#dylan larkin fanfic

[tessisawriter]

Be There For You (Dylan Larkin)

Request (anonymous): Can you do a #15 with Dylan Larkin? Maybe when you’re about to go on a study abroad or something and he doesn’t want you to leave because he’s going to miss you?

A/N: I have no idea whether UMich has a special program with the Sorbonne, but if they don’t, I’m going to pretend that they do.

Warnings: One swear word, anxiety, angst

Word Count: 927

Out of all of the goodbyes you had to say, this was by far the hardest one.

You were in the apartment that you shared with your boyfriend in Detroit, and you didn’t want to leave. The two of you were lying on his bed, Dylan with his arms wrapped around you while you pressed your head into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Y/N,” you heard Dylan say, “You’re going to be over 3,000 miles away!”

In less than ten hours, you were leaving for Paris to spend a semester abroad at the Sorbonne. It had been a dream of yours ever since you were little to live in Paris, and for a few months at least, you would get to live that dream. But that didn’t mean it was easy to leave the person you loved most in the world behind.

You and Dylan had been dating for over two years. You met him in your economics class during your first semester at UMich, and the two of you hit it off immediately. Dylan asked you to be his girlfriend by Christmas, and your relationship survived his transition to the NHL the following year. While it was true that he didn’t move far (Detroit was only 45 minutes away from Ann Arbor), it was still tough, and the constant road games were hard to get used to. You did, though, and he asked you to move in with him this fall. While many relationships fell apart at that stage due to differences in living habits, you and Dylan had no problems living together; it felt natural. Since your relationship had survived so many hurdles intact, you were confident that it was strong enough to endure for a few months while you studied abroad.

“It’s only a few months, babe, and then I’ll be right back here with you,” you said.

“I know,” Dylan replied. “The thing is, though, I can’t even sleep when you’re not beside me on roadies; what’s going to happen when you’re gone?”

Your heart broke. You knew he didn’t mean to, but he was making you feel guilty for leaving.

“God, please don’t say stuff or I’ll never be able to leave!” you said, and you couldn’t control yourself anymore: you started sobbing into his neck.

“Shit, Y/N, please don’t cry,” Dylan murmured into your hair, trying to soothe you. “I didn’t mean to make you feel badly. I’m just going to miss you so much.”

You calmed down enough to look up at him. “I know. But you act like it’s so easy for me to pick up and move to Paris. FYI, it’s not: I’m scared out of my goddamn mind. What if I don’t find any friends? What if I have a hard time doing most of my coursework in French? I know I’m fluent but I didn’t grow up speaking the language like everyone else there…”

Dylan rubbed your back as you spilled your deepest fears. When you were finally done ranting, he said, “Feel any better?”

“A little,” you admitted. There was something cathartic about getting your fears out in the open. Once they were no longer living in your head, they seemed less scary, and sometimes, you didn’t even know why you were so anxious in the first place. You didn’t trust many people enough to open up to them, but Dylan was different. He was always different from everyone else; he made you feel at ease.

“You’re going to have no problem finding friends, Y/N. And UMich has tight connections with the Sorbonne, so if you’re having problems with the language barrier, they’ll be there to help you.”

“The latter is definitely true,” you conceded, “But I’m scared that I won’t fit in, or at the very least, that I’ll miss you too much to open up to anyone.”

There it was. Only when you said your biggest fear of them all out loud did it feel like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“God, I feel like such an asshole,” Dylan said, “I should never have made you feel guilty like that.”

“It’s not about what you said before, Dyl,” you replied, “It’s just really hard for me to open up to people. When I’m around you, though, I feel safe enough to be my true self.”

Dylan was quiet for a moment before saying, “Look at me, Y/N.” You had been averting your gaze, but you forced yourself to look into his soft but steady brown eyes. “You don’t need me to open up to people. You are the smartest, funniest, and kindest person I know. I don’t know why you don’t believe in yourself the way I believe in you, but you’ve got to.”

You swallowed. This was the other thing you loved most about Dylan: even though it was hard to hear sometimes, he called everything like it was. You were using him as an excuse to fail, and you knew it.

“You’re right, babe,” you said. “Thanks for always believing in me.”

“Of course. And you know I’m just a phone call away, right? I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night: if you need to talk to me, I’ll pick up.”

“I know,” you said. “Thanks for being there for me.”

“Always,” he replied, pressing you closer to his chest. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It felt good to know that you had someone who would always be there for you no matter what.

[drabblemesilly]

Dylan Larkin #6.1

Requested by Anon:  Could you write one (Carter hart, Connor McDavid, Mitch, auston, eichs, Larkin or Nate Bastian) along the lines of: you're really shy and good friends with (player of choice) and they're super close and protective/supportive of you (like they know well so they'll like order stuff for you so you don't have to and they can read you really well) and they've kinda helped you become way less shy. But then one of their teammates makes a joke about like when will you guys date And while mentally panicking you do the whole "what no! We're best friends." And then afterward he's like really weird because he kinda just realised that he doesn't like being just your best friend and then he's really grumpy and like idk almost gets in a fight and is really reckless and then afterwards while you're waiting (because he's taking agessss) you get chatting to some guy and he's furious (idk if this is going to be wayyy to long omg) but he doesn't say anything and just doesn't  Just doesn't speak to you for ages and you're so furious so you don't speak to him and idk you can finish it (IM SORRY ITS SO LONG but I'm fuelled by angst).

*YOU GUYS! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH! This is a loooong request and so a very looong fic. You know I love me some angsty, Larks multi-parters. This is the first of 3, maybe 4, chapters. I feel so good about this and I hope you do too. Enjoy!*

Word count: 1,316

Pro tip: never kick a door open when you weigh next to nothing, no matter how angry or agitated you are. Really, you’ve tried kicking down Dylan Larkin’s front door twice now and the only thing it’s gotten you is a sore foot and a wounded pride. Damn it, Dylan. Why can’t anything just go the way they’re supposed to?

Why can’t he just answer your calls or respond to your messages? Fuck, he can’t even be bothered to show up to your Sunday brunch place – the one you’ve always gone to on Sundays if he’s in town and has the time. He can’t even make up excuses because they only had home games this week.

Toning down your annoyance, you gave the door another wild knock, “I know you’re in there,” you leaned into the banister, “Dylan! I can hear Mario Kart, bitch.”

You looked around the porch to look for a comfortable place to sit in, determined to stay here until Dylan opens the door and talks to you. At this rate, you’ll have to sneak into their dressing room at the arena to see him. Whatever in the world did you do?

Okay, so the last time you saw him was at Anthony Mantha’s apartment. That was Friday night and you were there to celebrate because he was finally going to be reinstated. You had fun, some booze… maybe a little too much booze, if you are being honest, and then Dylan brought you home. Like usual.

He hasn’t talked to you since. Which is very much not like the usual.

Taking out your phone, you opened your messages and stopped until you landed on his last message, ‘I’m outside,’ was what he texted you that Friday night, telling you that he was ready to go home and that you should be too.

It’s been almost two weeks since then and this radio silence thing has got to stop, especially after his fourth fight in as many games last night. Dylan Larkin fighting: out of the ordinary but always welcomed. Dylan Larkin fighting for four games in a row: uh-oh.

Why is he so freaking angry?

Your ears perked when you heard some sort of shuffling inside. FINA-FUCKING-LY.

Except your heart deflated when the door opened and Luke Glendening appeared.

“You look like you need another layer on you,” he said as a way of saying hello, a smile playing on his face.

“If that’s your way of telling me I should leave, better luck next time brother,” you replied, sliding your phone back into your pocket and crossing your arms on your chest, “I’m not leaving until whatever’s up Dylan’s ass crawls out of it.”

For someone so big and bulky, Luke didn’t make any sort of sound as he gingerly closed the door and leaned against it, “he’s really not feeling you right now, bud,” he shook his head, “I don’t know why.”

“You and me both,” you sighed, “he hasn’t talked to me in two weeks,” you rubbed your face, “I just want him to tell me what I did.”

Straightening, Luke dangled his house keys in front of you, “I’m gonna go grab something to eat,” he said, walking down the front porch and into the driveway.

You watched him stop and turn back to face you, “tell him you found these in the porch,” he winked before tossing his keys towards you, almost hitting you on the head, “blow him or something, kid,” he laughed, “he needs to let all those steam out.”

For the record, Dylan Larkin is your best friend and nothing more. It doesn’t look it now because he’s being a jerk but he was the one who helped you overcome your stutter back in 4th grade. When he was confused whether he should go the collegiate way or give up his NCAA eligibility and go to the major juniors, you stayed up all night with him listing the pros and cons. He was there, front and center, when you graduated and you cheered the loudest when he got drafted.

There’s no Dylan Larkin without you and no you without him. It’s just the way it is.

Except apparently, there is a Dylan Larkin without you and this particular Dylan… he’s not all that amazing. He’s angry and picks fights with men like Zdeno Chara and Tom Wilson.

You let yourself in the house and followed the sound of something cooking, finding Dylan chopping some nuts in the kitchen. He’s sporting a pretty good shiner, courtesy of his last conquest: Brayden Point.

Leaning against the archway leading to the kitchen, you nodded at his blackeye, “nice shiner you got there, bud,” you casually commented, trying so hard to not yell at him.

Aaaaand nothing. He didn’t say anything, like you weren’t even there.

Hopping on the bar stool just a few feet away from him, you picked a grape and started eating, “okay,” you shrugged, “you can ignore me but that’s not gonna get you anywhere.”

Still nothing. Woah, he’s good at this silent treatment thing.

“Really?” you shook your head, picking another grape, “you’re just gonna ignore me like you’ve been doing the last few weeks?”

Taking out a book from your bag, you wiggled in your seat, “then I’m just gonna stay here and make myself comfortable.”

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, turning around to toss the nuts into the pan.

You almost fell off the stool from sheer happiness. Holy Lord, he talks.

“’Kay,” you nonchalantly turned the page of your book, not really reading. Instead, you’re watching him move around the kitchen, shoulders so tight that he looked like he needed some deep tissue massage. His cheeks were tomato-red and the bruise around his eye looked as angry as he did.

Dylan Larkin, for all intents and purposes, looks like he is not in the mood to talk to you.

“Seriously, Dyl,” you sighed, closing the book before turning to him, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” he said, avoiding eye contact, “you should go.”

“Oh,” you huffed, chuckling a little, “no one’s leaving until you untwist your panties, boo.”

That was the worst thing you could have said. Heh.

Rolling his eyes, Dylan shoved on hand into his curls and let out a frustrated sigh, eyes suddenly piercing you in place, “what do you want?” he spat.

“I just want to know why you’re ignoring me,” for all your fake bravado and macho stuff, you really can’t get mad at Dylan. He’s too important in your life that you just can’t risk it.

“We’re best friends,” he sounded so angry that you just sat there dumbfounded. His words were a conflict to his tone so you really don’t know how to respond to that.

“Okay?” you urged.

“You said,” he let out angrily, “we’re best friends.”

“We are best friends,” you argued, “we’ve been best friends for more than half our lives, Deedee,” when in doubt, use the childhood nickname he was never really fond of.

“You told the rookie that we were best friends,” he repeated, probably referring to Michael Rasmussen, who you were talking to at the party.

Now he just sounds like a petulant child, “we ARE best friends, what is wrong with you?” you finally stepped off the stool so you can poke his chest, “why are you so angry at me for telling people that you’re my best friend, that’s the truth. You’re my best friend, right?”

“I am,” he answered back, “and I’m not angry at you,” he said, eyes softening a little, “I’m angry at myself.”

“Okay now you just don’t make any sense.”

“You said we were best friends,” he said again, taking the plate he prepared, “just best friends,” he added so silently that you almost missed it.

Dylan gave you a lopsided smile, “think about that,” he shrugged, “you know where to find me.”

[larkin]

“As Steve Yzerman opened the door to the Red Wings’ media room to give his final address of the season, you could see a quick glimpse of Dylan Larkin in the hallway, having a determined conversation with Tim Stützle.

Larkin’s gotten really good at that, since he became captain. Filip Zadina was just talking about it the other day, before Game 3 against the Maple Leafs, saying how Larkin helped get him in the right head space for his Game 2 hat trick. (It also helped, of course, that Larkin assisted on two of those goals.)”

Okay Athletic thanks for the fanfic every Wings fan needs rn 🤧

Bonus:

“Seider’s been as advertised, by the way. He just averaged 26 minutes a night in the playoffs, and Yzerman was right: Werenski was a great partner for him.”

[dannibriere]

Detroit Red Wings if you are familiar with them?

is my favourite: probably danny dekeyser

i like the most when it comes to the appearance: either henrik zetterberg or dylan larkin

i would play a prank on: all of them, they’re all eligible for pranks

i would get drunk with: nick jensen

i would choose for my partner if i got an invitation for a wedding: trevor daley

i could just cuddle all day long: jonathan ericsson probably

i would ask for an advice if i had problems: jimmy howard

i would bake cookies for: all of them, they all deserve them

i would read a fanfic about: i think i actually have about zetterberg

i would write a fanfic about: i’m a reader not a writer, but like, maybe trevor daley?

i would prefer to play in another team: probably andreas athanasiou, he’s the one that held out yea?

[stevenstamkos]

The werewolf would obviously be Dylan because of Michigan Werewolves and Auston could be like a vampire because really that boy is moody 24/7 how about a twilight AU were Dylan and Auston fight for Zach’s enteral love

MICHIGAN WEREWOLVES. I feel like Auston is only fake-moody though, because he smiles a lot and he’s kind of dorky, and he only tries to be fake-moody on Instagram. Is Zach a human in this? He’d be fucking Bella Swan. Oh my god I’m dying, Big Z.

I can’t believe you’d bring up Twilight. Did you know that back in 2008/2009, I used to crit-read all the worst Twilight fanfic to try to improve my own writing?

Back of the book summary:

Zach “Big Z” Werenski is just a humble Michigan boy from Grosse Pointe Woods when he decides to move to Ann Arbor. There, he falls in with hockey players from both the University of Michigan and the US National Team Development Program. It’s not long before Zach meets Michigan Werewolf Dylan “DBoss” Larkin and All-American Vampire Auston “AJuice” Matthews, and he suddenly finds himself caught between them in a battle for the puck—and his heart.

[insert late 2000s-era fanfiction.net trite line to the tune of “When his heart is torn between two men, can Big Z make the ultimate choice?”]

[ayyoparayko]

for the hockey team thing, Detroit Red Wings... love u

1) Is my favourite - Riley Sheahan (mainly because of the teletubby incident)2) I like the most when it comes to the appearance - Darren Helm3) I would play a prank on - Dylan Larkin4) I would get drunk with - Nyquist5) I would choose for my partner if i got an invitation for a wedding - Riley Sheehan6) I could just cuddle all day long - Anthony Mantha (he's so tall!)7) I would ask for an advice if i had problems - Frans Nielsen8) I would bake cookies for - All of them but Howard9) I would read a fanfic about - Larkin... 10) I would write a fanfic about - Sheahan (same reason as before lol)11) I would prefer to play in another team - Darren Helm (I think he'd be good on the Leafs 🙈)Thanks Rach!!! Love u 2!!!

[formerlydyl]

For the ask thing... Red Wings?

send me a team and I will tell you which player:

is my favorite - Dennis Cholowski

I like the most when it comes to the appearance - uhh.. Christoffer Ehn? (I barely know who he is and what he looks like but otherwise my answer was going to be Cholo again)

I would play a prank on - Dylan Larkin

I would get drunk with - Dennis Cholowski

I would choose for my partner if I got an invitation to a wedding - Dennis Cholowski

I could just cuddle all day long - I don’t know any of them that well. So maybe... Danny DeKeyser?

I would ask for advice if I had problems - Dylan Larkin

I would bake cookies for - Alex Biega

I would read a fanfic about - uhhh... Madison Bowey??????

I would write a fanfic about- None, I’m trash

I would prefer to play in another team - Dennis Cholowski

[natureivy]

The red wings!

1. My favourite - Henrik Zetterberg/Dylan Larkin2. Most attractive - Henrik Zetterberg/Dylan Larkin3. Would play a prank on - Luke Glendening4. Would get drunk with -  Luke Witkowski5. Would bring as my wedding date - Luke Witkowski6. Would cuddle all day long - Dylan Larkin (def thot about it once or twice)7. Would ask for advice - Henrik Zetterberg/Luke Witkowski8. Would bake cookies for - Filip Zadina9. Would read a fanfic about -10. Would write a fanfic about -11. Would prefer to play on another team - What Grace said (Jeff Blashill)

Send me a sports team…

[kels005]

Red wings

is my favourite: Dylan Larkin 

i like the most when it comes to the appearance: Jimmy Howard 

i would play a prank on: Dylan Larkin

i would get drunk with: Luke Glendening 

i would choose for my partner if i got an invitation for a wedding: Hernik Zetterberg

i could just cuddle all day long: Dylan Larkin

i would ask for an advice if i had problems: Hernik Zetterberg

i would bake cookies for: Dylan Larkin

i would read a fanfic about: No one 

i would write a fanfic about: No one 

i would prefer to play in another team: Dylan Larkin 

*If you can’t tell by this, I’m a big fan of Dylan Larkin haha

[drabblemesilly]

Dylan Larkin #3.5

Here is the conclusion to our favorite angsty story! Not angsty at all!!

Please read parts 1, 2, 3, and 4 first. Enjoy! :)

Word count: 1, 065

You put your hand out to push him back but your traitor fingers gripped his shirt tightly instead. Holy fuckamole – your tongue is inside Dylan Larkin’s mouth! And you like it! The world, surely, is ending.

Dylan, being the gentleman that he never was around you, moved his hands until one was tightly pulling you into him, his fingers grazing your inner thigh, while the other hand was gently cradling the base of your neck. You have to admit, though, you feel very safe right now. A train running at full speed can hit you and you’d still think his overly-huge muscles are going to keep you alive.

You were always that kid who counted her blessings so when his hand cupped your right butt cheek as he deepened your kiss, you sent a silent prayer of thanks. Shit, maybe you needed him to kiss you like this all those years ago that’s why you’re always wound so tightle whenever he’s around.

Gah. Took you long enough to admit it to yourself.

Dylan Larkin, for all his rosy cheeks and innocently curled brunette hair, kissed like he was The Rock – all hard and hungry.

It took all of your strength not to climb all over him, honestly. Your hands smoothed his the shirt over his chest and you tiptoed to give him more access, his tongue fighting over yours for dominance.

You’ve never felt so real and raw in your whole life. Not even after he managed to throw a helmet at you when you were twelve. You still have a nasty scar on your hairline because of that shit.

After what felt like forever, which actually was maybe just a minute and a half, Dylan broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours. Before you can even let your evil mouth say something to ruin the moment, he released a long and satisfied sigh.

“That,” he started to say, his voice barely a whisper, “was like coming up for –“

You stopped him before he can say anything to ruin the situation, “if you say coming up for fresh air,” you glared at his nose, “I will give you a solid knee to the balls.”

He chuckled, “of course.”

You didn’t need to look into a mirror to know that your lips were swollen. You can feel it. Damn it, you can almost not feel it anymore, numb little fuckers.

Dylan took one step back and looked around, as if something was missing.

“What?” you asked, curious, when he looked at you with extra wide eyes.

He gestured with his fingers, pointing to the ceiling, “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, biting the edge of your bottom lip.

He shrugged, moving one step closer, “I feel like you’re gonna yell at me any moment now.”

Dropping to the nearest couch, you mumbled to the floor, “I think I forgot my voice somewhere,” you gulped, kicking the air before glaring at him, “oh my goodness, Dylan Benjamin Larkin,” you whispered, touching your voice.

He snorted, “that’s not my name.”

Rolling your eyes, you answered, “shut up,” you bit back, “you kissed me.” You brushed your hair away from your face, “the fuck,” you groaned, “I kissed you back!” You looked back at him, “what the fuck are you doing that face for?”

“What face?”

“You have it scrunched and,” you stuttered, “it looks weird,” you breathed out, “you look weird!”

Realizing that you may be having a semi-panic attack, you started breathing like you were a pregnant woman in labor. Gulping air and fanning yourself, suddenly the room feeling warmer than ever. Damn it, even your heart is skipping one too many beats.

Calmly, Dylan sat next to you on the couch and you stopped yourself from scooting, “how did we end up kissing when a minute ago we were yelling at each other?”

You smiled, “you make me so furious sometimes, you know.”

He nodded, “you’ve yelled at me more times than you’ve ever smiled at me.”

You scoffed, “that’s not true,” you denied, “not true at all.”

He bumped your shoulder with his, “do you remember the first time you ever smiled at me?”

You don’t. Heck, you don’t even remember the last time you smiled at him. When did things change? Oh, yeah. Four months ago when your heart decided that oh my gosh, you don’t hate Dylan Larkin. For some unexplainable reason, your heart decided that, contrary to what you believe, you actually like Dylan Larkin.

Hell, you might even be in love with the guy.

You really must have been dropped on your head once upon a time.

When you didn’t answer him right away, Dylan took it as a sign to continue talking, “we were eight.”

“Oh,” you said even before you realized you shouldn’t say anything, “that was such a long time ago.”

“That was the first time I realized I liked seeing that smile directed at me,” he grinned, “and then you never did it again.”

You laughed, “I might have done it once or twice,” you argued, “I’m not a bitch.”

“Eeeh,” he snickered, “you sometimes are.”

You scoffed, “it’s not like you were very generous with your smiles either.”

He chuckled, “I feared you would fall in love with me if I kept smiling at you.”

“So you had to scowl instead?” you punched him playfully.

The fucktard did the oldest trick in the book and fake-yawned, stretching his hand above his head and settling it on your shoulder.

You snorted, “does that usually work for you?”

Shrugging, he answered, “being a professional hockey player does the trick most of the time,” he tapped a finger on your shoulder, “does being a bitch help you pick up guys?”

Grinning, you shifted so you can look at him eye to eye, “apparently it only works on you.”

He kicked his legs out, “what can I say?” he leaned in to kiss you swiftly, “I like it when you slam doors on my face.”

“We’re gonna be so bad together,” you warned, “we’re gonna look like an old bickering couple.”

He grinned, “we’ve been bickering for more than a decade,” he winked, “and we’re really good at it,” he nodded, “but I just kissed you a minute ago and I think we’re even better at that.”

You gave him a knowing look, “we are.”

[drabblemesilly]

Dylan Larkin #3.4

Second to the last part of my FAVORITE angsty multi-parter!! I can’t believe this baby is coming to an end. :( 

I suggest you read parts 1, 2, and 3 before reading this. Enjoy! :)

Word count: 1, 019

The silence that followed his ankle-breaking statement was deafening. More than that, it was the kind of silence that left a pinging sound in your ear, like you’re suddenly picking up other-worldly vibrations. Maybe you’ve become a dog and are now picking up new forms of sound waves.

Really, who knows what you’ve become. Maybe it’s the end of the world because, silent or not, you’re pretty sure you just heard Dylan Larkin, ex-person you want to die and present-person you’d die for, tell you that he needed you. He needs you.

Ha. If that isn’t all ten degrees of fucked up?

“What did you just say?” your voice sounded as quiet and eerie as your surroundings that for a second, you thought he didn’t hear you.

But judging from the way his eyes widened and his cheeks turned a little pinker than usual, he did.

The stretch that took him from inhaling to exhaling and actually answering you was excruciating and you had to dig your heels in the carpet just so you don’t turn around and head for your apartment.

This is, by any means and measure, the most scared you’ve ever been in your life. Funny how you’ve always prided yourself for not being scared of Dylan Larkin and yet, now you’re shivering on the inside. And all because you think of him now as someone you could potentially end up with.

Eww, that statement is equal parts exciting and disgusting.

“Remember when I was in peewee?” he asked, his voice sounding as roughed as he looked, “right before I decided I wanted to go to Ann Arbor…” he trailed.

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes and just shrugged instead, one hand resting on your hip, “Dylan, why would I remember what you did when you were 13?” you asked, “I hated you and besides, I was probably busy making googly eyes with whoever,” yes, the sweet memory of your giggling schoolgirl days still haunts you until now.

He mirrored your actions. For someone so sure of himself and of his capabilities, Dylan looked wary, “there was this one game, we were down 5 to 3,” he started to explain, “you weren’t there for the first period and a half and then, all of a sudden, you were,” he said, “pouting and whining,” he smirked, “you even flipped me off.”

That made you smile a little. Thirteen year old you might have been a notorious giggling schoolgirl but she was feisty and she was queen.

You didn’t say anything but you remember that afternoon. It was unusually warm for an October Saturday. It was one of those peewee competitions where teams from everywhere compete from eight in the morning until nine at night, ousting each other in an elimination tournament. You didn’t want to go because you knew Dylan was playing and by then, he was already the bringer of all things shitty and headache-inducing. Somehow, your mom and your friends managed to peer pressure you to go – they promised they won’t sit with you at lunch anymore if you didn’t come and who wanted to be a social outcast in high school?

You remember hearing someone say that Dylan’s team was going to be eliminated first because they sucked big time. You remember that because you couldn’t wait to chirp him about it. You remember seeing the scoreboard and snickering because they were, in fact, losing. Gosh, you even remember when you flipped him off. If you close your eyes right now, you can still see the look on his face when he saw you, he was embarrassed that you saw how bad he was playing and then he got this steely look of determination. That’s why you flipped him off, cocky little shit.

You remember that day but you won’t tell him that. Fuck no. You refuse to sound like you’ve been in love with him since you were thirteen.

Shit, have you been in love with him since you were thirteen?

Whatever, the point is: they won that game.

“We won that game,” he said, perfectly reading your thoughts, “ever since then, when you’re in attendance, I have never lost a game,” he confessed, voice rough, like he’s been stranded in the desert without water for days.

“I don’t know,” you told him, still trying to act cool and also coming to terms with the fact that you may or may not have been in love with him since before your first menstrual cycle, “I don’t keep tabs on you, Dyl.”

He scoffed, “of course.”

“Maybe you just play better when I’m there because you get challenged by my presence,” you offered, “maybe you don’t want to suck when I’m there because you can’t take it.” Or maybe he just plays better because he’s also in love with you.

Ugh. Shut the fuck up. What in the world are you thinking?

All of a sudden, Dylan changed his posture, he looked like he was frustrated and mad and disappointed at the same time, “you know what?” he asked, his tone biting, “forget it. Go puke the beer you’ve been chugging or whatever.” With that, he turned around and started to walk back into his room, shoulders sulking.

“What the fuck?” you stopped him with you loud and angry voice, “you get all sentimental with me and shit then you just turn around and leave?” you frowned, crossing your arms on your chest, “what an anticlimactic end, you idiot.”

Dylan took long strides to get back to you, nose flaring in anger, “you,” he said through gritted teeth, his jaw tensed, “why can’t you just understand that maybe I wanted you there,” he started, his breath fanning your cheeks, “because I want you to see that I’m not that loser peewee kid anymore?” he asked, “I’m better than him now and,” he spit out the words like they were scalding him, “maybe I’m better because of you.”

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuuck.

And what do you say to that?

Nothing.

Nothing because you just went in your tiptoes and kissed the hell out of Dylan Larkin.

[drabblemesilly]

Dylan Larkin #3.3

Here is the third part!! :) Check out parts 1 and 2. Enjoy!! <3

Word count: 960

The decorative bottles he had on his countertop banged against each other. Being the pompous ass that he is, Dylan didn’t even look to see if there were glass shards on the table before slamming the door to his room, leaving you and your friend gaping after him.

“That,” you glanced at his bedroom door, “is what happens when a spoiled brat doesn’t get his way.”

As much as you want to punch him for being such an asshole on a normal basis, tonight more so, the feelings you’re starting to have for him – unwanted ones, by the way – are telling you to gently knock on his door and comfort him.

Your friend opened her mouth to say something but you shushed her first.

“Do you think Glendening is having tantrums right now just because they lost?” you asked loudly, making sure that he could hear you from inside his room, “newsflash,” you almost yelled out to him, “everybody loses even the Hawks,” you looked at your friend pointedly, “or the Pens.”

She shoved your shoulder lightly, “stop pouring gas on the fire,” she whispered, her face contorting into a frown.

“If there’s someone who should be throwing tantrums,” you started again, “it should be Gabe Landeskog,” you shrugged, “or Matt Duchene or Nate, actually,” you frowned, “anyone from the Avs has all the permission in the world to go berserk,” you turned around and started walk out of his apartment, “not someone from a team who’s still in the running for a playoffs spot with forty games to go.”

Not even three steps were taken before a rough, calloused hand grabbed your shoulder, he swung you around so fast that you saw stars flash when you closed your eyes.

“Did your teachers ever teach you to shut up?” Dylan gritted out, his nose flaring and his cheeks flushing.

“Did your teachers ever teach you not to be a spoiled little shit?”

He’s so angry and all you could think of at this moment, is how you really want to throw yourself at him. Wow, that glass of beer during the game really did something to your sanity. Not that the three glasses of beer you had before the game helped when Dylan skated in front of you.

Yup, you are a certified loony.

How have you lived more than ten years of your life despising him and then suddenly wake up with thoughts of having breakfast with him in your bed? Did you get some kind of lobotomy four months ago?

Ugh, but he is so cute even if he’s mad and contemplating whether to kill you or not.

“Okay, okay, both of you,” the sole voice of reason butted in. She looked at Dylan, “you, why are you so mad at her? You’ve been glaring at her since the drive home,” she shifted her mad eyes at you, “and you, why are you goading him? Does this get you off in the morning?”

Okay but that was close to home. Not that you’re gonna tell her that… or him.

She pointed the space between you and Dylan, “fix your problem,” she shrugged, “have sex or whatever, you guys give me so much stress in life.” And with that, she strode out of the apartment, shutting the door loudly behind her.

Waiting for a few seconds before talking was a good idea because you actually sounded calm when you spoke, “yeah, actually,” you frowned, trying to keep your voice leveled, “what’s up with you tonight?”

He ran his hand through his curls and glared, “you were late,” he said in one huff.

You snorted, crossing your arms on your chest, “I didn’t know they were taking attendance in hockey games now,” you told him, starting to get annoyed.

So you came late. You arrived halfway through the second period but that was only because you had to talk to yourself in front of the mirror more times than usual tonight… and you had all those beers but you were faced with a very difficult challenge like realizing that the boy-guy-man-person you grew up hating is actually now the boy-guy-man-person you want to have breakfasts in bed with! That’s a very hard fact to wrap your head around.

Only then, the Red Wings were already down 4-0. By the end of the third period, the jumbotron flashed 6-2, obviously in favor of the visiting team.

“I get it,” you tapped your foot on the floor, “you’re mad, and annoyed,” you raised your voice lightly, “and probably frustrated that you missed that breakaway and you didn’t get that power play goal but why are you lashing out at me?”

You saw him made a fist before flexing his fingers. He looked like it took him a lot of effort to say the one word he managed to blurt, “superstitions.”

That was when it dawned on you, “oh my gosh,” you poked his arm, “I can’t believe you blame me for your loss!!” you almost kicked him too but you like him now, deep inside, so you didn’t.

“I told you to be there,” he yelled.

“And I was!” such a shithead. You’re a quarter’s of a way in love with him, possibly, and he’s acting such a jerk that it’s making you question yourself as a person.

“You arrived an hour late,” he reminded you.

You scoffed, “you’re not pinning this loss on me, asshat, I’m not even a part of the team.”

Dylan sighed loudly and turned his head only to look back at you with a grimace, “I needed you there,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a child, “I needed. You.”

Oh for the love of all things good in the world.

You are so fucked.