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wyattjohnston · 8 months

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never said a thing - pierre luc dubois

summary: everyone knows that luc wants a trade... you're just the only person he hasn't told directly.

word count: 2,667

main character: gender neutral reader

note: this is a very very late pinch hitter fic for @pcttymcrlecu as part of the summer fic exchange 2k23. thank you for your patience!

i had to fudge the timeline because i didn't realise luc's trade request happened post-season. i really feel like it happened before the trade deadline

You’d known about Luc’s trade requests before you met him—the entire city of Winnipeg, the province of Manitoba and the entire NHL fan base knew. It was inescapable, just like it had been when he was moved to Winnipeg after requesting a trade out of Columbus.

You were happier about the first one, less so about the second and that only got worse as time went on and the official third one came.

Meeting Luc wasn’t anything you’d planned but had still taken longer than you’d expected it to. Winnipeg wasn’t small, though it certainly wasn’t the largest city, and everyone seemingly had some sort of connection to the Jets—even if it was a Six Degrees of Mark Scheifele sort of deal.

A friend of a friend knew where the younger Jets players liked to spend their free time, as if that wasn’t widely known by everyone in their 20s anyway, and you found yourself in the same bar as Luc, Logan and Jansen.

You found yourself at Luc’s house a lot after that.

Nobody seemed to mind the weird, nebulous state of your relationship—situationship is probably the best word to describe everything that you were. It hadn’t mattered, not really, that you showed up at Luc’s house at the first text with little care for the time he sent his you up? text because he was always just as quick to show up when you sent him a photo of your empty bed without any words to accompany it.

It was always You and Luc, even though there was no You and Luc.

The trade request rumours go unmentioned in the time you spend together—the first alleged request being negated by a one-year contract and the second, the most recent, never coming up. You couldn’t forget them, though. You caught yourself looking at Luc when his back was turned, hoping you could will him to talk to you. Hoping he would explain the request. Hoping he would tell you directly.

Time passed, though, without any mention from Luc that he no longer wanted to be in Winnipeg. Without any mention that whatever You and Luc were had an expiration date.

The Jets lost four games in a row, ending their season in the first round of the playoffs. It hurt because they’re your team—a crushing disappointment especially after winning the first game so soundly and taking game 3 to second overtime—and you watched every game from start to finish.

It was another turning point in your situationship with Luc. As much as you were always a text message away, Luc never asked right after road trips. You never expected him to. It was a boundary set in place that you were more than happy to adhere to.

Except.

The text wasn’t even the usual you up? but an explicit come over that had your heart rate spiking. It was the most direct either of you had ever been and you didn’t know what it meant at all.

He’d barely arrived home when you were buzzed into the building if the suitcase at the door was any indication. He looked exhausted, standing beside the intercom with his forehead pressed against the wall.

You didn’t wait before moving towards him, your footsteps disgustingly loud in the otherwise silent apartment, and pressed your forehead into the space between his shoulder blades.

In a hoarse voice, muffled by the wall he was leaning against, Luc asked, “When’s it my turn to win?”

He wasn’t crying, something you were grateful for because you knew you were ill equipped to deal with it, but he may well have been. The sagging of his limbs, so tired and dejected that his muscles weren’t even tense, and the defeat in his voice were foreign to you.

“What do you need from me?” you asked, unable to think of anything else and not wanting to make a wrong move and upset him even more.

He signed, his entire body shaking with it, and admitted that he just wanted to go to bed.

You agreed, despite it being far from what you’d gone for. Moving him was easy; he put up no resistance as you led him down to his room. You’d never seen him so low, never moved him so easily, and, as many times as you had undressed each other in that very room, taking his clothes off was the strangest part of it all.

He helped you undress him in so much as he moved his limbs when he needed to, but he was very much just doing as he was told.

“You’ve got so many more years in you, Luc,” you said when you were finally laying in the bed.

“It never feels that way.”

Waking up in Luc’s bed wasn’t strange by any means, nor, quite frankly, was the morning wood pressed against your lower back. Being the familiar territory that it was, you roused Luc from his sleep and started your morning the right way.

He was visibly happier than the night before—or, maybe not happier but definitely less noticeably distraught—and falling into old habits was simple and welcomed by both of you. The closeness, physical and emotional, something he needed judging by the way he held you through breathy moans.

It wasn’t until you were showered and sitting at his kitchen island with a coffee as he got ready for end-of-season interviews, grumbling as he moved throughout the house.

Your timing probably wasn’t the best, waiting until you were standing at his front door saying goodbye just before he fronted the media, but you had never shied from the hard conversations. Even if you delayed them until the last—often worst—possible moment.

“I’ll see you when you’re back for training camp?” you asked tentatively, wringing your hands in your lap.

Luc hesitated for so long that you thought he might never say anything. He couldn’t meet your eye when he said, “Yeah. End of August, probably.”

You watched him carefully, scrutinising the painful casualness of his response, the lack of any giveaways that he was lying or that he hoped what he was saying wasn’t true.

You knew too much, though.

His casual demeanour faltered as you met him with an equally long silence—you weren’t hesitating for any reason other than to make him uncomfortable.

He shifted his feet and looked everywhere in the room except at you. He was opening his mouth to speak when you finally decided to keep talking, cutting him off.

“Are you ever going to talk to me about requesting a trade?”

Luc’s demeanour changed from confused to defensive immediately when he asked, “Do I need to?”

“I mean… yeah?” you asked, stumbling over your words. “You were really just going to leave for the summer and never come back?”

“I—” The colour drained from his face. “Yeah.”

With your hands pulling at the bottom of your hoodie, you felt your heart rise into your throat. There wasn’t anything else for you to say, which was a blessing because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure what would have come out.

You nodded once, stiffly, and then again after a beat before you let the barstool screech against the tiles as you stood. He didn’t make any move to stop you as you grabbed your purse, and you could feel him staring as you walked out the door. You cursed the apartment building for having quiet closing doors when all that would have made you feel better was hearing something slam behind you.

June came and went, July disappeared as quick as it arrived and August… well August dragged on painfully.

You worked through the perfect weather and the perfect photos your friends posted of their perfect vacations. It wasn’t all that different from every other summer since you graduated and it was no different to the previous summer because you didn’t see him then anyway.

A lot of energy had been spent trying to get him out of your mind, not least because all of your work colleagues seemingly spent their every waking moment talking about Pierre-Luc Dubois and his trade request. When the trade to LA had finally happened, all they could talk about was “eight years and eight point five million, who does he think he is?” or “he’s just going to ask for another trade in 2 years so jokes on them!”

You, though? Mostly you’d been able to move past it. August rolled around and you didn’t care about Pierre-Luc Dubois.

Until, that is, you were standing in The Forks Market, ready to eat your weight in mini donuts because it had been a long, long week, and, above every other head you saw him.

You couldn’t leave in the rush that you wanted to, or at least suddenly speedrun the market, because you did want your donuts more than you wanted to leave so you turned your head, tried to hide behind some other people and hoped that he’d never spot you.

That was too much to ask for, of course.

The stall called your name and you knew that everybody in the immediate vicinity had heard it but still you collected your food and tried to make a beeline for the exit only to have your name called again.

You stopped but didn’t turn around, hoping that maybe Luc would just turn and leave but you knew that was foolish. You felt his presence as he got closer, his body so much larger than those around him that even without seeing him you just knew.

He said your name, in such a deceptively soft voice that you had no choice but to turn around, to look at him and see a sorrow on his face that you hadn’t ever expected. Definitely nothing you’d ever seen before.

“You got something to say or?” you prompted when he just continued to stare at you.

“How are you?”

You recoiled at the question, your eyebrows pulling together, followed by an eye roll so rapid that it actually hurt. Luc flinched himself but didn’t rush to say anything else.

“That’s not the conversation I want to have,” you said, brutally honest. “Especially not with you. So, I’m going to take my food and leave. Enjoy LA.”

You stepped away, causing him to stand up straighter and reach for you—but only briefly before he thought better of it. Still, he said, rushed, “Come back to mine.”

“And why should I do that?”

“I have—” he cleared his throat. “I have to talk to you and I don’t want to do that here.”

You hesitated but ultimately agreed when curiosity got the better of you. As much as you’d not wanted to think about him, it had been impossible to shake the desire for any sort of explanation.

Walking into his apartment again didn’t feel like a bad idea, but it did feel weird to see it mostly empty with packing boxes stacked against the walls. You didn’t need to be reminded that he was going—gone—and yet the reminder still had you looking away instantly back to Luc.

Luc pulled out the food that he’d bought at the market—an actual meal—and set it down on the kitchen island where the only remaining seats in his apartment were, just three barstools.

“I hope they gave you a fork because I don’t have any cutlery,” he said sheepishly.

You sat down beside him, placed your own bag down and told him, smiling to yourself, “I don’t think I need a fork to eat mini donuts.”

The laugh that erupted from him shocked both of you. You more so, you thought, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him laugh so heartily, so carefree. It ended up being the reason for your abrupt silence, the joy being pulled from you and a donut being shoved into your mouth to avoid any questioning.

He didn’t seem to notice that your laughter had stopped for any reason other than deciding to eat, so he ate his curry still smiling and starting a conversation about Ryan Gosling as Ken that you had to admit was endearing even if you didn’t want to. Your own contribution to that conversation was minimal despite how much you had enjoyed the movie in the first place.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked during a break in the conversation where Luc was getting ready to start playing the movie’s soundtrack. That was so far past normal that you had to get out of it, that you had to bring him back to the reason you’d even gone to his apartment in the first place.

Luc looked chastised as he put his phone back down on the table. He turned the stool so that he was facing you, the one stool still in between you, and all joy had fallen from his face. He reached one hand out, resting it on the empty stool, and inhaled.

“I asked for a trade.”

“So, I heard.”

“I can’t keep losing.”

“Oh,” you said, feigning sympathy, “Because the Kings got so much further than the Jets did. Understandable.”

Whatever was left of his openness disappeared, his face making it clear that he’d shuttered. You didn’t care, really, when that was the lame excuse you’d gotten.

“I don’t even care about that,” you said, waving off the poor excuse. “Honestly, I don’t care that you requested it because whatever it’s your career and your life, you can leave if you want—why didn’t you tell me, Luc? If I hadn’t asked, I really don’t think you would have told me.”

“I should have,” he admitted, without hesitation, his face relaxing into something somewhat remorseful. “I know I should have. Even if we’re just… casual, fuckbuddies, whatever we’re calling it, of course I should have told you. It just took me until you got mad for me to realise that.”

“What? You didn’t realise I was human until that moment?”

“I didn’t realise you cared.”

That chastened you quite effectively, because it was true that you’d never given much—or any—indication that it was more than just sex. Not a great deal more, at least not until you thought you were going to lose him, but enough that the friends in friends-with-benefits had clearly meant a lot more to you than it did to him. You couldn’t have expected him to know that when your conversations were limited to if the roads were okay on the drive to one another’s place.

You admitted, quietly, your eyes averted to your lap, “I don’t know if I did until I heard you wanted out. Then I thought about it at length and by the time I asked you about it… Lying to me is just about the worst thing you could have done.”

“I didn’t think you’d bring it up,” he said slowly. “I really just thought you would leave; I’d go back to Quebec and then, when the season started, I’d be somewhere else and then you asked and… I realised I cared about leaving you behind.”

Your eyes fell shut, overwhelmed by what he’d told you. You were sure nobody had ever cared about leaving you behind before. You wondered, briefly, how long it would have taken Luc to contact you if he hadn’t seen you that evening, though it was something that could be found out later. More pressing was the confession you’d just received.

Your eyes opened, and Luc was looking at you with a softness and longing that overwhelmed you all over again. All you did was laugh nervously, shyly, to yourself, and tell him, “I don’t even know anything about you that I haven’t learnt from the Jets’ broadcasts.”

“I don’t think I know anything about you either,” he confessed, unabashed. “I want to learn; if you want to teach me.”

Please consider leaving feedback—reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

i forgot i have a tag list rip (very sorry if you’ve already seen the fic!!)

@fallinallincurls @spine-buster @2manytabsopen @xcicix @sorryjustafangirl @senditcolton @shinyfalcon4 @laurenairay @jarmorie @diary-of-jj @its-bitchin-belle-bitches @sssstarstruck @pr3nt1ss

#pierre luc dubois fic #pierre luc dubois imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #homemade fic #the summer fic exchange 2k23 #a patented antoineroussel ending™️#fic: kings

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elphantasmo · 2 years

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Whats your favorite thing you ever wrote? What are you most proud of?

So my favorite thing that I've written is also the one I'm most proud of. It's a hockey rpf fic between Blake Wheeler and Mark Scheifele called "a whole lot more than riches and muscle". It's a soulmate au where there was a rejection from Blake towards Mark because of his age when it occurred and it spans about 8 years of a timeline where eventually they do get together. I feel it's approachable, even if you're not a hockey fan, because the themes of rejection and wanting validation are the key points of it. Oddly, I'm using a similar concept for the current soulmate AU that I'm writing for Hangman and Omega, except in a much more condensed time period and the rejection happens later. This fic is actually now my longest fic and I can't wait to post it for Wrestlebang.

#thanks!#sorry this is a longer answer #but I'm super proud of this thing still lol

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nicoleknows-nothing · 5 years

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PUCKS DEEP - CHAPTER 4 (Mark Scheifele Fan Fiction)

WORDS: 3641

That night after my lunch date with Mark, the team was on a plane heading to the west coast. The Jets’ first game of the season was in San Jose the next day. I decided to stay up late to watch the game, illegally streaming it on my laptop because it’s pointless to have basic cable in this house. All we ever watch is Netflix or Youtube, and if we’re extremely bored we bus over to Polo Park and spend our banked Scene points on movie tickets and popcorn.

It was halfway through the first period; the score was already 2-0 for the Sharks. Me being an idiot, I originally thought hockey was played in quarters, like football and basketball. Upon further review--and by that I mean I Googled ‘Hockey for Dummies’ and found a cheat sheet--I discovered that hockey was played in three twenty-minute periods.

Heather walked into my room to find me sitting on my bed, concentrated on my laptop, eyes darting back and forth watching the movement of the puck on the ice.

“Hey.” I glanced up to acknowledge her existence for a second and promptly got back to watching the game. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She leaned against the door frame, her voice was still raspy. “Actually, I was coming in here to check up on you.”

“Why?” I slightly raised my voice, irritated over the fact that the puck got overturned and the Sharks gained possession, again.

“Because you haven’t stopped yelling for the last ten minutes. What are you watching anyway?” She came over and laid down beside me.

“I’m trying to follow and understand how the heck this freaking game works!” My voice got louder when seeing #9 of the Sharks take a shot at our goal. Fortunately, the puck flew over the net and bounced off the glass before landing back on the ice. #27 on the Jets took control of the puck and shot it to the other end of the rink. The play was stopped by one of the referees, the commentators mentioning something about icing.

“What the heck is icing?!” I cried, quickly skimming through my cheat sheet. The stupid term wasn’t included in the stupid article; back to Google!

“Well, they’re not skating on a cake, that’s for sure…” Heather cheekily remarked, covering her mouth to cough. I intensely glared at her; If my eyes had the ability to produce laser beams, she would have been dead.

“Funny…” Finally, I found the definition on the internet. “Icing in hockey occurs when a player shoots from behind the red centre line across to the opposing goal line and the puck stays untouched.”

...What? The words were crystal clear coming out of my mouth, but they mushed together in my mind. Heather's grimaced look on her face made me realize I wasn't the only one confused.

“That didn't register in my head at all,” She blinked.

“Uggggh, why is this so confusing?!” I groaned in frustration, softly hitting my head on the screen. “Sports are supposed to be easy to follow!”

“I think you’re focusing too much on the technicality of the game rather than, you know… enjoying it?” Heather analyzed, I could hear the difference between her regular voice and her ‘I-studied-Psychology’ professional voice; it was a lower tone, and she enunciated more than usual.

“It's hard to enjoy when they haven't scored yet…” I anxiously played with the drawstrings of my grey hoodie. “I guess you're right. I figured if I was able to follow the game better and know the ins and outs that I would have something else to talk to Mark about.”

“Newsflash, Nina! You already talk to him about stuff! You were glued to your phone for a good two hours when you got home from work today! Plus, he already knows that you’re not a hockey expert so I don’t think he expects you to spit out stats or remember all the mumbo jumbo right away!”

Even though Ruby wasn’t home, I could hear her voice at the back of my head. Once again, I’m overthinking everything. I needed to stop stressing about learning everything right away and let it come naturally. Just enjoy the game.

All of a sudden the commentator’s voice got loud and full of energy. I looked up to see Mark with the puck, speeding down the ice past the Sharks’ defence and advancing towards the goal. He took a shot, the puck ricocheted off of the goalie’s padding and flew up in the air. In a swift and effortless motion, Mark lifted his stick and tapped the rebounding puck past the goalie and into the net.

SCORE!! Mark Scheifele bats the puck mid-air into the net for his first goal of the season! The Jets are now on the board; it's 2-1 with the Sharks still in the lead!

“He got a goal...” It took a moment to sink in, then the astonishment turned into excitement at full force. “Oh my God! He got a goal!”

My cheeks hurt so much from smiling, I couldn't stop clapping or squealing or bouncing on the bed. They replayed the goal from multiple camera angles, and each time the puck flew into the net I felt more and more elated, cheering each time even though I knew it was a replay. I could feel Heather's eyes on me, watching Mark celebrate his goal with his teammates; I was admiring the screen so closely that I could have gone cross-eyed.

“Look at you! You are smitten!” Heather chuckled.

“What! I can't admire a good goal?” I began to babble, trying to justify my behaviour. “It was a really good one! I KNOW I wouldn't be able to do what he just did! I can't handle a stick or hit a puck so fast like that! And yeah, maybe it did attract me to him more knowing that he's disciplined in a sport he plays professionally but it's mostly because of the goal! It looked awesome! I'm in awe! That's all it is…”

Heather rolled her eyes at my sad excuse of an explanation. “Neens, just admit it! You’re falling for him, he’s basically your boyfriend already!”

“Yes, I like him. A lot.” I sighed. “But he's not my boyfriend. We don't have an official label, not to mention we just met less than a week ago. Right now, we’re friends that are still getting to know each other and that have also kissed once or twice. I don't plan on rushing into a relationship anytime soon.”

“But you definitely wanna get into his pants…” Heather’s eyebrows wiggled up and down, a sly smirk spreading on her face. The thought of being intimate with Mark quickly processed through my mind and instantly my cheeks felt flush. I threw a pillow at her in retaliation.

“NO! Shut up! I have a hockey game to watch!” I faltered, trying to be serious but the muscles in my face betrayed me, forcing me to smile and giggle like a big dork.

Has the thought of being intimate with Mark run through my head before? Kind of, but not really. They’ve been innocent thoughts; very tamed, nothing remotely close to being pornographic. Like I’ve mentioned before, I have flaws; I’m insecure when it comes to my body and I’m scared that If I get too close too soon, I’m going to end up hurt. It’s happened before, and it’s messed with my self-esteem ever since. Therefore, I don’t want to put myself in that situation until the time is right and we’re both ready. Thankfully, Mark doesn’t seem like the ‘hit-it-and-quit-it’ type. His heart seems to be as gooey as a marshmallow, however, people can change as time goes by.

Heather left my room after the first period and I watched the rest of the game by myself, or at least I tried to. As much as I wanted to tape my eyelids open, I succumbed to my drowsiness at the beginning of the third period. All of my energy was sucked away during the second when the Jets came back in a big way from the deficit. Ruby came home from work and thought I was being murdered because of how loud I was freaking out over #13's goal. Heather had to reassure her that I had been acting like that all night. When I passed out, the score was 4-3; the Jets had the lead. I was optimistic about a win.

I woke up to my alarm on my cell the next morning. One of the girls must have been in my room; my laptop was set on the side table and my blanket was tucked tightly around me like a burrito. I unlocked my phone and saw that I received a text message at 2:30 AM. It was from Mark:

Hey, beautiful :) I know you're sleeping but I just wanted to tell you that we won! Got tied up in the 3rd and were about to go into OT but we got the game-winner just before the horn. I'm heading to bed now. I'll text you when I'm back in the Peg.

I miss you.

Although I felt restless, seeing that text from Mark revitalized me in an instant. Not only was I thrilled that they won their first game of the season, but reading that he missed me had me walking on air. And he called me beautiful again! If only this exhilarating, floating feeling could last all day (but it won't because I have to go to a job that I hate with every fibre of my being!) If only he was here, lying next to me in bed…

Remember, take it slow.

I replied back, telling him that I saw the game and congratulating him on his impressive goal. Also…

I miss you too.

It’s Wednesday. It’s the day of the home opener, and I’m freaking out.

“Nina? Simon is on his way. Are you ready?” Ruby asked as she walked into my bedroom to see me, wrapped in my housecoat and staring at the mountain of clothing I accumulated on my bed.

“No…” I huffed, lost in contemplation. “What does one even wear to a hockey game? I’ve gone through everything in my dresser!”

I couldn't believe this was happening. When it comes to plans made in advance, I'm usually the one that's punctual. I'm always ready before everyone else; my outfit is coordinated the day before, my hair and makeup are done hours prior to leaving, and I'm the one helping others and rushing them out the door to show up an hour early.

Right now, I'm all over the place; nothing in my wardrobe seems like it's fitting, my hair is half done and my makeup looks like, for lack of a better word, ass. At this rate, I'm not leaving my room. My chest was feeling tight, I felt nauseous and short of breath. This isn’t like me; I am always prepared!

I flopped onto my bed, burying my head under the pile of clothes like an ostrich. “I need help! I need an adult!” I whined loudly.

“It’s okay, I will help! Don’t worry!” Ruby reassured. I pulled my head out to observe her looking over the many options I had laid out. Surely, she would be able to find something. She dresses better than Heather and I combined. However, the expression on her face turned sour, her head shaking in disapproval as she threw clothing off the bed piece by piece.

“No, this won’t do...” She muttered under her breath. “Not this… Definitely not this… Gross… Plaid? Seriously? That’s a no!”

Deep breaths, close your eyes and take long deep breaths. Everything is going to be fine… I hope.

Finally, a saving grace. Ruby picked up a white turtleneck and a light bulb flickered on in her head.

“Good. This is good, We can work with this…” Ruby searched through the rest of my clothes and in no time, she was throwing an outfit at me. “Get dressed.”

She paired the turtleneck with a pair of high waisted denim jeans and a black belt. She ran out of my room and came back shortly with my black Chucks and the leather jacket I wore the night I met Mark. Once everything was on, I looked in the mirror at my makeup. I had no time to start over, All I could do was fix the smudged eyeliner that turned into eyeshadow and dab my face with the leftover foundation on my blending sponge. My hair was half straight, half wavy; no use in trying to salvage it at this point so I threw it into a ponytail.

“How do I look?” I looked towards Ruby, letting out a loud exasperated sigh and my shrugging arms falling to my side. On a scale from one to ten, my self-confidence was at a negative two.

“You look great! Very stylish!” Ruby complimented, trying to get my spirits up. It wasn’t working; I could feel my hands getting clammy, my mouth drying up.

“I am so nervous...” My voice croaked while fidgeting around with my sweaty palms. My head was overwhelmed with worse case scenarios. “What if Mark gets hurt tonight or if their team loses or both? What if I become some sort of jinx and he performs badly?”

Ruby cupped my cheeks in her hands and lifted my head up to look at her. “Tonight is going to be fun! There is no need to be nervous! It's as simple as going to a hockey game with your friends. You look fantastic and when Mark sees you cheering in the stands, he is going to feel so lucky! And if we're being honest, if you weren’t like a sister to me, I would bang. One hundred percent!”

I rolled my eyes while trying to stifle a chuckle, my frown breaking down into a straight, awkward grin. “You and your words of encouragement.” Weird enough, her idea of a pep talk did help a little bit.

Ruby’s phone buzzed. “Simon’s here!” She asked me one more time. “Are you ready?”

I took one more look in the mirror. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“This. Is. Nuts.” Simon's mouth dropped, his eyes about to pop out of his head as we were escorted down to the Jets’ locker room at Bell MTS Place. “I can't believe we're down here!”

“Whatever you do, don't go wandering off like you did at the Iceplex,” Ruby warned, her eyes following Simon's every move. “We don't need you getting banned and making Nina look bad. We're her guests and we should be thankful that she can bring us along.”

“Right! By the way, have I said 'thank you’ yet?” Simon put his hands on my shoulders, he was so excited I could feel him vibrating.

“Yes, about fifty times on the way here.” I let out a chuckle. Seeing Simon hyped up and Ruby discipline him helped calm my nerves. He was like a little kid at a toy store, wanting to touch and play with everything. We passed by a rack of hockey sticks and Ruby had to grab on the hood of his jacket to pry him away.

“Don't!” She scolded him in a deep, motherly tone. I bit down on my lip trying not to laugh but the staff member with us couldn't help but crack a smile.

“We do have a cleaning closet nearby if you need to put him in a time out,” They joked.

“Thanks, I'll keep that in mind.” Ruby pulled Simon away from touching a photo on the wall. “Apparently, leaving his harness and leash at home was a bad idea…”

We turned a corner and my stomach fluttered. There was Mark at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall waiting, hands tucked into his pant pockets and looking down at his shiny black dress shoes. He was wearing a dark navy suit, paired with a white dress shirt and grey tie. He looked like a different person compared to when I saw him on TV a few nights ago; his hair was freshly cut and styled to the side, and his face cleanly shaved. He glanced up and saw me, his crystal blue eyes and smile looking brighter than ever. My heart went rapid as we approached and Mark went in for a hug. His cologne was sweet smelling, like a flower garden after a spring shower.

“Hi,” We greeted in unison, both of us giggling at the coincidence afterwards.

“I like the suit. Blue is your colour!” I complimented.

“Thank you. What do you think of the baby face?” He asked. I gently touched his right cheek, his skin was so soft I was envious.

“I miss the scruff, but you look much more handsome.” Our eyes connected for a moment before I broke contact to look at him licking his lips. The urge of wanting to kiss him grew exponentially. However, the moment was quickly ruined by Simon, whose arm was frantically waving to the extent of producing a light breeze behind me.

“HI MARK!” He shouted in my ear, I winced.

“Hey, Simon. Hey Ruby,” He laughed. With her fast reflexes, Ruby grabbed Simon's arm in mid-wave and linked her arm with his.

“By any chance, you wouldn't happen to have duct tape lying around, do you?” Ruby inquired.

Mark shook his head.“No, just grip tape. I don't think it will help in restraining him.”

“That's okay. I'll just keep a close eye on him.” Ruby pulled Simon close to her. It was like watching someone trying to keep a hyper Cocker Spaniel puppy under control.

“Come on, I'll introduce you to the guys.” Mark grabbed my hand, his fingers interlocking with mine, and led me to the locker room.

Of course, the first thing I do when I walk in is almost break the most sacred rule in a hockey locker room.

“Careful!” Mark politely placed his arm in front of me, pointing at the carpet. “It’s a thing not to step on the logo.”

I look down to see my feet an inch away from the gigantic Jets logo on the locker room floor. I immediately distanced myself from it. “Oh, crap-- I am so sorry!”

“Scheifs! Did your girl step on the logo?” One of Mark’s teammates playfully chided, walking up and messing up his hair. I could hear Simon squealing like a girl behind me. Ruby covered his mouth to mute the sound.

“Nina, Blake. Blake is the captain of the team.” Mark introduced, I shook Blake’s hand.

“I didn’t do it, I swear.” I nervously smiled.

Blake laughed. “It’s all good, no worries! I heard it’s your first game tonight. Have fun!”

We continued around the locker room and I met more of the team. I couldn’t remember all of their names because there were so many people and they were all really tall. I felt like the only gnome on a lawn covered with garden flamingos. The only people I do remember were Andrew (because he’s Mark’s roommate), Tyler (because he was the tallest out of everyone I met), Patrik (because I couldn’t stop staring at his beard), and Dustin (because he recognized Simon as the guy who snuck into the locker room at the Iceplex and threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t leave).

“I’ll get him out of here,” Ruby agreed, pushing Simon towards the door.

“I’ll come with.” I took one last look around the locker room. “Everyone seems to be getting their stuff on, anyways.”

“Before you leave…” Mark walked over to his gear and came back with a light blue jersey, different from the typical dark blue and white ones I usually see around the city. “This is the new alternate jersey. I figured you would need something to show your newly found team spirit.”

I turned the jersey around to see his name and number on the back. “This Scheifele guy, is he a good player?” I teased.

“The best! Even better than me!” He quipped back. I took off my jacket and Mark helped me put the jersey on over my turtleneck.

“How do I look?” I modeled the oversized sweater in front of him. He gave me two thumbs up.

“Blue is your colour!” He praised. I looked down to admire the jersey. Compared to what I felt like earlier, my self-confidence was now at an eleven.

“It’s really nice. Thank you,” I hugged him one more time, I didn’t want to let go but he needed to get ready. “Good luck out there tonight.”

I stepped back to leave the locker room when I felt Mark’s hand squeeze mine. “Hey...”

I looked back at him and he pulled me close again, our noses brushing against each other. “Don’t I get a ‘good luck’ kiss?”

“Maybe…” I smirked, my hands resting on his chest. Mark lifted my chin with his finger and leaned in, his soft lips touching mine in a gentle, sensual kiss. Once again, our moment was ruined. This time by Mark’s teammates jeering at us to get a room, throwing their towels at our heads.

“Hey! Those better be clean!” Mark shouted. I gave him one more peck on the cheek.

“Get ready, please. Before they start throwing jock straps.” I ordered, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll see you out there.”

I left the locker room and made my way upstairs to my seat, which happened to be a few rows behind the Jets bench. Ruby and Simon were sitting down, beers and Jets Dogs in hand. Ruby handed me a beer as I sat down beside her.

“Feeling better?” She asked.

“Yeah, definitely.”

#mark scheifele #mark scheifele fan fic #mark scheifele fan fiction #winnipeg jets #winnipeg jets fan fiction #winnipeg fan fic #pucks deep #creative writing #nhl fan fiction #hockey fan fiction #chapter four #mark scheifele imagine

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grittyreadsfic · 3 years

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do u have fic recs that are relatively long? i’m going on a trip and need to kill a loooot of time. preferably no tknp if possible.

*cracks knuckles*

oh hell yeah i do-some of which are actually queued up to post soon, so normally i wouldn't include them since i try not to double rec but honestly they're all too good not to mention so!

i also recently did a long fic rec list but honestly i love to share my opinion (i'm also gonna spare you me rereccing my entire mcstrome rec list since i've been on a big kick for them lately, but the next next one, burn the straw house down, i've never been a natural (all i do is try try try) are all 35K-80k and incredible)

i think the shortest fic i specifically rec on here is maybe 32k, and the longest is 130k, and i tried to give you some variety of pairings, teams, and overall vibes, but i promise they're all great!

i'll know it at the hook by lotts is the ever iconic zach hyman/willy nylander enemies to benefits to boyfriends fic that i reread with an embarrassing frequency. there's also a very lovely podfic by annapods if you like audio formats (i'll also add that filtering their fics by word count gives you SO many phenomenal options, they're one of my favorite writers of all times and they have a handful of different pairings in fics that have at least 15-20k)

there was an old lady who lived in a shoe (series) by shoshanah-ben-hohim is a series, but you can honestly skip the shorter fics and just read the two bigs ones (like 70k and 130k each) if you're not vibing with them while traveling. it's sid/geno and alex galchenyuk/olli maatta, but it's about a handful of the russian players smuggling children out of the country for safety. it's some pretty heavy stuff, but honestly the best fics i've read, well, ever. if they're not your usual thing i really recommend you give them a try

slip under the tongue into translation by lighthousetowers is one of the all time best leon draisaitl/matthew tkachuk fics-the pacing and the evolution of their relationship is so perfectly executed and feels so organic, and it's as much of a love letter to language as it is a love story in general, and it's just so wonderful

here there be dragons by theundiagnosable is actually...not fic? it's orginally hockey fiction, so it's a calgary flames team made up of entirely ocs, but theundiagnosable is THE hrpf writer as far as i'm concerned, and the story is so so so wonderful, just a great look at found family and mental health and finding where you belong, and i really think it's worth the read

yours through endless time by symphony7inamajor ( @symphony7inamajor ) is a kyle connor/mark scheifele regency au that is just. so delightful and full of emotion and twists and everything that i, an avid fan of jane austen and historical romance, absolutely adore about the genre

sure thing by bitter_leaf ( @dylancozns ) is an absolute gem of a nate bastian/mikey mcleod fake dating au. the trope is a bit of a twist in it's execution, and it's just. everything good about fake dating, about friends to lovers, about miscommunication, it does perfectly and wonderfully, and i cannot stress enough how much i love it

the not so thrilling life of succulents by sheesusnat is the brock boeser/morgan reilly fwb fic you didn't know you needed. it's charming and fun and the author makes the pairing work in a way i never knew they could

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nicoleknows-nothing · 5 years

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Pretty Boy Swag :)

Btw, Chapter 4 of Pucks Deep is out now. Gonna do a masterlist post of the chapters later during the game :)

#mark scheifele #winnipeg jets #baby boy scheif #pucks deep #mark scheifele imagine #mark scheifele fan fiction #mark scheifele fan fic

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nicoleknows-nothing · 5 years

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Pucks Deep (Mark Scheifele Fan Fiction - CHAPTER TWO)

CONFUSED? START HERE, READER >> INTRO & CHAPTER ONE

Mark Scheifele, #55 of the Winnipeg Jets. Born in Kitchener, Ontario, drafted back in 2011 and signed an eight-year deal with the Jets in 2016. He plays centre, serves as an alternate captain, and shoots with his right hand. He also played for team Canada in the 2012 World Juniors and team North America in the 2016 World Cup of Hockey. Last season, he played sixty games in the regular season, scored twenty-three goals and assisted in thirty-seven for a total of sixty points. His six-foot-three, 207-pound frame is the perfect bulk for winning battles--

“When are you going to stop Googling him?” Ruby walked into the kitchen, heading straight to the Keurig machine to make a cup of coffee.

I turned away from my laptop, adjusting my glasses from falling off of my face.

“Until I know his whole life story.” I protested, taking a sip of my cold earl grey tea.

I had been up since six in the morning, as well as sitting at my laptop for most of the day before, researching everything I could about Mark Scheifele. I've been on Wikipedia, the NHL website, Instagram, Tumblr, Reddit, YouTube; I found so much information already, I could start writing an autobiography for him.

“I have an idea.” Ruby sat down beside me at the kitchen table, the smell of her hot hazelnut coffee filled my nose, giving me a boost of energy. “Why don't you text him instead of being an internet stalker?”

“I'm not ready yet.” I bluntly answered, tapping away at my keyboard.

“It's been 48 hours.”

“I just--” I sighed. “What if he doesn't answer back? Or he pretends that he doesn't know who I am? Or he does text back and says that giving me his number was a mistake?”

“He’s not going to do that, Neens! If he didn’t want to give you his number, he wouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Ruby tried to assure me. I ignored it and started to look in my internet history to find a page I found earlier about Mark’s past relationships. I showed it to Ruby. “His ex-girlfriend is a freestyle skier. She won a gold medal in Sochi! How do I compete with that?!”

Ruby slammed my laptop shut.

“Okay, listen to me.” She grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look her straight in the eye. “First of all, You’re doing that thing when you over analyze situations in your head and you psych yourself out. You need to stop, it's not healthy.”

“Second of all, forget all of the other girls. He wants to talk to you, he wants to get to know YOU. Gold Medal Girl who? She's got nothing on you! You are talented in so many other ways that can easily impress him! You just need to get out of your own head and you need to text him!”

Ruby is the perfect hype-woman, and she was right. Before I knew who Mark really was, he was just the really cute guy at the bar. He was nice and out of all of the women in the room, he gave me a chance. Now, I just know a little bit more about him...maybe I know a bit too much but I shouldn't let it cloud my judgement. However, there was one thing I was having trouble with.

“What do I even say?” I asked, twirling my cell phone around in my hand.

“You could start with 'Hey, it's Nina?’” Ruby suggested.

I stopped playing around with my phone and laid it on the kitchen table, concentrating my gaze on it. I stared at it for so long that I was hoping I could send the text with my mind because my fingers were an anxious, shaking mess.

“It's not too early is it?” I looked around the kitchen for the time, even though I know there isn't a clock in the kitchen.

“It's 9:30 AM, he's probably up by now.” She grabbed my phone and put it back in my hands. “Do it.”

I unlocked it and opened the draft I had been sitting on for the last two days. All you have to do is say hi, and then the rest will follow…

Hey, it's Nina :) ...and send!

“There. Done.” I put my phone back down on the table and took another sip of my tea. I felt a mild sense of relief but was still apprehensive of the text I would get back.

Within moments, my phone was ringing. I checked the caller ID and choked on my tea.

“It's Mark!” I coughed through the liquid stuck in my throat, which was followed by instant panic. “What do I do? I'm not ready for this! TALKING IS HARD! WHAT DO I DO!?”

“ANSWER THE PHONE!” Ruby picked up my phone, swiped the green icon, and shoved it in my face.

“H-h-hello?” I stammered.

“Hey Nina, it's Mark!” He could hear me coughing up a lung in the background. “Are you okay? Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all!” I finally cleared my throat and got up from my chair to pace around the kitchen. “I'm surprised you called me, and so quick.”

“I’m driving at the moment and didn’t want to make you think I was ignoring you.” He explained. On the phone, his voice sounds sweet but gravelly at the same time. “To be honest I was excited you messaged me, it's already made my day.”

I went blank, my brain didn’t want to construct sentences. What was the English language? My response consisted of saying ‘uhh,’ ‘cool,’ and ‘yeah’ in between girlish giggles for what felt like a century. Then finally I managed to spit some words out.

“Well, it's a pretty cool number, I couldn't wait to call it...” Ruby looked at me perplexed, even my mouth was questioning what kind of word vomit was that.

“Thanks! I've never gotten a compliment about my phone number before.” Mark laughed on the other end. “So, what are you up to today?”

“Nothing too exciting, just chilling out with the roommates.” More like isolating myself in my bedroom, eating leftover Vietnamese takeout, and playing ranked matches on Rocket League. “What about you?”

“Well, I’m on my way to the Iceplex for practice. It's open to the public today if you and your roommates are interested in coming.”

“Uhhh…” I looked over at Ruby who was hopping in place with a big smile on her face and giving two thumbs up. “Yeah, sounds like fun. We'll be there.”

“Great! I can't wait!”

We said our goodbyes and as soon as I got off the phone Ruby and I were bouncing around the kitchen,

“See? That wasn't so bad!” She reassured. “He even said he was excited to hear from you!”

“I said weird things but it’s okay because he still wants to see me!” I cheered. Heather came into the kitchen and stared at the two of us screaming like teenagers who were about to see One Direction on their reunion tour.

“What are you guys so excited about?” Heather croaked while making herself a cup of tea. I stopped jumping around to notice the redness around her nose, pale skin, and bags under her eyes.

“We just got invited to go watch gorgeous guys play hockey!” Ruby squealed, ignoring the state of our friend.

“Ugh, no thanks.” Heather sniffled. “Cold rink. Cold weather. I’m staying in bed, drinking an entire bottle of Nyquil and binge watching Game of Thrones.”

“I’ll help you back to bed.” I offered, walking with Heather back to her room and tucking her into bed. “Feel better, okay? And if you need anything, text me.”

By the time I put the first episode on for her, she was passed out. I walked back into the kitchen to see Ruby getting off of the phone.

“What are you doing? Why are you not dressed yet?” She asked, pushing me into my bedroom and digging into my dresser. “You need to get all dolled up for your sexy hockey man!”

“I could ask you the same thing. Who were you on the phone with?” I overturned her question. Ruby was holding up shirts to my chest and throwing clothing all over the place.

“Our third…” She quickly changed the subject, looking at my burgundy crew neck sweatshirt. “Oooh, this is cute! Wear this!”

Who is ‘our third?’

---

“I'm so happy you guys invited me!” Simon locked his lifted Dodge Ram 1500 with his fob key. “Do you think Big Buff will sign my Jets hat?”

The ride to the Bell MTS Iceplex was an event all in itself. I was scared for those driving around us because Simon almost got us into THREE accidents, including narrowly missing a family crossing the street in the Unicity area. I never sunk so low in a seat as Simon got berated by the father for driving irresponsibly. Probably didn't help that he was blasting heavy metal the entire way down Portage Avenue, as well as looking at his phone to see if a girl he gave his number to at Cowboy's answered him back. He also decided that it would be a fun idea to quickly do donuts in the empty parking lot by Assiniboine Downs, adding nausea to my already crippling anxiety. As soon as he had his truck parked at the Iceplex, I beelined it for the door, distancing myself as far as I could from Simon and Ruby.

I instantly regretted my decision to split from Simon and Ruby. The Iceplex was crowded, a sea of dark blue and white jerseys covered the first floor of the building and continued up the staircase to the second floor. It was worse right by the entrance; groups of eager kids pushing by eager adults to make their way into the Canadian Tire arena where the practice was being held. I could feel myself getting antsy waiting for those two slowpokes to get in here. Finally, Ruby and Simon walked in and I pulled them to the side to avoid the large crowd of fans.

“How are we going to get into the arena?” I asked, my breath short from feeling claustrophobic.

“There are bleachers in the balcony. Usually, people like to be by the rink so they can get stuff signed.” Simon explained, grabbing mine and Ruby’s hands and pulling us forward. “Follow me!”

We bulldozed through the crowd, getting dragged to the second floor to the entrance of the balcony. I watched as Simon pushed his way down to the front row of bleachers and found seats right in the middle, receiving dirty looks from every single person he blew by.

“Any time now, girls!” He waved us over. I started to feel a bit grateful that Simon tagged along. I could never be as adamant or pushy as he is. He could care less.

We sat down as the team was about to start doing drills. I sat there quietly, observing which way the puck was going and trying to figure out why the players were wearing either a red, blue, or white jersey. This was already confusing to me. I asked Simon what the deal was.

“The red jerseys are the defensemen. And the white and blue jersey are the forwards.” He explained.

“But why white AND blue? Why not just two colours?”

“Well, the different lines can be split by colour. Or if they're practicing in their special teams, the power play line is one colour and the penalty killing line is the other.”

I tried to let the information sink in…”I don't get it.”

“Haha it's okay, don't worry about it right now.” Simon shifted my head towards the northern part of the rink. “Just watch your dude go!”

My eyes immediately found Mark on the ice. He was wearing a white jersey and talking to one of the red jersey guys by the boards. A whistle blew and he made his way to the middle of the ice with a few other players. I watched in awe as the whistle blew again and his feet glided across the icy surface with quick precision. The puck was passed to him; the control he had was flawless, manoeuvring around and keeping it away from the other players. He gave the puck away to another white jersey on the other side of the ice and advanced closer to the goal. The puck was sent back to him again; it barely touched the blade of his stick when he took his shot. The puck went in, flying over the goalie’s shoulder and into the top left corner of the net. Applause erupted in the small arena. I clapped as well, blending into the crowd because I wasn’t the type of person to make a big deal about a practice goal...but Ruby was.

“WHOO! LET’S GO #55!” She shouted, her arms straight in the air while jumping from her seat and standing on the bleachers. Oh my god…

“Ruby! Get down!” I grabbed her by the bottom of her black zip-up hoodie and pulled her down.

I looked back at the ice and there was Mark, looking up at us as he skated by. His crystal blue eyes instantly found mine in a crowd of hundreds, the connection creating an electric current inside of me. My face felt flush as I smirked meekly and waved at him from above. He winked, his guard hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

As strange as it sounds, him chewing on a dental appliance was really attractive. I don’t know why or how, but the image somehow flicked a switch in my brain that made the conclusive decision; it was hot, like mucho caliente.

Once practice was over, the team spent an hour interacting with the fans; answering questions, taking pictures, and signing anything a person had on them. I overheard one guy say he had the whole team sign his chest and was heading to Living Canvas right after to get their names tattooed. I decided to sit outside of the arena by myself around the concession area, staying away from the frenzy. Simon was busy getting autographs on his snapback and Ruby wanted to wander around the facility.

Twenty minutes after the crowd died down, I got a text from Mark.

Hey! Are you still here?

I replied. Yup! Sitting at the concession.

Cool! Be out there soon.

I quickly tapped on the camera of my phone and checked my makeup and hair. Everything looked good, that was until Ruby came up behind me and threw a grey knitted toque on my head.

“Ta-da! Your first piece of Jets merch!” She beamed. “All you need is your man’s jersey and you’re set!”

“Thanks, Ruby!” I adjusted the toque on my head and stood up from my chair to strike a pose. “How does it look?”

Before she could say a word, a voice behind me spoke up.

“It looks good on you.”

I turned around and saw Mark, standing tall despite being active on the ice for the last two hours. His fingers ran through his damp, cool brown hair, swooping it to the side before placing his hands in the pockets of his charcoal sweatpants. His hockey bag slung over his right shoulder, the strap pulling at the sleeve of his cobalt blue Nike sweater.

“Hi.” he grinned.

“Hi…” We stood in silence for a moment, admiring each other. Ruby instantly got uncomfortable.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you two alone and go find Simon.” She was about to walk away when Mark was snapped out of his trance.

“Speaking of your friend Simon, he actually got escorted out of the building a while ago.” He told the two of us.

Ruby’s eyebrows went up in confusion, I deeply sighed in disappointment.

“What did he do?” We asked in unison.

“He snuck into the dressing room pretending he was from the Free Press, but today wasn’t a media day so everybody was kind of confused as to why he was there,” Mark explained, laughing about the situation. “He’s okay though, he told me he was gonna wait by his truck.”

“Okay then, I will meet you at the truck.” Ruby decided.

“Actually, if it’s okay with you…” Mark interjected. “I can drive Nina home later. I was thinking we could grab a bite to eat because I am starving.”

“Yeah, I’m okay with that.” I agreed. The combination of anxiety bubbles and butterflies in the pit of my stomach was starting to make me hungry.

“As long as she is home at a decent time, then it is fine with me.” Ruby wagged her finger at the two of us like an overprotective mother. “And no funny business!”

We parted ways with Ruby as we left the Iceplex. I watched her make kissy faces from outside the truck while Simon wrapped his arms around his body and proceeded to make out with himself. Those two...

“I'm parked over here.” Mark pointed towards the west side of the building.

Was this really happening? Am I actually on a 'sort-of’ date with a professional hockey player right now? Did I brush my teeth this morning? How bad is my breath? How red is my face? I don't know if it's from the cold temperature in the rink or from me blushing so much. I think i'm sweating, do I smell okay? Will he noticed if I take a quick whiff of my armpit?

He's looking at me. My god, he's pretty. His strong jawline, the subtle stubble of his goatee, his long eyelashes... Have I been staring for too long? How long have I been silent? I'm over analyzing again, say something for the love of God!

“Wooooords…” I said that out loud… Where's the nearest hole?

“What was that?” He asked, chuckling. I stayed silent, fearing that I would say something stupid again.

We stopped in front of a sleek silver SUV. I have watched way too many David Dobrik videos to immediately recognize the make of the car.

“You have a Tesla Model X!?” My mouth dropped open and eyes wide in wonder. Mark double clicked on the back of his key fob and the trunk opened.

“Pretty neat, huh?” He threw his hockey bag in the trunk and clicked another button. The side doors lifted up over my head and floated back down moments later. “I like opening the falcon doors for fun sometimes.”

“Cool!!” I marvelled. Mark came to the passenger side of the car and open the door for me.

“Your chariot awaits…”

#mark scheifele #mark scheifele fan fic #mark scheifele fan fiction #still have no title #sue me #creative writing #winnipeg jets #winnipeg jets fan fiction #nina mendoza oc #hockey fan fiction #chapter two #my work

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