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joaniscruzing · 1 month ago

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off the record - ch.1

HELLOOOOO everyone! i am BACK from a long break with a fic! yay!

i realized very quickly that this fic was going to be a long one, so i thought i'd break it up into parts. CURRENTLY, there's another 4k in my google doc rn, but i thought "hey, why not get some interest going?"

anyway!!! comment to be tagged in the next chapter, and let me know how you like it! i love feedback!

special thanks to @moesthoughts for proofreading!

summary: you're offered a summer job at ESPN as a sports reporter and get paired up with paige.

warnings: nothing scandalous, i'd say there's a lot of world-building in this chapter? i added a few ocs in this fic just because it felt wrong just getting into it. I'll add a divider for where the paige stuff begins for those who are eager. I PROMISE THOUGH, THE REST OF THE FIC DOESN'T HAVE THIS MUCH EXTRA DETAILS.

enjoy babes 😘

You quickly gulped down some coffee before brushing your teeth for school. It was mid-April, and you had quite the daunting task for you: finding a summer internship.

“Hey, don’t sweat this,” your college roommate Anya reassured you, “you look the most professional I’ve ever seen you in the three years I’ve known you, and I just know you have a hell of an elevator pitch ready to go, yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I guess! I just really need to be ready, you know? AI’s really taking off, and if I’m not on my game, they’ll probably give my job to a robot or something!”

“Alright,” Anya answered, chuckling, “haven’t you made the dean’s list every semester? And haven’t you been editor of our paper since last year, being the youngest editor of the paper in our college? You’ve got this! I mean it.”

“Thanks, Anya,” you said, smiling and taking a deep breath.

“Wish me luck!” you exclaimed as you exited your shared apartment. To avoid being late, you scurry off to your car, quickly putting your bag in the passenger seat and turning on the radio. You put on a news station, hoping to find some things to make small talk about at the career fair, which, lucky for you, was about half an hour away.

Why did this apartment have to be the best one Anya and I could afford? You thought to yourself while exiting the parking lot of your apartment complex. As the car ride went on,, your thoughts about theapartment location drifted away, you began to think about the road, and whatever your news station was rambling about.

“-And to all of you women’s sports fans out there, last night was a BIG night for UCONN’s Paige Bueckers! The 23-year-old NCAA champion was the first overall draft pick and will be joining the Dallas Wings for the next WNBA season!”

You weren’t super into sports yourself, but you knew about Paige Bueckers. A Connecticut native yourself, you grew up with your parents usually tuning into the UCONN basketball games, both men’s and women’s. Hell, you were brought to the last championship parade for the women’s basketball team back in 2016. Your dad had sent you an Instagram post a few days ago with some highlights featuring Paige Bueckers, to which you had just liked and moved on with your day. You heard through the grapevine that some representatives from ESPN would be at your career fair, but you weren’t necessarily crazed at the thought of it. In fact, you were hoping to land an internship at the New York Times, where you would be helping others deliver the most topical headlines of the day.

Although you knew you wouldn’t need it, you still kept the small fact you had learned about Paige Bueckers in the back of your head, just in case you blanked out on your very-prepared speech you had.

Just then, you pulled into your college’s local arena, where your summer endeavors were soon to be discovered. You popped one, two, three mints in your mouth and touched up your makeup in your car mirror. If anyone was going to get an internship today, it was going to be you, the biggest academic weapon at your college.

After a few pep talks, you finally exited your car and walked into the overly air-conditioned arena, then being met by a daunting array of tables, all with one collective thing to offer: your future.

You understood that the position at the New York Times was going to be a popular choice among your peers, so you made a beeline to the small table that they were occupying. After, you began the long wait, which wasn’t that bad. In fact, you were thankful for the time you had to recite your pitch and pull yourself together.

About forty-five minutes passed, and you finally made it to the front of the line.

This is it. You’ve got this, you thought to yourself.

“Hi! My name is-”

“Let me guess, you want the internship?” you heard, immediately cut off by the man working the table.

“I’m definitely interested! I believe that I’d be a GREAT pick, and here’s why: I’m currently-”

“As much as I’d love to hear about your long list of qualifications, we already found someone to fill the position. I’m sorry. But if you’d like, you can always apply to be an assistant this summer. You know. Getting coffee and whatnot,” the man said, giving you a smug smile.

Your stomach dropped.

An assistant? Getting coffee? You took the application, as it was still an opportunity, but so many other thoughts swirled around your head.

Three years and for what? To be brushed off like that? What’s even worse, by a man? You thought to yourself as you left to get some fresh air. You knew you would have to go back in there, as there were probably numerous other internships you could acquire. There was the Washington Post, CNN, NBC, and so many more that were just running through your head, as fast as a racecar going cross-country on an empty highway.

After a mini-crashout in your car, a small drink of water, and a quick phone call with Anya, you felt ready enough to enter the arena again. You weren’t going to leave that parking lot without an internship that was equal to your abilities. No man was going to tell you that the internship you were going to get would involve fetching coffee.

You confidently strided back into the arena, where you were met by the overwhelming array of tables. Unwilling to allow it to ruin your conviction in your abilities, you chose to examine each table. Luckily, you were met with a few companies that were willing to hire you, and even went as far as to give you their card. Just as you were about to leave, you heard a voice yelling out.

“Hey! You! Don’t leave!”

“Me?” you turnedaround, pointing at yourself.

“Yes!” The tall woman who was chasing you down finally stopped running. After dusting herself off and adjusting her hair, she addressed you.

“I heard you at the career fair today. And I mean it, you are exactly what we are looking for.”

“Who?”

“Oh, pardon me. I’m from ESPN. After a short phone call with my boss, we’d like to offer you a summer job.”

Just the word “job” made your eyes bulge out of your head. You were flabbergasted to say the least. You were confident you’d exit with an internship, but a job? And at ESPN, to make things better.

“Really?” you spoke, trying to conceal your excitement.

“Yes! Don’t worry, the interview process would be waived for you, as this is super last minute, but you would have to attend media training for the next few weeks,” the woman explained, stepping aside with you to continue the conversation.

“Media training? Like, I would be on TV?”

“Yes! You’re going to be assigned to cover the entirety of the 2025 WNBA season. Hopefully, you’ll be good to go at the beginning of May. That’s when preseason starts.”

“I’m sorry, the WNBA?” you pinched your arm, trying to wake yourself up from whatever bizarre dream this was.

“Yes! Although it isn’t an extremely followed league, our team is expecting another rise in viewership this season.”

“Really?” you asked, intrigued, “I swear viewership for women’s sports has been the same for my whole lifespan.”

“You follow women’s sports?”

“My parents do, at least. They’re big UCONN fans,” you answered. A nanosecond after, you remembered what you heard in the car. Oh, you were in for a long conversation after your last statement.

“UCONN, huh?” your new employer asked, “So I’m sure you’ve been hearing about Paige Bueckers a lot recently.”

“Oh yeah, she got the first draft pick last night! Dallas Wings, right?” Thank god for that local news station.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re a superfan, right?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I heard it on the radio this morning.” Your new employer smiled at your comment, and handed you her card.

Angelica Hastings. That would be a name you’d remember for decades. After all, she was now the first person to support you in your official professional journalism journey.

“Well, you have the job! Be prepared to be immersed in the world of women’s basketball this summer!” Angelica said, shaking your hand. You quickly gave her your business card and left for your car. Only God knew what surprises this summer held for you.

About an hour later, you finally made it back to your shared apartment with Anya. You nearly twisted your ankle running up the stairs to tell her the news.

“ESPN???” she exclaimed, almost as astounded as you were.

“YES! And I get paid! The only bad news is I need to cram for finals, as I need to start media training in two weeks.”

“Well, looks like you’ve got to get cramming.”

The next two weeks flew by. Between packing, contract signing, and finals, you had almost no room to breathe. What’s more, you took it upon yourself to begin researching all of the top new rookies in the WNBA, as Angelica had told you that you’d probably be interviewing or covering them most of the time—or at least when it got to more niche stories. There was Hailey Van Lith at Chicago Sky, who seemed to be doing pretty well for herself. There was Kiki Iriafen, who was one of the best forwards in the country, at the Washington Mystics. And obviously, there was Paige Bueckers. You assumed as a new woman to the job, that she would be off-limits to you, given that she quite literally was the face of women’s basketball rookies at the moment, so you chose to focus on other players. After all, you were sure that you would be learning all about the star guard in your first hours of work.

The second you finished your finals, you said a very quick goodbye to Anya, promising her to call her every night that you’d be gone, and then you tookyour bags—which had been packed for weeks—and drove off to your first location: Bristol, Connecticut, the very headquarters of ESPN. After checking in to the hotel that they provided you, you quickly changed into your professional wear and entered the building. You checked in at the front desk, asking for Angelica, who guided you to her office and motioned for you to sit down.

“How was the drive?” Angelica asked, taking a swig of her coffee.

“Not bad,” you admitted, playing with your newly done nails, “I do have to say, though, I forgot how nasty Massachusetts drivers are.”

Angelica chuckled.

“Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to worry about Massachusetts drivers at all this summer. I’m assigning you to cover the Dallas Wings’ rookies, and then as the season goes on, probably one of the California teams. The Dallas Wings didn’t have the best season last year, so we’re not expecting too much from this year either.”

“Didn’t Paige get drafted there?”

“Yes, but one player cannot single-handedly save a whole team,” Angelica said, typing on her laptop, “We’ll have to see how the other rookies do too.”

“So I’m going to Dallas?” You asked, trying to formulate an image of your summer in your head.

“Not exactly. You’ll go to Vegas this week, since that’s the stadium they’re playing at. You’ll just be following them around and traveling to their respective stadiums.” She explained.

“Alright! I can definitely do that!” You said, and let out a sigh of relief.

“By the way, you need to be on the third floor in 3 minutes for your style workshop. You’ll be given your wardrobe, introduced to your hairstylist, and you’ll be getting your nails done.”

“I'd better go then. Thank you, Angelica!”

“Of course. See you on TV!”

The outfits they had picked for you were rather bland, as they were simpler, not to mention professional. However, with Anya’s help, you secured some cuter outfits for free nights. What’s more, your new hairstylist, Shay, was an amazing person to talk to. While experimenting with your hair, she was sure to make conversation.

“So, you excited to meet Paige?” She asked, running a straightener in your hair.

“Who said I was even going to meet her? I figured I’d be assigned with the other rookies,” you replied.

“Well, as the person who has YOUR schedule, you’re set to be interviewing Paige at the preseason game on Friday.”

“Are you serious?”

“What? Are you one of those girls who has an entire edit folder dedicated to her or something?” she asked, a knowing smirk beginning to make its mark on her face.

“No! I just… I know my parents are going to ask me to get an autograph from her or something.”

“Sure, sure. So you’ve NEVER seen an edit of her?” Shay asked, now trying to put your hair in some sort of half-up, half-down style.

“Not really. I don’t usually get edits on my TikTok.”

“Just look her up, alright?”

“Maybe,” you said halfheartedly, brushing off her request.

After about thirty hairstyles, an exchange of phone numbers, and a full set of nails, Shay then sent you to your media trainer, who taught you everything you would need to know for the summer. As boring as it was, you were somewhat ready for your first game, which would be against the Las Vegas Aces. The next day, you took a plane ride to Indiana, where you were met with your hotel for the next week.

The next night was a busy one. After another hair and makeup session with Shay, you were expected to arrive at the stadium at about three-thirty in the afternoon. Needless to say, you felt as if you were out of breath when you arrived at Notre Dame’s Purcell Pavilion. Throughout the night, as your professors had trained you, you kept your eyes on Paige the whole game. Every movement of hers was mesmerizing, to put it bluntly. Every bounce of the ball, every basket, god, even any time she ran made it impossible for you to keep your eyes off of her. You made a mental note to watch some highlights of her later. At halftime, you were instructed to interview her.

This is it.

“Hello!” You introduced yourself to Paige before the cameras began to record.

“Oh, okay, first interviewer! It’s nice to meet you! I’m Paige!” She said excitedly, holding out her hand for you to shake.

No fucking way she’s the number one draft pick and she thinks she has to introduce herself.

You found it endearing, though, the way she smiled and fidgeted with her hands.

Forget endearing. As the cameras were setting up and you got to know her, you were blown away by her. You were awestruck by her tall, slender figure, and her new slick back, which made it impossible not to look at her icy blue eyes that never broke eye contact with you. She was hot as fuck. To your dismay, you failed to notice before. Although radiating confidence, she still was able to stay humble and grounded.

You had to admit, you both really just clicked. You had only been talking with her for about three minutes, and she was making you laugh in a way not even Anya could, not to mention how easy it was to talk with her. It felt like you had known her since you had been born. Although you knew things wouldn’t go any farther than whatever was happening on the court, you still enjoyed it—and had developed a FAT crush on her in the span of one game.

You really hoped you’d be able to interview her again.

“Go!” the cameraman called, clapping his hands, breaking up the colloquial conversation between you and her.

“So, Paige, how do you feel, now that you’re starting fresh with the Dallas Wings, only about three weeks after your NCAA championship win?”

“Pretty good. I’m excited for this season, forever thankful for this opportunity to be here, thankful to God, and just really soaking up everything around me.”

“And Paige, how are you feeling about the new hair? Although you wore this hairstyle a few months back, you did admit that you’d be debuting a new signature hairstyle in the W.”

“Uh, I like my hair. Giving my scalp a break and such. I think I’ll be experimenting with this and a bun in the next few games, we’ll see.”

“Alright, thank you! Good luck for the rest of this game!”

“Thanks! See you later?”

You nod as she high-fives you, giggling like a high school girl.

Although the Wings lost to the Aces, 78 to 112, to be exact, it was still a fun game to watch. You weren’t too sad, as you found in your research that there was a new coach in charge, and it was, in fact, a preseason game if anything. You quickly found Paige on the court again, whose face lit up when she saw you.

“Hey! Enjoy the game?” she asked, seemingly unbothered by the loss.

“Oh yeah. It was fun to watch! Congrats on your first game!”

“Thank you,” she answered, her eyes finally leaving yours for once, “so are you going to be coming to more games?”

“Apparently, I’ll be interviewing the Wings throughout their whole season, although I may have to leave near the end for college.”

“You’re still in college? Damn girl, I thought you were here with some experience with how professional you were.”

“Really? I think this is the least professional I’ve felt in a while!” you quipped, letting out a small laugh.

“Trust me, you’re better at this than you think. You know, I think you’ve asked the best questions since I’ve gotten here,” she admitted matter-of-factly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Once again, the cameraman asked the two of you to get into position, so you did.

This was going to be a good season.

taglist: @asapeveryday

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misshoneyimhome · 3 months ago

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Could you do a oneshot of willy where you are rasmus' sister and like you are just as close with willy as you are your brother and hes always looked out for you as he would sandy, and maybe a player from another team tries to make a move on you and you get uncomfortable and he steps in and is like back off my girl bro, and then it's like a aha my girl that's so funny could never be true tho right? RIGHT?!?! and they lived happily ever after in love 🤪😘

Haha, I definitely had way too much fun writing this one 😂 I absolutely loved the idea, and honestly—even if it’s not my best work—I don’t even care because I enjoyed every second of it 🤭

So let’s just dive right in, shall we? 😉 Hope you enjoy it, love 💕

Tropes & warnings: William Nylander x reader, Rasmus Sandin's sister - friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, soft!willy & ofc protective!Willy, mention of sexual intercourse, language

Words count: 4.4K

My Girl I William Nylander (ft. Rasmus Sandin) ✐

Rasmus Sandin was everything you loved and hated in equal measure.

Your brother, your rival, your favourite punching bag and your fiercest protector—all rolled into one maddening, irreplaceable person. Two years older, and he never let you forget it. Growing up, everything was a competition: who could sprint fastest through the snow, who could score more goals in the driveway, who could get under Mum’s skin quicker.

You fought over stupid things and made up just as fast. You stole his hoodies and he changed your phone background to the worst selfies imaginable. But the moment someone else tried to mess with you? Rasmus was there. No hesitation. No questions asked. He’d step in with that fire in his eyes like don’t you dare touch what’s mine.

He was your safe place before you even knew what one was.

And as you both got older, his world started expanding—and so did yours.

When Rasmus was drafted to the Leafs in 2018, everything changed. He wasn’t just your annoying older brother anymore—he was playing pro hockey in Toronto. By the time the 2019–2020 season rolled around, he was wearing blue and white for real, living in a downtown apartment he shared with none other than William Nylander.

That’s when you met him properly.

William wasn’t just the funny guy from Rasmus’ training camp stories anymore. He was there. The quiet one with the sharp eyes and even sharper sense of humour. He had the charm, sure—but not the kind that made you feel small or like a joke. William was the type to ask how you were really doing, to remember the answer the next time you saw him.

At first, you figured he was just being polite. Friendly. You were Rasmus’ sister, after all. That came with certain unspoken rules.

But then he kept asking if you’d be at the games. If you were coming to team dinners. If you wanted to hang out after practice. He started texting you out of the blue—sending you memes, TikToks, photos of Rasmus doing something dumb at home. Little things. But they added up.

You didn’t live in Toronto, but you spent a lot of time there during that first season. And the more time you spent around William, the harder it became to tell where friendship ended and something else quietly began.

Rasmus never questioned it. He’d known William since 2016, long before he was a Leaf. He trusted him completely. To him, William’s attentiveness was just typical Willy—loyal to a fault, always looking after his people.

You were part of those people now. That was all.

But to you, William started becoming more than just part of Rasmus’ world.

He became yours too.

And you tried—God, you tried—not to read into it. Not to hope for something more. You told yourself over and over that he only saw you as Rasmus’ sister. That he was kind to everyone. That he was just being nice.

But it got harder to believe that when he made sure your coffee order was already waiting in the car after morning skate.

When he pulled you aside at team events because he could tell you were overwhelmed.

When he watched you laugh across a crowded room like he couldn’t look away.

One night during the second season—early on, when you were still trying to prove you could hang in the Toronto scene—Rasmus had invited you out for drinks with the team. You didn’t want to be the little sister clinging to the edges of the group, so you drank more than you should’ve. Tried too hard to keep up with guys who were built like machines and used to the lifestyle.

By the time you stepped outside, the city lights were spinning, and the sidewalk didn’t feel quite steady beneath your feet.

“Hey,” a voice said, gentle but firm. “You good?”

You blinked up at William, dazed. “I think the tequila won.”

He smiled, just a little, and offered his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the apartment.”

You vaguely remembered leaning on him in the Uber. Him helping you out of your shoes. A glass of water pressed into your hands. William sitting beside you on the couch until you fell asleep.

When you woke up the next morning, head pounding and cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you found a glass of juice, two Advil on the coffee table, and a text message.

Don’t try to outdrink NHL players. We’re trained for this. —W

Your heart thudded for reasons that had nothing to do with the hangover.

From that day on, things between you shifted. Slowly, quietly, without ever being said out loud.

William became your best friend in Toronto—second only to Rasmus. Someone you could talk to about anything. The kind of friend who noticed when your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The one you could sit in total silence with and still feel seen.

You helped him through the ups and downs of his relationship, offered advice you pretended didn’t sting to give. You held back your feelings with both hands because friendship was better than nothing. And because you were scared that crossing that line might ruin everything.

You were good at ignoring the ache. At pretending.

But William?

William had always been harder to read.

And sometimes—just sometimes—you wondered if he was pretending, too.

Now, a few years later, things looked a little different.

Rasmus had been traded to Washington a couple of seasons ago. He’d adjusted quickly—new team, new city, new phase of his career—but you knew there was still a piece of him that missed Toronto. The friendships he’d built here, the sense of home. William.

You came with him this time. It was your tradition, sort of. When the Capitals played in Toronto, you flew in to support him. You weren’t staying long, just a long weekend, but it felt like coming back to something familiar.

Rasmus had warned you the Leafs were on a hot streak—“don’t get your hopes up,” he muttered as you zipped up your jacket before heading to Scotiabank Arena. And sure enough, the Leafs pulled off a win.

Still, it was a good night. You hugged your brother after the game, stole one of his hoodies like old times, and stood in the hallway near the players’ lounge catching up with William, who’d already loosened his tie and had that flushed, post-game glow.

“You staying for the Sens game tomorrow?” he asked, tipping his chin toward you as he leaned against the wall, still catching his breath from the ice.

“Thinking about it,” you replied, smiling. “Unless you think I’ll jinx you again.”

He grinned, eyes flicking over your face. “You can jinx me anytime you want.”

You blinked. He said it like a joke. He always said things like that like a joke.

Except tonight… it didn’t feel like one.

You ended up staying.

The next night, the Leafs lost to Ottawa in overtime. William was annoyed, not outwardly, but you could tell. He had that subtle edge to him—quieter, more withdrawn. Still, when someone suggested going out for a few drinks, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, glancing at you. “Let’s go.”

You weren’t even sure what felt different about the night—just that it was. The atmosphere was looser. Everyone seemed a little more grown-up, less reckless than they’d been in those early Toronto days.

You weren’t Rasmus’ teenage sister anymore, either.

You felt good tonight—comfortable in your skin, confident in a way you hadn’t always been around the team. Maybe that’s why you didn’t think twice when someone from the Senators’ roster slid into your space by the bar.

He was charming at first. Too charming. Smiling a little too wide, talking a little too close. You tried to laugh it off. To shift away. To politely decline.

But he didn’t take the hint.

“You sure about that?” he said, tilting his head. “Because I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“I haven’t been looking at you,” you said calmly. “And I’ve already said no.”

“C’mon, just one drink—”

“Sorry,” a voice cut in, low and measured, “but my girl said no.”

You froze.

The tone was calm, sure, but it was laced with something unfamiliar—something sharp, protective, and entirely unshakable.

You turned toward the voice, pulse quickening.

William stood behind you, hands at his sides, posture relaxed in that effortlessly cool way he always carried himself. But his eyes—those were different. Steady. Cold. Focused entirely on the man standing a little too close to you.

The Senator—some third-line winger with a smug smirk—raised his brows, looking between you and William with amused detachment.

“Didn’t realise she was taken.”

William’s jaw flexed. “She is.” He didn’t blink. “By me.”

The guy gave a snort, clearly not taking any of it seriously, and backed off with a casual shrug, disappearing into the crowd with his drink and his ego intact.

But you stood there, frozen, as the weight of William’s words hung thick in the air between you.

My girl.

You blinked at him. “By you?”

William’s eyes softened when they met yours, but there was no trace of hesitation in them. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “By me.”

Your stomach flipped. It was like everything you’d tried to suppress—every late-night text, every subtle glance, every shoulder brush and shared silence—had suddenly broken through the surface.

“Is that… new?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the hum of music and laughter around you.

He gave you a small smile. The kind he only gave when it was just you and him and no one else watching. “I don’t think so.”

You stood there for a second, still rooted to the spot, processing the words. The way he said them so calmly, like it wasn’t something monumental. Like it hadn’t just shaken the foundation of everything you thought was settled between you.

You let out a slow breath. “So, what now?”

William glanced around the bar, then looked back at you, tucking one hand gently into the pocket of his jacket. “We could stay and pretend like nothing happened.”

You arched a brow. “You think I could actually do that?”

He smiled again, a little more mischievous this time. “Didn’t think so.”

You laughed—nervous, but real. Then, without another word, he reached for your hand. Not forcefully. Not dramatically. Just… casually. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

You let him.

You didn’t say anything as he laced his fingers through yours and gave a light tug, leading you through the bar. Past the crowd, past the flashing lights, past your brother, who—thankfully—hadn’t witnessed any of that.

The moment the door shut behind you, the cold night air hit your cheeks, sharp and sobering. But you didn’t feel unsteady. Not this time.

William stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, turning to face you.

His hand was still in yours.

“I didn’t plan on saying anything tonight,” he admitted, voice low, almost lost to the sounds of traffic in the distance. “But when I saw him not backing off…”

Your heart thudded. “You didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t like how he made you look,” William said, eyes searching yours. “Like you wanted to disappear. And I’ve never seen you look like that.”

You swallowed hard. “And calling me your girl…?”

“Felt right,” he said simply. “Did it feel wrong to you?”

“No,” you whispered.

And then he stepped closer. Not hesitating. Not unsure. He reached up, his knuckles brushing your cheek, his touch featherlight.

“I should’ve said something sooner.”

You leaned in without even realising you were doing it. “Yeah,” you murmured. “You should’ve.”

His lips twitched. “You mad?”

“I’ll let you make it up to me.”

William grinned. “Deal.”

Then he kissed you.

Soft at first. Like he didn’t want to spook you. Like he was making sure you had every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

You leaned into him, hands curling in his jacket, heart pounding as the kiss deepened—not desperate, but certain. Years of stolen glances and unsaid words finally blooming into something real.

When you broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, both of you a little breathless.

“Rasmus is going to lose his shit,” you said.

William chuckled. “He’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

He kissed your cheek. “Not even a little.”

You laughed, and he squeezed your hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

And as he led you down the sidewalk, the world suddenly felt a little quieter. A little steadier. Like you’d finally found your place.

Right next to him.

The condo was still and quiet when you walked in, save for the faint hum of the city outside the windows. William locked the door behind you, tossing his keys into the dish by the entrance with a soft clink.

Neither of you said much.

You slipped off your coat, your fingertips tingling with anticipation. He hung his up beside yours, then turned to face you—and for a second, neither of you moved.

It wasn’t awkward. It was charged.

Years of friendship, of toeing the line, of pretending—all of it—sat in the small space between your bodies, crackling like static.

William stepped toward you slowly, like he didn’t want to rush this. Like he already knew this moment was going to live in his memory for a long, long time.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice thick with emotion.

You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

That’s when you closed the distance, your hands finding the hem of his shirt as your mouth found his again—more sure, more urgent now. He responded instantly, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies met in the middle.

You could feel his heartbeat under your palms, fast and steady.

“Do you know,” you whispered between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted this?”

William pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Probably not as long as I have.”

You smiled, breathless, as he guided you through the living room toward the bedroom, pausing only to press his lips to yours again, and again—like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. Like he was making up for lost time.

The moment you stepped into his room, it felt natural. Familiar. Like you’d already been there a hundred times—but this time was different.

He helped you out of your sweater, fingers brushing lightly across your arms, his touch reverent. When you reached for the buttons on his shirt, he stilled your hands with his own.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “We don’t have to rush this. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You looked up at him, heart full. “I want to. With you.”

That was all he needed.

The rest of your clothes fell away slowly, not in a blur but in a sequence of soft, deliberate touches—every movement quiet, careful, like unwrapping something fragile. His mouth traced every inch of your skin like he was learning it from scratch, like he’d waited so long he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

There was no performance. No pressure.

Just warmth. Soft laughter between kisses. Foreheads pressed together. Gasps shared under tangled sheets and whispered promises exchanged with fingertips on bare skin.

At one point, William paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “You still good?” he murmured.

You nodded, whispering his name, and pulled him back in.

It wasn’t just sex.

It was a culmination. A release. A confession you’d both been too scared to voice until now. You moved in sync, every shift and sigh answering a question that had hung between you for years.

Afterward, you lay there with your head on his chest, his fingers drawing slow circles across your spine, the silence no longer heavy but full.

“Okay,” you said after a long stretch of quiet. “That was…”

He glanced down. “Yeah?”

You tilted your chin, meeting his gaze. “Really damn worth the wait.”

William grinned, kissed your forehead, and pulled you a little closer. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

The morning light filtered in through the curtains, soft and golden, warming the space between tangled sheets and quiet breathing. You stirred against the familiar rhythm of William’s chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, your limbs still lazily draped across his.

It was peaceful. Cosy. Your entire body was sore in the best way, and your mind floated somewhere between sleep and satisfaction.

William shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Mornin’,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You hummed, eyes still closed. “If this is a dream, I’m suing someone when I wake up.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “You’re very real. Trust me.”

You were just about to kiss him again—slow and soft, like it was the only thing that mattered—when the click of the front door echoed through the condo.

William froze. You blinked.

And then came his voice.

“Yo, Willy? You awake? I brought coffee.”

Your entire body locked up. William sat up like someone had electrocuted him.

“Shit.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “RAS?”

William jumped out of bed, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over his head in a panic. “He wasn’t supposed to come until eleven!”

You grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around yourself like a human burrito. “What do I do?! Where do I go?!”

William looked around the room, wild-eyed. “Uh—closet?”

You stared at him. “I’m not hiding in a closet like this is some bad high school rom-com.”

“Okay, then under the bed?!”

“WILLIAM.”

His eyes darted to the ensuite bathroom. “There. Just—just go in there and lock the door. I’ll distract him.”

You didn’t have time to argue. You grabbed your clothes off the floor, scampered into the bathroom, and softly closed the door just as Rasmus’ voice got louder.

“I swear to God, if you’re still asleep I’m leaving without you,” he called, his footsteps coming closer.

William cracked the bedroom door and stepped out, running a hand through his hair like he could somehow will himself to look casual.

“Hey, man.”

Rasmus frowned. “You just woke up? I texted you twenty minutes ago.”

William forced a yawn and leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah. Long night.”

You sat in the bathroom, clutching your shirt to your chest, trying not to breathe too loudly.

“Is someone here?” Rasmus asked suddenly, peering past William toward the bedroom.

“Nope,” William said way too fast. “Why would someone be here?”

“I heard something. Like… a door close.”

William shrugged. “Window. Wind. I dunno, man.”

There was a beat of silence. Then: “Wait. Is there a girl here?”

William cleared his throat. “Define ‘here.’”

“Oh my god. You do—you hooked up last night?”

You facepalmed.

“Well,” Rasmus continued with a smirk, “good for you, I guess. Wait—do I know her? Who is it? Someone from the bar?”

William looked like he was going to combust. “Dude, don’t worry about it.”

“I am worrying about it,” Rasmus said, crossing his arms. “This is my best friend. In my former apartment. I deserve details.”

Your phone vibrated in your hand with a text from William:

he’s not leaving. SOS. u ok in there??

You typed back with trembling thumbs.

I’m hiding in your damn bathroom with your hoodie and zero dignity.

“Okay, you’re being weird,” Rasmus said. “You’re always weird but now you’re avoidance weird. I’m going in there—”

William panicked. “NO!”

Rasmus froze. “Why not?”

“Because,” William said, his voice cracking slightly, “because I… spilt protein powder everywhere.”

There was a pause.

“William, what the hell is going on—”

The bathroom door opened slowly.

You stepped out in his hoodie, makeup smudged from sleep, bare legs and messy hair giving away everything. You weren’t even sure why you did it. Maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness of hiding like a teenager, or maybe it was the look on William’s face—cornered, panicked, helpless.

Either way, it was too late to turn back now.

Rasmus blinked. His eyes dropped to the hoodie. Then to your face. Then to William.

The silence was deafening.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL F—”

“Okay, okay!” William practically launched himself between you and Rasmus like a human shield. “Just—let’s all take a deep breath.”

“You’ve gotta be joking,” Rasmus said, eyes wide, voice rising. “YOU AND HER? IN YOUR BEDROOM?”

“I mean,” you said weakly, “it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been in his apartment—”

“Not helping,” William muttered.

“How long has this been going on?!” Rasmus demanded, hands flailing. “What happened to bro code? What happened to boundaries? And you—” he pointed at you, “—you’re supposed to tell me when you’re secretly hooking up with my best friend!”

“I wasn’t aware we were scheduling announcements,” you said flatly.

“I lived with you,” Rasmus said to William, still spiralling. “I trusted you. I defended you. I told people you were like a brother!”

William winced. “To be fair, this is kind of your fault. You introduced us.”

“I’m going to pass out.”

“Okay,” William said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Deep breaths. Remember the skating plan? You love skating.”

“You love ruining my life!”

William turned to you quickly, voice low. “I’m gonna get him out of here before he actually combusts. Stay. Chill. I’ll text you.”

You nodded, trying not to laugh as Rasmus muttered what sounded like Swedish curses under his breath and slapped William’s arm away.

“Touch me again and I swear to God I’ll throw your skates in the lake.”

“I love you too, man.”

Within a minute, the front door closed behind them, and the condo fell blissfully silent.

You let out the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

Your phone buzzed with a message from William.

okay that could’ve gone worse 😅 take your time. shower’s yours. spare key is in the drawer by the sink—just lock up behind you. also, I’m in love with you, in case that wasn’t obvious. ❤️

You smiled, warmth blooming through your chest as you set your phone down and padded toward the bathroom.

Despite everything—despite your brother very nearly imploding this morning—it still felt like the best possible kind of disaster.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t change a thing.

It wasn’t until halfway through their friendly skate at the outdoor rink that the other guys started noticing it.

“Okay,” Calle Järnkrok said, gliding up beside Rasmus with his stick resting lazily on his shoulder. “What’s up with you and Willy? Did he forget your birthday or chirp your flow or something?”

Rasmus didn’t look up from retying his skates, jaw clenched like he was one wrong word away from snapping his stick in half.

“Nothing.”

Calle raised a brow. “You sure? ’Cause you’re staring at him like he borrowed your car and returned it without the brakes.”

“He didn’t borrow my car.”

“But he did something?”

Rasmus let out a long, frustrated sigh. “He’s just… being William.”

Calle smirked. “Did ‘being William’ include sleeping with your sister?”

Rasmus choked mid-breath.

“How do you know?!”

Calle laughed. “Bro. You stormed out of his apartment this morning like it was on fire, and he’s been walking around grinning like he just scored the game-winner at the Olympics. Everyone knows.”

Rasmus muttered something in Swedish that Calle wisely chose not to respond to, and skated off with enough force to spray snow halfway down the rink.

You were the last to arrive at dinner.

The group had gathered at your favourite cozy restaurant in Toronto, a mix of Leafs, Caps, and a handful of mutual friends. You spotted Rasmus immediately—arms folded, expression grim, sipping a beer like it personally wronged him—and William beside him, visibly trying not to smirk.

You slid into the seat across from them, offering your brother a cautious smile.

“Hey.”

Rasmus gave you a stiff nod. “Hi.”

A heavy pause settled over the table.

“I like your hoodie,” you added lightly.

“It’s his hoodie,” Rasmus muttered, eyes narrowing at William. “I know it’s his hoodie.”

Calle, seated beside him, let out a bark of laughter. “God, this is better than Netflix.”

Dinner continued mostly without incident—mostly. The food was great, the wine even better, and the table was loud with stories and laughter… all except for Rasmus, who hadn’t smiled once.

When dessert arrived, he set down his fork and cleared his throat.

Everyone quieted instantly.

He looked between you and William, jaw tight, clearly running through whatever speech he’d practiced in his head a dozen times since that morning.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, voice serious. “And I’ve come to a conclusion.”

William shifted in his seat. You sat a little straighter.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“I hate it.”

“Ras—”

“No, let me finish,” he cut in, raising a hand. “I hate that I walked into my best friend’s place and found my baby sister creeping out of his bedroom. I hate that I had to process all of that before I’d even had my first coffee. And I hate that you made me experience every protective older brother cliché in one single, horrific morning.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling.

Then Rasmus turned to William, and the mood shifted ever so slightly.

“But,” he said, quieter now, “I also know you. And I know you care about the people in your life more than most guys in this league. And I know you’d never hurt her.”

William met his eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

“And if you do,” Rasmus added, deadly serious, “I will personally bodycheck you into next season.”

William nodded solemnly. “Fair.”

You blinked. “Wait… is that your way of giving us your blessing?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

“I implied nothing.”

“You implied everything,” Calle said, grinning into his drink. “We all heard it.”

Rasmus rolled his eyes and picked up his beer again. “Whatever. Just don’t make me witness any PDA or I swear I’ll eat dinner in the kitchen.”

You grinned, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to William’s cheek.

Rasmus dropped his fork like it physically pained him. “You’re both dead to me.”

The table erupted with laughter.

But later—when the noise had softened into background chatter, and everyone was leaning back full and happy—you caught your brother watching you and William with something that wasn’t quite a glare.

It was quieter than that. A little weary. A little soft.

Like a surrender.

Like trust.

The kind that only comes from someone who loves you both.

And that was more than enough.

#my asks #wn88 imagine #william nylander imagine #william nylander x reader #toronto maple leafs imagine #rasmus sandin imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

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nn-ee-zz · 1 year ago

Note

I don’t really have a lot to ask I just want to say I love your art style! It kind of reminds me of like Eldritch Horror meets Celestial Divinity type of thing so with that said I was wondering on how you came to this type of art style you do and how long did it take you to experiment until you found the style that you wanted? Sorry if that sounds kinda confusing 😅 thanks for taking the time to read this and have a good rest of your day!

Thank you! I did not found my artstyle, my artstyle found me. Here is a timeline of my digital art/illustration journey

2014 - The beginning

I finally took my tablet and bit the bullet that was digital art. I remember specifically forcing myself to draw (because it was not fun) because I wanted to learn digital art no matter what it took.

2016 - Experimental

Boldness seems to have dominated this phase, not because of the themes but because I rendered without any under sketch (example above of how the first draft looked like vs the end)

2017 - The breakthrough

It was only from here that digital art began feeling RIGHT. The most important things I've learned were how to render texture variation (especially softer things like hair and fur) and how to color a drawing from greyscale. I was slowly settling onto my desired artstyle

2019 - Happy accident

We were tasked to design characters based on chess pieces during college. 1 week deadline. With the mindset that no one will see my designs except my teacher and I, I did things boldly and rendered them (trad ink plus digital shading) to emphasize shape and design, rather than texture variation.

I began mixing traditional lineart with digital rendering.

2020 - Fallen from heaven

My friend and I decided to attempt to design angels based on widely popular tumblr emoji mashups. It was the first time I colored one of my character design drawings, using similar methods to the ones I've learned in 2017.

2017 - 2024

I cannot name nor describe my artstyle nowadays. I haven't seen many people with something similar either. I use what I've learned in all my phases; the spontaneous boldness of 2016, the texture variation of 2017, the sharp shapes and design mindset of 2019, the mix of traditional and digital from 2020. It all melted together and keeps evolving.

The way I approached art changed too. I was so worried about making things beautiful and technically outstanding when today I only worry about making things interesting and readable.

#art ask #long post #digital art #art timeline #art progress

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puck-luck · 1 year ago

Text

wedding crashers | jack hughes

warnings: semi public sex, pining on jack's side, older!reader (jack is 22, she is 26), unprotected p in v (always... do as i do not as i say, wrap it when you tap it), fingering, dirty talk, insinuation of oral (m & f receiving) pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes and a slightly older reader (like idk 3 years older maybe), i feel like he’s so sassy and cocky that he would go nuts if he was able to get an older girl hahaha, maybe it could be like a challenge type situation where they were bantering over whether he’d be any good in bed bc he’s “just a baby” or something so he has something to prove.. 🫣" wc: 4167

You’d first met Jack Hughes in 2015. You were at one of the USA Developmental games with Matthew, your best friend at the time, watching his brother play for the last time that year. Since it was Christmas just recently, this was the only time you’d get to see Matthew until who knew when. Even though it involved hockey, which always stole Matthew’s attention from you, you decided to join him anyway. It was Matthew that introduced you to the Hughes family, after you had commented on Quinn’s performance.

Jack was a goof from the get-go. He was fourteen when you met, so all of his attempts to flirt with you went nowhere. Well, they made it to the front seat of Matthew’s car, where you laughed about the younger boy’s boldness. He was a sweet boy, and cute in a way that made you want to pinch his cheeks, and you were able to watch him grow up and come into himself.

Your friendship with Matthew had dwindled since he was drafted in 2016, but you were still close enough with his family to be invited to Brady’s wedding. It was there that Jack cornered you, hitting on you for the umpteenth time. Now, he was 22 years old, overconfident and cocky due to years of praise from not only his coaches and peers, but from every pretty girl that fell into his company. You were 26, mature and happy with the life you had made for yourself.

Jack had never stopped chasing you, though it wasn’t an overbearing and constant chase. He was sure that he would conquer you someday, having never forgotten the way he rubbed himself raw after he had first met you and you had smiled in his direction. What can he say– he was fourteen and a pretty girl, an older girl had smiled at him.

And, pleasantly tipsy, Jack had decided that today was that day.

He tore himself away from Luke, having delivered a new drink to his underage brother, and made his way to you. You were sitting with one of Brady and Matthew’s relatives, making small talk over a glass of white wine. Your legs were crossed in a way that Jack could only describe as dainty, your nails painted a pretty blush color that matched your dress. Jack licked his bottom lip when an image of your hand around his cock, with those painted nails contrasting the color of his member, flashed through his mind.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack said, not really feeling sorry at all. He turned to you. “I was wondering if you’d join me for a dance.”

You smiled and shook your head slightly, a small laugh falling from your lips. “Sure, Jack.” To the Tkachuk relative, you excused yourself, standing to take Jack’s extended hand. You took a sip from your wine glass, polishing off the drink.

Jack truly couldn’t have chosen a better moment to ask you to dance, as a new song began and decided for you, due to its pace, that the two of you would engage in a waltz of sorts. Jack wasn’t much of a dancer, but he was able to box step in time with the music and lead you through the dance.

You had given Jack a knowing look when his hand found its way to the small of your back, threatening to dip dangerously onto the curve of your ass. Your hand rested on his shoulder, the other in his hand, held close to your bodies.

Jack pulled you close to him, mere inches between your bodies. You laughed again, your head dipping to fall on his shoulder for a split second.

“What?” Jack asked as you flicked your hair from your eyes with a slight tilt of your head. “You’re supposed to be close when you dance.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, Jack.” Your voice was light, almost sing-songy. “Your intentions are nothing if not innocent, isn’t that right?”

“I just want to dance,” Jack deflected, but the smile on his face told you everything you needed to know. His eyes were shining, both from the drinks he had consumed and the charged energy between your bodies.

You raised your eyebrows and pursed your lips, trying to suppress a smile as you and Jack continued to stare at each other. You broke first, looking away and shaking your head.

“What?” Jack said. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, I’m hurt by that.” Jack pouted, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that caught your attention. It was plush and pink and just a little cracked from sun exposure. You knew Jack had spent the beginning of the summer out on the lake, and his skin reflected that– both tan and sunkissed at once.

Though you hated to admit it, Jack had grown up to be very attractive. He glowed, especially in the summer, especially when he had a few drinks in his system and he had grown a little more brash and a little more bold.

“Poor Jacky,” You teased. You tilted your head down and blinked up at him through your lashes, saying in a baby-voice: “I hurt the little baby’s feelings?”

“You did,” Jack agreed, his pout just becoming more exaggerated. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

Your whole body moved with your laugh this time. “I suppose you’re about to ask me to kiss it better.”

“Well, I was hoping for more than just a kiss,” Jack said, chuckling at your laughter. He licked his bottom lip before biting it in a cheeky smile, the apples of his cheeks prominent and pink. His teeth were a sharp white contrast to the red dusting across his cheeks, but you found yourself growing fond of that shameless smile the more you saw it.

“Jack, you’re a baby,” You laughed. “In the real world, you’d have just graduated college. I know things are different because you’re a big, famous hockey player and you’ve been doing this job for years, but the fact of the matter is that you’re just too young for me.”

Jack was unscathed by your rejection, just like he always was. He didn’t even mind that your tone was borderline condescending, like you were talking to a five year old instead of a grown adult.

“Plus, Jacky–” You smiled, itching to hammer the final nail in this coffin. “You can’t handle a grown woman.”

His eyes grew dark at that. “I can handle a grown woman,” He stated, voice definite.

You threw your head back, not quite laughing, but not quite rolling your eyes in exasperation either.

Jack’s hand left yours and found your jaw in a flash, bringing your face back to his. “I can handle a grown woman,” He repeated. His gaze flickered down to your lips. “Let me prove it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes flickering down to his lips to match his motions. “In your dreams,” You denied, bringing your hand to his chest to put some distance between you.

Jack didn’t allow it. If anything, he pulled you closer. He pressed his hips into yours, took your hand off his chest and resumed its original dancing position. He tugged you tight to him, tight enough that you were looking over his shoulder and his mouth hovered right next to your ear.

“I’d be so good to you,” Jack whispered. Your eyes flickered around the room, but no one seemed perturbed by yours and Jack’s positioning. “I’ve had a long time to think about this, Y/N. Let me tell you what I’d do, what I have done in my dreams.”

You didn’t say anything, but the fingertips of the hand on his shoulder found the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck and stayed there.

“I always start by kissing you. Always. I’d start slow– just feeling how these pretty pink lips feel against mine. I’d wait for you to loosen up, to open your mouth and invite me in for more. I’m going to keep going slow, but I’m going to slide my tongue into your mouth and kiss you until I’ve figured out just what you taste like. Today, you’ll taste like your white wine at first, but I’m going to kiss you until I’ve deciphered your taste, Y/N.”

Jack moved his hand to your waist and squeezed gently.

“I’d start with my hands here, but I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’ll start moving, feeling every inch of you. There’s not a part of your body where my fingerprints won’t be found. You won’t know what to focus on– when one of my hands is tangled up in your hair, the other one is going to squeeze your ass and really feel it out because I’ve been thinking about it for so long. And all the while, darling, I’ll be kissing you and stealing the breath from your lungs.”

You gasped at that, shifting closer to Jack. He smiled, knowing that he was closing in on the moment that he’d been wanting for the past eight years. His hand moved to the curve of your ass and you’re nearly helpless with it, or just unwilling to chide him for venturing that far. Jack made eye contact with Quinn over your shoulder and smirked, showing his teeth in a cheshire way.

He spoke again. “But then I’d bring my fingers down, won’t I? I’ve made you breathless, I’ve made you moan, I’ve got you begging for more– something you thought you’d never do. Yet here we are, and you’re always dripping for me.”

By the end of his sentence, Jack’s voice was barely audible. You were straining to hear him, and his mouth was right next to your ear. You felt a bit breathless already, strung together by terrible stitching. Your resolve snapped when you felt his lips close around your earlobe, his teeth tugging at your skin gently.

You jumped away from him like you’d been electrocuted by his touch. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving.

Jack fared no better, standing in the same spot. You watch his chest rise and fall, the little bit of his skin you can see between his unbuttoned white shirt glistening. His mouth was slightly open, ready to whisper something else dirty in your ear.

You looked him up and down like you couldn’t decide where to focus, like you were fulfilling a prophecy where Jack made you fumble where you once stood so sure.

In a second, you made your decision. You needed to see how this would end, needed to feel it for yourself.

You grabbed Jack’s hand and dragged him out of the reception hall, down the winding hallways until you’ve deemed that you’re far enough away from the party that no one would be able to find you if they came looking.

You shoved Jack into a closet– a closet, you thought to yourself, wanting to laugh at the absurdity. When you closed the door behind you and turned to find Jack’s eyes, he was waiting with a stoney face, not letting any of his emotions show. You’d have killed to know what he was thinking.

All you could do was nod, mouth opening and closing a few times, but never finding words.

Jack tilted his head, his eyes flashing in the darkness.

“Please,” is the single word that ended up breaking the silence between you.

Jack’s lips were on yours in the blink of an eye. His hands cradled your face and his kiss was insistent, bruising. He was slow, sure, but he was emphatic, unyielding. The kiss reflected the eight years of waiting that had passed before he got this chance.

His hand pulled one of your legs up onto his hip before it circled around you to knead the skin of your ass. Your dress, already short because Brady and Emma had planned for a wedding in the dead of summer, rode up until your behind was barely covered.

All the more for Jack to hold onto as his tongue made its way into your mouth.

You continued to kiss, breaking apart only to take a breath and recover, unbuttoning the rest of Jack’s shirt and pushing it down his arms. Your hands roamed his torso, feeling every muscle that Jack had worked so hard to build.

Jack’s mouth traveled south, sucking along the skin of your neck. He bent down, both of his hands finding your thighs and lifting you. You wrapped your legs around him and ground down against him, finally getting some relieving friction from the sizable bulge that was pressing against his zipper. Jack moaned out loud, gasping at your movements.

“What next?” You asked, grinding down again.

“What?” Jack replied, lost in the moment. His eyes met yours and they seemed cloudy, swirling with lust.

“After you, shit, after you touch me–” Your head tipped back as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. “What do you do next, in your dreams?”

It took a minute to register for Jack, too caught up in the feeling of your pussy against his cock, even if there were multiple layers separating you.

“I touch you,” Jack said, the obvious next action. “I don’t do anything, I just touch you. I use two fingers and I find every spot that makes you react. Once I’ve got you figured out, I–”

You cut him off. “Do it,” You told him. Your head felt light, almost dizzy, and you nodded like a bobblehead. “Do it.”

Jack let out a pathetic, wanton whimper at your command and walked forward until you were pressed against the wall. He shifted you over to that you were held up by his thigh and he brought one hand down to your panties.

He felt over the skimpy fabric, which was barely doing anything anymore. It was soaked, darkened with your slick, and briefly, Jack thought to take it off of you and pocket it to bring home as a souvenir. How dirty you would feel going back out to the reception… the thought of it nearly made Jack’s knees buckle. It would be a constant reminder that he’d won, that he’d managed to fuck you and satisfy you after thinking about it for so long.

He allowed his fingers to wander up and down the expanse of your pussy, cataloging how you whined when he rubbed over your swollen clit and how you clenched down when he pushed at your entrance through the fabric covering it. He noticed how your stomach tensed as he teased his way across your lips, running his finger over each curve and ridge.

As if inspired by something divine, Jack pulled your panties taut, making them ride up into your cunt and provide some gratifying friction when you next ground down on his hand. Jack watched, eyes wide, as you chased your own pleasure. His hand was the catalyst and you were moving mindlessly, like he had already plucked every thought from your head and replaced it with desire for him.

“Fuck,” Jack choked out, feeling a spark zip up his spine. “Y/N.”

He said your name with such reverence, and flexed his hand against you like an offering.

“Fuck me,” You said. Your hands found Jack’s hair and you pressed your lips to his. “Jack. I need you to fuck me. I need you inside me, I can’t– oh, need you to make me come. Baby, I’m so close already, I need you.”

Jack’s cock was throbbing like he might burst from the slightest breeze. There it was again– “Baby.” It didn’t mean the same thing now, Jack knew it was more of a term of endearment than an insult, but it lit a fire under him nonetheless. He was going to prove to you that he wasn’t a baby, that he was a man and in this moment, you were his. He was going to fuck you hard, like you’d never imagined he was able to do. He was going to make your legs shake, make it so you couldn’t walk or do anything but sit prettily at your table and sip on another glass of wine to cool you off.

He was going to make it so that the next time he saw you, you’d be begging him to make you come again.

Jack let your feet find the floor again, stepping back just far enough to get his hands on his belt. “Strip,” Jack commanded. “I want to see you.” At the same time, he unbuckled his belt and worked to remove his dress pants. He kicked them away, in a crumpled little pile near his dress shirt. His underwear joined shortly after.

You hurried to remove your dress, eyes locked in on Jack’s cock. It was a burning red at the tip, wet and straining. It stood away from his body, solid and you swore you might’ve just felt some drool pool at the corner of your mouth.

His hand fisted his cock, eyes lasered in on your protruding nipples when you dropped your dress to reveal your body.

Jack sighed, stroking himself slowly to keep himself at bay. “You’re better than I dreamed,” He said, causing you to blush.

“Jack,” You whined, aching for him to come closer, to slide inside you.

“Let me.” Jack stepped forward and got to his knees, gently bringing your panties down and helping you out of them. He dropped a kiss on your clit before standing again.

You brought an arm around his neck, your other hand placed solidly on his chest. You could feel his pulse racing wildly beneath your palm and you suddenly remembered that he’d been waiting to do this for years.

“Come on, Jacky,” You voiced. “Prove yourself.”

It was a weak command, a weak insistence, barely any indicator of sureness in your voice now. Jack had turned you inside-out, made you question everything because you never imagined you’d need him the way you do now.

He practically growled and you could feel it rumble in his chest. He captured your lips with his, nibbling on your bottom lip before filling your mouth with his tongue. It was slippery and wet and it felt like magic.

Jack pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, feeling the head slide in. He stopped there for a minute, breathing deeply into your mouth to ground himself. He couldn’t disappoint you, wouldn’t dare shoot off early and cut short the night that he’d been fantasizing about since he was a teenager.

“So good,” You breathed out, feeding the words to Jack. He dipped his head and inched further into you, moving slowly until your pelvis connected with his.

“Fuck,” Jack whimpered out.

His thrusts started shallow. Jack felt like you were constricting him, squeezing him like a snake in a cartoon. His voice was caught in his throat like an ugly lump and the only noises that could force their way past it were groans and “uh”s that borderline on squeaky. He didn’t care about the noises, he didn’t care that he could be embarrassing himself in front of the girl he’s wanted for so long.

It didn’t matter to you, either– you were too caught up in the feeling of Jack’s cock sheathed inside of you. He was pressing against your most intimate spots and you could feel him throbbing inside of you, dragging delectably along your walls.

His thrusts grew deeper, became longer, harder. Jack’s hair fell into his eyes and you brushed it away. His eyes met yours and the air between you felt thick and charged. You brought your hand to Jack’s jaw and leaned forward, connecting your lips.

This kiss was different. It was soft, intimate. Your tongues slid against each other, licking into each others’ mouths and swallowing each others’ groans and whimpers. You forgot for a few minutes that you were in a closet at the wedding of a man you’d known since you were children, fucking a man that you swore you’d never touch because he’s too young.

That man was quickly proving that he’s one of the best fucks in your whole life.

Here he was, mouthing against your neck after moving away from your lips. He was making these desperate noises, thrusting into you like he’s taking a chance at something he’ll never have again. At the beginning of this night, you might have agreed that he’d never get another chance. Now, you can’t help but look forward to the next time you see him, when you’ll get your mouth on his thick, skillful cock.

You told him such, and Jack fucked you harder as a result. His hands clutched at your waist, fingertips destined to leave bruises.

His cock entering and leaving you caused the closet to fill with wet noises and the sound of the slapping of skin. That, paired with Jack’s pants and whines, pushed you further to the edge. Your climax wound up inside you, tense and heavy in your gut.

“Jack,” You said, voice pleading. “I’m close.”

A moan was ripped from Jack’s chest, sweat beading at his hairline. The look in his eyes was almost animalistic, capturing you in his gaze like you’re the only being that exists in the world.

“Please,” Jack panted out. “Come on my cock.”

The winding coil of your climax unravels as Jack continues to thrust his length into you, drawing himself almost completely out of you and then forcing his cock back into your cunt. Your release leaked down his shaft, coating him completely.

The vice grip of your pussy on his cock made Jack hesitate, made him stutter. He still didn’t want to shoot off, he didn’t want to fill you up with his come, because that meant that this would be over. His dream, journey, his conquest would be complete, and he’d have to find something else to lust after.

He knew in his heart that he was still just Jack, just a younger hockey guy who you’d known when he was pimply and stick-like, one who could never fit into your life the way he wished he could.

He’d almost rather torture himself, deny himself from his release, than have this end.

But end it must, and it ended with a breathy whisper of his name.

“Jack,” You mewled, twitching in oversensitivity.

“Oh,” He groaned as his cock jumped inside you, your walls milking him for everything he has. His eyelashes fluttered as you seemed suddenly re-energized, fucking yourself on his cock as he came inside you. It was like his come brought you to life, something too powerful and symbolic for him, and Jack closed his eyes at the thought.

You came down together, eyes finding each other intermittently in the darkness, only when the other wasn’t looking. Your breaths synched, unknowingly, as you dressed yourselves. You were close enough that your elbows could bump as you pulled your clothes on, but both of you were too conscious of the tension to let it happen.

You finished dressing yourself first and you looked over to Jack, feeling something close to awe as he buttoned his shirt and left some skin exposed. You were drawn to it, wanting to reach out and reveal the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, the ridge of his waist again and get your mouth on him, but you couldn’t move.

The tension felt like molasses, thick and heavy. Jack’s eyes met yours and you knew that the emotion in his eyes reflected your own: that you knew everything had changed and you didn’t know if it was for the better or for the worse.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head. You made your way into his space, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a sweet, short kiss. You pressed something soft into his hands, then turned and left the closet, leaving Jack alone in the dark.

He didn’t know how you knew, but you had handed him your ruined panties. He slipped them into the pocket of his pants, mentally noting to find his suit jacket and move the panties to the inside pocket of that garment.

When he saw you again at the reception, almost a half an hour later, you were sipping a new glass of wine. Jack made eye contact with you over the glass and patted his pocket, the small lump of your panties still visible to those who looked closely, and he grinned to himself when he saw you blush.

He’d text you later that night, having bummed your number off of Brady years ago but never used it until now. It was a simple message, teasing and confident, bold like you had come to expect from Jack:

“lmk when u want to see what i can do w my tongue ;)”

note: this might just be my magnum opus. this is my favorite thing that i've written in ages. i had toooo much fun with this. ...will write a part 2 when jack DOES show her what he can do with his tongue... maybe paired with another recent request i got about jack's current injury and what he is or is not able to do with his shoulder.

P.S. I'm not married to the title of this. It was kind of just something I threw out there. They do not crash a wedding. Although their behavior is certainly dramatic & would disrupt the wedding.

#puck-luck's fics #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jh86 #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #andy writes anything🍄

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ifyouencounterwolf · 24 days ago

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Recent Commissions of my OC Carnelian and the Slayer, by recent I mean half a month ago;

Art by @teamapppp and thank you!!!!!!!!!!

Please like and support the artist who's very proud of her work.

Details:

(Not Exactly intended) I don't really like the helmet spikes when I first saw it, think it's just another thing to explain why the praetor suit variations don't have those so I asked the artist to not include it in the first draft. Then I got used to it but it's just cumbersome to change by the point.

Instead of the mohawk spike we added the wolf collar on him, the spiked collar used to protect sheepdogs against predators like wolves.

He has Davoth's eyes. Always find it an extremely interesting concept how they mirrored each other, two sides of the same coin, people who lost everything they once held dear yet only one chose the path of corruption. Yet the Slayer could not deny that part of himself where he was at his lowest, where he enjoys the bloodbath and rancour he caused. His soul was already bound to Hell (because of the part of him that's Davoth). When he dies, he is summoned back with a demonic ritual. I would imagine one Hell of an identity crisis after that.

The curse of Hell in his palm. The ones we saw at the beginning of DOOM 2016 and presumably the ones that bound him to the sarcophagus.

Quote is the closing sentence of the Sentinel history Ligra Sultagenta.

And of course, the silver ear piercing matches Carnelian's. It was a gift so he has something that belongs to him and it was made of argenta silver, a proof - a better proof he is one of them now. Space VikingsSentinel People care a great deal about accessories, they will sometimes wear the ornaments of their deceased friends and loved ones in memorial.

Details:

TDA Sentinel Guard armor looked really cool and mech-like.

Sentinel marking on Carnelian's chest plate.

The base of his spear-sword, design inspired by Elemental Wraith.

Tattoos on his shoulder and nape are the wraith eye symbol and the Vegvisir.

The white wolf breaking away from its corrupted kins is inspired by this painting:

Source

Quote is from Isaiah 57:1-2. Because death is better than seeing the destruction and corruption of his home world.

#doom #doom the dark ages #doomguy #doom slayer #night sentinels #night sentinel #night sentinel carnelian #oc x canon #ref: the slayer #ref: carnelian #teamapppp #art log #headcanons #ref: argent d'nur

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physalian · 1 year ago

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What No One Tells you about Writing #3

Opening this up to writing as a whole, because it turns out I have a lot more to say!

Part 1

Part 2

1. You don’t fall in love with your characters immediately

But when you do, it’s a hit of serotonin like no other. I’d been writing a tight cast of characters for my sci-fi series since 2016 and switched over in a bout of writer’s block this year to my new fantasy book. I made it about ⅓ through writing the book going through the motions, unable to visualize what these new characters look like, sound like, or would behave like without a ‘camera’ on them.

Then, all of a sudden, I opened my document to keep on chugging with the first draft, and it clicked. They were no longer faceless elements of my plot, they were my characters and I was excited to see what they could accomplish, rooting for them to succeed. Sometimes, it takes a while, but it does come.

2. Sometimes a smaller edit is better than a massive rewrite

Unless you’re changing the trajectory of your entire plot, or a character’s arc really is unrecoverable, sometimes even a single line of dialogue, a single paragraph of introspection, or a quick exchange between two characters can change everything. If something isn’t working, or your beta readers consistently aren’t jiving with a character you yourself love, try taking a step back, looking at who they are as a person, and boil down what your feedback is telling you and it might demand a simpler fix than you expect.

Tiny details inserted at the right moment can move mountains. Fan theories stand on the backs of these minutiae. One sentence can turn a platonic relationship romantic. One sentence can unravel a fair and just argument. One sentence can fill or open a massive plot hole.

3. Outline? What outline?

Not every book demands weeks upon weeks of prep and worldbuilding. I would argue that jumping right in with only a vague direction in mind gives you a massive advantage: You can’t infodump research you haven’t done. Exposition is forced to come as the plot demands it, because you haven’t designed it yet.

Not every story is simple and straightforward, but even penning the first draft with your vague plan, *then* going back and adding in deeper worldbuilding elements, more thematic details, richer character development, can get you over the writer’s block hurdle and make it far less intimidating to just shut up and write the book.

4. It’s okay to let your characters take the wheel

I’ve seen writing advice that chastises authors who let their characters run wild, off the plan the story has for them. Yeah, doing this can harm your pacing and muddy a strong and consistent arc, but refusing to leave the box of your outline greatly limits your creativity. I do this particularly when writing romantic relationships (and end up like Captain Crunch going Oops! All Gays!).

Did I plan for these two to get together? No, it just happened organically as I wrote them talking, getting closer, getting to know each other better in the circumstances they find themselves in. Was this character meant to be gay? Well, he wasn’t meant to be straight, but you know what, he’d work really well with this other boy over here. None of that would have happened if I was bound and determined to follow my original plan, because my original plan didn’t account for how the story that I want to tell evolves. You aren’t clairvoyant—it’s okay if it didn’t end up where you thought it would.

5. Fight. Scenes. Suck.

Which is crazy because I love fantasy and sci-fi, the actiony-est genres. Some authors love battle scenes and fistfights. It comes naturally to them and I will forever be jealous. I hate fight scenes. I hate blocking and choreographing them. I hate how it doesn’t read like I’m watching a movie. I hate how it could take me hours to write a scene I can read in 5 minutes. I hate that there’s no way around it except to just not write them, or put in the elbow grease and practice.

Whatever your writing kryptonite is, don’t be too hard on yourself. It won’t ever replicate the movie in your head, but our audience isn’t privy to that movie and will be none the wiser of how this didn’t fit your expectations, because it’s probably awesome on its own. It could be a fight scene, sex scene, epic battle, cavalry charge, courtroom argument, car chase—whatever. Be patient, and kind to yourself and it will all come together.

6. Write the scenes you want to write first

And then be prepared to never use them. It can be mighty difficult working backwards from a climax and figuring out how to write the story around it, but if you’re sitting at your laptop staring at your cursor and watching it blink, stuck on a tedious moment that’s necessary but frustrating, go write something exciting. Even if that amazing scene ends up no longer working in the book your story becomes, you still get practice by writing it. Particularly if you hate beginnings or the pressure of a perfect first page is too high, you’re allowed to write any other moment in the book first.

And with that, be prepared to kill your darlings. Not your characters, I mean that one badass line of dialogue living rent free in your head. That epic monologue. That whump scenario for your favorite character. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out anymore, but even if it ends up in the trash, you can always salvage something from it, even if that’s only the knowledge of what not to do in the future.

7. “This is clearly an author insert.” … Yes. It is. Point?

No one likes Mary Sues, because a character who doesn’t struggle or learn to get everything they want in life is uncompelling. The most flagrant author inserts I see aren’t Mary Sues, they’re nerdy, awkward, boring white guys whose world changes to fit their perspective, instead of the other way around—they don’t have anything to say. I’m not the intended audience to relate to these characters and I accept that, but I don’t empathize with the so-called “strong female character” who also doesn’t have flaws or an arc either.

A good author insert? When the author gives their characters pieces of themselves. When the “author insert” struggles and learns and grows and it’s a therapeutic experience just writing these characters thrown into such horrible situations. They feel human when they’re given pieces of a human’s soul. They have real human flaws and idiosyncrasies. I don’t care if the author wrote themselves as the protagonist. I care that this protagonist is entertaining. So if you want to make yourself the hero of your book, go for it! But make sure you look in the mirror and write in your flaws, as much as your strengths.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #scifi #what no one tells you about writing

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