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#peak time in hockey

linskywords · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Men's Hockey RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jamie Drysdale/Trevor Zegras Characters: Jamie Drysdale, Trevor Zegras, Adam Henrique Additional Tags: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Oblivious, Just bros being bros, or are they, Adam Henrique has been conscripted into the service of wisdom Summary:

Jamie’s not gonna lie, it throws him a little when he realizes Trevor is gay.

#i wrote a thing!#about time too #jamie drysdale #trevor zegras #the peaks of oblivion #hockey rpf

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reineydraws · 4 months

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@giurochedadomani this au is eating my brain.

someone in the replies of the last post brought up dogsred, a hockey manga where a figure skater becomes a hockey player so that could be zoro lol

i mentioned it there but he becomes a meme bc he was messing around during practice and managed to score with three hockey sticks, one of which was in his mouth! three stick style 😎

like u mentioned, ace is roger's son but it's not common knowledge bc he wanted to make it on his own name instead of under his dad's, who has like, gretzky-level hockey fame. also holds some resentment bc the peak of roger's career was when ace needed him at home.

also like u mentioned, garp totally doesnt believe professional sports is a reliable career in the long run, and despises that most of his grandkids are pro hockey players, and his son went into speed skating and eventually became the olympic coach for the country's olympic speed skaters (incl sabo). koala is also one and her and sabo are on the mix-gendered relay skate.

by the time luffy gets promoted to captain, he's somehow amassed the weirdest team of pirates players ever seen, where many of the regulars just. don't have backgrounds in hockey? where did he find them? how did he convince the league to take them? who knows.

cross guild productions is the brain child of crocodile, who lent buggy a bunch of money to start his company and decided to do this when buggy couldnt pay up when he chased him diwn years later. croc also coaches mihawk, so he decides to strong-arm mihawk into doing guest performances, since he's such a big figure skating name, having the most olympic golds ever win by a single figure skater. mihawk doesnt want to do it until he hears the storyline for the performance, sees his costume sketches, and holds the prop sword. he's just a huge goth dork underneath it all.

after mihawk's grand internationally-aired romantic gesture succeeds and he gets shanks back, shanks manages to convince the cross guild that he's still a good enough skater to do an easy ice show, as long as he doesnt fall on his bad arm like a dumbass. he never does tricks, but people love the character they write for him, as he's so charismatic. he plays mihawk's rival in that season's little show, and gets his own prop sword. every single performance sells out bc mishanks is till a hot topic among ice skating and hockey fans.

sanji comes from a very strict, very decorous mma family, and he never fit in bc he likes cooking and skating. he ran away from home and found a fister parent in zeff, and worked at the baratie growing up, where zeff put him in hockey bc his kid likes skating but he also needs friends his age. despite never wanting to be like his birth family, ironically sanji's one of the best fighters on the pirates.

usopp is a forward and their best shot, and generally always makes it into the net from wherever he's shooting. despite this, he finds being a forward absolutely terrifying and is refularly intimidated by the big guys they face that have no problem getting in his face and starting fights.

#op hockey au #one piece fanart #one piece #op fanart #monkey d luffy #portgas d ace #sabo #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #gol d roger #silvers rayleigh #buggy the clown #dracule mihawk

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kennedyhateskanye · 3 months

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Across the ellieverse

An: you guys ate up my horny looser!ellie??!!??? I’ve been silently consuming Ellie Williams smut fan fiction for like a year now and it’s so silly and fun that I wrote something that made people horny. Swear I’ll write another one once I perfect the concept in my little Neanderthal mind.

Concept: there are so many distinct versions of Ellie on here that you guys write about, and I am so attracted to each and every one of them. This is kind of a conglomerate of some of my favorites.

STRICTLY 18+

—————————————

Hockeyplayer!ellie who calls you a puck bunny and smacks your ass when you ride her thick strap, she’s got that hockey accent and it comes out stronger than usual when she’s inside of you. She pumps hard cause sports have turned her into someone so cocky and vain. It makes it feel even better when she gets off the ice after a rough game, yanking jerseys and shoving players to protect her goal tender. she takes her mouth gaurd out and pumped full of the pride from her fresh win, she fucks you doggy style in the locker room with her jersey between her teeth exposing her flexing abdominal muscles. Insists on you wearing something cute, but not too slutty to her games because she doesn’t need her teammates getting a peak up your skirt while they’re waiting in the box by the stands.

Looser!ellie who whimpers when she pushes her fingers inside you for the first time, practically drooling while she heavy breathes. She’s got a shocked look on her face the whole time, taking in the smell and taste of pussy since shes never experienced it before. Her plaid boxers are soaked when you let her play with your cunt. she whispers things like “oh my fuck” under her breath as she whines from the sight of your sloppy pussy swallowing her fingers. The first time you two properly made out and she got to grope your tits, she was literally eyes blown wide mouth open. Her voice cracked as she said “mm is this okay” whimpering as she smooshed your tits together, SALAVATING at the sight. That night while you kissed sloppily she found herself rutting and against you in her jeans, she was so embarrassed but she just couldn’t help it.

Toxic!ellie who wants you to know she could have anyone she wants, when you argue she sends you the old photos she has in her my eyes only, of her fucking girls like they were an expendable commodity. She knew you’d be too jealous not to forgive her, afraid she’d go out and fuck some girl if you carried on pouting. While she pounds into you she presses down on your tummy, leans into your ear and sternly says “take it bitch”. You two were constantly on again off again, you’d make it a couple days without talking to her after your friends finally convinced you she was horrible for you, and to block her. then you’d get a text from a ‘text now’ number saying simply, “let me the fuck in, I’m at the side door.” She knows how addicted to her you are, and she makes sure to bring it up when she’s slamming you into the mattress, ass bent over the bed, and ripping your skirt up over your legs. “You know you can’t go without this dick, can you?” Of course, you give into her mind games “n-no! Fuck, mmmm I can’t go without it”

Pornstar!ellie who knows your the real star of the show, makes sure the livestream gets a good view of your pussy as she rubs your clit, smacks it, and asks the chat a series of questions. “Isn’t this pussy so pretty” “what should I do to it ?” “How long do you think she’d last if I tied and vibed her today, I know you guys fucking love that” “she won’t stop squirming, what should i do to make sure she sits still and shuts the fuck up, I’m trying to film”

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #tlou2 #ellie tlou #fic rec #smut

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ellabsweet · 9 months

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[*ੈ✩] 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 • 𝐄.𝐖

synopsis: ellie williams was a firm follower of the bro code, having loyalty as her all time specialty despite being constantly tempted by the devil, or how others called her: her best friend’s sister.

pairing: bbf!ellie williams x reader

warning: sexual content and jealousy, a little bit of short ellie erasure for the sake of one scene but i am pretty sure that’s all there is to it! i love bbf!ellie i wish my brother had a best friend like her unfortunately life isn’t fair-

She’s enthralled by the videogame, tongue peaking out the side of her lips and eyebrows furrowed in pure concentration, the only things to break her out of trance being your brother’s eventual shit talking and elbow hitting that only made a smirk plaster her face, knowing to be winning, fingers steady on the controls.

“What the fuck” Your brother suddenly exclaims, and though ready to brag on about her streak something in his tone indicates it is not the game he was gagged about. Ellie follows his gaze straight onto a half naked blonde attempting to clothe herself by the kitchen on her way out. She recognized her, as lesbians did, Abby Anderson was on the hockey team of their community college and she wondered how in the world she were to know this house. It took you walking up behind her in somehow even littler clothes for it to dawn on her with a teeth clench.

“Abs, you forgot this” You point out handing her a sweatshirt which the girl accepted in flushed cheeks Ellie had never seen before from someone so infamous for sleeping around.

You weren’t a thing, Ellie knew that, fuck, she was the one who made sure of it, turning down your advances at every opportunity, but there was always something in the back of her mind that assumed you were waiting for her, a stupid thought, now that she thought it over. Her brain went red at the mental images her imagination refused to let go of, your moaning and desperation under somebody else’s touch, your taste in fuckgirl’s Abby Anderson’s tongue. If she were to clutch the videogame controller an ounce harder the metal would crush under her grasp. When you pecked her lips she was done for, distracted, on her way to losing for the next couple of hours while her best friend cursed on and on about how Abigail had been there basically every day that week.

She can practically hear you moaning Abby’s name in her head and it drives her insane. Ever since the first day your brother welcomed Ellie into his home and she set her sights on you it was as though all the breath had been sucked out of her lungs in one quick glance. The most beautiful girl she had ever seen, she concluded after seeing you smile. The most amazing girl she had ever met, she confirmed from all your late night conversations that became a habit from your shared insomnia and your brother’s heavy sleeping, there had been a time she’d ask to sleep over only anticipating your gossip and laughter, perfecting the cheesy dad jokes that were your favorite, attempting to convince herself it would be enough to be the girl that entertained you even if her chest ached in yearning for your lips pressed against hers. You had been distant the last couple of weeks, she felt it, but didn’t know why and you stalled every time when asked. Now she knew. And she hated it way more than anticipated. Like a rock heaving against her chest making it hard to breathe.

It was nighttime now and she shifted uncomfortably on the mattress by the floor, tossing and turning and holding in laughter from her best friend’s loud snores fast asleep in deep slumber. She played with the thought of going to your room as she usually would, but hesitated. It was still playing by her memories, your body in nothing but underwear when you had followed Abby out, every corner and crevasse of your skin looking so soft it made her ache. Her hands twitched as though wanting to reach out to you and only found her clothed pussy. She shook off the idea and stood up. Water, she thought, I’m only gonna go drink some water. But of course you were there too. Oversized t-shirt hiking up your body as you reached towards a tall shelf for a cup. Ellie reached in behind you and helped, settling the glass in your hands.

“Hi, Els” You said softly, shaking yourself loose of her overbearing stance behind you so you could walk towards the fridge for some chocolate milk, pouring it on.

“So, you and Abby. Are you like, a thing now?”

“Don’t start, Ellie. For someone who doesn’t fucking want me you sure are acting like a jealous girlfriend right now”

“For someone who doesn’t want you?” She scoffs in disbelief “Are you fucking stupid or something? Do you seriously not realize? I can’t fucking breathe when I’m around you, no actually screw that, it’s like I can’t fucking breathe when I’m not around you, like every time I make you laugh I’ve been drowning and can finally come up for air thanks to your stupid fucking smile and your stupid fucking sparkling eyes in your stupid fucking gorgeous face and then you parade around the house with stupid fucking Abigail Anderson and there’s a fucking bruise on your neck that I know she left there and I just want to sink my teeth in like a goddamn vampire and make one bigger to hide her claim on you and make it mine and-“

You crashed your lips against hers before she could continue. Her hands moving up to grab your hair, thumb caressing your cheeks and holding your face into place as though any gust of wind would make you fly away and loose her grip, she’s so mesmerized by you and your tongue inside her she moans into your mouth with barely any tension for it. It lasts a few more seconds before she pushes you away against all instincts.

“Stop, stop stop. I can’t. I can’t do this to your brother.”

“Fuck him”

“Baby…”

“Fuck me” You say and that’s enough to cloud all her judgment again. Ellie pushes you up against the kitchen cabinets and kisses you hungrier this time, hands coming up to stroke your exposed thighs before she latches onto them to push you up onto the counter, open mouthed kisses trailing down your neck until it reaches and Abby’s previous hickey and she bites down, a moan echoing from you and stopped by her hand over your mouth as she sucks down the sensitive skin and marks it darker.

“You’re going to be the death of me, fuck” She mumbles against your body, eyes darkening at the sight of the ever growing wet patch in the center of your underwear, she wastes no time to stroke it, harder and faster until she feels the liquid coating her fingers even against the fabric and sets your panties aside, looking up at you for reassurance you give with an enthusiastic nod before she dives her fingers in, moaning herself as she does so, feeling you clench around her hand “Fuck, you’re so pretty, I knew you’d feel so good, so fucking good around my fingers”

“Ellie, please” You beg with your head thrown backwards, eyes pressing shut from the pleasure she gave off circling your clit with her fingers in a way that ached your core “Please I want your mouth, I need it, I’m so fucking close-“

“What the fuck is going on here?” Ellie jumps away from you. She’s suddenly conscious and so are you, at the sight of your brother covering his eyes in disgust by the door.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams smut #the last of us fanfiction #lesbian #brothers best friend #bbf!ellie x reader

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kquil · 2 months

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JAMES POTTER | NO MORE HOCKEY PLAYERS!

REQUEST. : I think this might be too vague but can I request IceHockey!James x Reader angst with fluffy ending. I'm acc in love with the way you write him 🤍🤍 ⏤requested by anon

LENGTH : 1.9k

TAGS : modern au ; muggle au ; ice hockey player james potter ; enemies to lovers? but not really? ; enemies by association to lovers? ; protective james potter ; precious reader ; oc!andrew ; reader in a bad relationship ; james being the knight in shining hockey gear ; angst with fluff ending

WARNINGS : toxic relationship ; mentions of mistreatment in a relationship

You knew what was coming. It was something you were used to seeing, to dealing with in the two years you’ve been dating Andrew. As captain of the Ice Hockey team at Imperial College London and playing the Right-Wing Forward position, he was oftentimes compared to his more prominent, more celebrated counterpart, James Potter.

James Potter was the Ice Hockey captain of his team at UCL and also played the Right-Wing Forward position. Through this similarity, they were often compared and Andrew was beyond irritated by the fact. Irritated and fed up. James never appeared to mind the comparisons, however. In fact, he took it in stride because, in his eyes, the results of a fair game will put the constant equating to rest.

Andrew was passionate about the sport, he really was, his position as Captain was evidence of that dedication, however the constant comparisons in his ear made him highly aggressive on top of his already present anger issues. It wasn’t like this in the beginning, he was once very sweet and caring towards you, aware of your needs and was as much of a best friend as he was your boyfriend. Yes, you weren’t exempt from the occasional disagreement or shouting competition but it’s been so much worse as of late.

Just a couple of months ago, he lost a game to James’ team and finally snapped to the point that he managed to make the usually grinning and charming James Potter flush red with anger and commenced a screaming match that inaugurated an infamous rivalry between the two. That one win against him was also the tipping point for all the whispers comparing the two to sharply peak in favour of James. Now, there was always an undertone of James being viewed as the better one of the two. More charismatic, more diligent, more empathetic, more resilient, more consistent, more respectable… more handsome. All of which fanned the flames of your boyfriend’s anger until it reached dangerous levels.

The matches against them were, now, much more exhilarating but also much more aggressive. It frightened you the first time you saw them play against each other after that horrific encounter the previous game. This wasn’t a good display of sportsmanship. They were like two lions going after each other’s throats, pushing and shoving and colliding at top speeds, baring their teeth menacingly but neither side conceding defeat – they refused to surrender; one had to fall for the other to rise. It was horrifying to witness. You worried for Andrew but you also worried for James. They were both equal in brawn and stature so anything could happen to either side and they weren’t the least bit shy in making their belligerent intentions known. Bruises and sore limbs were expected from the sport but you feared that something more serious could be anticipated in the conflict between the two.

Your heart was almost ready to burst out of your chest when each game began and ended. It didn’t help that you were a frequent witness to Andrew’s harsh criticism towards his own team. Due to his frustrations and boiling anger, he demanded more of himself and, by extension, demanded more of his teammates as well. Many times, you tried to remind him of the fact that he wasn’t going about disciplining or encouraging his team in the right way. A familiar confrontation once became a huge fight that his teammates had to get in the middle of, worried for you, who they had come to think of as part of their own and, vice versa. Gradually, his support from the team dwindled, which meant that, during his combative encounters with James in the rink, he was slowly being left on his own with no one to assist him. He was playing at a higher risk each game and it hurt you to watch. Your love might have dwindled during Andrew’s self-destructive tirade but that didn’t mean you didn’t care for his well-being.

The result was inevitable. Owing to the lack of support from his own teammates and having to counter James’ antagonistic plays by himself, Andrew’s anger and jealousy grew and grew. It was a slap to the face when, at every re-match, his self-sabotaging behaviour led to James and his team’s victory. It was predictable, even for you, but you supported Andrew through it all.

At the end of the match, Andrew sulked in the locker rooms while the rest of the team hurried away, disgruntled by their captain’s pathetic plays, selfish agenda and mistreatment towards them when pinning all the blame for their loss solely on their lack of collaboration when, truly, he was the only one to blame.

“It’ll be okay, Andy–”

“Shut up!” his roaring shout bounced off the walls of the empty locker room. His voice echoed with mourning, betrayal and burning hot rage. It made your shoulders tense from the rising tension.

“Andrew, the way you’re acting i-it isn’t right–!” you tried to reason with him despite his hulking form and much larger frame intimidating you. He didn’t even have to look into your eyes for a shiver to run down your spine; the slamming of his locker door, the throwing of his clothes and the reckless handling of his equipment was enough to make you flinch each time.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT’S RIGHT OR WRONG!” he argues through clenched teeth, pushing the locker room doors open and letting it swing back, almost hitting you as you scurry up behind him.

“Well, you should, at least, try!” In a moment of bravery, you puff out your chest and glare at him, your eyes shining with thinly disguised disappointment and fear. He wasn’t like the Andrew you knew at all… this horrible, violent person was nothing like the Andrew you fell in love with two years ago, “I know you can be a great captain but you’re running yourself and your own team into the ground! Learn to put your ego aside for once!”

“WHY YOU!-- WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO LECTURE ME?!” his large hand raises and comes swinging down. It’s too late to react, you can only pinch your eyes closed and wait for the impact to come with clenched teeth.

“WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO HIT HER?!”

The hit never came. Instead, your eyes snap open to stare in shock at James Potter gripping the wrist of your boyfriend and pushing him away as he tucks you behind him. Too shocked at the situation and the sudden appearance of your boyfriend’s counterpart, you can’t help but just gape at the situation.

No no no! This isn’t meant to happen! You should have left the argument in the locker room!

“She’s my girlfriend! Dipshit!” Andrew snarls and tries to reach for you again but James steps in the way, blocking your view. He’s a solid mountain between you and your irate boyfriend. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

“That gives you even less of a right, not that you had any right to hit anyone to begin with,” James pants lightly, his heightened anger making him feel as though he’s run a mile, “If she’s your girl, you should treat her better! Acting like this after a loss is pathetic but pinning it onto your lady is disgusting!” James can handle rough play on the rink because he’s trained for it and he’s grown the thick skin to endure all kinds of impacts. But, when he sees violence like this outside the rink, it’s beyond infuriating, it makes him see red, it makes him want to throw all manner of good will out the window and go charging in like a stubborn bull.

“Fuck! Off!” Andrew shoves him away and grabs your upper arm, tugging you away without any regard for the force in his grip. It happened much too quickly that you couldn’t comprehend everything until you felt a stinging pain bloom in your arm under his grip.

“Ow!… Andrew, stop, please! You’re hurting me!”

“I don’t care! Hurry! Up!” he gives another aggressive tug and you squeal from the pain, willing yourself to suppress it so as to not anger him further. But your cry of hurt was enough to set off an unbelievable chain reaction.

There was a dull but harsh THUMP as James’ clenched fist collides with Andrew’s face, sending him sprawling as two gentle hands come up to your shoulders and gently pull you away from the scene. Those same two hands turn you around and carefully move down to press against your lower back, acting as a guide to lead you a safe distance away. The girl introduces herself as Alice, the girlfriend of Frank, who was the goalie of the UCL team. She leads you with a sympathetic smile past the rest of the James’ teammates, who face forward and grit their teeth at what they were just the witnesses to, some even stepping forward. Whether they wanted to join in or not, you didn’t find out but one was tall with mousy brown hair and the other had dark black hair against pale paper skin and grey eyes – the left defence and the centre of the UCL team.

“You’re okay…” Alice whispers softly, hurrying you along as the sound of punches begin to echo through the hallway, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,”

As tears slip past your lash line, a shaky whimper escapes your bitten lips and you accept her comfort with a small nod.

Suffice to say, you and Andrew broke up. And for good reason. Many people couldn’t even fathom that someone as soft-hearted and sweet as you would ever give someone like Andrew the time of day when you deserved so much more. What they don’t understand is that he was never like that when you first met… but, you suppose, he finally showed his true colours. But thanks to that, you’ve sworn off dating hockey players ever again!

“Oh!” a happy acknowledgement sounds and draws your eyes up to see a handsome, boyish grin beaming down at you, “It’s you!” His freshly washed locks drip with water and he moves to close the locker room door behind him when his words bring the attention of curious eyes from the rest of his team, all peaking a glimpse of you around his frame.

“Yeah…” you smile softly, nerves shaking anxiously as your hands clasp together for some stability, “sorry for suddenly showing up,”

“It’s alright,” James’ beaming smile doesn’t fade the slightest bit as his eyes shine with relief, “I’m just glad you’re looking okay,”

“Yeah, all thanks to you,” the compliment makes him flush bashfully as a large hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. For a guy with a bear-like frame, he pulls off the adorable puppy look pretty well.

“Did you watch the game?” he hurries to change the topic and instead of answering, you hold up a cutely wrapped batch of homemade cookies. Andrew was once the only person who had exclusive access to your home baked goodies but he lost that privilege a long time ago. It’s time to associate your baking with something (someone) more positive and deserving.

“Wow! Thanks!” James eyes your offer with wide eyes and was already drooling from the sugary scent in the air, seducing him into taking it and having a bite. You smile at his moans of gratification and allow his free flowing compliments to boost your confidence, “will you be coming to our next game?” he suddenly asks, catching you off guard.

“Uhh..--”

“Please come,” his eyes plead with you but when you don’t answer, he bargains, “I’ll win it for you,”

No more hockey players be damned.

A/N : i love writing hockey player james potter too~ he's just so dreamy! ahhhhh! it's probably one of my favourite aus of james potter! (,,o // o,,) thank you so much for the request, anon-darling! im so sorry for taking so long, i hope you enjoy the read!

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut

@arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @delusional-4-fake-people @linaax @girl-detective16 @riaa-moony @ericityyy @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #ice hockey player james potter #📝 : request #marauders #james potter oneshot #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter one shot #james potter fic

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residenthughes · 2 months

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mad at me - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x afab reader

word count: 3.5k

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

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

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

It takes a lot for Jack to get mad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t follow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jh86 #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes fic #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #nhl smut #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #residenthughes

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primaviva · 4 months

Text

PUCK YOU

featuring. hockey!ellie williams x fem!reader synopsis. after winning the final game of the season, ellie wants you to join her in celebrating in the locker room. warnings. descriptions of the female body, suggestive content, hardcore making out ( i. e. breast play, grinding, hair pulling…) read at your own discretion

eighty six—the number that defined your girlfriend's prowess on the ice.

it was the number you witnessed gliding effortlessly across the frozen surface, scoring goals with a mighty grip on the hockey stick. it was the number you saw when her frustration reached its peak, her helmet flying across the room, marked unmistakably with that bold eighty six.

and now, as you watched the game unfold, you proudly donned the same number on your back. the vibrant red jersey draped your frame in a comfortably oversized, boyfriend-style fit. originally ellie's, she had lovingly given it to you, fully aware of your affinity for wearing her clothes, with the added sentiment that it’s her team jersey adorning your figure as you cheered her on during games.

in the highly anticipated matchup against the seattle krakens, ellie found herself facing off against her arch-nemesis, abby anderson, who always seemed to harbor an unspoken animosity towards her. perhaps it stemmed from abby's envy of ellie's successes in the industry, or maybe it was fueled by a longing to occupy the same position. whatever the reason, their encounters invariably generated newsworthy headlines.

ellie was well aware of the power of making headlines, understanding that the public loved a good rivalry. the crowd, amused by the tension between ellie and abby, eagerly absorbed every moment of them clashing on the monitors. well, everyone but you. unlike the spectators, you knew the toll it took on ellie. while you delighted in witnessing the furrow of ellie's brows and the intensity in her evergreen gaze, you understood the weight of her anger, knowing how overwhelming those emotions could be for her during gameplay. ellie also just didn’t like getting angry, as she knew how terrible she could get when succumbing to the emotion.

as the game against the seattle krakens reached its exhilarating climax, the scoreboard displayed a tense deadlock. "ellie" and "abby" reverberated through the arena, transforming into a fierce battle of vocal support among the spectators. the names echoed through the crowd, each fan fervently chanting for their favorite player to emerge victorious.

you leaned forward, leaning over the barrier that separated the passionate crowd from the icy battleground. eager to catch a glimpse of the unfolding spectacle, you yearned for a front-row view of the action.

"kick her ass!" your voice rang out, carried by a surge of adrenaline as you fervently waved your hands in the air, willing ellie to triumph with every fiber of your being.

with each stride, ellie's instincts took over. in a swift, fluid motion, ellie seized control of the puck, effortlessly maneuvering past defenders with her unmatched skill. among the sea of opponents, her eyes locked onto abby, her greatest rival, who relentlessly pursued her, driven by a desire to strip ellie of the puck. with precision and agility, ellie danced around abby's relentless advances, her stickwork a symphony of finesse. the crowd watched in awe as the two players engaged in a thrilling duel, but with a burst of speed, your girlfriend left abby in her wake, weaving through the defense.the crowd held their breath, captivated by the scene before them.

the ice seemed to tremble beneath her skates as she closed in on the goal, her heart pounding in her chest. time seemed to stand still as she unleashed a powerful shot, puck sailing through the air and evading the outstretched glove of the goaltender, finding the back of the net. satisfying, it reverberated with a resounding thud as the puck found its mark, securing victory for ellie's team. the arena erupted in a chorus of thunderous cheers, the crowd's jubilation mirroring the euphoria in ellie's own heart.

as the final buzzer echoed through the arena, signaling the end of the intense match, the spectators began to disperse, their cheers fading into the background. ellie along with her team members, elated by their hard-fought victory, eagerly made their way to the locker room to celebrate.

that was the routine of those games. the teams would go to the locker rooms to change out of their gear until they come back out to wait for their bus which left a little later as the coaches made sure the media got some press with the stars of the teams. you would wait for ellie outside of the lockers to greet her with a well deserved kiss and hug before it was time to hit the road.

however, what wasn’t apart of the routine was ellie taking much longer than her teammates, to the point where everyone had left the lockers to go outside and get some fresh air in the dark night sky. usually ellie was eager to get out of her sweaty uniform and lay flat on the floor in relief that it was over, one time she had practically taken her shirt off before leaving the rink.

as you contemplated walking inside, dina, one of ellie's teammates, approached you with a knowing look.

"dina, where's ellie?" you inquired, crossing your arms over your chest as you eagerly awaited her answer.

the raven-head sighed softly, her eyes conveying a sense of understanding to your anxious state. "she's still in the locker room," dina replied, voice laced with empathy. "she needed a moment to calm down. it got pretty intense out there."

your heart skipped a beat as you took in dina's words. you knew all too well how overwhelming emotions could be for ellie, especially in the aftermath of a fiercely contested game like this one. without a second thought, you made your way towards the locker room.

as you entered the dimly lit space, the air was heavy with exhaustion. and there, in the corner, you spotted ellie, her figure slumped on a bench, her equipment scattered haphazardly around her. the sweat glistening on her forehead and the lingering fire in her eyes showed you all you needed to know.

her distant expression revealed a mind lost in deep contemplation, seemingly oblivious to the world around her, including your presence at the doorway.

"ellie," you softly called out, breaking the spell of her introspection.

in an instant, her head snapped up, the fog of her thoughts dissipating as a radiant, toothy smile graced her face. it was the kind of infectious grin that only ellie, with her unique brand of endearing quirkiness, could effortlessly rock. rising from the bench, standing tall as she strode purposefully towards you.

closing the distance between you, ellie enveloped you in her strong arms, lifting you up effortlessly off the ground. her face nestled into the crook of your neck, her warm breath sending gentle shivers down your spine.

the world outside the locker room faded away—as she held you, you could feel the weight of the game lifting from alongside her.

"there you are," she murmured against your neck, her voice muffled but happy nonetheless.

amidst stifled laughter, you attempted to speak. "did you hear me cheering?" you managed to ask.

"how could i not hear you, baby? you were the loudest one out there," ellie retorted, another smile gracing her face. she loved how supportive you always were of her. "thank you for always being there for my games. it means a lot to me, having my beautiful girl cheering me on."

tenderly, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, her pale green eyes brimming with warmth and love. on the field, ellie exuded toughness and fierceness, but with you, her armor melted away, revealing a softer, caring side that you brought out in her.

you couldn't help but chuckle at her remark about being the loudest, preferring to describe her as passionate. "you good?" you asked, your gaze fixed on her as your vision readjusted from being taken to the ground. "i know how much it gets to you when abby tries to rile you up during games."

ellie let out a sigh at the mention of abby. "i'm fine, don't worry about her," she replied, her voice laced with frustration, her hand absentmindedly rubbing the back of her neck.

but you could see the tension in her jaw, the way her body seemed to hold onto the irritation caused by abby's actions.

"thanks for checking on me," she expressed, her voice softer now. ellie leaned down, resting her forehead against yours, and released a deep sigh. it felt as if she were fully surrendering her body weight onto you, relying on your support. she was exhausted, both mentally and physically.

you weren’t buying tickets to her act.

as you studied her face, you noticed her tightly shut eyes and the creases forming around them. "i find it hard to believe you're okay. you look exhausted. sit," you firmly stated, placing your hands on her shoulders and gently guiding her back down onto the bench, encouraging her to rest.

ellie sighed and didn't resist as you made her sit back down on the bench. as tough as she was, she knew better than to argue with you when you used that tone.

"you know me too well,” ellie noted as she relaxed her shoulders and leaned back, closing her eyes. you always seemed to see right through her facade of being fine. the game had taken more out of her than she cared to admit.

you sat there, quietly observing her presence. the sheen of sweat adorned her forehead, causing strands of stray hair to cling to the sides. her skin appeared moist, a clear indication that she had recently stepped off the rink. your eyes remained fixed on her, capturing the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each inhale and exhale, a rhythmic cadence that grew slower and more deliberate. as you watched, your mind couldn't help but wander, envisioning the strength and definition of her abs concealed beneath her jersey. surely, the intensity of her performance left her core muscles taut and sculpted.

"will you sit with me for a bit?" she questioned, opening one eye to look at you hopefully. ellie just wanted a few quiet moments with you before the crowds dispersed. your presence alone seemed to ease her fatigue.

you nodded silently, a wordless affirmation of your unwavering support, before settling down beside her. her eyes attentively followed your every movement, capturing each subtle motion as you took your place next to her. she kept her gaze fixed on you, her emerald eyes shimmering in the softly lit room, as if trying to memorize every detail before finally closing them, her head finding solace against the wall.

"i really do appreciate you," she spoke amongst the silence. reaching for your hand, she brought it to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon it.

ellie, the dominant force on the field, always had a calm vulnerability in your presence. you provided the equilibrium she needed, a balance that no one else could offer.

you couldn't help but giggle at the sensations elicited by her tender kiss on your hand. "don't thank me," you playfully responded, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes. "come on, let me help you get undressed." as you rose from your seat, you noticed a devilish smirk on her face. "i didn't mean it like that, so don't even think about it," you emphasized, walking between her open legs as she sat, firmly grasping the bottom of her jersey.

she teasingly placed her hands behind your thighs, as if mockingly trying to keep you in place, before finally relenting and allowing you to proceed with removing her from her sweaty uniform.

"you know i can’t help myself around you," ellie playfully remarked, punctuating her words with a wink. however, as you tended to her, ellie surrendered herself to your caring touch, feeling the tightness in her muscles melt away.

she raised her arms, a silent invitation for you to remove her jersey. with gentle and skillful movements, you carefully pulled the fabric over her head, revealing the glistening sheen of perspiration on her skin. moving on, you deftly unfastened her shoulder pads, followed by her elbow pads. the expression on her face spoke volumes, a mixture of relief and gratitude as the weight of the protective gear was lifted from her.

ellie grinned up at you, thoroughly enjoying teasing you even when exhausted. you were just so cute when you got flustered. but she resisted making any other suggestive comments as you helped remove her pads and gear. she could tell you were going into protective girlfriend mode to take care of her.

as the last piece came off, ellie sighed in relief. "god, that’s so much better, thank you. i feel lighter already." she pulled you closer between her legs so your bodies were pressed together, though mindful not to squeeze you too tightly in her tired state. the tension began to ease from her muscles.

you just had that calming presence which soothed ellie's nerves. just being close to you helped her unwind after the stress of competition. she leaned back and closed her eyes contentedly.

"come here," ellie beckoned, extending her arm towards you, her desire for your closeness evident. "i just want to hold my girl before having to sit through a three-hour bus ride," she joked, a bit of truth in her statement.

with hesitation and curiosity, you placed your hand in hers, uncertain of what she had in mind. but before you could fully anticipate her next move, ellie swiftly pulled you into her lap, enveloping you in her embrace.

the suddenness of the action surprised you, but as you settled into her lap, you felt a wave of warmth and security wash over you. nestled against her, you could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

ellie wrapped her strong arms securely around your waist as you settled into her lap. she rested her chin on your shoulder and breathed you in deeply.

"mmm, there's my girl,” she whispered. holding you always made ellie feel centered. like the rest of the world faded away and it was just the two of you. she nuzzled softly against your neck, placing gentle kisses along your skin. "i love you so much," she spoke while holding you tighter, hoping you knew how much you meant to her.

ellie's tired muscles relaxed further as she embraced you. your presence alone seemed to ease the strain from her body. she rocked you gently in her arms, enjoying this quiet moment of intimacy.

"i love you too," you whispered in response, your words filled with nothing less of love. ellie's gaze locked onto yours, her pupils dilating as she immersed herself in the depths of your eyes. in that intimate exchange, she sought to discover every shade, every intricate detail that made your eyes uniquely yours.

her hand, which had secured your waist, embarked on a slow and agonizing path up your back, sending a tantalizing shiver along your spine. it finally settled at the nape of your neck, her touch both gentle and possessive. with a firm grasp, she guided your head towards hers, closing the distance between your lips.

ellie kissed you softly yet deeply, savoring the feeling of your lips against hers. all the anxiety and frustration from the game seemed to melt away in your affectionate embrace.

she gently traced her tongue along your bottom lip, asking for entrance in a way that was loving yet dominant. her hand cradled the back of your head tenderly even as she pulled you in closer.

kissing you always made ellie feel possessive yet protective at the same time. like she never wanted to let you go. she loved you so fiercely it sometimes scared her. but she knew you were the only one who truly saw her for who she was—not just an athlete but a person.

as your lips moved in perfect harmony, a sensuous dance of desire, you became lost in the intoxicating rhythm. the magnetic pull between you seemed irresistible, drawing you into a world where nothing else mattered but her body. the wetness of her mouth and the mingling of saliva heightened the intensity, an unspoken language shared between you both.

when you reluctantly parted to catch your breath, a thin strand of saliva lingered, connecting you both momentarily. ellie leaned her forehead against yours, her breaths heavy and labored. her pale green eyes bore into yours, radiating warmth and unbridled desire. “i need you,” she expressed with a raw simplicity, her voice husky and filled with need. in your embrace, ellie found solace, the only place where true tranquility resided.

ellie craved an outlet, a means to divert her frustrations and escape the overwhelming demands of the game. and in that moment, there was no better distraction than being consumed by thoughts of you, her mind freed from pucks and goalies.

with a swift gesture, she wiped away the saliva from her chin before firmly gripping your jaw, drawing your lips back to hers. the kiss intensified, akin to the crashing of rough waves against a sailor's vessel. each crash left an imprint, and you could sense the tender fullness of your lips bruising under the passionate onslaught.

a deep, resonant moan escaped your throat, merging with the union of your mouths. your hands found purchase on her shoulders as you adjusted yourself, straddling her waist with a sense of urgency.

ellie growled low in her throat at your moan, arousal spiking through her body in an instant. she gripped your hips tighter, grinding you against her as your movements stirred her growing need.

kissing you deeper, ellie dominated your mouth with her tongue, possessing you completely. one hand slid up your back, fingers clutching possessively. the other tangled in your hair to hold you right where she wanted.

she kissed like she played—with a fiery intensity and competitive drive to claim victory. ellie poured all her pent up passion and longing into the kiss, asserting her dominance yet caring for you completely.

when you finally broke apart again, panting heavily, ellie gazed at you with lust-darkened eyes. "fuck, baby, you're so hot,” she groaned, nipping along your jaw and down your neck, leaving her mark.

ellie was throbbing with want, craving the intimate release only you could give her after a game.

"ellie, did you forget we're in the locker room?" you began to protest, but ellie's touch interrupted your words, cupping your clothed boobs and giving them a slow yet tender squeeze. you hated how flustered she got you, especially when there were other people around. “cut the shit," you pleaded, but deep down, you knew that you were just as eager to help ellie find release from her stress.

ellie chuckled low in her throat at how easily she could rile you up. your flushed cheeks and dilated pupils told her exactly how turned on you were despite your words.

with a mischievous grin, ellie met your plea while giving your breasts another b squeeze. "aw, come on, baby, don't pretend you don't love it when i get you all hot and bothered," she teased, her voice low and seductive.

ellie lived for the challenge of pushing your buttons and claiming your body as her own, even with others so close. the thrill of potentially getting caught only served to heighten her arousal.

she leaned in to nibble your earlobe sensually, "bet i can make you cum before we even leave this room." ellie's hand slid down your stomach to cup your clit through your jeans.

"what do you say? want to put on a little after show for me?" she gripped your ass firmly with her other hand, grinding you down against her. ellie knew all your secrets and weaknesses, and was more than willing to exploit them.

you couldn't help but mumble, "fuck," as your hands gripped on her hair. you moved in for another kiss without thinking twice as you were too needy to keep her mouth to yourself.

ellie kissed you hungrily, all her earlier arousal igniting into an inferno. she moaned against your mouth at the feel of your hands gripping her hair firmly. oh, how the girl loved it when you took charge and matched her dominance with your own.

it was as if she was starving for you, devouring your mouth possessively. she grounded up against your core, feeling how wet you were already through your jeans. ellie delighted in unraveling your composure and leaving you a panting, wanting mess.

her hands roamed your body possessively, gripping your ass to grind you down harder. ellie sucked your bottom lip between her teeth, nipping teasingly. she wanted you aching and desperate for her. your girlfriend loved how responsive your body was to her touch, how you melted under her.

breaking the kiss momentarily, ellie gazed up at you with eyes dark with lust. "god, you're so fucking hot. think anyone would notice if i made you come right here?"

she traced delicate patterns on your warm skin, teasing ever closer to your core. ellie lived to unravel you, reduce you to a flushed, quivering mess before claiming your pleasure as her own. she rolled her hips up in a slow, deep circle, applying delicious friction directly against your clit now. ellie was determined to push you over the edge before letting you leave this locker room.

ellie groaned at your nails scraping across her scalp, spurring her desire higher. she kissed you back fervently, delving her tongue between your lips to tangle with your own.

your desperate little noises only served to spur her on. ellie was going to thoroughly ravish you right here, right now, and to hell with anyone who might catch them. you were hers.

"you're gonna make a mess of your uniform," you managed to gasp out, your words challenged by hushed breaths and the rapid beating of your heart. in the grand scheme of things, her uniform should have been the least of your concerns, but your mind was clouded, rendering you unable to think clearly.

ellie chuckled low in her throat as you panted and squirmed in her lap. you were always so cute when she had you this worked up.

"that's what the showers are for, baby." she rolled her hips up in another slow, deep grind against your clit. ellie nibbled along your neck hungrily, branding you with love bites. "don't care about the uniform, i just want you,” she declared while kissing you hard, refusing to break eye contact as her hand slid under your low waisted jeans.

ellie knew exactly how to unravel you, where to touch to draw out your pleasure. she could feel your arousal soaking through your underwear as you ground yourself down against her hand. your girlfriend swallowed your soft moans, owning your mouth completely as your hips began to ride her expert fingers.

her hands slid under the famous eighty six jersey she lent you to caress and squeeze your breasts skin on skin. ellie tweaked your nipples between her fingertips, rubbing them into stiff peaks.

"bet you’re close already," ellie muttered. she kissed you fiercely, tongue plunging into your mouth in time with her grinding hips.

ellie was throbbing with her own needs but lived for your pleasure above her own. she would push you over the edge a thousand times just to see your blissful expression.

the hockey player took such pride and satisfaction in reducing you to a quivering mess so quickly. and she hadn't even fucked you properly yet. by the time she was through, you'd be putty in her hands.

she smirked, loving how close she had you already. you began subconsciously grinding yourself on her through, back and forth as you sucked her tongue in your mouth. your moans of pleasure were like music to her ears.

"that's it baby, ride my thigh. feel how wet you're making me?" she continued to talk you through, emphasizing her words by grinding up against your core once more.

ellie captivated your lips in another searing kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. her hands gripped your ass possessively, helping lift and lower your hips.

“ellie,” you mumbled, the intensity of the moment consuming you, as rational thoughts and the ability to express them struggled to break through the haze of desire.

the brunette's head quipped up as soon as she saw your beautiful visage. it was one of her favorite things to do at these times, to simply observe the obscene looks on your face that she made herself, tight with pleasure.

ellie took such pride and satisfaction in reducing you to a quivering mess so quickly. and she hadn't even fucked you properly yet. by the time she was through, you'd be putty in her hands.

“yeah? if you have something to say, you gotta use your words (y/n). so if you want it, then tell me you want to cum all over my hand while i fuck you right here,” ellie taunted, now nipping at your bottom lip, her husky voice dripping dominance and desire.

the words that escaped her lips left you stunned, rendering you momentarily speechless. your eyes watched her intently as she adjusted her stance against the wall. her every movement seemed deliberate, commanding your attention.

with trembling hands, you reached out to steady yourself against a nearby surface, the weight of her words sinking in as you opted for the wall behind ellie. as she moved her arm once more, your gaze followed. her strong fingers dipped past the fabric to tease your entrance eagerly. "come on baby, don't leave me hanging,” ellie ordered gruffly, knowing the sound of her voice could send you over the edge.

she held you flush against her body, grinding up to meet your every roll of hips. you swallowed each other's moans with deep kisses, tongues tangling erotically. ellie was determined to push you over the edge right here in this very locker room.

all of a sudden, a disruptive knocking sound echoed through the locker room door, shattering the fragile bubble of intimacy that had enveloped you both. a voice, belonging to joel, ellie's hockey coach, seeped through the other side, brimming with impatience.

"ellie, hurry up! the bus is outside, and our asses will leave you here to hitchhike if you don't come out in the next five minutes," joel's voice boomed, giving his last warning to your girlfriend.

you exchanged a knowing glance, the disappointment and longing apparent in your eyes. ellie growled in frustration as joel's voice interrupted your intense moment. of course, right when she was finally forgetting her problems, the problem came knocking on the door.

"shit," she muttered under her breath. ellie rested her forehead against yours as you both panted from being out of breath, the rhythm of your heartbeats gradually slowing, but the desire within you remaining unquenched.

"we're not done here," ellie whispered huskily, giving your ass a possessive squeeze.

louder so joel could hear, she called out, "yeah yeah, we're coming!" you tried not to laugh, but ellie giggled to herself, a sly smile on her face at the double meaning which caused you to roll your eyes.

ellie's lips pressed against yours for one final, ravenous kiss, a bittersweet taste that left you yearning for more. "we’re gonna finish this later, i promise,” she declared in a hushed tone, fueling what already thrummed between you.

with a playful slap on your ass whilst she got off the bench, ellie teased you, her touch electric against your skin. time was of the essence as you swiftly assisted her in changing out of her hockey gear and into more comfortable clothes.

the weight of disappointment settled upon both of you, and with mutual understanding, you tenderly brushed each other's disheveled hair back into place. gently, you attempted to wipe the sweat from each other's faces, trying to look as unsuspecting as possible. Not to mention, it was also severely embarrassing.

leaving the confines of the locker room, you stepped outside and joined ellie's teammates on the bus. taking your places among them, you immersed yourself in the multiple topics that would usually take place, ranging from animated discussions about the game to reflections on personal improvement and snippets of their everyday lives. or, they simply just talked shit about the other team and how stupid their name was—it could even go as far as saying how ugly and mismatched the team colors would be.

ellie knew you'd be aching for her touch until then. it would be a long, frustrating bus ride for both of you back to jackson. but the anticipation would make the payoff so much sweeter.

she knew she would get her after-game reward.

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nhlclover · 2 months

Text

hey stephen | cole caufield

word count: 1.25k

summary: when reunited, both yours and coles crushes on each other come back full force.

warnings: drinking, mentions of puking, tiny bit of swearing

notes: sort of but not really based on ‘hey stephen’ by taylor swift. hope you enjoy!!

You adored the wrap-around porch of the lakehouse. The screen allowed soft breezes and rays of sunlight to wade in while keeping bugs out. The comfy furniture Jack and Quinn had splurged on last summer was a bonus. That’s exactly why you found yourself nodding off into a midday nap in the cuddler chair, your book long forgotten on the side table next to you.

Tires crunching on the gravel followed by the car horn beeping obnoxiously rip you from the brink of sleep. You groan, getting up from the chair and walking to the front door to see who was there. Jack's car was now parked behind Quinn in the driveway, the trunk open.

You had arrived the week before with Quinn and Luke, the three of you driving from home together. Jack, however, had visited his friend Cole in Montreal and was driving down with Cole a few days later.

“Hey!” Jack calls out to you, walking over with a cooler in hand.

“Hey there.” You grinned. “What’s in the cooler?”

Jack places the cooler down, opening the lid to show you the contents. “Did you pack anything other than beer?” You asked.

Jack scoffs, picking it back up. “Of course. We have some coolers in the trunk.” He says, walking past you and into the house. You notice someone come out from behind the car, carrying a duffle bag and a backpack.

“Hey.” He smiles. You know who it is immediately. It’s hard to not recognize that face. That smile. That laugh.

You hadn’t seen Cole since he played with Jack on the USNDT. You had a crush on him back then when the two of you were in high school. He was always kind to you and you had always found him adorable. You saw him fairly frequently then, but hadn’t in 4 years since Cole moved to Montreal, while you stayed in the States and went to school.

“Hi.” You squeak out.

Cole is still just as cute and still has the same smile, just slightly older and more grown. In high school, Cole was smaller, making him a bit of an anomaly among hockey players. But now he had filled out, put on muscle and you were finding now that there was a new layer to your attraction. A new physical attraction.

“Hi y/n,” He replies, stepping closer to you and opening his arms. “What has it been? Ten years since I saw you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Try four.” You say, accepting his hug.

“How is that possible?” He asks.

“Blame Jack, he’s the one who always invites you when I’m never here.” You say.

“Why would I want my annoying sister here during a boys' trip?” Jack said, giving you a shoulder check as he walked past you to the car.

You stuck up your middle finger to his back, walking back inside with Cole following behind. Quinn and Luke had now come in from the dock, greeting Cole.

“Hey, man,” Luke says, bringing him in for a hug. “How’s it going?”

While Luke and Cole caught up with one another, you helped stock the fridge.

The first two weeks of summer blew by. Your days consisted of boat rides, occasionally joining your brothers and Cole in their training sessions at the local rink, and tanning on the dock. Through the two weeks spent together, your crush on Cole grew stronger.

Cole, in being around you for the first time in 4 years, is reminded of the crush he once harboured for you. He’d once thought it was just a fleeting crush he’d long dismissed. However, now being with you, he realized it was much more than that. It was a pining that never truly went away, merely went dormant just beneath the surface.

It was nearing the end of Cole’s stay before he was going to head back to Wisconsin. For Cole, whose feelings had hit their peak, it was now or never to confess his feelings.

The combined brains of Jack and Luke had decided to have a final night of going hard and drinking. From inside, you could hear the shouting of the boys who were playing a drinking game. You’d played the first few rounds of a game Quinn had introduced but forfeited as you didn’t want to be too hungover in the morning. You’d instead retreated to the porch, observing the lightning strikes on the neighbouring islands. You nursed a beer that you had started in the last round of the game.

A few moments later the door connecting the living room to the patio opened, and Cole stepped out. “Hey.” He said upon spotting you.

“Hey.” You replied. “You finished your drinking game?”

“No, they’re still going at it. I bailed.” Cole said. He walks over, standing next to you. He follows your gaze to the lake, the sound of the rain hitting the water filling the silence.

Cole admires the way you seem transfixed by the storm. “You like thunderstorms?” Cole asks.

“I love them.” You reply, a grin forming on your lips. “The way the lightning illuminates the sky…It’s just so cool”

Staring at you now, Cole was entranced by how you looked at the water. He couldn’t help himself. Something within Cole snaps and he can’t keep it in any longer. The song inside the living room changed, Hey Stephen now playing. The song sparks an idea in his head and Cole blurts out the words.

“I can’t help it… you look like an angel.” Cole says. Your head snaps towards him and you go to speak, but Cole beats you to it. “And I can’t help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain.”

You clue into what Cole is referencing, a grin forming on your lips. You stay quiet, hoping Cole will continue which he does.

“So come feel this magic I’ve been feeling since I met you. I can’t help it if there’s no one else. I can’t help myself.” He finishes.

“Did you just quote Taylor Swift?” You ask Cole.

“Maybe…” Cole says, reluctantly.

“Are you flirting with me?” You ask him.

Cole takes a step back, his cheeks burning as he reads your reaction as one of almost disgust. “Oh, am I that bad at it?”

“Not at all.” You smile. Cole relaxes at your words. “So do you really want to kiss me in the rain?”

Cole steps forward, slowly placing his hands on your waist. Apprehension and anticipation lace the air as you prepare to cross a boundary previously untouched. His lips land softly on yours, contradicting the emotions that were swirling within the both of you. With each kiss and the quickening of the rhythm, you find yourself melting into him. Your arms link around his shoulders, drawing him closer till your chests are pressed together.

Thunder rattles the sky but doesn’t disturb the bubble you two were in, rather underscoring the moment you two were having.

You are finally forced apart when the door to the porch swings open, hitting the wall next to it. Luke comes rushing out and down the steps, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the grass. Jack and Quinn come out next, not even noticing the two of you, instead laughing hysterically at Luke as he dry heaves on the lawn.

Cole takes your hand, quietly drawing you away and back into the house. You follow him up the stairs, away from the boys downstairs.

#cole caufield #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #nhl players #nhl fic #montreal canadiens #habs

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year

Text

lover of mine - n.hischier

nico hischier x f!reader

warnings: swearing, angst, description of injury/bruises etc, sad nico, mentions of vomiting/dizziness, medical inaccuracies

word count: 21k

You were in your room, having just got back from a late trip to the store for some last minute bagels and milk – you weren’t doing anything in particular. You were sitting on your office chair, eyes occasionally drifting to the essay waiting for your corrections on the table, but you found it hard to tear your attention away from your phone. There wasn’t anything specifically attention grabbing that you were scrolling through, mainly just browsing Instagram and replying to some messages from friends.

There was no jeopardy surrounding the evening: it was dark outside, around eight – so not too late that you felt like you had to rush to sort things out, but late enough to deplete your energy levels completely to the point where you couldn’t really bring yourself to work.

Your bedroom door was open, vague chatter from the Devils match playing in the living room – your roommate, Maisey, wrapped up in the whirlwind that seemed to accompany any fan of hockey. The last time you’d seen her she was leaning towards the TV, her elbows on her knees as she shouted words every couple of minutes.

It was a routine quickly becoming familiar to you both; usually you’d be sitting next to her, both yelling profanities at the TV in synch, but in an attempt to distance yourself from the drama in your relationship at the moment, you’d decided to take a step back somewhat. You could still watch the highlights and every now and then you’d sit in and watch with her, but there was only so much of watching the matches anymore that you could take without being reminded of your recent heartbreaks and tribulations – all because of a certain captain.

Needless to say, when her shouting stopped and an eerie quiet descended from the living room, the commentating getting louder as though Maisey was trying to listen even more carefully to what was being said, it didn’t escape your interest, and your curiosity peaked. You paused, your thumb faltering as you threw a cautious glance at your door, still no sign of any rustling or movement that indicated she’d only turned it up to take the bins out or have a quick toilet break. In fact, apart from the occasional flickering from the light of the TV, the only thing you could see was the ajar bathroom door from across the hallway.

You furrowed your brows, ears straining to pick up the quickfire chatter as something ugly and dreadful settled itself in your mind and chest. You tried to dissect the sensation, but the tightness of your chest and the cold chill of your bones could only pull you in the direction of foreboding.

“Maise?” You called out, slowly hauling yourself off your chair, phone switching off as you turned into the hallway.

When you looked down the corridor to the sofa just in sight, you could see Maisey’s worried gaze peek over the back, and you gravitated towards her, “Yeah?” She asked, blindly fumbling for something as you got closer.

It was only when you rounded the corner to cast a glance at the TV, heart thudding against your sternum in anticipation of seeing something you didn’t want to, that the commentary cut off, the screen turning an abrupt black. You could see your reflection looking back at you, the momentary flicker of people in black tracksuits crowding around a horizontal figure crumpled against the boards.

You looked to Maisey on the blank screen, who was looking at you with an essence of anxiety, awkwardly spinning the remote in her hand, her eyes burning holes in the back of your head as though she expected you to react.

To what?

“What’s wrong?” You spun around, moving to take a seat next to her, completely unaware of what had been playing out before your entrance.

You knew there was a Devils game tonight, she’d been watching it when you came back from your little trip and unloaded the fresh produce into varying cupboards, and you’d even cast curious glances at it when you were looking in the general direction of the TV, but you’d immediately hidden yourself back in your room with the honest intent of finishing some work before bed.

She shrugged, acting nonchalant as her shoulders drooped, “Nothing.” She mumbled, “I thought you were working?”

You nodded slowly, feeling some tension begin to wear off at her lack of urgency, “I tried to, but I can’t concentrate. It’s too late to think.” She nodded, twisting her mouth awkwardly, “Why’d you turn it off?”

She shrugged again, pulling the remote away from you before you could even move to turn the TV back on, “Just…Nico was playing.” You fought a wince, a wave of sadness clenching in your chest, “I didn’t want to upset you.”

You were grateful for her consideration, but her subdued, almost too-casual demeanour was off-putting and quite frankly irritating. You could tell she was hiding something from you, that much was obvious from the way she hid the remote out of your sight and made no move to turn the TV back on even despite your reassurances. You’d seen some of Nico’s games recently, she knew that – and she also knew that you had nothing against her watching them in the front room.

And it wasn’t like you and Nico were over – even if it had felt like it recently, although that was the definition of being on a ‘break’, wasn’t it? You’d agreed (after much deliberation and many tears on both your behalfs) that a rather reluctant break was needed; little to no communication…it was rough. It was also the first time in two years that you hadn’t gone two weeks without speaking to Nico, or even seeing his face on FaceTime, and you were kind of dying. Or, at least it felt like it.

It was difficult trying to sleep lately, hence why you’d been trying to get into bed earlier – mind seemingly intent on torturing you with images of Nico and replaying conversations and moments.

You’d lost count of the number of times you’d had to remind yourself that this break – although temporary – was essential for your relationship, and it was no secret neither of you wanted to break up. That had been made abundantly clear the last time you had spoken when you were both speechless in his front room before you’d reluctantly left him there.

And Maisey knew this, she respected this, which was why you found it so hard to believe she was telling the truth.

“You know I don’t mind watching the games.” You said, tilting your head in interest when she squirmed under your gaze, “Are you okay?”

Your heart was hammering in your chest when she turned to look at you, brows knitted together and eyes wide, chewing on her bottom lip, “I–” She hesitated, “The game wasn’t very interesting.”

You nodded, attempting a smile even despite the thick atmosphere. You had been friends with Maisey since high school, so you knew when she wasn’t telling you something, but you brushed it off, respecting whatever reasoning behind it – you trusted her, so if she was avoiding telling you something, you knew it was within reason.

“Do you want some tea or a drink?” You asked, switching the topic of conversation to avoid maintaining the awkward tension.

When you looked at Maisey she was eyeing your phone. And almost as though she’s willed it into existence, the screen lit up.

Her eyes snapped to you, where you’d frozen half-lifting yourself off the sofa, and there was an immeasurable panic in her face. It had something dropping in your stomach, dread pooling throughout your body, and you swallowed anxiously, your mouth drying.

“You should answer it.” She said, thrusting it towards you.

You blinked, taking it numbly and without allowing yourself to dwell yourself into a pit of your own panic, clicked the answer button.

You sat back on the sofa, vaguely aware of Maisey switching the TV back on, muting it instantly, but you were too focused on trying to hear what someone was saying on the other side of the line to even glance at the TV.

“Hello?” You asked, voice somewhat shaky.

“Hi, is this Y/N L/N?” The voice on the other side was stern, and at the mention of your name you paled. Usually if someone began a call like that it was to schedule an appointment of sorts, but judging from Maisey’s sombre reaction and prediction, you knew it was something worse.

“Yes.” You replied, tucking your hands into the arms of your hoodie to stop them from trembling.

“My name is Oliver Crosby, I’m one of the physios from the Devils Hockey Team.” You closed your eyes momentarily, before opening them to the TV, your eyes frantically scanning the ice for any sign of Nico’s familiar #13 C jersey. The sluggish movements of the players immediately had you guessing something had happened, because the Devils players seemed to be hanging around near the bench, and even the Capitals were skating absentmindedly. You shared a look with Maisey – she was sympathetic, biting her lip, “I’m calling on behalf of Nico Hischier, you’re listed here as his emergency contact–”

“Has something happened?” You interjected, horrified at the mere prospect.

It seemed Oliver had expected a reaction of sorts, because he responded without hesitation, “He’s alright, not in any immediate danger. He made contact with another player and we’re waiting for an ambulance. He’s in a lot of pain and we’ve assessed him as thoroughly as we can; we think he’s got a concussion, a separated shoulder, and a broken collarbone.”

You let out a breath, “Right.”

“See, he keeps asking for you is all, won’t really let us do anything until he sees you. We would ask you to come to the Center, but with the amount of pain he’s in, and the severity of the concussion, we think it’s better if you could meet us at the hospital, is that alright with you?”

It took you a beat to answer, the information overwhelming, but Maisey was already holding out her car keys towards you, a reassuring smile on her face.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Was all you could manage, briefly fighting the urge not to hurl.

“Okay, thank you, we’ll tell him you’ll meet us there. If we get there before you – oh, the ambulance is pulling up now – I’ll wait by the entrance.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fine. I should be about fifteen minutes.” You were trembling, not allowing yourself to look back at the screen, instead focusing on your lap. You honestly didn’t know how you hadn’t at least stuttered through the entire conversation, let alone not started crying.

His reiterations of Nico’s pain only escalated your concerns, and you already knew you wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

“Great, that’s amazing…” Oliver paused, and over the commotion in the background, you could vaguely hear him talking to someone else in the background, before his voice became clearer – at the same time, Maisey had climbed off the sofa, and was rooting around to pick up your coat and a pair of suitable shoes, “I know this is all pretty scary, but he’s gonna be just fine.”

You nodded, shivering, “I just–He’s kind of…This is the first time anyone’s rung me as his emergency contact–”

“–We tend to enact that protocol when injuries require immediate medical attention, i.e. the hospital – even more so when it involves a head injury.” Oliver’s tone was grave, but understanding, and his ability to read you even through the phone had you guessing you weren’t the first…whatever, that had said that to him.

His honesty was refreshing, but it did little to ease your churning stomach.

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath, a hand going to rest on your stomach, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“See you then. Please drive safely.”

“Always will. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

And then you were pocketing your phone, and shrugging your coat on from where Maisey had held it up ready for you, struggling with the zip as you fought to calm your nerves. You wouldn’t be able to drive if your hands were shaking, let alone your brain firing off warning signals.

Maisey placed her hands on your shoulders, steadying you, “Do you want me to come with you?”

You shook your head, “I think I’ll be okay. You don’t need the car tomorrow do you?”

“No.” She offered you a small smile, squeezing your shoulders in a reassuring manner, “Text me when you get there, and feel free to ring me at any point. If you want me to, I can start getting a bag ready–”

“No, that’s fine, most of my stuff is still at his anyway, and I don’t know what’s gonna happen after the hospital, so don’t bother.” You inhaled through your nose, thanking the universe for sending you an angel like Maisey and planting her on your timeline of life, “Thank you, though.”

She brought you closer, wrapping her arms around you in a much-needed hug, which you reciprocated, not really wanting to pull away.

“I love you.” You said, not really knowing how else to convey your utmost appreciation.

“Love you too,” she pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “Let me know how he is.”

You nodded, pulling away completely before snatching your bag from the table by the door before walking out and into the car park – your mind so completely stuck on Nico’s condition that you bypassed Maisey’s car entirely, having to double back and press the unlock button to pick it out of the sea of vehicles.

When you switched the engine on, the sudden blaring of the radio had you automatically smashing your fist against the control panel, turning it off and calming your racing heart at the shock of the sudden sound. The car remained silent the entire ride to the hospital, you not really able to stomach listening to whatever songs were playing at that particular time, which, realistically, would only irritate you – and drove with the passenger window half down, needing to distract yourself with the white noise of the road.

And when you pulled into the dark parking lot of the hospital, the first thing you did was seek out Oliver near the side entrance. He was a familiar silhouette – one you recognised as having seen around the Center on game days before, and he was standing in front of the door, his eyes jumping over empty faces until he saw you above their heads, immediately meeting you halfway and placing a comforting hand on the crook of your elbow, already talking your ear off before you could spout a greeting.

“We’ve got him scheduled for an MRI–” he opened the front door, and you lent closer, trying to hear him over the busy corridors of the ER, “it’s not for another fifteen minutes, though.” He pulled you to one side, stopping short of a curtained off room.

You gulped, not expecting it to have been so close to the entrance, and felt your eyes naturally drift to the gaps in the curtains. You could see there was a low light – possibly from a bedside table. There was a head of hair directly next to the door, one you could just make out. You let out a sigh you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and turned back to Oliver.

“He was on our gas and air and when the ambulance came they got him an IV of morphine.” Oliver started, glancing at a clipboard you hadn’t realised he’d been holding, “It looks like we were right; definitely a concussion, a pretty serious one – but it doesn’t look like they’re wanting to keep him for overnight observation; it also looks like he’s broken his collarbone, but the MRI should confirm that, and he’s definitely separated his shoulder, too.”

You paused, “How long will he be out for?”

He winced in response, and you felt something tighten, “It depends on the results of the MRI. Purely from the separated shoulder, it could be anything between two to at least ten weeks.”

You let out a breath, brows shooting up your forehead, “Shit, he’s gonna be so bored.”

Oliver nodded in agreement, “Oh yeah, you’re gonna be sick of him by the end of it,” he joked, “I can talk to you afterwards about treatment, but he hasn’t stopped asking for you.”

You nodded, your anxiety spiking as your attention flickered to the closed door on your right, “What’s he like?”

“He’s been complaining of dizziness and he’s a little bit confused – doesn’t remember what happened, but it’s expected with his grade of concussion.”

You nodded, making a mental note of his symptoms, before thanking Oliver and heading inside. Like you’d seen through the blinds, there was only one light on in the corner of the room, and you made sure to shut the door softly, not knowing if any particular sounds would trigger something or irritate his head further.

Honestly, you were a little weary of his confusion, and it had occurred to you that the reason he’d been asking for you consistently and diligently was because he didn’t remember what exactly had happened between you both, but at the end of the day, you didn’t really care if that was true or not, because the first thing you did was look at him; his entire left side strapped and braced up, his right arm home to an IV. His eyes were shut, a deep frown on his face as he winced occasionally, a cardboard dish resting on his heaving chest.

He wasn’t wearing his game pads, but his leggings were still on, and there was a hospital gown draped across his body, tied at the back, you suspected – easy access for the doctors to look and assess his shoulder.

You didn’t really want to look at it, mainly because you’d never been the best at looking at injuries deeper than a surface scratch, but also because you were fixed entirely on his face. His brows were pulled together, his mouth twisted to keep a groan at bay. He’d scrunched his eyes up, and you could see his uneven breaths from under the gown. His hair was wet with sweat, and he still had that post-game glow, his cheeks red with exertion.

As you shut the door behind you gently, your attention switched to the person sitting on your right, who – upon noticing your arrival – stood up, flashing you a comforting smile as he walked out straight after you. You cautiously placed your bag on his empty chair, taking a seat on Nico’s uninjured side.

He made no reaction as the doors opened and closed, and although you desperately wanted to soothe that ache and touch him, you didn’t want to startle him and make him tense his shoulder at a sudden touch, or overstep your boundaries.

“Nico?” You whispered as softly as you could, fearing something in the room would break if you raised your volume even a little more. You shrugged your coat off onto the back of your chair and lent as far forwards as you could without making contact with his outstretched arm.

At your whisper, something flickered across his face, and he slowly peeled one red eye open. Your fears seemed almost irrational when he attempted a shaky smile, before immediately snapping his eyelids shut and pushing himself further into the mattress.

His palm opened, and you took it as a signal to touch him, one of your hands holding his as tightly as you were comfortable with, and your other going to rest at his wrist, not daring to touch anywhere higher on his arm out of fear you’d knock his IV.

“How’re you feeling?” You cringed at the question, having already been debriefed on his symptoms, but he showed no protest, squeezing your hand.

“Fucking hurts, ‘nd missed you.” He struggled, almost fighting for breath.

Your heart seemed to shatter in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you were reaching up for him, eyes stinging, as you ever-so-carefully threaded your fingers through his sweat-ridden hair, peeling it off his forehead. His brows softened slightly at your delicate touch, and before he attempted to move into your palm, you spoke up.

“Don’t move or open your eyes, you’ll make yourself dizzy.” You whispered, leaning closer to the bed and fighting with yourself. The last thing you wanted was to cry. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help the watery laugh that escaped you when Nico grunted in protest.

“But I want to look at you.” He complained, eyes still screwed shut.

“You can look at me plenty when we get home, okay?” You negotiated.

He hummed, seemingly content with that promise, even if the ‘home’ had slipped from your lips unconsciously. He didn’t seem to notice, though.

“I missed you too.” You pressed a kiss to his free shoulder – the skin hot and salty under your lips, finding some amusement in the way you were practically stretched across him, one hand in his, your other in his hair, and your head near his.

His mouth curled up, lips twitching somewhat at the contact, and you breathed a soft, quiet laugh against his skin at the momentarily emotional relief you read on his face.

“Didn’t think you’d come.” He muttered after a while of silence, your hand still gently working his hair, not wanting to intrude too much in case his head was still sore.

But at his comment, you froze, hand stilling, and you had to look at the ceiling to suppress the tears that almost broke free, “Don’t be silly…” The chastise was half-hearted, before you resumed your previous motions, “I’m always gonna show up when it comes to you.”

“I really wish I could look at you right now.”

Even despite his condition, Nico was managing to compose himself a lot better than what you’d originally imagined. Sure, his speech was a little slow – as though he had to think hard about talking and thinking, and you could tell the small conversation was beginning to wear him out a little. He’d softened, relaxed, a product of a comforting touch and the effect of the painkillers.

Then, almost as if he’d lulled himself into a false sense of security, he seemed to pale, and before he could control himself, he was opening his eyes, and you could sense something was wrong purely because he’d tensed, and your body seemed to know what he needed before your mind had even registered it, because you’d lifted the cardboard bowl from his lap right under his chin, rubbing a soothing hand down his arm as he chucked up the contents of his stomach – not that there was much left to spew.

He groaned, clamping his eyes shut and breathing heavily as you reached for the box of tissues on the side of the table, hastily wiping his mouth. You couldn’t tell if the groan was from the dizziness or the pain from having moved his shoulder fractionally.

He groaned something in German, squeezing your hand even tighter as his face screwed up.

“I take it that’s not the first time that’s happened tonight?” You asked, carefully placing the carton on the side, not really knowing where to put it – you were sure there was a protocol for human waste in a hospital, but you'd have to ask someone when they’d come to pick him up for his MRI.

He grunted in response, slowly lowering himself back on the propped up mattress with a sharp wince, “Twice in the ambulance.”

You sighed, brows knitting together, “Oh, baby.” There was a small part of you that felt a little guilty for not going to his recent home games, let alone watching them all on TV live.

Maybe if you’d have been there, he wouldn’t have been so alone in the ambulance. You knew that Oliver and his partner were a capable set of hands, but there was nothing as daunting as travelling to the hospital by yourself, dazed and in pain, and lacking a familiar support network.

Before you could say or do anything to ease him, the door was creaking open, Oliver offering a polite smile – eyes inevitably drawn to the carton – with a string of people in uniform following behind him.

They all ensured to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb him too much – though you knew as soon as they’d wheel him out of there that that effort would be wasted, because the corridors in the ER were anything short of quiet. The lighting was harsh as well.

Oliver gently explained what they were going to do, though you both had an inkling none of it really mattered to Nico, considering he remained stoic, a firm grip still on you, and you took the liberty of digesting the information, a cautious glance thrown at his shoulder. It was strapped against his chest, his arm in a compressed sling of sorts. You imagined the contraption was fitted around his back, keeping his separated shoulder in place, and the sling at the front could only be to stabilise his suspected broken clavicle.

You nodded along to Oliver, only when it was time to wheel Nico out, he gripped you even more, a groan of disapproval passing his lips as the porters attempted to wheel him. It was safe to say they didn’t get too far.

Despite his eyes still being closed, you could sense the panic across his face. His brows were furrowed, and where there was a wince on the bottom half of his face, now it looked more like someone had drawn a smiley face and rotated it 180°, because that was the frown now decorating his mouth.

“Come with me?” He mumbled, gritting his teeth.

You shared a look with Oliver, already knowing there wouldn’t be much point, “I can’t. By the time you’re in the room for the MRI, I wouldn’t be able to touch you anyway, and Oliver says it’s going to be a quick in and out procedure until they get the information they need.” You squeezed his hand.

“Stay here?” He all but whimpered, brows dipping in question. His mouth quivered – he wasn’t about to cry, but you could tell the separation (both of your relationship and of the current moment) was having him doubt your whereabouts.

“Hischier, I’m coming home with you.” You laughed softly, placing a kiss on his forehead when the tension in his face seemed to dissipate slightly, “I’ll stay here until you get back.”

“M’kay.” He grumbled, the right side of his mouth quirking upwards.

___

It was a dire struggle trying to get a well-built, 6’1” hockey player into the passenger seat of your car when he was half-conscious, unable to use an entire shoulder, and exhausted. Oliver had wheeled him out of the hospital, promising to email you a report of exactly what to do with him as soon as he found himself in front of a computer (which you were incredibly grateful for), but he’d had to scuttle off and ring management with the updates, which left Nico blinking tiredly, a cardboard bowl on his lap and unable to move properly for you to sort out.

It had taken a long three minutes trying to wrestle him in through the door, you being incredibly careful not to bang him against the frame or hurt his shoulder in any way – your heart practically leaping to your feet every time he groaned or grunted in pain.

Nevertheless, you’d managed, arms aching after the exertion. You switched the engine on, casting a short glance back at him as your car lit up, but he’d lent his right shoulder against the side of the door, his cheek pressed against the glass.

Neither of you had said much when he came back after the MRI scan – there wasn’t much of a need to considering all your questions had been answered by Oliver, and the ones you had for Nico would be pointless considering he wasn’t entirely there enough to even process your words, so you’d stuck with holding his hand, his grip tight against your own, until he had to be coaxed to change into spare clothes that someone had thoughtfully packed when they were all waiting for the ambulance.

And in the car, as you pulled out of the car park, taking extra precautions to turn corners slowly and braking gently, trying your best not to disturb him. He was asleep, or at least trying to, his right hand cradling his left to his chest, that telltale furrow of his brows and crease on his forehead letting you know he was still in an immense amount of pain. You kept the radio turned off, and you tried to keep the heating in the middle, not wanting to freeze him or cook him – he’d had concussions before, and he always had trouble regulating his body temperature, so you’d negotiated.

When you pulled into Nico’s parking spot and killed the engine, there were a few seconds where you kept your hands on the steering wheel, leaning forwards slightly to rest your forehead on your arms.

You’d tried to keep everything bottled inside before you made it into the apartment, but the stress of the last few hours, most of it sitting and waiting for results, had taken its toll on you. You were exhausted, but the worry for the man curled up next to you overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn’t decipher the heaviness in your chest when you glanced at him, even out of the corner of your eye.

You felt your breathing hitch, eyes pricking for a second before you pulled yourself together. It was no use sitting and moping in Maisey’s car when you had to attend to Nico. You’d barely let yourself feel it properly for thirty seconds before you were taking a deep breath and leaning across the console, placing a hand on Nico’s thigh.

“Honey, you need to wake up.” You said, hand gently squeezing him.

He shifted, frowning, and before you could give him a little nudge, he blinked, “I-Can we stay in here? I don’t really want to move.” He muttered, trying to tuck himself further into the crevice he’d nestled himself in.

“No, we need to get you into bed. Lots of pillows, too, because you need to be propped up, and if you stay in here, you’ll only end up more uncomfortable.”

You waited, but it took a while for him to answer, seemingly gathering the courage to actually move.

“Okay, then.” He sighed, straightening up in his seat, eyes still glued shut.

You moved over to his car door, opening it gently. It wasn’t far to walk to get inside Nico’s apartment: he was on one of the top floors, but the walk from the car park to the lobby lift was short. You knew, however, that it would be almost double that time if he couldn’t stand up properly or walk in a straight line with his dizziness.

It was a hobble and a half – lugging Nico into the lobby and then having to shove a paper bag under his mouth if his breathing got heavier and he lent against the wall. You had to stop four times, and out of those four, he threw up once. Thankfully, you’d managed to make it past the desk and into an empty lift, so there weren’t any wandering eyes or nights ruined by the sight of someone hurling in the corridor.

It shocked you to know that his inability to remain upright and walk fluently in a straight line wasn’t because of an injury to his legs, but sheerly due to the fact that his concussion was that bad, and he was that drugged up on painkillers, that he couldn’t see straight.

It felt like an injustice that the hospital didn’t lend you a wheelchair.

He was almost catatonic when you sat him on the edge of the bed and unzipped the hoodie he’d been given. Only one arm was through the sleeve, so it was relatively easy to remove, but it didn’t stop the twinge in your chest every time he groaned or made a noise of pain.

You felt it almost inhumane to force him to clean his teeth or put on his pyjamas when he couldn’t keep his eyes open for longer than three seconds in one go, so you worked quickly in propping up his pillows like you’d seen them do in the hospital, and took his hat off his head once more, running your hands through his hair so it wouldn’t bother his nose.

You had to clench your jaw when, even in the darkness, you could see how pale he was, how he fought to keep his head up straight. It made you feel nauseous looking at his half-conscious state.

“You still with me, hm?” You whispered.

You were as soft as you could be with your touches, as quiet as your voice would allow you for it, and you hadn’t turned on any lights on entry. Trying was all you could do considering the fact you didn’t exactly have the knowledge you were comfortable with in looking after him in the state he was in.

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and he hummed halfheartedly.

“I’ve put up your pillows behind you, but you need to shuffle back a bit.” You started, halting when you heard his breathing get ragged for a moment, fearing he was about to be sick again, “You good? I’ll help you.”

He sniffed, eyes opening enough to see the room around him, and he turned, anchoring his shoulder to his chest as he looked back at the shadow of his pillows. You let him manoeuvre himself, not wanting to intrude further, but ghosted a hand on the back of his t-shirt just for precautions, until he slowly lowered himself onto the pile, huffing a contented sigh.

You saw his entire body relax, and you reached towards the foot of the bed and draped the duvet over him. He didn’t react, so you left the room to fill up a glass of water and took out some of the medication Oliver had given you in a plastic bag before placing them on his bedside table. You were about to leave the room again to take off your own coat shoes when you heard him grumble something under his breath.

You paused initially, not sure if he was complaining about something or just huffing and puffing, but upon hearing your silence and stillness, he cracked one eye open.

“Stay here?” He whispered clearer, his good shoulder twitching in the direction of the space on the bed you usually occupied.

You swallowed nervously. You wanted to. You wanted to crawl under the covers with him and just watch him like a hawk the entire night for your own peace of mind, but you were also aware of the looming black hole in your relationship.

You guys were on a no-contact break, and something felt wrong about climbing into his bed before having a conversation about the entire thing.

But then again, he’d been advised not to think too hard – literally. And by doing what he says, you guessed it’d spare his thinking…for arguments sake.

Truthfully, you also wanted to make sure he was okay, and if you were across the hall, he wouldn’t be able to shout for you as easily as he would if he just reached out across the mattress.

He must have sensed your hesitation, even through the darkness and with his eyes closed, because he reached his hand out, just catching yours, “Please.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand in a way of reply, and you could tell from the slight smirk that momentarily flashed over his face – almost like he’d forgotten his pain for the briefest moment (and that alone made you cave and crumble completely) – he’d known he’d win you over with that simple action.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You gently untangled your hands, lifting your bag over your shoulder and making your way around to your usual side of the bed, “Will you be okay if I go for a quick shower?”

Your side hadn’t been touched. Some books you’d left behind but knew you wouldn’t miss were still stacked on top of each other; your digital clock was still there, as was the empty dish for your jewellery. Though, contradicting your previous observation of untouched, organised madness, you could tell he’d dusted around it. Two weeks meant dust was inevitable, yet there wasn’t a single speck of residue on your fingertips when you swiped your finger across the top.

Your bag found its usual home on the chair next to the radiator, and you turned back to him. He was watching you. His eyes were open wider, and you could see them glisten in the dark.

“I’ll be fine.” He whispered.

You attempted a smile, taking your coat off and placing it next to your bag.

You could still feel his eyes on you as you made your way to the chest of drawers at the foot of your bed, taking out a pair of your pyjamas, which – in your rush from leaving before – consisted of an old pair of Nico’s boxers and a Darth Vader long-sleeved t-shirt.

The thought of shooting him one last look before you left the room hurt too much to dwell on, so you left the room without saying another word, not turning on any lights until you reached the bathroom on the other side of the house. You knew he’d have questions as to why you didn’t just use the en-suite, but…you needed the privacy – somewhere to just let a few tears slip down under the water, because as much as you tried to deny it, it hurt even being in the same room as him.

Not only had he almost sent you to an early grave because of sheer worry and panic, but two weeks felt like too soon, and you’d already made your decision, but you didn’t want him thinking you were taking advantage of him needing someone to look after him to just pop back into his life again, much less if he hadn’t even made a decision yet.

Being back in this house, this area, this car, this stupid bathroom, where – even if it wasn’t the one you’d primarily use – he still had your body wash and hair care bottles lined up, like he was waiting for you to come back – and that tangible taste of knowing exactly how easy it would be for you to just infiltrate back into his everyday life, for both of you to coexist around each other like it was the easiest thing apart from breathing, felt like torture.

And you knew if you got back into bed with him, you might not even be able to sleep properly. You’d be terrified that he’d stop breathing through the night and you wouldn’t be awake to notice it.

The only thing that seemed to solidify the whole situation was the endless texts from Maisey and Jack, not to mention a few other friends too, and the entire ESPN page raving about how long he might be out for.

That was another thing: if Nico didn’t have hockey, what did he have? Sure, he’d find some way to get himself back in the gym and near the ice at least, but he’d miss the general euphoria and adrenalin of playing with his guys.

“So…” he was crying, a hand over his mouth. His eyes were red, and tears were dripping down his cheeks, but his shoulders weren’t heaving. He was sitting on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees from where you were sitting on the floor, your hands resting on his kneecaps, not much better than him, “How long should w…we do it for?”

You shrugged, not really finding an answer. You weren’t sure if there was a correct answer to that question. It couldn’t be too soon, or else you’d both still be fresh from whatever had blown up here, but if you left it too long, neither of you would have the courage to rehash everything.

“A month?” You suggested weakly.

You didn’t want to do it for a month. A month was too long. Please say a month is too long–

“A month?” His brown eyes flickered up to yours, brows furrowing somehow even more, and his expression crinkled after holding your gaze, “I don’t–It’s too long.”

You sniffed, “What do you suggest, then?” It hadn’t meant to come out so sharp, and you hated that it did, hated it about a hundred times more when he looked at you again.

“I’ll miss you too much.” He admitted quietly.

“I think that’s the point of going on a break.” You laughed bitterly, squeezing his knee.

“I already know what I want, and four weeks won’t change that.”

You sighed, retracting your grip on his knees and sitting back on your heels, “Nico–”

“Do you not want me anymore?” He sounded so wrecked in himself you had to do a double-take, your own tears beginning to melt down your cheeks.

“Come on, you know that’s not it–”

“Then what is? Because I really don’t see the issue. I want you, I love you, and I think you feel–”

“Of course I fucking love you, but this is different–”

“Explain it to me, then!”

“I’m trying! Only every time I do you interrupt me.”

You were both glaring at each other, frustrations rising to a boiling point as the pain of the past few weeks all emanated through the fiery stares. He sighed, leaning back against the sofa and flourishing his hand for you to go ahead.

“I want this to work so badly, but we both come home after work, and we don’t talk to each other. Sometimes we can barely stand looking at each other because it’s just another thing to maintain after an exhausting day, and that’s not right. It’s not healthy for either of us, and I don’t know about you, but it really fucking hurts me when that happens.” You took a breath, watching him carefully. You knew he understood what you were saying because he’d softened and his chest was hitching as though he was forcing himself not to break again, “I miss when we used to come home and not feel like being with each other was a chore. I want that again; I want us to hang out here and not get drained just forcing conversation.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I don’t want a break,” you admitted, voice soft, “but I think it’s the best thing for us.”

“Three weeks,” he interjected, making eye contact with you, “and then if we decide this really is worth it, then we go to couple’s counselling.”

You turned the handle, and the shower stopped. You made sure to take as long as humanly possible, using a towel to squeeze your hair out and taking what was left in the cupboard and using it on your skin. Then you took twice as long as usual in cleaning your teeth, and slowly put on the pyjamas, taking extra care not to slip on the water that had gathered on the tiles.

On your way back to Nico’s room, you made a quick detour to the living room, pulling his laptop out from under the chair. Oliver had told you he’d emailed the recovery plan to Nico, only you didn’t know where his phone was, and his laptop was the next best thing. You lugged it back to the room, quietly shutting the door behind you upon noticing he was asleep already.

You had to tiptoe to the bed, gently lifting the covers so the draft wouldn’t wake Nico up, and you settled yourself in, making sure to plug your phone in to charge, and lifted the lid of the laptop.

The screen was bright but after dimming it and logging onto Nico’s email, eyes eagerly drinking up every work Oliver wrote, you found yourself almost hypnotised by it all. Oliver’s report was brilliant – very informative – but it didn’t stop you from obsessively googling the actual injuries so you could visualise what had gone wrong in his body and where.

Each word you read only seemed to send your heart plummeting, and made you cast anxious glances to Nico, who’d slumped slightly against his mass of pillows.

He wasn’t snoring – he never did. His chest was rising and falling rhythmically, the action pulling the sheets each time he inhaled, but you could hear his heavy breathing. The lack of silence you’d become accustomed to was oddly comforting. It was something you hadn’t realised you’d gotten used to in the past three years of living together, but that first night in Maisey’s house only seemed to highlight his little idiosyncrasies, or lack of them.

Were you being dramatic?

Two weeks was all you’d spent apart, and in hindsight, it wasn’t a lot of time at all – especially not in comparison to the four years of previous dating history, but four years of Nico and then a day without made you realise how other-worldly it felt not being with him.

Maybe you were, in a way, being completely rational?

____

You woke up to the feel of a draft against your back and the sound of retching.

You barely had time to wipe the sleep from your eyes before you registered what was happening, leading Nico into the bathroom by the crook of his elbow, his good arm clutching the bedroom bin under his chin.

It was difficult trying to navigate in the dark, but you could still make out the gleam of the toilet bowl. You hesitated, flushing it first just because boys aren’t the most hygienic of people, and then knelt on the tiles, aware of the fact that you were currently on his injured side.

Nico followed suit, sitting on the cold floor and passing you the bin as he hovered himself over the toilet, breathing slowly as his eyes fluttered shut.

You were operating automatically when you placed the bin in the bathtub, and then turned your attention immediately back to Nico, his hair hanging in his face.

Headband.

Your eyes looked to the sink station just above him, trying to pinpoint where your other dish for hair ties was, and you stood up, carefully sidestepping him as you blindly reached a hand out, fingers tracing the marble surface until…bingo. You snatched up an elastic headband, before crouching back down on the floor next to him, rubbing a soothing hand across his back.

“The room’s spinning.” He said, clamping his eyes shut, gripping his own leg with his hand.

At his admission you faltered, retracting your hand, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Yeah.” He took in a deep breath, his entire body shuddering.

You’d been dizzy before – it was an oddly recurring thing you’d grown out of, and it was horrible. Waking up dizzy completely threw off your balance and sense of the world around you, and the fear of it all had you shaking – not just because you were cold. It was a genuine shock to the system. You hadn’t had one in a year, but whenever you did, Nico seemed to have a sixth sense because he’d do what you were doing for him right now.

And him saying he’s okay with you touching him only cemented the idea that actually having someone to touch you anchored you to solid ground.

So you replaced your hand on his back, your other playing with the elastic headband you’d acquired, silently waiting for him to calm down before you asked if you could move his hair out of his face to stop it getting drenched – both from sweat and the other alternative.

You could feel his heart hammering in his chest through the palm on the back of his ribs.

“I’m gonna put a headband on you, okay? You don’t have to move or turn your head, just let me know if you’re gonna be sick.” You said, shuffling yourself on the floor so you were somewhat facing him – again, incredibly conscious of the sling contraception taping his entire left arm to his chest.

You were slow with your movements; sliding the band over his head and letting it drop to the base of his neck – the speed of your usual movements might have overwhelmed him – before slowly dragging it back up his face, careful not to clip his nose as it brushed his fringe out of his face.

How you’d not managed to notice it in the hospital was beyond you, but when you lifted his hair up, there was still a visible redness from where his mask had dug itself into the corner of his head. Usually it meant the sponge stuck to the skin or whatever, but this one looked different. There was a bruising quality to it, and you found yourself inching closer to get a better look at it.

“Boards.” Was all he managed.

You knew he wouldn’t be able to see it, but you nodded.

Oh.

___

It had been about fifteen minutes since then, and both of you had nearly fallen asleep against various surfaces: Nico against the cupboards, and you against the side of the bath.

It was Nico straightening and hovering over the toilet again that caught your attention, but he paused, brows furrowing.

Then there was a grumble and a groan, and almost comically you saw him look at you out of the corner of his eye.

You’d frozen, sure you’d mistaken the sound for something else, but with the way he’d eased up and gradually gotten to moving his head and eyes around without getting caught in a bout of dizziness, something had undoubtedly changed.

“Are you hungry?” You asked, fighting a smile.

“Yeah.” He answered, visibly confused as he placed a hand against his stomach.

You lifted your watch up to your face, the screen illuminating the room.

7.18am.

You almost laughed at the hilarity of it, because you knew his morning alarm was always set for 7.20, and without fail, he’d always end up waking up a few minutes before – partly due to routine, and also partly because his stomach always woke up before he did.

“It’s nearly twenty past seven. You good to move back into bed?” You began to stand up, offering him both of your hands, but he groaned and without hesitation you were kneeling in front of him again, brown furrowed as you searched his face for some sign of discomfort.

He could do with taking some painkillers if he’s finished throwing up.

“What’s up?” You asked, your eyes darting across his face from his pinched brows to the slight curl of his upper lip.

He was clearly in some sort of pain, not that it was entirely surprising, but you asked anyway, preferring to have a rundown of his symptoms instead of guessing.

“Shoulder, head, chest.” He listed, squinting up at you.

You furrowed your brows.

You’d accounted for his head and shoulder, but his chest…Did they miss something on his MRI?

“Your chest?” You sank to your knees, level with him.

He seemed to be breathing normally, his chest wasn’t hitching when he inhaled and exhaled, and his breathing wasn’t rattling. Truth be told you didn’t really know what you were supposed to be looking for, least of all through a t-shirt — which would be another challenge to overcome when the time came for him to shower.

“Chest.” He repeated, nodding as his hand came to rest right over the source of pain.

You were sure you were pulling a face, and when you made eye contact with him, it was clear he was implying something else. His eyes had softened, the creases having faded out, and he swallowed nervously when you looked at him.

It had you wondering if it was the first time he’d realised you were there since last night; he was so out of it from the painkillers and concussion you didn’t know how much he’d have remembered, but the intense way he was gazing at you had you faltering, your brain going blank for a moment.

You knew what he was implying. It was hard not to once he’d moved his hand right over to his heart, and you were pretty stunned to say the least.

Honestly you wanted to talk about it as well, the elephant in the room that you’d pushed to the back of your mind after prioritising him over your own wishes, and you knew now wasn’t the time to discuss it, even if the look on his face had your confidence dwindling by the second.

“I can’t do anything about that right now.” You mumbled, twisting your mouth to the side rather regretfully as his face fell.

“Why?”

“Because Oliver said you’re not supposed to be thinking much for at least another day or two. Something about the concussion and it inhibiting your ability to think and do.” You weren’t lying, it had been part of the recovery plan for his concussion, something you couldn’t quite understand the specific logistics of, but it seemed reasonable.

You also weren’t too sure how much you should believe what he was going to say until you were certain he was back to his usual mental activity.

“I can think clearly.” He insisted, frowning slightly as he pushed back at your excuse.

“I’m sure you can, but that’s a discussion for a later time.”

“Later, when?”

“When you’ve had painkillers, eaten and drunk something, had a shower, called Luca yourself and updated him, had a good few days of rest…”

“Why?”

You sighed, beginning to get a little frustrated with him. You’d given him a reason backed up by medical advice and a list of priorities and he was still fighting back — albeit not with his usual vigour and quick wit, but it was to be expected.

“Because you don’t need to stress yourself out—”

“I’m not stressing myself out. If anything, dragging this conversation out is stressing me out.”

“And arguing on the bathroom floor knowing you don’t have any painkillers in your system and aren’t in bed with a plate of food is currently stressing me out.” You pressed a hand to your cheek, refraining from rolling your eyes.

It was still dark in the bathroom, the automatic lights fitted under the sink gently illuminating the tiled space, but your eyes had gotten used to the darkness after a good amount of time, so you could see the lost look on his face.

It made you feel guilty, but you weren’t about to break doctor’s orders if it meant following them would help him get back on his feet quicker — even if this one little factor might not play a large role in his recovery.

You yawned, deciding to change tactics seeing as you were both a little hurt from that topic of conversation, “Do you want to shower first or eat?”

The rumble of his stomach answered for him.

—

Nico had only stayed in bed for eight minutes before you heard his feet enter the kitchen from where you were leaning over the hob, scrambled egg cooking in the pan.

You hadn’t expected him to stay still much but you’d hoped he would. He’d had some more painkillers and you left him with the TV remote but he’d clearly gotten bored of early morning programmes and wandered out into the hall, even despite your stern advice.

That’s all it was, really. Advice. You knew it would be futile trying to tell him exactly what to do, because it would only frustrate him, knowing his entire day was set out by your concerned orders, and at the end of the day, Nico did what Nico wanted.

And he clearly wanted to stand as close as he could to the pan. You heard him take a deep inhale from over your shoulder, and a moment later the familiar rumbling of his stomach could be heard even over the noise of the extractor fan.

“It’s only gonna be another two minutes.” You promised, dodging around him to take the four slices of toast out of the toaster and making quick work of spreading butter onto them.

It was a routine you weren’t entirely used to, but one you’d seen Nico follow countless times before, and you didn’t want to seem too proud of yourself, but it was easier than what he’d made it out to be. Whenever he made eggs on toast he’d manage to splatter some egg all over the countertops and he’d fall over himself in an effort to take the toast out of the toaster but then remember he hadn’t gotten any plates out. It was always an awkward dance of wrong timings but it used to be your favourite morning entertainment.

That, and he always used to cook without many layers of clothing on.

Now, however, it was you performing a similar routine, only this time having to dodge him as he remained standing in between the island and the hob. You guessed he did it on purpose because every time you had to pass by him, you had to brush last slowly so as to not disturb or accidentally knock his arm.

He only moved when you were dishing out the egg on top of the toast, and even then he seemed to stretch his back before wincing and making his way back into the bedroom, the sound of the TV turning off following a moment later.

You paused, waiting to see if he’d decided to stay in bed or was simply turning off the TV before choosing to eat at the island, but when he made no reappearance you were forced to carry both plates into his room. He was settling himself against the cushions again, and although you hadn’t noticed it when you were cooking, his cheeks seemed to have regained a little more colour.

He always got pale when he was hungry, but this was something else. Did pain make people lose colour?

Maybe.

As he was leaning back against the cushions another thought occurred to you, and you stopped where you were, mind racing to come up with an immediate solution.

“What?”

“I’ve just realised now that you can’t actually cut up your food.” You replied, and it seemed Nico had only thought of that issue then and there because his gaze slowly trailed from you to his arm and then back to you, “It’s okay, I’ll leave mine in the microwave—”

“You can eat yours first—”

“Your stomach says otherwise.” You laughed softly, placing his own plate on his lap before replacing yours in the microwave to keep warm.

When you got back, Nico was looking at you expectantly, a proud smile on his face, “We can share both plates. That way we both eat now.”

Admittedly, it was probably one of the most effective ideas he’d ever had.

“Sure.” You nodded, climbing onto your side of the bed. You’d turned on your bedside light before you’d gone in to the kitchen, not wanting to startle his eyes too much and give him another headache, but you both knew he’d have to get used to a little bit of light, and even though it was on the dimmest setting, you could tell he was trying his darndest not to look in that direction.

You took a seat directly next to him, your front angled towards the side of his torso, and took the plate off his lap and placed it into yours.

Neither of you said anything as you took it in turns, carefully balancing each forkful before feeding him a bite and then taking one for yourself. It stayed that way until both plates were demolished and both your stomachs were significantly fuller.

It was the sound of your phone dinging that caught your attention, and you leant over to your side of the bed, reaching for it.

Jack: Do you want me to drive Nico’s car round?

You: Please. When do you want to come over?

Jack: Does 11 work for you?

You: Yeah, see you then.

You switched off the phone, pushing yourself back up and into Nico’s line of sight. He had an eyebrow raised and you rolled your eyes at his nosiness.

“Jack’s coming by to drop your car off at eleven. It gives you enough time to shower and maybe have a nap if you feel like it.”

He nodded, and you took the silence as an opportunity to stack up the plates and take them into the kitchen, leaving them to soak in lukewarm water as you headed back into the bedroom. You had every intention of asking what Nico wanted to do next, whether he’d rather shower or sleep before Jack came over, but you’d found yourself facing his back, his t-shirt half taken off as he struggled to lift it over his shoulders.

You waited for a moment, wanting to give him an opportunity to at least try to undress himself so you couldn’t be accused of coddling him, but it was clear from the way he huffed and then audibly ‘ow’d’ before relaxing his entire body, part of his t-shirt somehow wrapped over his head that he was having a particularly hard time.

He stumbled, blindly spinning on the spot, and you found yourself automatically reaching for him – God forbid this man hurts himself even more – and steadied him with a hand tugging at the band of his shorts and on his good arm, the one that happened to be caught up in the shirt he was trying to take off in the first place.

“I’m stuck.” He grumbled, and the shirt moved, exposing the tired bags under his eyes through the neckline.

“I didn’t notice.” It was a half-hearted attempt at trying to conserve some of his dignity, and he huffed in response, rolling his eyes at you through the neck of his t-shirt.

All it took was one quick glance at the knot of material to figure out what he’d done, and it did leave you glad that you’d shot down his previous attempts at The Talk in the bathroom earlier, because he clearly wasn’t anywhere back to his normal range of thinking – Nico was intelligent – seeing as though he’d forgotten to take his sling off in the first place.

You pulled his shirt back down before reaching for the clasp – a big, bulky plastic thing that looked as though the arm pinned to his chest would fall into a usual sling, the kind that someone with a broken arm would usually wear – and turned to him, a stern glint in your eye.

“I’m gonna need to unplug this to take it off so please,” you emphasised the last syllable, “keep it held with your other arm.”

He nodded, wordlessly moving to grip his elbow, before steeling himself by closing his eyes and screwing his face up. You could see the steady, controlled rise and fall of his chest, as though he knew to keep himself breathing regularly because no matter which way you approached this, it was gonna hurt like a bitch.

Your fingers found the clip, and squeezed.

The tension keeping his arm to his chest slackened, and Nico bit his lip in pain as it fell away, before you pulled the material over his head – quickly snapping the headband off his head as well.

He peeled open one eye, looking straight at you expectantly, “What now?”

Your eyes widened, “I don’t know. Don’t you know?”

“No.” He shrugged with one shoulder, before his jaw dropped and he fought a sharp intake of breath at the discomfort shooting across his back. “Why don’t you know?”

“Because it didn’t come with a fucking instruction manual, I–” you halted, trying to recall if Oliver wrote anything, “Okay, you’re gonna have to drop your arm.”

“I don’t want to do that.” He shook his head.

“Then I’ll have to cut you out of your shirt.”

“No.” It was a fierce protest, one that left little to no room for argument – and was remarkably stroppy.

“Do you want to stomp your foot, too, and get it all out of your system?” You were smiling now, and you saw Nico’s eyebrow twitch upwards slightly at having caught you, before he slowly drew his sore shoulder down.

You pressed your lips together, trying to maintain a front that wouldn’t let him know that his pain was beginning to make you uncomfortable, because even though his mouth remained shut, you could tell from the way he seemed to tremble and the way the hairs dangling in front of his face were being blown, that he was having to force some exertion into not groaning out loud.

He did it, and looked straight back at you, his smile a little wobbly. Even though it had only been a matter of seconds, it looked like he’d worn himself out after hours of practice. The bags under his eyes seemed heavier and more prominent, and any trace of previous amusement had melted from his features, leaving nothing but the expanse of someone that desperately needed to sleep, and even more desperately needed a shower.

You wanted to smile at him, offer some comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet.

“Okay,” you cleared your throat, not sure if you could feel your heart beating or breaking in your chest, “if you slip your right arm through the sleeve and over your head, you should be able to just pull the rest of the shirt off your other shoulder.”

Instead of jumping to undress himself, he inhaled, tilting his head in your direction, a question clearly written on his face. You tried to brush it off, instead reaching forward to brush your hand along the hem of his shirt, trying to encourage him to take it off, because the quicker he did, the sooner he’d be able to sleep, but he didn’t budge.

“What?” You asked, retracting your hand. You were still standing pretty close – enough so you could see his mouth twitch and something flicker across his face. “Do you want me to leave you…?” You trailed off, feeling a haze of uncertainty wash over you.

“No, I need you to help me shower–”

“Shower?” You laughed.

He nodded slowly, his good hand going to cradle the hand on his bad shoulder, as though he was itching to pin his arm back up.

“Okay…” you swallowed nervously, “Why were you looking at me like that?”

“Did you Google how to take a shirt off with only one functioning shoulder?”

You breathed a short laugh, hand going back to tug at the hem of his shirt, this time internally cheering when he lifted his arm up, allowing you to lift the shirt up with it, purposefully covering his face with the material so he couldn’t see you blush. You guessed your silence was enough of an answer, though, because when the shirt popped back off his head, coming to hang around his injured one, he was attempting a grin.

His dimples were the first thing you noticed. It was funny how you didn’t truly realise how much you’d missed seeing them when he smiled until he was smiling at you for the first time in a while.

Nico’s dimples meant he was happy, even if it was momentary, and you’d take that over the melancholy any day of your life.

Which was why you found yourself smiling silly at him without even realising it.

“You looked it up.” He said, his voice a little higher in excitement, and you swore his smile widened because his dimples looked deeper, and something in your chest fluttered and then clenched, and it seemed that entire internal reaction was synonymous with the fact that your eyes had trailed from his face to the deep blotches on his skin – blotches that were so dark and so large you’d noticed them when you were looking the opposite way.

Holy fuck.

Your brows knitted together, your smile no longer on your face as you gently dragged his shirt off his injured arm, letting it drop by your feet.

It was a horrific sight. You’d never seen gore or many injuries on other people in your life, and even though Nico had been injured before, it wasn’t anything like this. Looking at his shoulder – generally speaking – was like looking at tyre marks on a race track. The bruises were so dark they almost looked like dirt in the night, and they crawled right from the back of his neck, down across his collarbone, and followed in a left movement until the colour seemed to fizzle out just below his shoulder joint on his arm.

You knew it was bad; a broken collarbone with a separated shoulder – yet the visual confirmation seemed not to do the diagrams of what had happened to the inside of his body any justice at all. This was real, and it was…ugly. It turned your stomach to know the lump on his collarbone was where the bone had snapped, and that the bump on the top of his shoulder was where it had separated.

“I’m okay.” He reminded you gently.

You hadn’t noticed it, but you were squinting when you’d seen the blossoming legion, trying to block out the sight to some extent – a natural reaction to stop yourself from crying, too, because it was difficult looking at the mess of it all.

And when your gaze all too gratefully slid back to his face, he was regarding you with an element of shyness. He’d crooked his jaw, eyes flicking awkwardly between your face and reaction to the shirt on the floor, and you wanted to just gather him up in your arms and not let go, because he had no choice but to be vulnerable with you, as much as you wished it was a choice, he didn’t have a say in the matter. The truth was that he only had one good shoulder, and he used that one to hold the broken one with – meaning he couldn’t really move.

Couldn’t cook eggs, cut the bread, butter the toast, take his shirt off, shower.

It was a big adjustment for someone usually so capable, and you knew then and there that he was in for a tough recovery – not only because of the frustration, but because he was bound to forget and then he’d work himself up.

“I know.” You replied, biting the inside of your cheek, “What does it feel like?”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, “It feels like someone’s wrapped really tight tape around the underneath of my shoulder…but then it feels like the only thing keeping everything in place is my skin.��

___

You were in for another shock when he’d turned around to step into the shower. You hid it better this time, managing to keep your mouth shut as your eyes trailed over the slightly paler marks on his back, and recovering your shock in time to smile back up at him when he turned back around, dipping his head under the water and letting out an audible sigh of relief as the warm water bounced off his skin.

You had to laugh at the fact that he kept his shorts on, but you understood why he did it, even if he didn’t voice it. You almost made the comment about how it wasn’t anything that you hadn’t already seen, but he was making an effort to respect the break you were both still on, even if he had pinged the elastic band and looked at you with raised brows, as if to say ‘this is your own doing’.

“Is it warm enough?” You asked, cheek leaning against the side of the glass door as you watched him step further under the water, the droplets streaming down his body, darkening his shorts.

There was a moment where you thought he hadn’t heard you over the roar of droplets from the shower, but when you looked back up at him, it was clear he’d caught you staring. You rolled your eyes, knowing you were blushing, and stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind you.

You’d opted to stick to wearing your clothes too, and the slight frown Nico had tried to hide as you stepped in with him wasn’t lost on you, but you hid your smile well when you reached for the rack in the corner, picking up the shampoo he was still using from when you bought it three weeks ago and piling a good amount onto the palm of your hands.

Nico was tall, that fact remained quite obvious, especially when he couldn’t lower his neck down to your exact height because of the shooting pain he’d get emanating from his back and shoulder, but you made it work. There wasn’t that much of a height difference between the two of you, even despite his hulking frame, so you were able to reach up fairly easily to take your time to rub the sweat and grease from his hair, your nails raking deliciously against his scalp. By the end of it, his forehead was resting in the crook of your shoulder, and if it weren’t for the way he lifted himself back up, blinking slowly in the process, you would have assumed he’d gone to sleep. His good arm was still holding his sore one, and after you reached up to rinse out his shampoo, his hair practically squeaking between your fingers, he looked just about ready to collapse.

“You know how you said if you didn’t have hockey, you’d have probably stayed in school?” You found yourself asking, desperate to keep him awake so he’d be able to sleep properly before Jack came.

He hummed, head still tipped back into the shower, exposing the veins in his neck and bob of his throat in a way that had you not really knowing where to turn your attention. You didn’t want to look at his shoulder, but you also didn’t want to get caught looking at the softened contours of his stomach, because you’d already been caught checking him out earlier…he was making it difficult, though.

You supposed the water didn’t help, either. He always looked sort of romantic when his hair was wet and droplets of water were rolling down his skin.

“What do you think you’d be doing as a career if you stayed on?”

You retracted your hands from his hair, figuring the shampoo was washed out enough, and tucked some of his hair behind his ear before you reached for the conditioner. You were drenched to the bone; the clothes you were wearing were soaked, the material clinging to your skin, and you could feel your hair frizzing up with the humidity, and although the water was warm, you could feel the cold air picking at you seeing as though you weren’t entirely under the rain of the water.

Nico’s cubicle was pretty big – a half-frosted glass cube with a rain shower and a bath attached at the end, just below a silver rack of products, both your own and his.

Nevertheless, it felt as though there wasn’t enough space between you both. Especially not when he reopened his eyes and slouched a little in your direction so you could reach to lather the conditioner into the ends of his hair.

His brows furrowed, a crease forming in the middle of his forehead as his mouth pouted slightly. His eyebrows always seemed to accentuate whatever emotion he was feeling, and usually when he was confused, or thinking hard about something, he tended to look…sad – something he was doing right now.

“I think…a teacher?” His eyes slid down to yours, almost as if searching for some form of validation in his answer, considering he’d phrased it as a question, not entirely certain of himself.

You nodded, mildly impressed. He’d suit being a teacher, he already had the authority from his Captaincy, but would he still have that same trait if ice hockey was completely out of the picture? You couldn’t possibly know.

“What subject?” You’d finished putting the conditioner in his hair, your fingers now twirling at the ends, purposefully curling his hair against his forehead and resisting the urge to smirk at the baby curls plastered there. Only, when you could tell he was getting suspicious of your repetitive motions, you turned back to the rack, taking the comb and spinning back to him.

“Maybe Literature…o-or…” he stuttered, and when you turned your attention to his direct eye line, you blushed.

Your t-shirt. It was stuck, displaying…everything. Everything being the lace bra you’d found left in your drawer, not the same colour as the grey t-shirt you were wearing.

Funny.

He was blushing too, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he awkwardly fought to look anywhere else, his eyes fixating on something behind you. Despite the unavoidable awkwardness, you found yourself smothering a smile, reaching the comb up to straighten the curls you’d created, until his hair hung in thick curtains past his eyes, his nose poking out.

You laughed softly, finding his new look amusing, “Literature or…” You trailed off, encouraging him to carry on.

Just as his chin bobbed – a sign he’d opened his mouth to resume talking – you combed his curtains sideways, having way too much fun with the whole thing than you probably should.

“Latin.” He was smiling, his cheeks a healthy rosy colour, “Are you enjoying yourself, there?”

“Thoroughly.”

There that damn dimple was again.

You pressed your lips together, sucking in one cheek to try and stop yourself from smiling, but as soon as you’d registered the dimple, you could feel your smile slowly slipping from your face. He seemed to acknowledge the fade, because his dimple disappeared again, and the creases around his eyes unwrinkled.

“I’ll just head outside,” you pointed to the door, “let you wash.”

“Wait,” his voice interjected, just as your hand touched the cool glass door, and you turned, “before you do, please could you wash my right side? I can’t with my left—”

“Sure.” In hindsight, you maybe did agree a little too quickly, but over your own ministrations of ‘how did I not think of that before?’, you didn’t particularly notice the way Nico’s brows shot up his forehead, his mouth parting slightly at your supposed eagerness.

___

Nico had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his body freshly rejuvenated and feeling significantly more comfortable than he did hours earlier. He’d initially snuggled as far down into the duvet as he possibly could, with every intention of asking you to stay with him when he slept, knowing you could use both the rest and relaxation after everything, but it had escaped his mind entirely when his eyes shut of his own accord.

He supposed he was grateful for the quick onset, because ever since he’d woken up in the early hours of the morning, head feeling like it had been used as a jackhammer for the inside of a bell, shoulder on fire and numb, his stomach rolling, and the desperate and sudden need to extract himself from the bed and make his way as quickly as he could to the bathroom in complete darkness, and his own perspective on what was up, down, left and right entirely skewed by the dizziness that caught him when he’d so much as even opened his eyes – he was feeling guilty. It had gotten to the point that every time he looked at your tired eyes or caught you looking at him in a way that had him feeling like he was going to throw up (for different reasons), he felt like he might combust with it.

Every time he looked in your direction, all he could do was picture you in his position, and imagine himself in your place: he imagined the extent of his concern, so much so that he’d probably be less able to keep his cool around you, unlike you. He’d be in a constant state of panicked frenzy, asking you questions the entire time, adjusting your pillows, repouring you a glass of fresh, cold water every five minutes so there weren’t any bubbles clinging to the inside of the glass. He’d be a complete mess.

He’d have called his brother, parents, Jack, Maisey, Oliver and anyone else he could get his hands on to ask for a second, third and fourth opinion on whether or not he should adjust the thermostat because you might get too warm when you were sleeping.

Quite simply, he wouldn’t know how to function, and he knew that although the roles were reversed currently, you were probably just as clueless as him.

You tended to have better coping mechanisms and ways of dealing with it that he wouldn’t necessarily even be aware of. That was where the two of you contrasted: he was more outgoing and vocal, tending to think out loud and not mask what he was feeling as easily as you, whereas you would gather in on yourself and just…deal.

And he hated that he knew he was the source of such stress. He didn’t want to burden his incapabilities upon you in any way, let alone confine you to his apartment (although you seemed to do that willingly) and act as his personal carer. He didn’t know why you hadn’t complained – scratch that. He did. Because he knew you’d rather make sure he’d be looked after properly than leave it in the less trusted hands of someone else.

He definitely didn’t know why you were acting as though nothing had happened before the incident. How you were able to be in such close quarters with him without feeling like your heart was getting ripped out of your chest, because he had that going for him on top of everything else. Or maybe you did, and just hid it better.

He didn’t dare voice it, and he was a little ashamed of his own wants and needs, but whenever you looked at him, the actual motion: how your eyes would slide casually over something and then they’d lock with his like some sort of magnetic force, he just wanted you to kiss him and tell him he’d be okay. Granted, you’d already done the latter, many times this morning, but he wanted you to kiss him and tell him you loved him, because when you didn’t do that – when you refused to even venture into that area of conversation – he was forced to think the complete opposite, and then he felt truly broken because he felt betrayed by his own body being so fragile, but his state of mind and brain went haywire as he was being pulled in every sort of emotional direction.

It all boiled down to confusion, though. Maybe it was the concussion, maybe it was the painkillers, but at the end of the day, Nico felt confused. Your tender actions: a hand on his back, making him breakfast, washing his hair – your damn teary smile in the shower played on a loop in his mind – he felt loved. You made him feel like he mattered, like you cared about him, but what came out of your mouth juxtaposed it so ridiculously that he felt like you didn’t love him.

He knew what he wanted from you, and what he didn’t want, and he needed to tell you before something happened, because he felt like he was constantly on the precipice of something happening – jeopardy. He feels like he’s running out of time to tell you, and that if he doesn’t let you know as soon as he can, something irreversible is going to happen, and then you’ll be gone for good and he’ll have to leave New Jersey because every street corner has some sort of memory attached to you, and he doesn’t want you to leave and he doesn’t want to leave New Jersey.

It’s a constant, crippling sense of panic that he needs to get under control before he says something and ruins it all.

But he knows you won’t listen to whatever he has to say – not for at least another couple of days – because something Oliver wrote has you thinking he can’t think properly or something. All he knows is that it has something to do with his brain and the fact that he has a pretty serious concussion, and that you’re too fucking stubborn to even jest with him about it.

That had been made pretty clear.

It was also that sense of inevitable doom that had him startling from his nap, the tensing of his entire body as he somewhat lurched in place sending an agonising stab of pain everywhere. It hurt so bad sometimes that he couldn’t decipher if he'd hurt something else; it seemed to dissipate across the rest of his body in an effort for him to cope with the level he was enduring.

He noted, however, that his head didn’t feel like it was being used as some sort of carousel. His dizziness had faded, at least for the moment.

And just as he was about to haul himself out of bed, that shot of adrenalin having woken him up, he heard the distant sound of voices filtering in through the crack under the door.

It was 11.13; Jack must be here.

Then he stopped his motions, because the voices sounded muffled, and from experience, that meant the both of you were whispering about something, and knowing he was supposedly asleep and in another room, he guessed you were talking about him. Which is why he cautiously lifted the duvet off himself, careful not to make too much of a sound as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and crept – avoiding the squeaky floorboards – to the door.

He wasn’t about to open it – not when the noise would catch your attention, but he knelt on the floor and pressed his ear to the handle.

He was curious, and in desperate need of some sort of confirmation from you because he knew Jack would at least try to coax some answers out of you, and probably embarrass him in the process by revealing how mopey he’d been in training or something.

“–don’t believe you.” It was Jack, his voice lowering at the end, playing into his statement.

“It’s not a matter of belief, it’s the truth.”

Oh. You were frustrated already.

“Do something about it, then.” Jack protested. Nico could imagine him rolling his eyes, but given the unexplained context of the situation he’d found himself listening in on, he couldn’t gauge the mood.

“No.”

“Why not? You can’t coexist, care for, and live together for what’s probably gonna be at least for a few weeks, and not talk about it.”

“I haven’t even thought that far in advance, I thought you were talking about immediately.”

Jack scoffed, and Nico could hear him splutter a small laugh, “Not immediately, no. But better sooner than later, before you both get the wrong ideas and end up hurting each other even more.”

Nico heard you sigh, and he pressed his ear closer against the metal, “Is this the part where you fulfil your duties and tell me–”

“–That he’s been moping–” there it was, “and sad for the past two weeks? I hope so. He’s been insufferable, not in the overbearing way, but he looks like a kicked puppy and he’s not been smiling at me as much, and I swear every time he gets a notification on his phone, he teleports to it or something. I’ve never seen him move faster over a News app notification before.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What?”

This time it was Jack’s turn to groan, “You’re both depressed over the entire thing, okay, and I know for a fact, that the only thing that would solve it is if you just talked about it.”

There were some words exchanged that Nico couldn’t quite make out, and before he could make his way into the bathroom to flush the toilet and make it known that he was awake, something caught his ear.

“Why did you phrase it like that? ‘He’s not been smiling at me as much’?”

Jack laughed sheepishly, and Nico grinned.

“Usually when he sees me he smiles. He’s just been doing this half-smile thing, and it’s really, like, jarring.”

He heard your laugh tinkle through the door, and something throbbed in his chest, “Oh, you poor thing.”

“Shut up.”

“But how are you going to survive not seeing him in training for at least a couple of weeks? Is it going to affect your performance? Do I need to arrange FaceTime calls so you can see his face and let yourself be inspired?” You quipped, and Nico could imagine clearly the mocking concern you had on your face, maybe even a comforting hand to Jack’s arm, fully playing into the narrative.

“You know what? FaceTime sessions seem like a good idea.”

Then there was another round of silence and mumbling. Once more, Nico made to heave himself off his knees, but he was stopped once more.

“–Kicked puppy–”

“–It’s the eyebrows!” You both chimed, and Nico rolled his eyes, this time moving himself into the bathroom, not before making a quick stop at the mirror.

He furrowed his brows. Then pouted. Then smiled, lifting his brows up.

He didn’t know what you were talking about – kicked puppy? No way.

Anyway, it seemed like the two of you had stopped talking about a subject pertaining to Nico’s own desires, and despite being a little disappointed with the lack of ‘what-are-you-thinking?’ he received from your end, he decided to flush the toilet and wash his hands, schooling his tired face in the mirror before picking up a pair of socks and wandering down the hall into the living room.

Jack was sitting at the kitchen booth, his chair spun around to face the sofa, where you were leaning across the back.

Jack grinned at him, though Nico didn’t miss the way his eye slid to the sling, but you only offered a small smile. It looked like you weren’t really in the room with him, your mind clearly occupied to some extent

“Back from the dead?” Jack stole his attention, and Nico nodded, trudging to take a place next to you on the sofa, once more feeling guilty when all he did to greet you was hand you a pair of socks he couldn’t put on without your help.

“Something like that.”

You put your mug down on the coffee table, happily taking his socks—

“No coffee.” You stated sternly, Nico’s eyes zipping straight to yours in protest.

The protest died on his lips when he saw the hardness in your face, not a single part of you budging until he’d rolled his eyes and turned to Jack; then you put his socks on for him, seemingly satisfied with his compliance, even if he was a bit bitter about it.

“You okay?” Nico found himself asking, arching a brow at Jack, who (despite his best efforts) was watching the entire exchange with a broad grin painted on his face, and as much as Nico tried to deny it, Jack looked as though he knew something he didn’t.

He saw how you shook your head out of the corner of his eye, and Jack’s smile dropped a little. Nico could still clearly read it in his eyes, though.

Something was up. He’d missed something.

Instead Jack took a deep breath, composing himself, “I think I should be asking you that.”

Nico shrugged with one shoulder, ignoring the sharp pain across the expanse of his back, aware of the fact that both you and Jack were watching him with eagle eyes, trying to deduce if any movements caused him any sort of pain. He was used to attention to some varying degree, but this length of detail and scrutiny made him want to go back to bed.

He knew it wasn’t the effect either of you desired, but to Nico, it felt like you were pitying him. Granted, he was pitying himself, but to have it come from a teammate and close friend and you was a little

overwhelming. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

“I’m fine.”

Jack raised a brow, disbelieving.

“It’s painful, but I can manage it.” He tried again, and Jack nodded, pulling a face.

“Did they say how long you’d be out for?”

“Six weeks for the shoulder and maybe up to twelve for the collarbone.” This time it was Jack’s turn to shrug, and Nico’s turn to pull a face as an unspoken, mutual agreement seemed to pass through them.

“So about seven weeks, then?” Jack asked casually.

You paused, mid-sip of coffee, your eyes darting between the two of them with an obvious confusion written on your face. You knew Nico would have been eager to get back to playing, and the twelve weeks recovery isn’t even guaranteed in the first place, but it was still quite optimistic – especially considering the extent of his injury. Shoulder and collarbone? Mad disaster.

Fucking hockey lore.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t say anything.

It was Nico swinging his head to look at you that caught your attention, and when you swivelled slightly to look at Jack, who was already awaiting some sort of answer to something. He raised his brows, and you cast an unsure look back at Nico, who swallowed nervously.

“Sorry?” You turned back to Jack, who’s smile had dipped, and you got the awful feeling you’d done something wrong. Nico had looked at you with something akin to anxiety, as though the answer to an unheard question was so important that something hung in the balance depending on what you were going to say.

Jack’s eyes slid over to Nico momentarily, “Did you see it?” He asked softly, and it briefly flashed through your mind that the reason you hadn’t heard him in the first place was because he’d asked it in such a gentle tone it sounded like a whisper of white noise.

Dread punched in your stomach, and you felt yourself stiffen slightly. You knew what he was insinuating, but you still furrowed your brows, trying to hold off from seeing the inevitable hurt that would crumble on Nico’s face when he heard the answer. Something had been hanging in the balance – you rarely missed one of Nico’s games; if you weren’t there in person, and even if you were busy with work, you’d have the game on mute in the background – something to occupy your mind with and show your support.

Dread because Nico could tell when you were lying, and because there was no way you could get around this unless you just told the truth. You wished Jack wasn’t there to witness the awkwardness that was about to envelope the entire room and dash the previous light-hearted atmosphere Jack had unintentionally created with his casual conversation.

You didn’t say anything, afraid your voice would give you away before you could actually tell the truth, so you let your brows speak for themselves, in the hopes that Jack would repeat it for a third time and once more allow you to stall for a little longer.

You wouldn’t feel so fucking guilty if Nico didn’t already look like a kicked puppy.

“The game last night, did you watch it?” He hesitated, and you could see that he’d read between the lines on your face and was already regretting asking it in the first place.

Jack was close with Nico, which also meant he was also pretty close with you. He was beginning to see the downside of that, knowing he’d asked a question that was about to tear a rift in your already rocky relationship. The way Jack could see it, you and Nico were hanging on by a rope – one that he’d just severed a few strings of, completely unintentionally – and he also knew that it would be due to some sort of misunderstanding: that Nico would just assume that the reason you weren’t watching his games was because you’d decided that you were going to leave him…something that kind of broke Jack’s heart because the two of you had just talked about it before the toilet flushed, and he knew for a fact that you didn’t have any intention to leave him.

Of course, with Nico’s recent ramblings in training, he wouldn’t exactly let himself see past your answer, and would probably spin a reality based on nothing but baseless words put together with no context at all.

You swallowed, Nico already yawning out of the corner of your eye – probably a pre-established escape tactic to excuse himself.

“No.” You paused, trying to remain steady as you held eye contact with Jack, fighting with yourself not to look in Nico’s direction, “I had to do a last-minute shop, and catch up on some work. Maisey was watching it, though, and I could hear the commentary.”

It was a slight lie. You couldn’t hear much of the commentary – just the mumble of it in the background and through the walls.

Instead, Nico nodded, as though he’d been expecting that answer, and when you looked at him, he was offering you a sad sort of smile, a crease between his brows and a dimple on his cheek. You were watching him closely, trying to decipher exactly how he felt about your admission, but he wasn’t giving you much to go on.

“It’s probably for the better.” He said weakly, yawning again.

You shared a look with Jack.

“Yeah, it was pretty rough.” Jack agreed, shrugging at you behind Nico’s back.

You nodded, feeling the need to contribute to the conversation before the awkwardness consumed the room and sucked out any chance at maintaining a normal conversation for the sake of Jack’s own comfortability, “Maisey switched it off after it happened so I couldn’t see anything. Then my phone rang.” You took a sip of coffee.

There was an unspoken kind of heaviness that settled over the room – Jack looked at the floor, and Nico’s sad smile dropped into a frown.

If you were being honest, it felt like they were both mourning something you were unaware of.

“Are you guys okay?” You asked, a little tentatively. You were definitely missing something.

“Yeah.” It was Nico who got to answering quickest, shocking you, “Just…I kind of hoped they’d never have to use the emergency contact. It’s just–It must have been–I’m sorry.” He stuttered, before yawning.

You couldn’t even tell him it was okay, whatever he was apologising for, because the next thing you knew, he was pushing himself up off the sofa and walking back to the bedroom, muttering something to Jack under his breath, to which he smiled and nodded understandingly.

You waited until the door shut behind him before you turned to Jack, pressing your lips together.

“He’s not offended.” Was all he said, and you could tell just from the tone of his voice alone that he knew something you perhaps weren’t quite aware of yourself, “It’s just in his head.”

“What is?”

“This idea that you’re gonna leave him.”

___

You waited three hours after Jack left, trying to gain the courage to go back into the bedroom, cursing yourself because you hadn’t possibly thought that Nico would have ever doubted that you loved him. You’d tried to convey that through your actions recently, but looking back on it, you didn’t entirely give as much of yourself away as you’d thought you had, so not reading the subtle signs were understandable.

And you had avoided the conversation of your relationship as much as possible, and you knew how dejected he was over it, but you were following orders. He wasn’t supposed to think about complex things for some reason, because his concussion was so severe, and you really did want to talk to him about it all.

It just scared you, but you’d face that fear head on right now if it meant that he’d stop hurting and wallowing or whatever the hell else he was doing in that room. You knew he wasn’t asleep, the TV could still be heard through the wall. Brooklyn 99. An easy watch – good.

You’d been sitting on the sofa, trying to do something with your hands to fight the urge to bite your fingers, not able to switch the TV on in the living room just in case he needed something from you. Your book was on the cushion next to you, the pages splayed out because you kept picking it up and putting it down, not able to focus on anything else.

You hadn’t felt this anxious in a long time. Your heart was thudding, and it felt like there was a hand gripping your lungs.

He was afraid you were going to leave him.

Fuck.

Jack’s words kept thudding around your mind like they were put on a spin-cycle, and you alternated between feeling slightly relieved at the fact that the thought of you leaving him scared the shit out of him, but then feeling guilty that you were the cause of that insecurity.

It had you doubting your mutual decision – emphasis on the mutual – to take a break because life was pretty much getting in the way of your relationship, and there was a void of…real comfort and love, almost, and you both felt yourselves dwindling and drifting away from each other.

Fuck.

You were going to have to do something about it before all this uncertainty consumed the entire house and left you both too scared to talk about it. If you let it fester too much it would only come back to haunt you and then it’d ruin you both to completion and past the point of no return, and that was the last thing you wanted – ever.

You loved that man, sad eyebrows and all, and if you had it your way, you’d go into the bedroom this instant and tell him that, but something was stopping you.

His injury, for one. That because he was hurting, he was vulnerable, and you hated that your mind made you think that because of that, he’d be relying on you because he just needed somebody there with him.

Ultimately, if the roles were reversed you knew you’d want him to be there for you, to look after you and provide some sense of comfort when you needed it the most.

Fuck.

Your fist pounded the end of the sofa, once, twice. And then you pushed yourself up off the cushions, not allowing yourself to freak out before you reached the door, and you twisted the handle, opening the door just a crack. He might have fallen asleep with the TV on in the background, and if that was the case, you weren’t about to wake him up for what you were about to say.

Somehow the sight before you was even worse.

You stepped through the door properly, making a beeline for the bed, trying to focus on anything other than the sound of your own heart shattering inside your chest. He was slumped down under the duvet, his free arm slung over the top of his head, but it wasn’t that that caught your attention.

It was the deep set bags under his eyes and the way he blinked like he was using all of his effort to keep himself awake. It was also the way his mouth was pulled down into a sad, crestfallen frown on his face – one that he didn’t have the chance to change when he initially looked up after you opened the door – and the tissue he had crumpled in his fist.

When he saw you, he sighed, but didn’t protest when you moved over to lay next to him, your cheek pressed into your pillow.

He’d been crying.

He didn’t make a move to show you any attention, and you were glad for that – he couldn’t see the way you blinked to prevent yourself from crying, or the way you had to fist the pillow in your hands to refrain yourself from reaching out to touch him.

“How’s your head?” You asked lightly.

He blinked, “My head’s fine. I’m fine.” He replied, somewhat grumpily, his jaw clenching.

You were unphased; he was frustrated and tired, so you didn’t take it to heart, “Do you want to do something tomorrow?”

The question seemed to pique his interest, because his jaw slackened and he tilted his head towards you, allowing you to see his red-rimmed eyes, “Like what?”

You shrugged, “A walk? Get some fresh air.”

His eyes flicked to the screen briefly, seemingly considering something, “Sure.”

Your chest contracted at what you were about to say and ask him, anticipation lingering in your tense muscles. You fought with yourself, what you were about to submit to going against all professional advice and all rational thinking on your behalf – the same kind of thinking you’d made a point of reiterating in the past twenty-four hours – shit, you couldn’t even last that long without giving in to him – and a part of you felt a little sheepish and almost embarrassed because your insistence had been heavy.

“Um…” you hesitated, blinking harshly, before turning back to his awaiting eyes, “Do you maybe want to talk tomorrow?” You pressed your lips into a line – there was absolutely no going back from this.

He swallowed, his lips parting in shock, brows furrowing slightly, “About what?” He was a little breathless, and you had the sneaking suspicion he already knew what you were talking about.

“Us–”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” His mouth twitched up slightly, accentuating his tired eyes.

You pushed yourself up with your shoulder, nodding, “Okay.”

You were unsure of where to go or what to do, so you let yourself stay in that position – watching the TV. It was one of your favourite episodes.

“Do you want to watch it?” It was Nico, hand holding out the remote.

You couldn’t read his face properly, and you hesitated, “You need to sleep.”

“I can still sleep if you want to watch it.”

“Okay.”

___

You couldn’t speak for Nico, but the fresh air on your face felt like a godsend. The stuffy air of the house – no matter how many windows you’d opened and shut because it got too cold – was no match for the way you felt infinitely fresher once you’d reached the local park. You could practically taste the air it was that refreshing, and you honestly just wanted to drink the entire thing up, because you didn’t know how long Nico would be able to last before the pain meds wore off.

He’d told you earlier that his head felt better – the dizziness had worn off, his vision was clearer, and he felt less cloudy. He just had a constant headache, and honestly, you could tell he felt better – he was more with it than he had been.

You were both sitting on a bench overlooking the giant pond, you sitting sideways with one leg on the floor and the other tucked under you, and Nico with his back straight. Neither of you had spoken much on the walk over, either too immersed in the fresh air or entirely overcome with nerves for the impending conversation, so the silence enveloping the both of you was a little uncomfortable.

“How’s Maisey?” Nico started, clearing his throat.

The question was clever, a sly way to work up to the main topic of conversation.

You smiled tightly, swallowing nervously before you answered, “She’s good, been watching every Devils match…I think there’s something going on with her and Jack, you know? She hasn’t told me much but they’ve been ‘hanging out’ quite a lot.”

Nico turned his head, the hat shielding his face somewhat, but you could tell this was the first he was hearing of it because he frowned, opening and shutting his mouth as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation, “They have?”

You nodded.

“Jack’s not mentioned it, but I guess I’ve been a bit distracted lately.” He cringed, looking down at the floor to avoid looking at you, “They’d actually fit each other well.”

“She balances out his madness–”

“A voice of reason–”

You both spoke at the same, and the synchronisation elicited a small laugh that seemed to break some of the awkwardness, lighten the atmosphere slightly.

Until Nico spoke.

“So, you haven’t been watching my games?”

It felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs. It wasn’t that you felt confronted by the question: it was one you’d been expecting since the conversation yesterday with Jack, and even with the way Nico asked it you could just tell he was as hesitant at approaching the conversation himself.

It was just a bit of a blunt transition from Maisey, and your nerves seemed to come crumbling down almost instantly – as soon as he asked that.

You shook your head, embarrassed but already knowing inklings of what he thought, “I haven’t watched every game. The highlights – I watched some of those.” You took a breath, steeling yourself to look at him. When you did, you took in the kind eyes, intent on soaking up every word you spoke, and couldn’t help but smile – albeit a little bitterly, “It just hurt seeing you.”

He nodded, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the limp sleeve of his hoodie. He looked devastated, but the nod of agreement eased you slightly.

Then Jack’s words echoed through your mind. This idea that you’re gonna leave him.

Somehow remembering that little slice of the conversation put everything in perspective. Admittedly you hadn’t really believed Jack when he said that, but when Nico wet his lips and looked directly away from you, his chest rising and falling a little faster in the material of his hoodie, only seemed to paint this heartbreaking image of him right in front of you. He didn’t look surprised by your admission, but he was on the verge of saying or doing something, and it had you wondering if he’d honestly expected you to leave him after it all.

He had been expecting it, hadn’t he? He’d been looking at you differently the last couple of days. When you left the room to fetch him something, you could always feel his burning gaze on your back watching you intently from where he was sitting – afraid of something.

And the shower?

He’d thought this entire time that you looking after him would be the last time for everything, and you felt silly not having caught onto it before.

You opened your mouth to speak, tell him your true intentions, but he moved jerkily, and you paused. The hand that was playing with his sleeve suddenly stuck up, and he produced a piece of paper. It was lined and crumpled, as though he’d balled it up one too many times before reopening it – as though he’d changed his mind. You could make out the indentations through the folded up paper on the back.

What the fuck? Did he write notes, or something?

He took in a shuddery breath, rolling his eyes at himself, and you leant forwards unintentionally, curious as to what it was. You expected him to recoil, hide it from your view, but he did the opposite. He turned a little towards you, and he must have misjudged how quickly and how close you’d suddenly placed yourself, before the rim of his hat knocked into your forehead, the cap falling onto your leg.

He stopped, eyes flicking between your blushing, retreating figure to the cap that you’d made to pick up. You took the liberty of resituating it on his head. You knew it was cruel considering where his mind was taking him, but you couldn’t help swiping some strands across his forehead.

He drunk up every single motion you made.

“I–” he cleared his throat, “I wrote something that…I don’t know how to say everything that’s going on in my head, but I wrote this a while ago, and I,” he pushed it in your direction, his eyes lingering on the lines, “I want you to read it – not out loud, but just read it, please.” He rushed it all out, blinking at you with something akin to desperation, his jaw clenching and unclenching as the side of his mouth twitched upwards unconsciously.

All you could do was nod, “I can read it.”

He sat backwards, seemingly relieved, and turned back to face the park, just as you unfolded it and looked at his familiar scrawl at the top of the page. The writing was a little shaky–

“I’m sorry if you can’t read it. My hands shook the entire time…I’m sorry.” He shrugged, swallowing, not looking at you.

You turned your eyes back to the page, and you swear your heart stopped for a millisecond. The date. The fucking date was the day after you agreed to go on a break.

“You don’t have to apologise.” He’d been doing that quite a bit lately, “Why were you shaking?” Was what came out of your mouth.

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as though he thought it was silly, but over the wind and the chirping of birds, you didn’t quite manage to catch his mumblings.

“Sorry?”

“Because I think you’re going to leave me.” He admitted, keeping a straight face and refusing to look at you.

The honesty was startling, and you knew you should have said something to alleviate his clear anxieties about the whole thing – tell him you weren’t going to – but the words caught on your tongue. You so desperately wanted to let him know, but your body couldn’t physically function the way you intended it to. You felt stuck, trapped inside your own skin – claustrophobic, even – at the weight of his words. So you swallowed nervously, turning your eyes back to the paper.

You read it four times.

The first to read it. The second to double-check your eyes weren’t deceiving you. The third to make sure you hadn’t missed anything. The fourth to commit as much of it to memory as possible.

You were oblivious to the way his fidgeting seemed to worsen the longer you continued to stare at it. You knew Nico was intelligent, and despite him not writing this in his native language, it was incredibly eloquent. He was honest, straight to the truth – and parts of what he mentioned scared you, but in a good way. A really good way. It was a short passage, not even half a page, but it said everything it needed to say and more.

Your eyes kept snagging onto the last line, and you had to fight with yourself not to cry at what he’d said.

I can’t predict what decision you’re going to make, but I want you to know that I’m always going to love you. Even if you break my heart – especially then.

You had to take a while to digest what exactly he was saying in that–

“I’m always gonna love you too.”

Your mouth moved faster than your brain, but upon immediate reflection, you didn’t think it was the wrong thing to say. You didn’t know what else you could have said. You were so overwhelmed by the mere presence of him sitting in front of you, the way your chest ached at his written words, and the way your eyes pricked when he nearly snapped his neck to look at you after you’d spoken. You’d never seen anything like it – never felt it.

You wanted to press pause on the entire thing just to dissect it, but you knew any refusal to answer his questions and figure the mess out would be crucial – and you didn't want to put him through it even more, not when you were spending an unknown stretch of time in such close quarters like you were.

You had to sort it out, and it was looking like the bench was where you’d be doing most of that.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you closely as you used your sleeve to wipe your eyes. You weren’t exactly crying, but water was slowly trailing down your cheeks, and you sniffed, taking the time to gather your thoughts.

“I don’t know what to say…” you hesitated, and he took a sharp inhale, about to say something, “but I don’t want to leave you–I’m not leaving you. I pretty much decided that the second I left.”

“You did?” He huffed a watery laugh, hurriedly swiping at his own eyes. His brows were furrowed slightly, but he was smiling shakily.

You both felt it, that release of weight that had been hanging over the both of you like a dark cloud. It was remarkable the way the pressure seemed to lift off your chest.

“Yeah.” You felt your chin wobble, and you folded and unfolded the paper in your hands. The irony in the fact that it was your hands now shaking was amusing.

There was a moment of silence, the both of you absorbing exactly what it all meant, taking in the simple complexity of the fact that you weren’t ending things with each other – very much the opposite, if his letter was anything to go by.

“I’m not leaving you either, by the way. I didn’t actually say it.”

“The letter said plenty.” You replied, resting your arm along the back of the bench, your chin sitting on your fist, “But it’s nice to hear it.”

He smiled, and unlike yesterday you took comfort in the fact that his red rimmed eyes weren’t because he was feeling down.

“So we try again?” He sniffled, angling his body so you were both sitting directly opposite each other. His positioning was awkward – his uninjured arm mirroring you by resting his head on his fist, his elbow on the back railing.

You nodded, watching as his cheeks flushed in excitement, his smile lines cracking through his demeanour. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from blushing at the sheer excitement and overwhelming sense of adoration coursing through your body. You were sure your pupils were as dilated as they possibly could be, and despite wanting to pull your attention away from Nico – a bit of breathing room – you couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. It was when he raised an eyebrow, beginning to laugh that you remembered you’d forgotten to answer his question.

He didn’t mind, though.

“Yes.” You smothered a smile by tucking your face into the crook of the elbow on the railing.

You weren’t sure you’d been this flustered around Nico since you first started dating four years ago.

“Could we take it slow?” He asked, his hand reaching out to pull the material of your hoodie away from your face.

You nodded, resurfacing again, “Counselling?”

You felt fingers brush strands of your hair out of your face, and when you looked at him, you found he was nodding, brown eyes scanning every millimetre of your face as though he was drinking you in. Other than the shower, this was the first instance you’d both freely been able to look at each other in minute detail – to the extent you both desired. Sneaking glances when the other wasn’t looking didn’t exactly count.

For example, you could see that there was a splodge of red under his bottom lip, presumably from where he’d been tugging at it between his teeth all of last night. You’d opted to sleep in the spare bedroom, sure that he’d be able to make it through the night – besides, you both knew that you needed your space if you were to have the discussion the next day.

You could also see that he was refraining from doing something, because there was a small crease between his brows – a crease that told you he wanted to do something badly. You had a feeling you knew what it was, but you’d let his need linger a little longer.

“I think counselling is the right way to go, yeah.” A beat, “I want to do things right, take it slow, talk things out more. I don’t want a repeat of…this.”

He twirled some of your hair around his fingers, his eyes marvelling the movement, until he followed the strands to your face, and you broke out into a smile – not holding much back as you let out a short, breathy laugh.

“We’ve already made that mistake.” You agreed.

He sighed, “You know in that letter?”

You hummed.

“I meant it, you know. When I said I think you’re the only thing I got right.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling smaller under his gaze, “What about hockey?”

He grinned, “Hockey doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Hockey chose me. That’s different from me choosing you.”

You narrowed your eyes, still smiling, “How?”

“Because…” he trailed off, “I had to make choices when it came to you, ones that might have ended differently if I, say, hadn’t looked in the front window of the cafe that day, or hadn’t kissed you for the first time after the third date–”

“You took way too long.” You laughed.

He smiled, denying it as he waved a hand, “I think I waited just the right amount of time. I made all the right choices when it came to you. Hockey I didn’t really have to think about; it was all laid out for me – there weren’t as many things to think about compared to when it came to you.”

You sighed, pressing your lips together momentarily, before trailing your eyes to his smiling face and red-tinted cheeks still covered in some scruff. Your hand reached up and touched his chin, then his cheek, feeling the prickle that left your fingers tingling. It was a nice contrast he’d grown into the past couple of years, one that you’d grown to love, though you missed seeing what his face looked like clean-shaven.

You still loved him the same – that never changed.

You seemed to be reminded of that fact when he tilted his head into your palm, placing a kiss there and taking your wrist in his hand and gently tugging you closer. You obliged, of course you did.

“I love you.” You said.

His smile softened as he gently slid his hand from the grip on your wrist to be clasped between you both, “What happened to taking it slow?”

You shrugged, “I just haven’t said it in a while – I wanted to let you know that hasn’t changed.”

He blinked, his smile unwavering, “I love you too.”

There was also an unspoken acknowledgement under that reminder. There was still a lot you both needed to sort through before you even ventured into the realm of dating each other again – though the material left of each other that defined ‘dating’ was limited. There was only so much you could talk about without having heard it all before.

“I was thinking,” he started, his eyes flicking up to yours to catch your reaction as you raised a brow, “you don’t have any plans tonight, do you?”

You were toying telling him you did, that maybe you’d already organised something with Maisey, just to see how he’d react, but it was a little too soon to be teasing him like that, “My plans…involve making sure the captain of the Devils is recovering nicely.”

He nodded, pulling a faux inquisitive expression, “That’s incredibly convenient for me, actually. I happen to be the captain of the Devils–”

“No way.” You laughed.

“And, as the captain of the Devils, I was wondering if you’d like to hang out later. Maybe watch a movie and have dinner?”

You tilted your head, “Like a date?”

“Your words not mine.”

“What happened to taking it slow?”

He shrugged, “We can still cuddle, right?”

“I don’t know.”

He scoffed, “It’s a yes or no.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m talking about your shoulder. Cuddling is going to be pretty fucking limited.”

He nodded, his mouth forming an ‘o’, proving he hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead, “Kissing?”

You laughed, “Out of the question.” The comment was verging on being sarcastic, and the roll of his eyes proved he got the message, but you carried on, “We’re taking it slow. You need to focus on recovering in time for the playoffs–”

“Actually,” he held up a playful finger, “when you kiss me, my body releases endorphins, and they contribute to better mental health, and also reduce pain levels in the body. Lucky me,” he gestured to his shoulder, “I’m in a good amount of pain and in need of some endorphins to reduce th–”

You reached a hand up to take off his hat in the midst of his educated rambling, and you saw he could read what you were doing because the earnest protest in his eyes dimmed, and he swiped a tongue delicately over his bottom lip, a smile growing on his face. You could hear the thoughts beginning to fall away in his mind when he followed you with his eyes, his free hand settling in your hair on the side of your head. You had to praise him for it, because he didn’t for one second falter in what he was saying, but the mischievous twinkle in his eye gave him away almost immediately.

He angled his face towards you, and you both leant forwards, connecting your lips. It was short – the kind of kiss you’d usually share after he’d win a game and you were both in public. Celebratory – happy. You barely felt the gentle scratch of his scruff on your chin or the warmth of his mouth before you were pulling away. He didn’t let you get that far, the hand entangled in your hair keeping you nose to nose with him.

You were both smiling, and you weren’t mad that the only thing you could actually see properly were his eyes, staring directly into yours. You bit your lip – half trying to stop yourself from laughing, and half-trying to keep yourself from doing it again.

As much as you didn’t want to, it was essential to keep things slow – it was the right thing to do, despite the annoyance that came with it.

“So, kissing is on the cards?” Nico joked, unwinding your hair from his fingers gently to tuck the curtain that had fallen behind your ear.

“To compensate for the lack of cuddles? I might have to think about it.” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, replacing his hat back on his head.

“Remember: the endorphins.” He smiled, though you knew he’d let you actually think about it.

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“How long are you going to think about it, though?”

#nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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absolutelyhugh3s · 8 months

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michigan maize | ee73

ethan edwards x reader!

more loosely based song fics!! this one is tennessee orange by megan moroney

thank you guys so so much for all the love and support on forever and ever!!! y’all seriously don’t understand how much it means to me!! i love every single one of you <33

word count: 1.13k (not my gif!)

“hi munchkin! how are you doing?” my mothers honey-like voice filled my ears as she answered my call.

oh god, i'm really doing this.

“hi mama” i smiled even though she couldn’t see me “im good”

“i've got some news” i said nervously, clenching the comforter of my bed in my fist.

“oh honey is everything alright?” her slight chicago accent peaking through.

“dont worry im doing okay, just please dont tell dad?” i pleaded with my mother.

“y/n did something happen?” she asked worriedly.

“yes mama. he’ll blow a fuse if he found out” my father wasn’t big on me going to the umich. being the coach of msu hockey, he wanted me to go there.

but when i received an amazing scholarship to play lacrosse, i had to take it.

the first thing he told me when i left for school was “don't run off with any of those hockey boys y/n, they are very bad news.”

well, he’s clearly never met ethan.

“i know you raised me to know right from wrong, but god he makes it so hard” i chuckle “he?” my mother questions.

“i met somebody mama, hes brunette, and he's got these big brown eyes, and he opens the door for me everywhere i go!”

ethan and y/n go on small date’s every wednesday night. its an awkward time for some, but for them, its the only time in their busy schedules that they can be together.

today, their date night was dressing up super fancy (as barbie and ken of course) seeing the barbie movie, and eating at a small diner a few blocks from the movie theater.

ethan had planned out the entire thing and the couple had a blast. once ethan had driven her back to her on campus apartment, she thanked the older boy, kissed him goodbye and began to exit the car.

“WAIT” ethan yelled. he jumped up out of the drivers seat, exiting the car and running around to open his girlfriend’s car door. “ok now you can go” he smiled

the small action made the girl melt like a snowman in summer. the defenseman than sprinted to the main door of her apartment complex, opening that for her as well.

“m’lady” he held out a hand as y/n walked through the door a blushing mess. he than took her hand in his, interlocking their fingers, leading her up to her apartment.

though the action was so little, it made her fall in love with him more and more every day.

“he just makes me so happy! hes like perfectly perfect! god! i've never felt this way mama!” i ramble.

“hun” my mother chuckles. “whats his name?” i then realize i left out the most important part “ethan! ethan edwards! mama you would love him” i smiled.

“but back home id be sinning” the smile fades slightly from my face. “why is that dear?” it seems as though she could hear what was going though my mind.

“mama, hes got me wearing maize and blue for him” i sarcastically laughed.

“you should come to my game tomorrow” ethan said, running his hands through the ends of the y/h/c girls hair.

“the boys would love to see you, plus i get to have my own little good luck charm in the stands” the boy smiled like a small child at the girl laying on his chest.

“really?” she looked up at the brown haired boy with big doe eyes. “yes really” he grinned.

“here” he moved the smaller girl off of his chest to stand up from his bed.

he rummages through his closet, looking for a specific item of clothing.

suddenly a large yellow piece of fabric is thrown at her “you can even wear my jersey” he smiles.

the girl holds it up a large ‘edwards 73’ stares at her. “you know what e? i think i will”

“oh hes an athlete?” my mom says, surprised.

“yeah hekindasortamaybeplayshockey” i rush out, nervous of what my mother would say.

“im gonna need you to slow down y/n/n” she chuckles

“he plays hockey mama. he had me wearing his jersey at a msu game! of course i want the spartans to win but still! his smile! oh his smile! it makes me forget i look better in green!” i gush about my boyfriend.

“so thats why you didnt want your father to know” my mom teases, clearly finding enjoyment in this entire situation.

“oh please forgive me mama, i like him a lot” i beg “oh i think its a lot more than like sweetheart” my mom says. “what?”

“oh honey you are head over heels for ethan” she laughs “i've known for ten minutes and i can tell”

“oh god im in love with a wolverine!” i exclaim.

“babygirl its ok! the worlds not gonna end! growing up in chicago i said i would never date a red wings fan, guess what? i married one!” she laughs.

“so you’re not mad?” i asked hesitantly.

“of course not y/n! its my job as your mother to always be supportive of you” i could tell she was smiling though the phone.

i talked with my mother for a while longer about random stuff for about another half hour. “mama i have to go, ethan should be here in a few minutes” i say.

“alright sweetie, invite him home would ya?” my mother asks. “of course mama, i love you” “i love you too sweet girl, bye bye”

i clean things up for about ten minutes when i hear a knock at my apartment door.

“you can come in e!” i shout. “ok!” he shouts back before walking in.

i put the last few dishes in the cabinet when i feel two muscular arms snake around my waist and a face bury into the crook of my neck.

“hi baby” he mumbles, tightening his hold on my waist.

“hi e” i giggled. “guess what i did today” i added.

“hmm climbed mount everest?” “nope” “slayed a dragon?” “nope” “killed someone?” “god no!”

“i told my mom about us” i smiled. ethans parents have known for a few weeks now about us, but he didnt wanna push me to tell mine. he wanted me to be comfortable with doing it myself.

ethan spins me around, his hands steading my hips. “you did?” he smiles.

“i did” i mirror his smile. the much larger boy then pulls me into the tightest hug possible.

“im so proud of you baby” he says, kissing the crown of my head.

“i have a question though” i place my chin on his sternum so im looking up at ethan. “whats up love?”

“what are you doing for spring break?”

#ethan edwards x reader #umich imagine #ethan edwards #ethan edwards imagine #ethan edwards x y/n #umich hockey

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rowdyslove · 7 months

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𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄. | luke hughes

꒰ pairing: luke hughes x genderneutral!reader

꒰ genre: angst + fluff (slightly suggestive) + hurt/comfort ;established!relationship!au | short oneshot

꒰ synopsis: the time comes for luke to set off to new jersey, however the both of you find it difficult to assess the situation of his leaving. with emotions rising to their peak and unwanted thoughts taking over, he assures you the best he can that he will not forget you while he’s away.

꒰ word count: 2.6k

꒰ warnings: kissing, very small hint towards sex. (not pursued)

꒰ author’s note: i didn’t really know how to write the description around this one, but i tried :// here i come again with lukey angst (so sorry) it gets better throughout i promise

the most unusual part of the early morning drive to the airport was just how quiet it was.

there was never silence between you and luke, no matter where the two of you were. especially when in the car, there was always some sort of music playing or conversation happening. luke loved to rant on and on about how his previous games had been, or how his classes were coming along. and you always listened intently, staring at him so lovingly as he talked about the things going on in his life, just clinging on to every single word that left his lips.

but this time, the only noise that was filling the car was the ambient humming of the engine as luke drove through the streets of michigan.

neither of you could think of a single sentence that could break the silence. the both of you had spent the entire night leading into the morning just trying to avoid the situation that was coming to you—but neither of you could simply stop what was coming.

despite all of the sweet kisses, precious words, and the long night you spent tangling yourselves in his sheets with soft movements and nothing but pure love being spread into the air around you, luke was leaving for new jersey now. luke was leaving to fulfil his dream of playing in the nhl alongside his brothers, and you were staying back in michigan to continue on with university.

the car ride was completely silent, but that never stopped you from shamelessly admiring the love of your life. you took in all of his lovely features one by one and imprinted them into the forefront of your mind; the adorable mole on the left side of his nose, his soft yet drowsy eyes that stared out at the roads in front of him, his plush lips that still looked swollen from the activities that took place the previous night.

he looked so stunning sitting beside you in the driver’s seat. one hand on the wheel and the other clasped in yours. he never let go of your hand for even a second the whole car ride. no matter how much sweat could be felt between your fingers and palms, he never unlatched his hand from yours.

your boyfriend pulled into one of the very few parking spots of the parking lot he could find with perfect ease, having had done his best practicing for the entirety of his freshmen and sophomore years of university and even ever since he first got his license. he always made sure to bring you along to every one of his games, picking you up from your dorm almost two hours before he would be on the ice, and he would always have you back to the dorms or bring you back to the umich hockey house to enjoy the rest of the day or night with him.

as he finally put the car in park and cut the engine, the both of you refused to speak first. technically, it should've been him, considering that he was the one that had a flight to catch in just about twenty minutes, but he just couldn't. really though, how could he? how could he when he knew that this could be the last time he would be seeing you right in front of him for the next six months?

just like him, you were also having trouble putting your thoughts together as well. now that luke couldn't just divert his attention to driving, the hand on the wheel dropped down to fiddle with the bottom hems of his hoodie nervously. on any other day, his hands would be on you the moment he turned off the car, just touching you in any way he could before you both had to get out. whether it be placing his hands on your waist, or your soft cheeks, or your neck, or just anywhere.

but this time, he really didn't know what to do, especially when you looked like you were teetering right on the edge of tears crashing through the seams of your eyes, and honestly he was feeling the same.

"are you all packed?" you finally asked, forcing your voice to be the first to speak, although it clung at the back of your throat.

"yeah, I finished everything yesterday morning," he answered quietly, looking down at his feet as he continued to distract himself away from the truth of his departure. any people that were walking past the car could have easily assumed that you two were just awkward friends and not a couple that's been together for almost three years now.

somehow, through the heavy awkwardness and the slight stumbling over his words brought a small smile to your face. It almost made things feel normal again. just like the way they always were when luke would act like he was the strongest person in the world and then would suddenly get completely flustered the very moment your lips simply brushed against the skin of his cheek.

"are you ready to continue on with your classes?” the question sounded a bit strange to him, yet it still slipped from his thoughts and into the suffocating air surrounding you both.

“umm yeah, even though we’re starting to look over the most difficult section of the class, i think i’m ready.”

"that’s no surprise honestly. you picked a class that is too much for that brain of yours to comprehend.”

“h-hey!”

the two of you fell into a short yet lighthearted kind of banter, and you were almost surprised about how genuinely easy it was to shift back into a normal with him. after time spent feeling so many emotions and feeling nothing but sadness, you’ve been spending your last moments together pouting about everything rather than just relishing in every last second. you opened your mouth to quickly apologize just as luke spoke to do the same thing.

“luke i—”

“i’m—”

you looked up at him, eyes slightly wide and startled before you released a few giggles, "I'm sorry," you said gesturing and urging him to speak, "you go first."

luke wore a dumbstruck expression across his face, gazing at you as if you were the most precious person in the entire world as the sound of your laughs subsided. unbeknownst to you, you really were the most precious person in the world to him. he lightly shook his head, looking down for a brief moment before looking back up at you, "no please, you first."

looking down at your intertwined hands, you struggled to find the right words to say to him.

i’m going to miss you? have fun in new jersey? i’m so proud of you? please don't forget about me while you're away?

nothing sounded right, and as your eyes gazed into luke’s, you admitted what you were feeling, "I..I really don't know what to say.”

a part of you grew nervous, expecting luke to scoff at your words or be disappointed with how short you were being with him, but he let out an awkward chuckle instead, "honestly, i don't either.”

you released a smile at that, knowing he was feeling the same way you were. yet, the car was now once again filled with silence, however it didn't feel as suffocating anymore. it felt somehow familiar, like the reminders of how peaceful it was whenever you would be with him in bed, huddled under his soft blankets and facing each other, just gentle smiles adorning your faces as you stared at one another.

the two of you gazed at each other. the longing, the sadness, and the love you both held so tightly onto for each other was all being conveyed through the soft sunlight beaming in your eyes. it spilled out and sifted itself through the entire car until the silence bursted wide. your feelings overpowered the knowing goodbyes that were coming, and suddenly, neither of you could control yourselves from spreading your love through touches.

luke was the one to act first, as he always did, but you weren't far behind him. tilting your head quickly to the side just at the perfect angle for him to turn and press his lips firmly against yours. his hand ceased its nervous fiddling of his sweater and moved up to cup your cheek, feeling your soft skin beneath his fingertips.

the kiss was slow and even, as if time had stopped and the only thing that mattered was this moment; luke’s lips against yours, his other hand freeing itself from yours to come up and caress through your hair, carding his fingers in it softly.

you loved this. you loved the way luke made you feel. the bubbling of comfort and safety that you always felt when you were with him.

this was familiar. the gentle push and pull that gravitated between the two of you, not being rushed even in the slightest.

and then, luke slipped his tongue past the parting of your lips and into your mouth, causing you to let out the softest most innocent moan, and you felt the atmosphere change instantly. luke’s hands trailed down your sides, his fingers gripping your waist tightly as he began urging you to glide over to his seat. and what else could you do other than give in to him? especially when his lips were starting to smack so eagerly on yours, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip every now and then, and when his tongue explored your mouth with such a newfound kind of yearning.

you quickly clambered over the middle console just as luke reclined his seat back to give you more room. you settled yourself on his lap, gasping for small breaths right before diving back into his heavenly lips for more. you didn’t care about the people outside that could have been walking by the car, everything around you becoming a complete blur as you and luke became the only thing clouding your mind.

this kiss was so different. the sense of urgency you felt, as if every second that passed was just stolen time for the two of you, and the desperation luke was feeling for you; a strong desire to touch you until the last possible second. just to feel you against him, kissing him, caressing his face. anything that you could give him, he would take it all in like a starving man.

neither of you stopped your movements until you were truly at your peek, teetering on the edge of falling into each other too deep and possibly taking things further right then and there. It was then that you pulled away from your him, chest heaving with fast rises and falls as a thin trail of saliva connected his naturally plump lips to the swollen mess of yours. his hands, which had been roaming over every part of you that he could reach, every part that he was allowed to touch, had finally settled, finding a home in the sweet curve of your waist.

you stared at each other, his eyes a shade darker than usual and yours most definitely glazed over with complete bliss. luke had never ever kissed you like that before. whether it was to preserve your innocence or to avoid making you uncomfortable, even though you’ve already explored over the barrier of just intimate kisses a few times already, you wanted more of it. you wanted him to kiss you like that again and again and again.

through all the passionate kisses and feverish touches exchanged, you still can’t knock away the fact that luke still had a flight to catch; he still had to leave.

"hey hey, wait (y/n)—please don’t—” luke slightly panicked as he caught the sight of your eyes suddenly welling up high with tears. the once ravishing and sultry persona you had gotten out of him just a few minutes ago completely vanished as he quickly took his hands from their placement of your hips and up to cup your cheeks and pad away at the watery tears with his thumbs.

"I'm s-sorry—” you stammered, not having even realized that you were actually crying until you felt the wetness roll down your cheeks, "I'm sorry lu.”

"no no, please don't be sorry sweetheart," luke gently cooed to you in hopes of calming you down. using that oh so gentle tone of voice he would whenever you either had trouble sleeping or when you refused to take breaks during your most stressful of days, "you have nothing, absolutely nothing, to be sorry about, okay?”

"b-but we promised that we wouldn't cry, remember?” you smally said, your voice cracking as luke continued to dab delicately at your tears, "we promised, and now I've just gone and ruined it.”

"(y/n), when have I ever kept my promises about not kissing you in public, or not bringing you to my games because the guys always tease me?”

“n-never?”

luke chuckled lightly at the questioning look on your face, smiling tenderly as he wiped away a stray tear with his thumb as he pressed one final peck to your lips. "exactly sweetheart. our promises are meant to be broken," he hummed, resting his forehead against yours while letting his thumbs rub soft circles over the apples of your cheek. “and before you say it, i know what you’re thinking. so don’t worry, i could easily burst into tears right now too."

you choked out a small giggle, bringing your hand to his cheek, "you such a dork moosey.” the smile you give him is shaky, slightly quivering at the corners while your lips tremble as you still try simmering down from your breakdown.

even though the last smile you wanted to give luke before he left was the brightest one you could ever muster up, your emotions got in the way of that. it wasn’t quite your happiest smile, but it was as happy as you could feel when saying goodbye to the love of your life.

"i’m gonna miss you," you mumbled, stroking his cheek with your thumb just as he did to you.

"i’m gonna miss you too, my love. so damn much," luke’s hand once cupping your cheek dropped down and back to your waist, gripping even tighter than before as he held you closer to his chest. you found comfort in his warmth, placing your ear tight against his shoulder settling feather light kisses to his neck once in a while, curling your legs up onto his lap and letting your fingers move to fiddle with the drawstrings of his sweater.

you wanted to stay like this forever. you wanted him to stay with you, like this in the car, cuddled up together with kisses being shared and not a care in the world about you might see.

your worst fear about this goodbye, was the one question that filled your mind every single waking second of the day for the past week now. and before luke could even get the chance to speak first, you beat him straight to it.

"you…you won't forget about me, right?"

it was almost relieving to him, hearing that his greatest fear for what was to come for the two of you in the future was actually yours as well. in some way, it felt reassuring. it confirmed the feelings in his heart, showing that you truly cared for him in the same way he did for you.

that no matter what you were doing—you were still thinking about him and how he would be feeling.

and now that he was leaving, just knowing that felt like enough for him.

reaching for your hand, he wrapped your pinky finger lightly around yours and brought your interlocked fingers to his lips, and with a gentle peck to the soft skin, he smiled as he spoke, "i will never forget you, my love."

#—ness writes #luke hughes #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes angst #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fluff #nj devils #new jersey devils #umich hockey #nhl oneshot #nhl x reader #nhl x y/n #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fluff #nhl angst

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