close, give a cordial smile, and that would be it. 

And it wouldn’t even be a big deal if he wasn’t so out-of-his-way lovely to everyone else. There was a fascination associated with him–for whatever reason. He became “hot neighbor” to your friends who slept over or heard you talk about him, and for a while, he stayed just that–hot neighbor. Someone to whisper about as soon as he was out of earshot. Someone to ogle in the lobby before class. 

But then you got a little impatient. A little tired of his sleepy smile in the lobby in the morning. A little–fed up, maybe–with his toothy smile for the doorman as he helped put up the ornaments on the top of the christmas tree in the lobby. Eyes got a little bit restless when you’d walk into the elevator and find him in a suit and a winter coat–hair mussed from the wind. He practically forced your hand. 

… 

“What’s your name?” You asked bluntly one evening after he had pushed the buttons for five and six. The elevator made a whirring sound on the way up. He turned around slightly to face you and tilted his head, a little surprised at your question. You feigned indifference, picking at your nails. 

“Joseph,” his voice was deeper than you had expected, but not deep in a heavy, gravelly way. Just smooth. Steady. “And yours?” He asked politely as the doors opened to your floor. 

You didn’t answer, just walked right past him as he held the doors open. He didn’t fight you–and while the act of immaturity probably should’ve made you feel more like a kid around him, it didn’t. Maybe you were too concerned with his name rattling around your skull to think too deeply about it. Joseph? Joey? Joe? You realized that no name felt right when it came to him. He was definitely too pretty for a normal name like Joe, you decided as you turned the key in the door. The empty apartment greeted you unceremoniously. 

…

The next time you saw him, you weren’t expecting to. It was usually too late for him–too late for you as well–but finals week called for longer nights in the library. You smiled at the doorman and fixed your glasses, sweat set suddenly feeling warm in the heat of the lobby. The elevator dinged and you held onto the straps of your backpack, walking faster. “Hold the door, please!”

A deft hand reached for the door and it was probably not a good sign that you recognized him from his knuckles alone. But there was probably no one else in the entire city who had working hands as pretty as his. The corners of your mouth lifted to a smirk as he wordlessly pressed the button for five. You zipped up your coat, tucking your chin into the collar–feeling…shameless, almost?

“Late night for you, huh Mr. Joseph?” His tired smile was wonderful enough to make you feel grateful that you gripped the railing in the elevator. He nodded silently, blushy from the cold. You weren’t about to let him off so easily. “Tired?” You pressed, eager for more of his undivided attention. 

He squinted his eyes as if to decide how to respond, and smiling easily, he nodded again. “It would be Mr. Woll,” he began, left hand reaching up to rub his eye adorably. You tilted your head, trying to stay focused despite everything about him. “If we were going to be technical with it–Woll is my surname, so it would be Mr. Woll.” Your smirk widened. 

“And do you want me to call you Mr. Woll?” You teased, suddenly less tired. His blush deepened as he shook his head slightly. 

“No, I think Joseph is just fine,” he offered pleasantly. You feigned contemplation for a moment. 

“Okay, J, I’ll keep that in mind,” your eyes darted up to ding of the doors opening on your floor. 

He laughed a polite little laugh that stirred your stomach. “I’m too old for that nickname, I’m afraid, sweetheart.” The name lit you up from the inside out. 

“How old are you?” He held the doors open for you as you asked. 

“25,” he answered honestly and smoothly, despite not getting any information out of you, he didn’t seem to mind answering your questions. 

You turned on your heel and put your hands on your hips, found him looking at you kindly with sleepy eyes. 

“Not too old in the ways that matter, Mr. Woll,” you winked at him indulgently and walked toward your apartment, hoping you’d dream of blue eyes and blushy cheeks. 

…

A few days later, you waited for your uber in the lobby of your building–not feeling desperate to escape the warmth of the lobby and venture out into the cold prematurely. 

Holiday music wafted through the room sweetly, kissing the high ceilings and swirling around the christmas tree near the desk. A dull press into the cushion of the couch directly next to you pulled you from your comfortable observation. You turned your head just slightly to take him in. 

He crossed his ankles, leaning back against the couch to mimic your positioning. His smile was sheepish, persistently kind. “Hey, how’s it going?” He offered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. You leaned back further, looking up at him with a smirk. 

“Oh I’m great, Mr. Woll, thanks so much for asking,” he shook his head, meeting your gaze by peering down at you. 

“You’re really going to make me regret that, aren’t you kid?” 

“Don’t call me kid,” you wrinkled your nose–secretly loving how it sounded when he said it. He leaned closer to you slightly, teasingly. 

“Well, I wouldn’t have to call you that if I knew your name,” he said lightly. How could you deny him now–when you could smell his smokey cologne and fresh, clean aftershave? Closing your eyes for a moment, you sighed loudly. 

“Oh fine Joseph, but only because you’re begging me,” he tried to look at you sternly but you could tell he was excited to finally know your name as you told him. He leaned into his hand, propped up on the back of the couch. 

“And how old are you? You’re a student, right?” He smiled into his palm, knowing he was pushing his luck as his words tumbled out too fast.

You rolled your eyes, but nodded, head lolling back on the couch. “21, and I’m a student, yeah,” you felt a little embarrassed being so close to him, being younger, but it was a weird, nice, kind of embarrassing. And something told you that he knew what he was doing. 

“Look at us, neighbors getting to know each other,” He leaned away from you slightly, eyes shimmering with content. Your phone buzzed, uber finally outside. He stood up first and offered you his hand–which you took with a smirk. “Where are you headed tonight?” 

You tried not to notice how warm his hand felt, or how it covered yours entirely. “Just a party, nothing crazy,” you shrugged. He took a step back and walked you to the door, opening it graciously. 

“Oh right, I forget kids your age actually have plans on Thursday nights,” his laugh was light and airy, mixing with the jingling of the holiday music. You hit him on the chest good-naturedly. 

“Kids my age?” You mocked facetiously. “I’m four years younger than you, Joseph,” you scoffed into the freezing air between you both. 

“Don’t I know it,” he finished vaguely, retreating back into the warmth of the lobby, leaving you to hop into your uber, wondering what he meant. 

…

When you returned home late that night (technically, very early into the morning), you were pleasantly drunk–enough to be able to walk just fine, but where you felt flush and just a little warm, easier to laugh, easier to smile maybe. 

It only made sense that he was in the elevator when you just slightly stumbled into it. Your laugh was probably too loud for the space, but you couldn’t help yourself as he pressed five. 

“Of course it’s you,” you grinned childishly, “it’s too late for you, Joey!”

He grinned right back at you, so sleepily you could’ve sighed. His sweatshirt looked cozy and smelled of fabric softener, pajama pants rolled just into his socks. 

“You’re right about that sweetheart,” he yawned into the back of his hand. “Did you have fun?” 

“Mmm,” your nod was immediate, “m’a little drunk though.” He smiled kindly. He was so handsome then, you realized as you cocked your head to the side. 

“I can see that,” he laughed, white teeth gleaming. “You warm?” He let his eyes drop down to your exposed collarbones, flushed and red–but seemed to catch himself and met your eyes again sheepishly–realizing that he didn’t have any excuse as to why he said that. Unable to break eye contact, you nodded slowly, stepping away from the wall.

“Yeah,” your words came out as more of a sigh, “wanna feel?” 

He shook his head quickly, hair sticking up in haphazard directions. You took a step closer, emboldened by the alcohol enough to not stumble in your heels. “No? Really?” 

He rested his head on the wall of the elevator, looking up. “Really,” he concluded, to which you pouted. 

“But you look so soft right now, Joey,” you bit the corner of your lip, “maybe I wanna feel you.” He looked down, finally meeting your eyes as you stood right in front of him. He wore his emotions easily, beautifully on his face. Tired. Conflicted. Entertained…almost? 

He didn’t say anything, probably for fear that he would get in trouble. Instead, he opened up his arms–allowing you to step into his personal space and wrap your arms around him too. This–to him–was safe. A hug was safe. For now. 

You buried your face into his chest, breathing him in. His body was solid, arms wrapped around you tightly enough to make you exhale into his sweatshirt. The bell dinged, the door opened, and you craned your neck up, chin resting on his chest. 

His blue eyes peered down to meet yours–calm and clear. “Hi Joey,” you giggled, too enamored with the feeling of his arms around you to care. 

“Hi,” he smiled wide, untethering himself from your body and ushering you gently onto your floor. To your surprise, he walked you out of the elevator and down the hall, warm palm resting comfortably on your lower back, thumbing rubbing circles softly into the fabric of your coat. 

You leaned into his side, breathing deep and level. “I’m 512, on the right,” you whispered into his shoulder, sleepiness catching up with you. You felt him nod, hand coming up to pat your head lightly. 

“We’re here sweetheart,” he whispered into the air above your head. You fumbled with your key, opening the door as he shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“You coming in?” You asked softly. He shook his head bashfully. 

“Not tonight,” if he was trying to feed into your delusions, it was working. You leaned into the doorway, not ready to say bye just yet–would you ever? 

“Okay, J.” He took a step back, about to turn around. 

“Call me if you need anything,” he hesitated, “I put my number in your phone already.” 

“You sly dog,” you moved to close the door, “thanks for everything Mr. Woll.” 

“And here I thought I was making progress,” he joked, backing up toward the hallway. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

You waggled your fingers at him mockingly and watched him walk with his hands in his pockets back to the elevator. Just before he stepped in, you called after him.

“Joey!” He smiled as he faced you a final time, knowingly. You brought your palm to your lips and blew him a kiss. His smile deepened as he reached up to catch it, bringing his fist to his heart and tilting his chin down. Thank you, he mouthed as he soundlessly stepped into the lift. 

You closed the door and slid down the surface, slipping off your heels and pushing them toward the doormat. Your cheeks felt warm for a different reason than just a few minutes before. Every interaction with him was like a gulp of hot chocolate–indulgent and sweet. He was making this a lot more interesting. 

…

The following morning, you awoke to a slight headache and a twinge of embarrassment about the night before. Whatever game you were playing–at this point you weren’t totally sure–was sort of contingent on him viewing you as a legitimate option. You couldn’t imagine him viewing you as anything other than an irresponsible college student after last night.  

thank you for taking care of me last night :) you texted him, dull light from the screen casting over your face. 

No need to thank me. I’m glad you had fun! His response was immediate and grammatically correct, making you feel immature even through the phone. You tossed your phone to the side and got ready for the day. Distracted yourself by throwing on an outfit and doing your hair–only to be interrupted by a crisp knock on your door. Sliding the lock open, you opened the door just slightly, peering through the crack. His smile was embedded in your eyelids at this point, but it didn’t make it any less lovely. 

“Good morning,” he offered, almost taller than the door frame. 

“Good morning,” you parroted, “now that you know which apartment is mine, should I expect you knocking more often?” 

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. You both seemed to be doing that often. Embarrassing each other. It was too easy. “Well you shouldn’t, but you might” He shook his head a little sadly at your pout. “Wanted to see y–see that you’re okay.” Your delight in his slip up was painted over you like a full face of makeup. 

“M’okay. You’re too nice to me, you know,” you opened the door further, crossing your arms over your chest. He shook his head again. 

“Just trying to be a good neighbor,” he hesitated at your disbelieving expression. “I remember how hard it was being new to a city all by myself, it helps to have someone you can trust–someone who knows the ropes.” You might’ve physically swooned at his words. Endlessly kind. 

“Thank you,” you responded simply, because there was nothing else that really encapsulated how much that meant to you. But there he went again with his dimples creasing his cheeks and the knuckles of his hands slightly red from use and his hair always messy and you just had to be a little bit of a menace–just for a second. “Did Ms. Woll approve of your late night last night?” Your eyes practically shimmered. 

“No–no, there’s no Ms,” he stumbled over his reply, grasping for a suitable answer that wouldn’t lead you on. You willed surprise into your expression. 

“Really? How?” 

“How?” He laughed, however forced it was, “Just busy, I don’t know, not a priority right now.” You wore your disbelief like a medal–emboldened by the prospect of winning. 

“They must be throwing themselves all over you though, right Mr. Woll?” You brought a hand to your neck, feigning shock. “Someone as handsome as you, kind as you,” his blush deepened as he looked anywhere but your face and clavicle. “Must be dying to make you their husband.” 

“Apparently not,” he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “But that’s okay with me,” he said unconvincingly. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “Really? You don’t want someone to come home to?” He knuckled one of eyes slowly, bashfulness egging you on. “Someone cooking dinner for you in the kitchen? Someone to yell ‘Honey! I’m home?’ to?” His disapproving smile was fake, and you could tell. 

“You talk a big game about marriage…Think I haven’t seen your tinder boys in the elevator the morning after?” You gasped–delighted that he was finally playing along. 

“Joseph! How could you possibly know that those boys are coming from my room!” 

He just shook his head at your incredulous expression. “Call it a lucky guess,” he feigned disappointment, clearly delighted. “Or maybe it’s their magical glow,” he teased. You hit his shoulder playfully. 

“Hey! If you want that “magical glow,” so badly, just ask,” you winked. 

“Gonna get me in trouble, sweetheart,” there was a slight groan in his voice–a slight strain. It was delicious. The silence between you both felt heavy–charged, almost. You practically melted into the doorframe. 

“That’s the goal, Joey,” your voice was lower than you wanted it to be, his eyes flitted back up to meet yours. He raised his eyebrows–hopefully? 

…

After a particularly stressful day at the library, you practically felt you were seeing double, glasses pushed up on your forehead. Tired eyes, tired mind, the world almost felt in slow motion. You drowsily pressed the button for your floor, nearly unable to keep your eyes open. 

You made your way down the hallway and got out your keys, fumbling with the lock and cursing under your breath. 

You felt him behind you before you heard him. “Breaking in, are we?” His tone was teasing as he reached for his own key. Your eyes flitted to the plaque next to the door–612, not 512. You groaned as he reached over you and opened the door, chest practically pressed to your back. 

You leaned back onto his shoulder, the curve of your cheek slotted into where his collarbone was. “Long day,” you offered, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent. He smiled down at you, the column of his throat working beautifully as he let out a rumble of a laugh that you felt in his chest. He felt so comfortable–maybe that was why your eyes darted down to his lips for just a second. 

Just long enough for him to notice. Long enough to feel his struggle of an exhale. You brought your gaze back forward. 

He cleared his throat. “Want some tea before you go to sleep?” He offered kindly. You nodded as he gently pushed you into the doorway. 

It smelled like him–making you fight the urge to breathe in audibly. He took your bag off of your shoulder and hung it on the hook by the door. 

“Looks familiar,” you turned toward the noise in the kitchen. Everything just screamed him. It made you smile to yourself as you wrapped your arms around yourself–shamelessly snooping. “But I like yours more,” you entered the kitchen to find him boiling water. 

“That's nice of you,” he said to no one as he opened the cabinet to get the teabags. You could’ve watched him forever. “Feel you staring at me, sweetheart,” he turned over his shoulder, smiling broadly in the dim light. 

You couldn’t even fake being ashamed of being caught. “Just look pretty, s’all.” Your response was honest as you sat at a stool while he poured water into mugs and let the tea steep. 

He chuckled under his breath, leaning against the counter top–taking you in. You pretended to look innocent, head in your hands. Everything about this place was comfortable. Home-like. The idea made you smile. He passed a mug to you. It read “World’s Best Dad,” in block letters. You raised an eyebrow. 

“You didn’t tell me that you’ve got kids, Mr. Woll…” you trained off, letting your gaze drip down his tall frame. “I mean, I can see it.” You took a sip of your tea. Peppermint. “With your advanced age and all.” He laughed, leaning back. 

“Easy,” he warned, a large hand wrapped around the mug. “No kids–just an inside joke with a few buddies of mine. I like their kids so much that they call me Dad too.” He laughed at your expression. 

“You like being called that?” His face was dark with shadows of the day. He took his head in his free hand. 

“Easy now, kid,” he warned again lightheartedly. Cleared his throat. 

“What’s the hardest part about life in a new city?” He was good at changing the subject. You let him. 

“Hmmm,” you considered his question. “Probably just having to do a lot by myself,” you answered honestly. “I like alone time but since moving here it hasn’t been a choice–more so like my only option.” He made a face that made you backtrack. “I have my tinder boys and my school friends–sure–but it can get a little lonely,” you felt sheepish, hiding your face in your elbow. 

“That’s quite the undertaking, kid,” paused for your rejection of the name, but continued when he realized you were too tired to care (and you still liked when he called you that), “but you’re capable. And trying your best. Relationships take time–allow yourself that, at least.” He took a sip through a smile. “I see you giggling with your friends in the lobby,” he admitted. “Those school friends will become real friends, just you wait.” 

His words were a sedative, calming any worries you had carried with you for the day. He had a habit of doing that. “We’re probably giggling about you, if m’honest,” you hid your confession behind your mug. He raised an eyebrow, prompting you to continue. “Oh please. You know how you look.” 

He laughed, embarrassed. So pretty it hurt. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Don’t be vain, Joey,” you rolled your eyes, “you’re ‘hot neighbor,’ they could giggle about you and your baby blues all day,” you smirked. 

“I suppose ‘hot neighbor’ is better than ‘old man Woll,” he tried to laugh it off, steam from the tea dancing around his long lashes. 

“So,” you set your cup down, smacking your lips. The kitchen smelled like a lavender candle freshly blown out. “Hardest part of your city boy lifestyle, hit me.” He considered; thoughtfulness looked beautiful over the freckles on his nose. 

He shrugged noncommittally, a small smile painting his lips. You scoffed, refusing his non-answer. 

“Come on, Mr. Woll,” you whined, “don’t tell me you don’t get a little lonely in this big city. No wife. No kids,” he gave you a pointed look, “of your own,” you amended. She just shrugged again. It felt a little like trouble, sparking up your throat. 

“And no tinder boys,” you joked, pouting, “unless you’re extremely sneaky,” you raised an eyebrow. He shook his head. 

“No, no tinder boys for me. No tinder at all–M’not on your apps,” he admitted. “Too old.” You laughed at the blush dusting the tops of his ears. 

“You’re not that old,” you answered honestly. “Maybe you should make an account…” you wanted him to bite. To refuse. To be upset. Something different. But he just smiled his sweet smile. So you kept going. 

“You’d do well enough on them. Women would eat up this good guy thing you’ve got going,” he frowned,” And you have to know how handsome you are.” You set your mug down and pushed up from the stool, daring him to answer. 

He met your gaze–seemingly against his better judgment. The muscles in his jaw worked slowly. Heat seemed to radiate off of him in waves as you ventured closer. He almost looked in pain, blue eyes pouring into yours. 

“Do people tell you that enough?” You feigned innocence, closing the gap. “Tell me.” You stood right in front of him, looking up through your lashes. “Please,” it came out as a whimper. 

He brought a warm palm up to your face, thumb skimming over your cheekbone. So gently it made you pout. He was so sweet–even now. How badly you wanted him to break. “‘M too old for this,” He shook his head a little sadly, voice coming out as a whisper. It would’ve broken your heart, made you back off. 

But you liked your game too much to forfeit now. Enjoyed making him blush a little too much. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His lips parted slightly. 

“Too old for this?” You bit your lip. “For me?” He didn’t nod right away, making you smile. You still had him. In some weird, fucked-up way, you still had him. His eyes were dark, hands warm where they rested on your hips. The skin underneath radiated under his touch. “I know you miss it Mr. Woll, I can tell,” 

He pouted adorably, full lips shiny with spit. You twirled a longer piece of hair around your finger, relished in the groan that just escaped his mouth. “Miss what?” His voice was gravelly, curious–not ready to give in to you, but also not ready to give up the game. It was too good. It was perfect.

“Miss having someone around, and not just a tinder boy,” you raised your eyebrow, teasingly, “miss having a soft, warm body in your bed when you get home from work, someone making coffee when you wake up,” you brought your lips to his ear delicately, “someone to fuck into the mattress after a long day.” His grip on your hips tightened–hard enough to bruise. You smiled up at him innocently, content with his response. You could feel his labored breathing with each rise and fall of his chest. It ruined you. “I know you want that,” you licked your lips.

“Tellin’ me m’pretty in my own home, callin’ me Mr. Woll,” he smiled down at you–was that a glint of trouble in his blue eyes? “Running that filthy mouth about some domestic fantasy,” he wrapped his arms around you in a warm hug, crushing your nose into his solid chest. “You know what you’re doing to me,” a laugh rumbled through him. You could’ve fallen asleep in his arms. 

“I know,” you smiled into his chest. “That’s why I do it.” 

You could tell that he was smiling as he slotted his chin on top of your head. 

…

love ya