#but i just need to yell about hockey

[sophsicle]

the rest of them should disappear 😭

pls tell me there is an exclusion for matthew tkachuk (he’s my boy. my main man)??

absolutely disrespectfully fuck the staals and the org tho

bro

i HATE tkachuk ohmygod

mostly brady 2 b fair

but both of them have the worst vibes

[secondpersonpoetry]

Franziska Linkerhand, Brigitte Reimann

[pellucid-constellations]

Faking It

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN

a/n:​​​ This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?” 

Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?” 

Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.” 

“He was talking shit about the team!” 

“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.” 

“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown. 

In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was. 

An opportunity to see you. 

And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box. 

“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away. 

Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.” 

“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?” 

“Hey, he did.” 

“They always do.”

Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated. 

“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?” 

Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.

“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.” 

“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him. 

But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one. 

Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not. 

But, damn, were you busy right now. 

Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you. 

Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off. 

God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you. 

He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free. 

“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.” 

You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.” 

Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations? 

Never. Because you were so damn busy. 

“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.” 

You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could. 

“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?” 

“Yes.” 

Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.” 

“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.” 

Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck. 

He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo. 

“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey. 

Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.” 

You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.” 

You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three. 

“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair. 

“I don’t know. In the night.” 

“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?” 

You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.” 

“Baby—”

“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.” 

“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back. 

“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.” 

“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.” 

You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you. 

“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.

“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.” 

You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin. 

Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him. 

“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream. 

You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.” 

“I wouldn’t call it lying.” 

The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face. 

“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.” 

“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.” 

“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.” 

Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.” 

“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?” 

“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away. 

“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented. 

Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him. 

With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen. 

After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real. 

God, he loved you. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.” 

Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.

“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin. 

“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—” 

“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.” 

“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.” 

Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—” 

“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.” 

“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.” 

“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.” 

“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—” 

You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow. 

Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.

You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”

Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more. 

“Can’t help it. I love you.”

Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for. 

But he always got what he wanted in the end. 

And, more than anything, he wanted you. 

“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?” 

When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.

“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend. 

He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.” 

“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.” 

“I know what first means, baby.” 

“Good.” 

But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually. 

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket. 

You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?” 

“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”

You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.” 

“Always, baby.” 

[elliezato]

✮⋆˙Hockey Player Ellie⋆˙⟡

HockeyPlayer!Ellie x Reader headcannons<3

Summery: Ellie is your competitive girlfriend who loves to see you at her hockey games!

SFW! Just cute hcs and some fluff

Also I honestly don’t know much about hockey… but could you IMAGINE Ellie on the rink!!! She’d be so hot in those uniforms. I need more hockey Ellie content.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie looks for you in the crowd before her games. She loves seeing you cheer for her. Every time her or her teammates score a goal she looks up at you and smiles to make sure you saw.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie brags about you to all her teammates. She got you a jersey to wear to her games. The back of the jersey says “Williams” so everyone knows you’re her girl.

- You obviously added cute patches that remind you of Ellie on the jersey and you make sure to never miss a game.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie always goes to you first after all of her games. Before going to the locker room with everyone else she steps off the ice and grabs your waist, placing soft kisses on the corner of your lips.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie loves when you skate with her. She bought you a pair of skates so she could teach you but you weren’t very good. She’ll take you on skating dates but has to hold your hand most of the time.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie is always competitive when it comes to sports. You can hear her from the crowd yelling at her teammates when they make a mistake. Her team loves her but can’t stand how competitive she gets. Same goes for when you watch professional hockey at home. She’s standing in front of the tv yelling like a dad watching football.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie’s favorite season is winter because of all the public rinks. She takes you christmas skating every year just to show off in front of all the kids who clearly don’t know what they’re doing.

- She always gets annoyed when she sees the figure skaters spinning in the public rinks. She claims they’re “showing off” even though she’s literally there to do the same.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie loves when you get into the games. You stand up and cheer for her from he crowd making sure you’re loud enough for her to hear. Her teammates tease her about how you still don’t know much about the game but still cheer.

- She tries to explain to you the rules of hockey and you just sit and nod, acting like you understand. Eventually you get the hang of it after watching some many of her games.

✰HockeyPlayer!Ellie laughs to herself from the rink when she sees you stand up in concern every she gets hit for falls. She has bruises on her legs and arms from getting manhandled by the other players. After her games you always give her massages to loosen her muscles.

[theemporium]

“Baby, please.” 

“Shhh, focus on your game, honey.”

“Just let me—”

“Eyes on the screen.”

It was torture. It was absolute fucking torture and it was driving him mad. Was it somewhat self-inflicted? Maybe so. But Jack Hughes didn’t believe the punishment matched the crime, in fact he thought it was far worse. Not that he would say as much, not when the risk that you’d torture him even more lingered in the air.

To be fair, he had been neglecting you—even if it wasn’t a conscious choice. 

It was summer. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and for the next few months, Jack was relieved from all his hockey duties and responsibilities. This meant lazy days to lie in bed a little longer, to eat a little less healthy, to enjoy time with his family and friends and girlfriend until hockey season came back around and he was forced to leave on long roadies. 

You and Jack had actually decided to visit the lakehouse a little earlier than everyone else this year, long before his family or even his friends showed up. It was a win-win, with you and Jack getting (what was meant to be) a romantic getaway and Luke getting the Jersey apartment all to himself.

Except, it wasn’t the romantic getaway you expected with your boyfriend. 

You weren’t under any false illusions. You and Jack were never an overly romantic couple. You weren’t expecting picnics by the lake or date nights on the boat or home-cooked meals shared over candlelight. That wasn’t how you two worked. That wasn’t the kind of couple you were. But you expected at least some attention from your boyfriend in the week you had alone before everyone else arrived.

Instead, he had stupidly listened to Trevor and Cole bang on about some video game and, without realising it, the boy had become addicted in the last few days. He was on the console, laughing and yelling with his friends he would see in less than two weeks and you were losing your mind.

You tried to ask him to join you for dinner, and he would just promise you he would join in a couple of minutes. You tried to catch up on some alone time when you were both crawling into bed, but he would either be half-asleep or rambling about the game. You had even tried to seduce the boy with a lacy set you brought with you as a surprise, and he didn’t even notice the number peeking out from under your robe.

Jack was usually an attentive boyfriend, and you knew he was only like this because he was hyperfixated on the game. 

But you were fucking sick of it. You wanted your boyfriend back. You wanted him all for yourself. And you were going to show him what he was missing while he was focused on the silly, little videogame.

“Shit,” he murmured, his breathing a little heavy as he tried to keep his eyes focused on the screen. As he tried to focus on his little figurine, as he tried to focus on the bullets flying his way from all directions, as he tried to focus on anything except his scandalously-clad girlfriend currently grinding down on his thigh. 

Those little shorts he owned were the death of you. And if Jack wasn’t going to fuck you, then you decided you would just have to get yourself off, maybe even remind him of what he could have had if he hadn’t been so focused on something else.

“Careful,” you teased, your voice a little shaky as you rolled your hips. “One button and they’ll hear you, baby. They’ll hear you begging to touch me. They’ll hear your pretty cries to fuck me.”

“Baby,” Jack rasped, his hooded eyes focusing on your face for a short few moments before his gaze dropped to your tits that were threatening to spill out of the lacy nightgown you were wearing. “Please.”

“Maybe I’ll turn the microphone on myself,” you continued, a taunting tone lacing your suggestive words. “Maybe I’ll let them hear how good I feel. Maybe I’ll tell them that I don’t even need you touching me to get off.”

His jaw clenched, the controller in his hands lying limp in his hold as he watched you reach up to squeeze your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples between your fingers.

“Fuck, Jack,” you moaned out, your head tilting back as you began to speed up. “These stupid fuckin’ thighs. Gonna be the death of me.”

“Babe,” Jack pleaded once again, his fingers itching to reach out and grip your thighs. To properly pull you onto his lap and feel you grinding down on his dick instead. To just be inside you while you make those pretty noises.

“You’ve not been a good boy, Jack,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt yourself quickly approaching the edge. “Only good boys get to fuck me.”

“I’ll be your good boy,” he breathed out, his blood rushing to his cock as he watched you grip the fabric of his shirt, leaning against him as your tempo increased.

“Yeah? You wanna be my good boy?” You questioned, your lips twitching upwards as you watched him vigorously nod his head. You leaned forward, your fingers squishing his cheeks together as he let out a small whimper. “You think you deserve to fuck me?”

“Please,” he whimpered out.

Your mouth fell open as you finally tipped over the edge, feeling your orgasm wash over your body as you let out a pathetically loud moan. You gripped onto him as you came, letting the pleasure rush through you as you left his thigh wet and soaking and dripping with your arousal. You leaned your forehead against his shoulder as you catched your breath, as you felt his racing heartbeat beneath your palm.

“If you wanna fuck me, you’re gonna have to prove you deserve it,” you told him, still a little breathless and rough. “On your knees, baby. Wanna see that pretty face of yours between my legs.”

The game was long abandoned as Jack quickly moved to complete your request, his cheeks already flushing with need. “Yes, ma’am.”

.

[ghouljams]

Hockey au my light my love. The most chaotic boys. The Goon squad. The bane of coach Price's existence.

"Just talk to 'er mate," Soap nudges Ghost's shoulder. Poor guy has been staring you down all night, glaring like you walked in with his brother.

"What am I s'pposed ta say," Ghost grumbles over the lip of his beer. His eyes hardly budge from staring, watching you like a hawk as you laugh with your friends.

"Oh use a pickup line," Gaz chimes in, leaning around Soap at the bar.

"Good on ya Gaz," Soap pats the man on his shoulder in agreement before turning back to Ghost, "pickup line breaks the ice, get 'er to laugh and youre in."

"You're not suppose to break the ice," Ghost turns to look at his teammates. Soap groans, Gaz snorts, taking a sip of his drink.

"Go up to her and say something hockey like," Gaz chews his lip, thinking, "you should get two minutes for tripping, because I just fell for you."

"That's a good one," Soap says, almost surprised, smacking his hand against Gaz's chest.

"I know," Gaz boasts, sipping his beer.

"Got a better one though," Soap grins.

"Let's hear it," Gaz tips his head, yielding the proverbial floor.

"You want my sweater? 'Cause I think you need my name and number."

"Pretty good," Gaz nods, "how about this one-"

Ghost stands from his seat as Soap and Gaz go back and forth. Pickup line, he can do that, that's easy. He's good looking, he can talk to pretty people in bars. He stops next to your table and watches you turn to look up at him, your smile good natured and your brow raised in question. He stares at you a moment longer, God you're pretty. Prettier up close, he can't take his eyes off the sparkle in your eyes or the crooked tilt of your lips. You're waiting on him to say something, you deserve something good for putting up with his staring.

"Hi," he starts and your smile grows a little wider and everything flies out of his head, "I'm Simon, I'm a goalie."

"You play for the 141 right?" You ask, grabbing your drink to take a sip. It's something dark on ice, it tips in the glass like bourbon. Ghost nods. "You've got a .9 save percentage."

".921," Ghost corrects, "and six shut outs."

You set your drink back on the table and grab your jacket, Ghost doesn't move when you stand, even if it means you nearly bump into him. He wouldn't be mad if you did. He's hoping for it actually.

"You should take me home," you tell him, and Ghost wastes no time settling a big hand on the small of your back to lead you out into the cool night air.

He only realizes the mistake he made in the morning when you shake him awake the next morning and tell him, "We have practice at six, get your ass up."

Ghost groans and cracks his eyes open to stare at you, half asleep. "We?" He asks, not sure what you have to do with him or his practice schedule.

"New team manager nice to meet you," you pat his cheek and roll out of bed, "get your ass up Riley, we got a long day ahead of us."

Ghost sits up, watches you fish around on the floor for your underwear and tries to make the cogs in his head turn the right way. He's gotta stop getting into fights, he thought you said team manager. That- he'd know if you were his manager. He knows the team manager.

You toss a tee at him with a 'what are you doing?' look, "hell are you sitting around for ya fuckin' muppet? You got practice."

Ghost grabs the tee and tugs it over his head with a grumbled swear. You better stop yelling at him or he's gonna fall in love with you.

[jareaul0ver]

Bruises

part 2

Summary: You get hurt during hockey practice and an unexpected blonde patches you up.

wc: 823 warnings: physical fighting, bruises, blood, denial of feelings, regina being a SOFTIE pairings: regina george x fem!reader

"C'mon Shane, put some power behind that!" The head coach yelled at one of your teammates. He groaned in frustration.

You were about to run a scrimmage. You'd been put on the opposite team of Shane, who was now pissed off. Everything was going good, you had the puck on your stick and the only thing standing between you and taking a shot was Shane.

In one quick motion, you were slammed into and knocked onto your back. He didn't even make a move for the puck. "Oman, watch it! You good, Y/L/N?" You heard your coach shout from the side.

You sat up on the ice and readjusted your helmet. "I'm fine, coach!" you called out and got back onto your skates. The scrimmage continued, and you had finally scored, bringing your team up a point. You scored again, and once more.

Shane seemed to have had enough of this. You had the puck again, and you passed it. A few seconds after you passed it, Shane sped at you, slamming you into the wall of the rink. You hit it forcefully and fell onto your knees.

"What the fuck, Shane?" You yelled out. You stood up and took your helmet off, tossing it to the side. You did the same with your stick, then rushed over to him, hitting him hard with your gloved fist. He almost fell back, but he caught himself.

You two were now fighting. Your teammates all froze and watched it go down. Shane had gotten a good hit on your cheek bone, splitting the skin open. You felt blood drip down your face. The only reason you didn't swing again was because of your head coach and assistant coach pulling the two of you apart.

Shane was ushered to the boy's locker room, and you to the girls. You took off the top half of your gear, throwing on a t-shirt, and waiting for the trainer to come in and check you out.

Instead, you watched as a blonde figure rounded the corner. You immediately sat up. "Regina? What're you doing in here?"

She made a beeline towards you, leaning down to get a good look at your face. You were surprised. Not because you weren't friends, you were very good friends. Regina had practically picked you up from the ground and placed you on the same level as heaven during your sophomore year.

You were just shocked to see her here, standing in front of you with a frown on her face. "Y/N? Are you listening to me? Can you listen to me, do you have a concussion?" She pulled you away from your thoughts.

"Yes-" you cleared your throat. "Sorry, yeah, I'm listening." No you weren't, you both knew that.

She sat next to you and sighed. "Shane did this to you?" She spoke gently and you nodded. She clenched her jaw. "Fucking idiot. Not you, him." She brought her hand up to your face and gently brushed over your cheek.

You winced and her face softened. "Sorry." Regina had never had a soft spot for anyone. Not until she met you. Something in her constantly pulled her towards you, and at first she tried her best to fight the feeling off, but eventually she gave in.

"You didn't answer my question. What're you doing here?" You keep your eyes on her icy blue ones. Usually they were cold, unless she was secretly staring at you without your notice, and except for now. They were soft and almost apologetic.

"Word travels fast and I needed to make sure you were okay." Her tone was genuine, and it made your heart melt.

You looked down at your hands in your lap, looking at the bruising on your knuckles forming. "I'm okay. My face kinda hurts though." I smiled a little, meeting her gaze again.

She rolled her eyes and her lips twitched into a small smile. "You're such an idiot." She reached out for your hands and took them gently into hers. She looked at the bruising and grimaced a little. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" You asked, a little confused.

"You got in a fight with my idiot ex."

The confused expression never left your face. "And why is that your fault?"

Regina knew exactly why it was her fault, but she could never tell you. She couldn't say that Shane was actually the one who ended things with her. The fight they had wasn't about him with another girl, no. It was about her with you. He had accused Regina for having feelings for you, and while she didn't admit to it, she never denied it, so he broke up with her.

"It- it isn't, I just feel bad." She swallowed nervously. She looked down at your hands and gently ran her thumbs over your knuckles. She brought one of your hands up to her mouth and gently kissed the bruises.

theres gonna be a part 2 to this, definitely, but its nearing 4am and i am TIRED

[hockeybabe]

could u do a fic where all the boys are at the lake house and u and quinn are making out in the kitchen or like on a counter and one of the boys walk in

Sneak Away | Q.Hughes

Not my Gif

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x gf!reader

Summary: the one moment you and Quinn get away from the group you take serious advantage of it.

Warnings: swearing, heavy make out session, getting caught, luke being scared, Michigan boys hyping you up

Word count: 476

Note: short story but in honour of Quinn becoming captain a captain Quinn is coming soon!!! Also I will be doing kinktober so put some request on my page for any hockey players you want.

Luke, Jack, Quinn, and the Michigan boys were at the lake house celebrating Luke's signing with New Jersey and him scoring his first goal. It was an exciting weekend of partying, but as much as you were having fun, you also wanted some alone time with Quinn, as he did too.

The boys constantly teased Quinn about only wanting time with you, and it got to the point where they’d make sexual jokes where you would blush and hide while Quinn smirked or looked at you. Quinn and you were always with each other, connected by the hip, and always wanting some sort of physical touch, but this weekend you couldn’t be more apart.

It felt as if the boys were trying to see how long you two would last without each other before one of you said something. But you both were stubborn. As of now, you were at the pool table watching Quinn as he played against Jack, and the rest of the boys were roaming around and having their own fun.

"You ain’t got shit Q." Jack called out, as Quinn only needed to get the 8-ball. You felt yourself getting bored as the boys tried to get in Quinn’s head. "I’ll be in the kitchen." You whispered into your boyfriend's ear, trailing your finger across his back. Quinn watched you the entire time, causing him to hit the 8-ball in a total different direction, making him miss.

The boys got riled up, pushing Quinn back and forth for messing up as Jack had the opportunity to win. With one push, Quinn was able to get away and swerve through people and to the kitchen, where you were sitting on the counter staring at Quinn. "Look who came around." You say, wrapping your arms around his shoulder as he nestled between your legs.

"I couldn't leave my girl all alone." Quinn says, grabbing your chin and tilting your head up. Your eyes quickly scan the room before looking back at Quinn and smashing your lips together. The kiss was heated, and it quickly turned into a heavy make-out session. Quinn’s hands travelled down your sides and all the way to your back, pulling you closer to his bulge.

You moaned into the kiss, running your hands under his shirt and feeling his warmth. "Such a needy girl." He muttered into your mouth, dragging his thumb over your lips, before you took his thumb in your mouth and started sucking. Quinn’s eyes filled with lust as he watched you do something you’d never done before.

"Wow guys! Get a fucking room!" Luke yelled, and as you two looked to the side, you saw the entire Michigan team cheering, some looking awkward while others just smiled. "Get it, Quinny!" One of the boys yelled, and Quinn simply smirked as you hid your head in his chest.

[frasermints]

this is something that doesn't just start and end w/ hockey canada btw.

it's a tumblr blogger selling "crosbussy" merchandise to fans, and encouraging them to wear it to games. it is that very same tumblr blogger getting asked by a team to create their pride night merch. it is a tiktokker pointedly yelling "krak my back" next to home bench during warmups and making so many overt sexual comments both on and offline that a player's wife needs to speak up about it. it is seattle's media team intertwining itself so closely with the sexually explicit side of booktok that the franchise's reputation is permanently tainted.

it's a juniors coach assaulting the kids on his team and getting paid out by his organization. it is hockey canada and usa hockey continuing to push the envelope with what is excusable in their organizations. it is chronic drug and alcohol abuse being excusable until one of your players physically assaults his teammates.

it's a juniors player jumping out of a building and killing himself after failure to perform. it's a fifth overall pick refusing to show up to the team that drafted him because he's uncomfortable around the franchise staff, and becoming the joke of the league. it is said draft pick explicitly stating "i do not feel safe around [these] specific men" and the entire league calling him an entitled pussy anyway.*

it's a coach demanding to see the phones and private photos of the men he holds power over, threatening them with trades or waivers if they don't, and fans calling the men that speak up weak and soft.

this didn't come out of nowhere. you can't beat hockey culture out of hockey players from the top down. this starts with you, this starts with your kids, and this starts with what you say online. holding the nhl and hockey canada accountable doesn't mean shit when you yourself are part of the fucking problem.

[wandasfifthwife]

(1) running into you ✩‧₊˚ competing series

hockey coach!wanda x fem!ex figure skater reader

tw: creepy man hits on r, flirting (r and w), mentions to past injury (r), some mommy issues mentioned whoops, the nephew’s name is Tyler (💀)

a/n: not proofread oopsies. DON’T steal/repost my works. anyways enjoy this piece of shit. I’ll come back and edit this later.

prev chap ✩ ══╡˚m.list˚╞══ ✩ next chap

It’s a transition going from spending every minute in the rink to living vicariously through your nephew’s newfound interest in the ice. You’ve been taking him to lessons since his parents, your brother, has had to work every minute to make a decent living.

Seeing an ice rink after two years was strangely nostalgic. Spending every waking hour here until you’d gone and screwed your leg during practice.

You would’ve been better off without your coach at the time, your mom, yelling in your ear to get up. It’s in the past and you’re hoping it stays there.

Your nephew was about young teen, unfortunately a stereotypical teen boy who played sports. He was a good kid, but too confident for his own good and feeling the need to size up other players.

The coach of the team had been running them through drills. They were mainly on how to skate and learning specific techniques for hockey such as stopping quickly. He was picking it up quick, again too confident in his efforts but it did get him somewhere.

“Who’s yours?”

You faced the man beside you, “I’m sorry?”

He pointed, waving his finger around and it clicked for you. You waved him off, saying you were here for your nephew.

“Is he your sister’s? Your brother’s?”

“My brother’s. He’s thirteen.”

“And picking it up now? That’s a bit late.”

You laugh, “what?”

The man shrugs and leans back, “he may not be able to make varsity. I mean look.”

The frustration burned through you, feeling annoyed at his audacity. You begin to grab your stuff and move down the bleachers.

“These are kids, and they can do it as a social pastime. I did figure skating and I made it into the region competitions. I was thirteen.”

The man scoffs, “I’m talking about the young boy here and an actual sport, not twirling on the ice. I mean you didn’t go far if you’re here on a Monday night.”

With a shake of your head, you leave and officially move away to the other set of bleachers, closer to where the players got off the ice. It was surprising how aggressive some parents were with their kids doing a sport. It concerned you how concerned they were with their kid succeeding in a sport they once did.

You had sat near the railing towards the bottom, resting your head on it. There was an attempt made to forget your coursing adrenaline, watching your nephew work on sliding across the ice.

It was futile, especially with the way the man was holding his stare in your direction. Whatever his problem was, you wanted nothing to do with it. Men were weird, especially when they’re under some sort of influence.

The group huddled together in the rink, the words being spoken echoed throughout the room. The only word you understood was when they announced their team chant.

You waved back at your nephew when he skated by the window, mouthing something about, “watching him.” It was practice time, where they’re given ten minutes to skate around and practice what they learned.

He flailed around but he still got up proud, acting as if his stop and falling onto the ground was meant to happen. It was amusing, but entertaining and failed for you to realize the man was walking near you yet again.

“Hey ma’am, sorry for the inconvenience. I just thought you were quite beautiful.”

You cringe, “being mean is your flirting technique?”

“Usually chicks dig it.”

You nod and look back to your nephew but he’s relentless and doesn’t want to take no for an answer, even stepping closer to you.

“You alright here miss?”

A woman in skates appeared near you two. She was adjusting the heavy coat around her shoulders, moving to take it off with the obvious sweat on around her face and neck.

The man speaks for you, “we’re fine.”

She raises her eyebrow and tosses the coat onto the bleachers, eyes slowly looking to you for confirmation. You move away from the man and it was enough confirmation.

“Hey buddy, she’s not interested. There’s plenty of fish in the sea but a woman twenty years younger than you isn’t the move.”

With a patronizing smile and wave he began to yell at his son to leave. You thanked her, moving to do the same when she stopped you.

“Who’re you here for?”

“Tyler, what’re you here for?”

She looks confused for a moment, making a subtle gesture towards the skates on her feet, “I’m the coach.”

You swear you feel your confidence melt into a puddle. How long have you been taking him to practices and you’ve never cared to greet the coach?

“I’m terrible sorry,” you put your hand out to shake hers, “I should have introduced myself when I had begun to take him to practice. It’s nice to meet you.”

She smiles and pushes your hand away, “no need. How’re you feeling though, need someone to walk you to your car?”

“That’s quite alright, I believe I’ll be fine.”

Your nephew exits the rink then, coming to sit near you two and untie his skates. He either didn’t notice you two conversing or he didn’t care, because he had come barreling in. You take his helmet off, reminding him to not forget his bag in the locker room.

“You did a great job today, Tyler, how’re you feeling about your stops now?”

“I’m definitely better. I think I’m better than Micah too, he slides into the walls. Man has no clue on how to slide.”

She hums, “then I’ll see you tomorrow. Night.”

He waved and begins to walk behind the bleachers towards the locker room, and she looks back to you.

“I could stand at the door and make sure you two get to your car? I can see him standing at the tables looking this way. My word, is he drunk or something?”

You look and find him standing outside by himself and accept her assistance. It wasn’t that you necessarily trusted her, but she was more trustworthy than the other.

She grabs her coat and stuff on the seat, ready to go just as Tyler had ran out from the locker rooms. He smelt terrible and for some reason felt the need to stand where his sweat melted onto your skin.

“Maximoff what drills are we doing tomorrow?”

She looks relaxed, her eyes focused on him and tone kind while it feels your nerves are spiking when you see the man in your peripheral vision. He doesn’t seem to pay you any mind anymore, he looked distant while his son finished packing up.

“Okay, I’m heading off. Have a good night you two,” she looks to one more time, and you mouth your thanks. She jerks her car door open, throwing her stuff in and climbing in after.

“I love Maximoff. She’s a great coach, very professional if I could add.”

You shove him into the car, and start driving out of the parking lot. It’s fun to watch someone gain traction in a sport and see how much they enjoy learning the next steps to getting better.

“Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

“I am. Your parents aren’t getting back until later tonight, so I’m staying over tonight. Anything you want to do?”

He doesn’t seem very interested in anything you suggest, wanting to go to bed right after you both have dinner. And it’s understandable.

He had gone to bed four hours before his parents had finally begun to come home, your brother being the first home. He found you on the couch, “hey, how’re you?”

“It’s swell. I got hit on at the rink, but other than that it’s fine. Tyler’s asleep now.”

“You got hit on at the rink?”

“Opened with insults and everything.”

He empties his water bottle, his voice slightly muffled from where he was in the house, “are you okay with continuing to bring him to practice? I feel bad enough as it is. We can’t thank you enough.”

“No it’s fine. It was just sudden. I enjoy being able to see you all often,” you dangle your keys, “I’m going to head back to my apartment, I unfortunately have work tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow, get home safe. Maybe tomorrow we can all eat dinner this weekend, we’d like to catch up”

“I’d love to. Sleep well, goodnight,” you wave before shutting the door behind you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ✧ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Tyler,” you say while finishing tying his skates, “I don’t want you to hang around Josh anymore okay? He’s a terrible influence.“

“But he’s the second best. At least he isn’t sliding into the walls.”

“I mean his personally is shit, just focus on learning the fundamentals and talk with the others.”

“Isn’t that a bad word—”

“Just get on the ice.”

He puts his hands up in offense and stumbles into the rink. You wipe your hands on your pants, “I swear—“

“That you do,” she comes beside you.

She sets her bags down beside you, leaning her shoulder against the wall. Your attention follows her fingers, a part of you hating the way she’s tying her skates. The other part got caught judging from the expression on her face.

“Are you judging how I tie my skates?”

You get slightly flustered, apologizing and fearing you’ve made her uncomfortable but all it does is grow the smile that was already there.

“Should be sorry unless you have a valid reason.”

“I figure skated,” you blurt and she looks amused.

“Do you still skate?”

“Not anymore after an injury my junior year.”

She looks earnest in her apology. In a response to not spiral you laugh it off.

“I bet it’s painful to realize you won’t be able to enjoy your passion again, but you’re here supporting him.”

“It’s not the end of the world, but it’s disappointing,” you laugh, “And of course, Tyler loves hockey. Especially when he has a coach like you.”

She leans to grab her coat, “what’s special about me?”

It’s something you’re still learning. That being how you have a knack for being flirty when you aren’t usually meaning to. In this moment though? You don’t mind.

You smile cruelly, “it’s 2:00.”

She checks her watch for confirmation and dramatically steps back onto the ice with a sigh. You feel your heart race from within your chest at the look she gave you after.

It felt like you were being called out. Her attention was on you before and after each practice. You enjoyed familiarizing yourself with your nephew’s coach (by familiarizing you mean flirting). It would make sense to leave everything where it was, but you didn’t want to.

You learned it was more than a simple surface friendship with your nephew’s coach when she slipped her number into your back pocket. And maybe the details on there that she wanted to take you out that Saturday at 8.

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@xxxtwilightaxelxxx @emiliaisdead

@esposadejoyhuerta @shinysuitcloud

@xxsekhmet @casquinhaa @r0manxff

[bedsyandco]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒

🫧 — {fem!reader x jack hughes}

🫧 — established relationsip! set a few years in the future. Reader and Jack are married! Reader is pregnant! Kind of set in Jack's POV I guess.

🫧 — in which Jack's wife is pregnant and a little emotional.

WC — 1.5K

"Babe” Jack whispers.

“Hm?”

“Can you scoot over a bit?” he asks

“I’m on the edge”

He looks over his shoulder, right at the face of his beautiful wife.

“Babe, I find that hard to believe,”

“What?” you ask, a little disoriented.

“There’s no way you’re on the edge when your face is pressed into my back, your legs are tangled with mine and our child is kicking me in the back.”

“But I am,”

“You’re not,” Jack argues.

“You scoot over,”

“I can’t. I’m on the edge of our California King bed that you insisted we get because you didn’t want to touch during the night because you always get too hot. Yet, you’re laying on top of me,”

“I am not,” you complain, nuzzling closer, if that were possible. “Shh go to sleep.”

Jack sighs loudly and says, “I can’t. You’re too hot and our child is kicking me in the back.”

“Yeah well, welcome to my world buddy. Can you stop talking? I'm tired.” you say.

Usually Jack wouldn’t care. He’d deal with it because he loved you and he wanted you to be comfortable, but he needed to get up early tomorrow morning and he really needed a good night’s sleep. Jack was beyond stressed. It felt like he was always 2 seconds away from having a panic attack.

His constant worry about you was driving him insane, but then he also had hockey to think about. The Devils had just lost in the third round of the playoffs. They were so close. Jack wanted nothing more than to win and hold that cup up. But then he realised he was about to hold his baby, and that was an even greater prize.

That was if he didn’t kill you first.

Turning over, you glared at him as he popped his head on one arm, looking over her to the amount of space behind you. “Baby, we could literally fit all my teammates beside you,”

“What does that mean?” you ask frowning

“I’m saying scoot the hell over!” he says, his voice rising. “You’re burning me up!”

“I want to sleep with you,”

“You are, but just give me some space so I don’t die of heatstroke!”

“Ugh, fine.” you say annoyed and rolled over to the other side of the bed.

Jack sighs, shaking his head and lays back down. He could finally breathe, but just as he’s about to fall asleep you say, “I just think it’s messed up that you won’t cuddle with me and I’m carrying your child, which is the reason I’m burning up!”

Jack opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. Here they go again.

“Sweetheart, I love cuddling with you. But I have to be up early to do press and clean out my locker. I can’t sleep through that and I definitely can’t sleep with you burning me up and our child kicking me the whole night. I love you though, you know that right?” Jack asks, looking over at you with a soft smile.

But you were glaring, lips pursed as you glared at him. “Oh yeah, I forgot it’s so hard being Jack Hughes and you need all the sleep you can get. While I can’t sleep a certain way due to the fact that it hurts because I’m the thing your child is sucking the life out of.”

“I thought you loved being pregnant.”

“I do!” you yell and his brows go up. “That’s not the point. I’m just reminding you that I don’t get to sleep or do any of the things that I wanna do anymore, but it’s fine. I’ll sleep all the way over here without the love and support from my husband because he needs to get some sleep. God forbid you don’t get any sleep.” you mumble and Jack wants to laugh. You were being ridiculous. But before he could tell you that, you look over to him and say, “And just a friendly reminder Jack Hughes, when this baby comes, say fucking good-bye to sleep.”

“I guess I should say good-bye to sleep now, because I’m sure as hell not getting any more tonight,” Jack says, holding your gaze.

Your eyes darken a little and Jack swears he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as his wife. Even when you’re a little crazy, hostile, and 7 months pregnant, you were still hot as fuck.

“You got that right, I just wanted to cuddle,” you say rolling away from him again.

When Jack hears you sniff he can’t help but smile. The emotional rollercoaster of a pregnant wife was no joke. Reaching out, he went to cuddle with you, but you smack his hand away.

“I don’t wanna cuddle now,” you mutter

“Fine,” Jack sighs, falling back onto his own pillow. Sometimes he just really couldn't win with you.

“I just want you to know, I did want to cuddle. But that’s gone now.”

“I hear you.” Jack replies.

“And I’m very upset.”

“I got that.” he says with a sigh, rolling on his side to look at you.

“I just don’t think it’s fair. I cook, I clean, I work. And I’m carrying your child.”

“And I appreciate you more than words can ever say.” Jack says sincerely.

“Then you'd cuddle with me!” you say exasperated.

“But baby, I need sleep too. And you’re literally a furnace.”

“Well if you need sleep so badly and I’m too hot and our baby won’t stop kicking you then go sleep somewhere else!” you yell

“Seriously?”

“Yes! Go to the couch”

Surely you were joking. But then you yank the covers off him and pull his pillow from under him, throwing both on the floor. He stands up and goes to pick up his pillow.

“I need sleep and I’m too mad to sleep with you here.” you mutter

“Because I won’t cuddle with you?”

“Yes!” you yell tears streaming down your face.

“Then come here, I’ll cuddle.” he says and ducks when you throw another pillow at his head.

“No! I don’t want to cuddle anymore!” you yell

“Then let’s just go to bed.” Jack mumbles

‘No! I’m mad!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jack says with a laugh, and why he would do that would be his last thought.

“Go!” you yell.

“If I go, I’m not coming back tonight.” Jack says

“That’s fine. Maybe tomorrow you won’t mind cuddling your wife and child.”

“Sweetheart, I said let’s cu-”

“I don’t wanna cuddle!” you yell laying your head on the pillow with a sob. “I just wanted you to want to cuddle with me!”

Watching as you cried, Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He picked up his pillow and looked at you one more time. “You sure?”

“Yes. You broke my heart Jack.” you say.

He went to say something sassy back but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere so instead he said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t wanna cuddle because of the blazing heat you were putting off. I love you. Good night.”

When you don't answer, Jack chuckles as he walks out of the room. His girl was so stubborn. Heading to the couch he lays down and stares at the ceiling. Only two more months and maybe he would get his normal wife back. He was lucky that some of the guys on the team had kids and also went through this process. If not he wouldn’t know it was normal for his wife to be completely and utterly irrational about the dumbest things.

Tonight it was cuddling.

Last week, it was because he ate the last oreo.

Next week, it might be because he breathed a little too hard.

Jesus. Two more months. He could do it.

Leaning back on his pillow he closed his eyes, thankful that he chose to spend so much money to get a comfortable couch. He hopes you stopped crying. He hates when you cry. He was tempted to check but he really didn’t want you to bite his head off. Just as he was about to drift off he felt someone beside him.

Opening his eyes, he saw you standing there.

You looked adorable, hair a mess, cute pyjama shorts, cheeks flushed. Wearing one of Jack’s T-shirts that you cropped. It kinda made you look like Winnie the Pooh. Jack still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jack?”

“Yeah babe?”

“Can I lie with you?”

Chuckling to himself he scooted over as far as he could to make space for you. As you lay down your stomach presses into his and Jack wraps his arms around you, kissing you cheek.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper.

“It’s okay baby. I’m sorry too.” Jack whispers.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” Jack says kissing you again.

The next morning, when he woke up with a sore back, all he could do was repeat three words over and over.

Two more months. Two more months. Two more months.

[superbat-love]

Dick shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Someone must have changed the settings on the AC unit to freezer mode. Mumbling curses under his breath, Dick threw his blanket aside and went out of his room to investigate.

Stepping outside his room, he slipped and had to grab onto the doorframe to stop himself from falling. Dick stared in disbelief at the frost-covered walls and flooring of the manor. Had Mister Freeze escaped from Arkham again?

“Dick! Great timing!” Bruce's voice echoed down the hallway, and Dick turned to see Bruce barreling towards him on ice-skates, holding a fishing net as if it were an ice hockey stick. Dick couldn't believe his eyes. Either he was having a nightmare, or Bruce had finally snapped under all the stress. Dick knew he had to find Alfred.

“Grab him!” Bruce yelled, gesturing upwards with the fishing net. Dick followed Bruce's gaze and gasped in shock. There was a baby floating above him. Forget Alfred—they needed to call a priest.

“Quick! Before he gets away!”

Steeling himself, Dick leaped toward the baby, yelling in triumph as his arms closed around the tiny tot. But instead of falling back to the ground, they continued to rise toward the open skylight.

“Bruce, he’s carrying me away!” Dick screamed, panic rising within him.

“Dick!”

"Hey Dick, you forgot your pants!" Jason yelled out to him when he spotted them from the front yard.

Just as Dick thought that they were about to fly through the stratosphere, he felt strong arms embrace him.

“Don’t worry, I got you. You’re both safe now,” Clark said, smiling brightly like the sun.

[residenthughes]

mad at me - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x afab reader

word count: 3.5k

tags/warnings: +18 nsfw, so minors dni, smut, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), creampie, praise, spitting & choking (nothing crazy, i promise!), use of pet names (my girl, sweetheart, baby, princess, sweetheart), slight degradation (if you squint?)

summary: jack's latest game has tensions running high and feelings left unresolved. lucky for him, you know just the solution.

notes: so...this is happening 😭 this is very much inspired by the devils latest game against the kings where jack got pretty heated 😵‍💫 who doesn't love a bit of angry! jack? 🫣 but yes, as i've mentioned before, i don't usually write smut, so this may not be the best so any tips or comments you guys have to share would be much appreciated! 💗this has been partially edited, so if you see any errors along the way, they'll be fixed soon! as always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy! much love! <333

It takes a lot for Jack to get mad.

A sequence of events that all come to a boil, a mountain of incidents that snowball into an avalanche of his wrath. He’s so sweet, like sunny Sunday mornings that smell of fluffy pancakes and honey syrup - so, even now, so far into your relationship, you’re aware that moments like these occur. Of course, emotions wear thin like tired socks and you’re no stranger to your own and Jack’s that have seen all shades of the rainbow, but perhaps there’s something in the air, some electricity that changes the wiring of your brain because tonight is so different from the rest. Dissimilar from when you leave Jack be when his big emotions demand their place, unlike how you wrap each other in blankets of comfort when tensions have eased and everything is whole again. Because, again, this is not about you. It’s about Jack and how, as the universe has written it to be, gravity pulls straight towards him.

Things have been good - he’s come back from injury, back to his kingdom on the ice and the Devils have won back to back games - truly unheard of during their current season, beating their last opponent in regulation for the first time since 2009. It’s a big deal - the smile on Jack’s face says so, the satisfaction of his tone indicating so when he’s come back from his away games. So, you want this happiness to continue, because you love him and the happiness he illuminates but at the end of the day, his job is hockey. A coin toss of wins and losses that you’re trying to wrap your head around because you’re biassed and see all the commitment that him and his teammates put in everyday. As a result of this, Thursday happens; a dice roll of events that spiral into chaos.

You’re back home in Jersey, comfortably situated on the couch in the warmth of an ending winter that shows peaks of an upcoming spring. You’ve got popcorn in your lap because you’ve rediscovered how much you love the savoury snack, happily munching away as Jack’s game starts and the adrenaline kicks in. The first period is eventful with many saves that have you clawing at the couch, but then the second period starts and all hell breaks loose. Tensions run high and as level-headed as Jack is, he is not immune to agitation - subjected to a nasty hit into the boards, the opposing player purposely banging his elbow into Jack’s head. You’re about to start yelling at your TV screen like some drunken sailor because Jack’s been injured this season and doesn’t need more time away from what he loves, but Jack decides to get his lick back and you’re automatically silenced. Your jaw drags the length of the floor as you watch him crosscheck the hell out the guy, proceeding to rough the player up before referees interfere. Jack and the guy are arguing back and forth as they’re escorted into their teams’ penalty boxes and you’re just left bewildered, a mess of emotions with wide eyes as your stomach turns.

You watch astounded as Jack flushes in his temporary plastic home, eyes wide at he hurtles comments that leave the opposing player with a sour taste in his mouth. Jack’s shaking his head when he’s gotten what he needs off his chest, wiping away his sweat as his anger grinds to a simmer. Your eyes are glued to the TV, perched on the edge of your seat as your heart beats hard in your bruising chest. The power play continues on but you’re lost in a trance, awaiting Jack’s emergence from the penalty box that can’t come soon enough. Once he’s out, he’s sprinting for the puck and manages to get a breakaway that assures New Jersey a goal, but the loser in the penalty box with him is hot on his heels and Jack misses. He’s fuming once again, ranting to the referee that pays him no mind. Jack skates off, smashing his stick against the glass before he’s back on the bench and completely snaps it in half, a string of profanities leaving his lips. 

You sit there in awe, your grinding teeth sinking into the flesh of your fingers as your brain becomes an all-consuming pile of filth. Your precious boy, who loves his three hour long naps and looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky, the hopeless romantic who pulls out all the stops for you simply because you deserve it and who holds you as if you’re fine china - he’s almost unrecognisable now, wearing his emotions like the number of his jersey as his expression pinches and his azure eyes narrow. A rush of emotions you both experience that make a home in the chaos of your minds that long leave the remnants of their havoc.

The clatter of Jack’s hockey bag echoes from the doorway, bringing you out of the syrupy daze you’ve been submerged in far too long. You leap off the couch as your body carries you towards the front door, electricity rippling down the ridges of your spine as your skin tingles with the unknown. You keep your emotions at bay for the time being, unsure of what state Jack may be in as you creep around the corner and catch an eyeful of his demeanour - blinding annoyance. An exasperated sigh pushes from his chest as he slips off his trusted beanie, the ruffle of his wet curls bouncing as his fingers card through his hair. You gulp.

“Ro?” you test the waters - short and sweet just to gauge his reaction, anticipation hanging in the air. 

“Hey.” he bites, not bothering with looking your way as he shimmies his coat off with more force than necessary. 

You gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling helpless. “I saw the game…”

“The one I almost got fucking injured in?” he chirps, looking at you now with a pointed stare that burns with all the fire in his heart. No longer azure, his eyes singe with an almost midnight hue. “What a shitshow.”

“That was a dangerous hit, that guy’s got whatever’s coming to him,” you’re quick to reply, taking small steps towards Jack who hangs up his coat. “But that doesn’t change the fact that people pay to watch you play.” 

Jack stills in his movements, figure unmoving momentarily before his eyes throw you a lasting glance, the beginnings of a smirk working amongst his roseate features. “So, you heard?”

You blush under the heat of his undivided attention, gaze averted as you fumble with the hem of the hockey jersey on you. “Not necessarily.”

“Then what did you hear, baby?” he queries immediately, shifting so that his body now faces yours, an arm resting against the coat hanger as he sizes you up, unabashed and assertive.

Your stomach flips, the race of your heart undeniable. “You’ve got a mouth on you, so it’s easy to read lips.”

You’re chirping, working under his skin in a way that maintains some form of respect but has all the intentions of riling him up, which manifests into the beast you wish to see. A cocked eyebrow and a ticked jaw, flashes of disbelief flickering on his face. Once more, your emotions bear the weight of an anchor as excitement conjures up the swirl in your stomach, your masquerade crumbling at the seams as your nostrils flare, biting back a shit-eating grin.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he questions with a hint of humour, because he knows you like the back of his hand. You give him no response, preoccupied with suppressing the misplaced giggle that threatens to leave your lips. “I can’t believe this.”

The seams fully come undone, a snicker or two bypassing your lips as you retreat from the situation, ending up with your back against the door leading to the basement with Jack hot on your heels. Mirth bathes you in delight and you let it, a plethora of chuckles falling into your hand as you avert your gaze whilst Jack forgets any concept of personal space. Perhaps you’re deserving of whatever damnation comes your way, a punishment you’ve fully brought upon yourself, but when your senses fill with the waft of Jack’s earthy musk cologne and the remnants of his apple shampoo, accompanied by the warmth of his body that leans towards yours, you can’t bring yourself to feel a shred of regret.

His arm, enveloped by his raven black dress shirt, raises as he cages you in, vulnerable and at his mercy. “What else did I say, since you can read lips and all?”

This is a circus of words, meaning riddled in optical illusions that would have someone think none the wiser. Except this is yours and Jack’s circus, an act tailored for two that entertains your minds that run wild. A wildness you feed off as you meet him with the same decisiveness.

“This number,” you start, pointing towards the digits printed on your sleeve belonging to him. “86 is what people go to see - sorry, pay to see.”

You’re not really sorry, the smirk on your face says otherwise. “I think I said a lot more than that, sweetheart.”

“Besides all the huffing and puffing,” his tongue pokes at his cheek, a playful smirk betraying his flaring emotions. “You asked if he was there to play or to hurt people - fair point to make.”

“And all the others weren’t?” Jack’s moved closer, his thigh situating itself between the gap of your legs. 

You bite your tongue at the friction. “You know the answer to that.”

“Maybe,” his caging arm leaves the door, the web of his hand sat against your chin as he holds your face, maintaining the same fiery gaze that unravels you altogether. “But, it’d be better coming from you.”

“Jack,” he’s flexed his thigh, your hand reaching for the button on his dress shirt as you wane in defeat. “Please.”

“I don’t follow.” 

Your bawled fist meets his stacked chest. “Don’t play dumb.”

Jack chuckles, holding all power in the palm of his hand. “I’m just confused as to why my pants are wet.” 

To prove his point, he draws his thigh away because he’s a selfish bastard and shows you the damp spot you’ve left after his thigh made its way between your legs. The shame that washes over you is unbearable. 

Jack’s cold hands find themselves underneath the material of his jersey, one hand dancing along the outline of your underwear with a finger hanging over the top of the seam. “Oh, what to do with you.”

He’s such a tease, his ego large and in charge as you’ve long forgotten any sense of game at hand as your eyes pool with only an anguish he can extinguish. “Fuck me, please.”

“Why?” his tone light and airy, his finger hooked around the seam of your underwear as the material leaves your skin

You shiver at the breeze, eyes closed as your weak fist manages to grapple onto some material of his shirt. “Because, I need you and I think that goes both ways.”

The band of your underwear snaps against your stomach as Jack retrieves his hand, head cocked to the side as he considers the weight of your words with a locked jaw. Your teeth are sinking into the plumpness of your bottom lip, nothing but pleading in your eyes as you gaze up at him with all you can muster. 

His hand lays against your cheek, thumb automatically caressing the skin - a touch that you not only lean into, but shiver towards. “Get upstairs.”

This is a fairly new playing field for you two -  a game of cat and mouse that brings out an unfamiliar side to you, so foreign in nature that you second guess your desires and where your lust leads you. Jack doesn’t allow for any hesitation though, hand in hand with you as he comes into himself too. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips that lift, a soft smile surfacing amongst his features before you’re headed upstairs in a flash, scurrying towards your bedroom with a trail of your clothes left in your wake.

Jack doesn’t take long to meet you upstairs, his pinstripe blazer removed as he unfastens his tie around his neck. He spares you a lingering glance as you lay sheepishly on the bed perched on your elbows, legs ajar as your folds glisten in the soft bedroom light. Jack quickly rids himself of his clothing, slipping his boxers off to reveal his hard on. A comfortable length with all the girth to fulfil you, tip flushed pink as it brims with precum. It takes everything in you not to sink to your knees and fill your mouth with his cock.

As he approaches the bed, he motions for you to turn around and you do so with no questions asked, back arched as you wait in anticipation as you feel the bed dip with his presence. Jack comes up behind you, body so incredibly close yet somehow so far away as his hands make contact with your burning skin, giving the flesh on your back a brief massage. A surprised hum vibrates in your chest as Jack drags a single finger along the dip of your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake before he adjusts himself behind you, to which you push your ass back against his hard on.

“Stop teasing.” you sound more desperate than intended, cheek squished into your cool silk pillow.

“Can’t admire my girl before I fuck her?” The nonchalance of his tone draws a mewl out of you, your hips jutting as they search for any more contact. “Besides,”

Hands resting against the mould of your hips, one shifts as you feel his cold index finger draw in between your folds, fingertips swirling around your clit. You moan brokenly, body curling into itself. “You’re just here to take it, aren’t you, princess?”

You’re nodding before your brain can even compute his words, humming along to accentuate your point as his fingertips continue to swirl along the shape of your clit. It’s too much and not enough - a tug of war of sorts that makes your hips rock into Jack, an action that at one point, has his tip catching against your wet entrance. A hiss from behind you sounds as you grapple onto the pillow beside you. 

Jack’s hand leaves you high and dry, but alias, his patiences dissipates into the night sky as he glides into you in one smooth motion, robbing you of your breath and sanity as your mouth gapes open and eyes roll. Sinking into the mattress, your spread legs accommodate for the snap of Jack’s hips as he starts to fuck you from behind, your back curving as you gladly take everything he’s offering. Face mangled into your hoard of pillows, your fingers cling to the duvet for some kind of security, at the mercy of Jack who pleases you in all the way he knows how. 

“How hard do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, maybe genuinely because his strength seems somehow restricted, but you’re keening high in your throat at how filthy his words fall from his rosy lips so easily. 

“Harder,” you plead, losing yourself in the pleasure as your one hand shuffles to rub against your neglected clit. “Harder, please.”

And, he obliges, bullying his cock into you as you gasp at the impact. A smack lands against your ass, the supple surface sizzling as your hips retract, Jack’s ironclad grip holding you from escaping any further as his fingers make indents into your skin like notches in a bedpost. 

“Hang on,” his pace slows, breath laboured as you feel him pull out of you reluctantly. “Turn around. I need to see you.”

You squirm against the sheets, easily complying with Jack’s wishes that suit you, your body turning as your sweaty-layered back sticks to the duvet. In the dimmed light of your bedroom, you catch a glimpse of Jack, whose wet curls fall in all the right places and how every outline of his well-built body drives you wild. You catch the shallow rises of his chest and the flush against his cheeks and as he tucks stray strands of hairs behind his ears, his hands find purchase at your thighs and draw you closer. It’s when he looks into your eyes, shameless in the pleasure written all over his face as he pushes into you again that you think you could never get tired of this view. 

Your walls mould to the shape of his cock, sucking him in entirely as you both moan at the feeling. To add fuel to the fire, Jack decides to unfold your legs and hoist them over his shoulders, the new angle burying him even deeper and bringing you closer to the edge. A huff of amusement sounds from Jack as he peers down at your parted lips, wasting no time in fucking you into the mattress as the bed creaks underneath the pressure. His earlier annoyance rears its head in his movements, unsettled irritation laced in the impact of his thrusts, your cunt leaking all around him as he pounds into you relentlessly. So close in proximity, Jack takes the opportunity to caress your cheek, a sweet gesture as your breath hitches, all before his hand slowly drifts down towards your neck. An affirmative nod from you is he needs to tighten his grip, your brewing orgasm intensifying tenfold as he maintains all the eye contact to make you shudder.

He’s balls deep in you, each hard thrust punctuated by the smack of the wooden headboard against the bedroom wall. You feel him all around you like some wicked embrace: in your stomach, your lungs and around your throat, the snug clasp his calloused hand holds against your pressure points lolling your mouth open, gasping at the sheer intensity stewing within you. 

Jack takes the opportunity, wet curls stuck to his forehead, leaning closer as he spits directly into your mouth, as he does onto the ice throughout his games. Something twists violently in you, back arching off the bed as your lips fall close to moan from the deepest parts within you, the taste of Jack on your tongue. 

“Taking me like such a good girl,” he praises, your reflection plentiful in his eyes. “If I’d known you liked this, would have done it a long time ago.”

Everything begins to blur at the edges like an old photograph, bliss engulfing you in its heavenly fire as your skin shimmers with sweat and your nails scrape at Jack’s shoulder - a futile attempt to regain control that had been long lost, your bodies movement forgotten as you squirm and shiver all over. 

Oxygen courses back into your deprived lungs as Jack releases his grip, burning hand against your cheek as his thumb brushes your cheekbone, catching your fluttering eyelashes. “I got you, baby. Got you, princess.”

“Never been fucked,” a whimper escapes when Jack notches that spongy spot that buries your nails into his skin, “like this. Feels-fuck, good.”

He laughs lightly, pace stuttering yet hitting all the right places. “Love giving my pretty girl what she wants,”

You clench around him, embedding your nails into the flesh of his back as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, gaze scattered. “And my pretty girl wants to come, don’t you?”

He poses the rhetorical question with a mean pinch at your clit before pushing a heavy hand down on your lower stomach, the pressure accelerating you towards your fast-approaching orgasm. The sounds pour out of you like a waterfall, eyebrows furrowed as you plead with begging eyes. “Kiss me?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” he breathes, almost whiny as his hand circles around your nape, your figure floating as your lips collide in a messy embrace, rhythm unmatched as your yearning seeps through your teeth. 

Jack captures all your moans in his mouth, the new angle of his thrusts adding to the sloppiness of your wet kiss. The smack of his stuttering hips knocks against your clit in a way that has you seeing beyond, swallowed whole by his galaxy of stars as he gives you one last jerky thrust, teeth nipping at your bottom lip to undo you. Frayed at the seams, you come undone, unravelling in a mess that perfectly matches Jack as he quickly comes after you, coating your walls as your cunt spasms all around him as he rides out his high. 

Once Jack’s shallow thrusts grind to a halt, he slowly pulls out a heavy sigh, locking eyes with you as he runs a finger down your sensitive cunt just to get a shiver out of you. Your eyebrows knit, a flare of annoyance mixed in with fatigue written across your face that draws a humoured snicker from your boyfriend. He collapses down next to you, a kiss pressed against your cheek before you both aimlessly stare up at the ceiling. 

Amusement tugs at the corners of your lips. “You should get angry more often.” 

“I was just about to say the same thing.” agrees Jack, laughter making its home between you two as nothing but sweetness lingers in the air.

“Come on,” he urges, his hand nudging yours, body prying itself off your bed as he goes to stand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

[confused-and-dickless]

I love breathing. Love to be a part of it one day

[puckinghischier]

Prison For Life

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: anon request for a luke fic based on olivia rodrigo’s “prison for life”

notes: not gonna lie, y’all, i’m not too happy with how this one turned out, but i got tired of trying to re-write it, so here it is. as usual, hope you enjoy.

[1.7k]

~

I’m a feminist, obviously

But I wouldn’t really mind him saving me

You had always been the type to handle your own problems. A guy that doesn’t know how to take no for an answer? You knew exactly how to bruise his ego enough to have him tuck his tail and run away. Someone getting too handsy while you’re out with your friends? A swift elbow to the gut will do it every time. Grown man yelling at yourself or your friend over virtually nothing? Ask him why he feels the need to yell at women to compensate for the fact his mother didn’t love him as a child. It was too easy, really.

You never hesitated to run to the defense of your friends anytime they needed, getting a rush out of watching men deflate at your comments.

That is, until you met Luke.

Your relationship with Luke caused you to discover you actually enjoyed having someone rush to your defense, for once.

The first time you felt the unmistakable burn in your stomach at the act of Luke rushing to defend your honor was when the Devils were playing against the Flyers in the stadium series. You were in awe of the sight before you, the Metlife stadium alive with the screams and cheers of nearly 83,000 hockey fans. You were down near the ice in a designated viewing area for friends and family of the players, ready to cheer on your boyfriend in one of the biggest games of his career so far.

You were walking over towards the Devils bench, wanting to wish Luke good luck before the team returned to the locker room after warm-ups, when you heard someone shout out to you.

“C’mon, sweetheart! You can do better than that! You’d look so much better in orange!” a man standing near the Flyers benches grabs your attention, your head snapping in the direction of the noise.

“Excuse me?” You shouted back, disgust showing in your tone and on your face.

“The jersey, sweetie! You know he’s got about a million other puck bunnies fawning over him, right?” He calls back, referencing the Hughes jersey you’re wearing for Luke. “Maybe you should come sit with us! We’ll show you what a real hockey team looks like. And if you’re still not convinced after the game, I can think of a few ways to persuade you!” The heckler continued, elbowing the man next to him in the ribs, winking dramatically at you.

Is this really happening? Is a grown ass man, one who looks old enough to be your father, harassing you right now? Over what team’s jersey you’re wearing? You had to bite back a laugh, the situation simply comical to you.

You had the words ready to go on your tongue, a split second from putting the man in his place, when you heard a different, much more recognizable shout from the ice behind you.

“What did you just say?” Luke shouts as he skates up next to you.

“Luke, I’m fine, really it’s okay-“

“I was just telling the lady here how much better she’d look in orange! Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about taking her home? Go pick one of the other hundreds of bitches here wearing your number! We picked this one!” the man cuts you off, earning a chuckle from his partner in crime.

You look over to Luke, noticing how his features were darkened and he was nearly shaking with rage. You were surprised with yourself when you found his reaction a turn on. Your face turned warm, your insides lighting on fire at the vein popping out of Luke’s forehead, watching the thoughts form behind his red face.

“Yeah…that’s what I thought you said,” Luke surprised you by speaking calmly. Too shocked by your own thoughts about how much you enjoyed Luke coming to your rescue, you hadn’t noticed that he removed his gloves and was making his way over the wall surrounding the ice until it was a moment too late.

“Hey, woah, slow down there, hot shot.” You grabbed his arm just as both skates hit the ground.

“Y/N, let go of me.”

“No. Look at me,” you requested sternly, tugging at his arm.

Luke looked down and met your eyes, his gaze immediately softening. You had an eyebrow cocked, the look on your face silently asking him what in the hell he was doing.

“Luke, first of all, you’re going to ruin your skates, you don’t even have your guards on. Second, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t go over there and engage with those guys, you could get hurt. You’re getting ready to play a game, you don’t need bruised knuckles or a black eye affecting your skating. Plus, you can’t exactly win a hockey game from jail with assault charges, now can you?” You ask him, hands on your hips, scolding him like a child.

“Y/N, they can’t just get away with saying those things to and about you. Or any woman around here for that matter. Someone needs to go over there and shut their mouths for them.” Luke’s fists clench, jaw so tense you’re worried he’ll break a tooth. “And if I end up in jail, so what? I can post my own bail. It’s worth it, for you,” Luke continued, throwing a glare in the direction of the Flyers fans every few seconds.

You stare at him in disbelief. On the one hand, you find it kind of hot he just said he would literally go to jail for you, if it came down to it. The anger radiating through his body a testament to how much he cares for you. On the other hand, you’re appalled at how stupid your boyfriend is. He’s about to play in one of the biggest games of his career, and he’s trying to throw it all away over a couple of drunk men?

“No, not so what. If you would’ve given me five seconds I would’ve handled it on my own, but instead you came over here and got me all hot and bothered because you decided I needed saving.” Luke’s eyebrows shot up at your confession. “Even if you think I’m worth it, they’re not. So you’re going to get your lanky ass back on that ice and beat the shit out of Philadelphia so they’ll shut the fuck up.”

“Hot and bothered, huh?” Luke smirks, ignoring everything else you just said. You rolled your eyes at him. Typical Luke behavior.

“Not the point here,” you chided him. “The point is, no one is going to jail tonight and Philadelphia is going to lose this hockey game. Plus, at the end of the night, I’m going home with you. Not some random ass-hat that’s old enough to be my dad. No matter how much he wants to waste his breath on how I’m a jersey chaser for the wrong team.”

“Damn right you are.” Luke agrees to your statement about going home with him. “And now that I know you like it when I play the macho boyfriend role, I might have to do it more often. I don’t care if you can defend yourself, it’s my job as your boyfriend to run dickheads like that into the ground when they open their mouth at you,” Luke’s tone turns dark once again, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up your spine.

“Alright, I think it’s best you get back on the ice, now, before you go missing from the starting line-up for another reason other than being in the back of a cop car,” you all but pant.

Even though Luke let’s out a chuckle at your response, you don’t miss the excitement that flashes across his eyes at your words.

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes you. “Hold on, something I gotta do first,” he mumbles, hand reaching out to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling your face towards his.

His lips meet yours in a searing kiss. Your mouth parts in shock only slightly, but enough for Luke to slip his tongue inside your mouth, meeting your own. For a split second you forget where you are, savoring the taste of him. When you hear the whoops and hollers of his teammates behind him, you come back to your senses and pull back from the kiss, resting your forehead on his.

“Alright, easy there, tiger. You’re supposed to be working, you know?” You say, trying to catch your breath, dodging Luke’s lips as they chase yours.

“I don’t really care. Needed my good luck kiss,” he tells you, stealing a small peck from your lips, stepping back and over the short wall, putting himself back on the ice.

You look behind him, seeing Jack and Curtis making kissing faces in your direction, never missing an opportunity to poke fun at Luke.

“Yeah, with an audience, right?” You were referencing Jack and Curtis, nodding your head in the direction of the two man-children behind your boyfriend, but as you look up at his face, you notice his gaze was set on the two instigators of the whole situation.

“Just wanted to show them you’re mine. Not some puck bunny they can harass,” Luke shrugs, looking down at you once again. Your cheeks heat at his words, a smile finding its way on your face as he skates away from the wall, still facing you.

You assume that’s the end of the conversation, turning to walk away, when you hear Luke’s voice shout once more.

“Quit harassing my girlfriend, jackass, or your team won’t be the only thing getting beat tonight!” Luke belts out, throwing up a middle finger behind him as he skates towards his teammates.

You watch the two Flyers fans laugh, clearly not very threatened by the rookie hockey player. One of them notices your attention on them, placing a hand in the shape of a phone at his ear, mouthing “call me, babe” at you. You roll your eyes at the both of them, mimicking your boyfriend and flipping them the bird as you walk back to join Luke’s parents before the game starts.

Later in the evening you watched the two drunk men’s reactions to the game in front of them. The confidence in their stances lost after Nico scored less than a minute after the match-up started. You continued to watch their reactions throughout the game, the Devils absolutely crushing the Flyers.

The two men storm off halfway into the third period, slinging beer cans and throwing their hats on the ground in frustration. You laugh at their distress, wishing you could go back to two hours ago and throw the win in their faces.

And, when the whole ordeal of Luke running to your defense ends up plastered all over social media the next day? Well, let’s just say you and Luke didn’t make it to any celebratory get-togethers his teammates were hosting.

[nathaslosthershit]

Baby Fever and Annoying Brothers||Quinn Hughes x Reader

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Reader

Request: Could I get Quinn Hughes with baby fever and his brothers there to make fun of it?

Summary: Quinn gets baby fever real bad and his brothers bug him to propose

A/n: Listen I wasn’t a Quinn girly before but that has recently changed so thank you for these requests

Word Count: 700+

“Quinn, dude, come on let's go.” Luke complained. The brothers had been trying to start a basketball game for the past 45 minutes. Jack and Luke were ready, but Quinn kept pushing it off with a simple ‘5 more minutes then i'll be ready’.

What, you may ask, was keeping Quinn from playing a game with his family? The sight of his girlfriend interacting with the baby of a family friend of theirs. It was quite possibly the most addicting and adorable sight he has ever seen. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, no matter how hard he tried. The whole scene was beautiful. Outside, on the lawn chairs in the backyard, laid his girlfriend of 4 years gently swaying a now sleeping infant in her arms as she quietly spoke to the baby’s mother as well as his own mom. 

“Quinn this is getting-” Jack was cut off when he saw it. His older brother sitting there, oblivious to the heart eyes he was making. It was hilarious to him. His big brother practically brought to his knees at the sight of his longtime girlfriend holding a baby. 

As he stood next to Luke, Quinn finally was pulled out of his trance. Embarrassed at his brother's gawking, he finally went to play basketball. 

But of course the two youngest Hughes couldn’t just not bring it up. It was their brotherly duty to chirp Quinn into his place.

“So when are you gonna actually purpose?” Jack asked. At this, Luke elbowed him in the side, hard. 

“Come on dude let him live” Luke reprimanded.

“Thank you, Luke.” Quinn responded.

“No but seriously, he is right. You spend almost an hour staring at your girlfriend for holding a fucking baby. I know you’ve got a bad case of baby fever after that. When are you gonna actually get started on that shit? Unless you don’t plan on going the whole marital route before kids. I don't’ really know how some people would thi-”

“Can you both please just shut the fuck up about it.”

“Come on, Quinn, we are just chirping you. Although we saw the way you were looking at her. You sure that hasn’t changed anything…” Jack teased. 

He was right of course. While he was staring, he was also envisioning a life with her. A life with his beautiful wife, in a beautiful home, with kids to fill it. Maybe they’d have one, or maybe a whole hockey team. Who’s to say? The last thing he wanted though, was to be discussing it with his brothers when they would just tease him.

“No, nothing has changed. Although things may happen sooner-” “What the fuck does that mean?” Luke asked.

“I just- I don’t need kids right this second.” Quinn stated.

“But?”

“But I do have a ring. I’ve kept it in my hockey bag for the last few months. I just- I just don’t know when I’m gonna propose.”

“Quinn why the fuck didn’t you tell us?” Jack practically yelled.

“Does mom know? She will flip the fuck out if you got it and didn’t tell her?” Luke asked.

“Yes, she knows. She has been bugging me about it every single day. Trying to give me ideas and such but I just need to find the right time and place.”

“Isn’t now the right time and place though? You are with family, in a pretty fucking beautiful place. I mean what's stopping you from taking her on the boat tomorrow and doing it.” Jack joked. But he was right. You had once stated, while intoxicated, that you would have killed Quinn if he proposed in public, as if that was something he would ever do. The secluded boat would be the perfect place.

Quinn smiled to himself as he came to this revelation. He would propose, soon, and get started on the life he had envisioned. He didn’t answer either of them or tell them about his plans, but one look at his face and his brothers knew. They both shared a look as their absolutely smitten older brother went to grab the ball.