#adoristsposts

[adoristsposts]

number one supporter | nico hischier

author's note; he is so beautiful he makes my brain short circuit summary; anger on the ice turns into an annoying relationship that seems to follow the two of you everywhere. until eventually, maybe, the nuisance of each others presence turns into something else. word count; 1.8k warnings; fluff, swearing, slight enemies to lovers? characters; fem!Reader x Nico Hischier, platonic!Reader x Mat Barzal

There was nothing worse than your temper when it came to hockey. The fact that your best friend played made it easier to rile you up, fans realised quickly. Before long you were a beloved figure for Islander fans to joke about. Their favourite thing to poke fun at was your inability to hold yourself back. Which showed now, as you banged on the plexiglass and yelled “Offsides!” The devils player who had committed the act turned to you. Decked head to toe in Islanders attire (a beanie, jersey, and scarf. The rest he couldn't see), you took his eye contact without falter. His eyebrows tugged together. Who were you? His expression morphed from confusion into annoyance as the referee blew his whistle and lifted his arm. Offsides. You had called it and the ref had listened to you. And you were right, of course (he would later find out you were always right when it came to hockey), which perplexed Nico even more. Who were you? The question seemed summed up when Mathew Barzal slammed his shoulder into the glass. You rolled your eyes at him but your previously fiery expression melted away into a badly disguised smile. The player laughed, laughed! at you. Obviously his girlfriend, Nico thought to himself with a scoff. This seemed further proven when you turned around and pointed both thumbs at the back of your jersey. Like a possessive mark, a billboard as to who you were and why you were there. Barzal, splashed across your back. The man in front of him took it in, then turned to skate away. He noticed Nico's lingering attention and drifted over to him. "Don't you just love it when the fans really know what they're talking about?" Dick, Nico thought.

Nico remembered you, he thought as he walked through the arrivals. You were chatting away with Beauvillier happily, waving your hands every which way. He faltered for a moment, urging the memory to surface. And then it did. He allowed himself, for a moment, to wonder if maybe he had gotten your relationship with the Islanders' golden boy wrong. Then Barzal came in and tugged on your hair like a bothersome boyfriend. You swatted him away and your laugh carried through the building. Beauvillier spotted Nico and raised a hand in a wave. This garnered the attention of the other two. Barzal turned and nodded at him. You however didn't move. You levelled your gaze on Nico and the boy froze. Then as if he had failed your test, you turned back to Mathew and said something, pushing him on his chest. Not wanting to try and decipher what, Nico nodded at Beauvillier and moved on.

You made yourself apparent in the game yet again. You made a howling, "Ow ow!" noise during warm ups every time an Islanders player passed you. They all shook their heads and grinned. During the game it was like you turned into a fifty year old dad drunkenly watching the super bowl. You celebrated every goal like it was an overtime winning one. You chirped the boys as they went, "Nice miss, Barzy!" Seemed to be your favourite one. It seemed every frustration of a mess up washed away when you opened your lip glossed mouth. Every celebration made better by your euphoric yelps of excitement. When the second period rolled around, Nico felt anxious. Literally anxious under your gaze. He missed a shot and- "Wanna try getting the puck in the net, pretty boy?" His eyes widened. He couldn't stop his lips from parting. When he looked at you, you were smiling at him like he was just another Isles player. It felt a little like sunshine on his face. Bright, warm, and blinding, he added to himself as someone stole the rebound from him and the puck was suddenly on the other side of the ice. Shit. He thought. And it was like you could hear him wondering how he had gotten so distracted, as your lips curled in a feline smile and you nodded at him. He couldn't hear you well over the roar of the crowd, but he could make out the words. "Puck went that way."

This time he wouldn't let his mind wander. This time he wouldn't pay attention to you. You were just a girl. Just another WAG. Another Isles supporter he couldn't wait to piss off. It was his arena tonight, his home ice, he had the power. All his self imposed mantras washed away. Anders Lee, the biggest guy on the team, chirped "She distracting you again, or you playing this bad on purpose?" Nico swung without thinking. He was tired, his skates were tied too tight and hurt, and Lee had just sent him flying into the boards a few seconds ago. The second the fight was broken up he knew what was coming. He shook his head, skating to the penalty box. He hadn't seen you yet, and he was far from relieved that he finally did now. "Having fun, pretty boy?" You called, tapping the glass he was confined in. He yanked his helmet off, "Yeah. Your boyfriend sucks. Having a great time beating him." You pursed your lips, "Which one?" He couldn't help the laugh that tumbled from him. A deep one that came from his chest, shocked at the utter audacity you carried on you. "Barzal? Number 13? Ring a bell?" He turned his eyes back to the game. "I only have eyes for you." You teased. Then, almost as if you sensed the way he didn't believe you, you added "Hischier." The name made it seem more realistic. You knew his name. Or you had heard it on the broadcast, at least. Or maybe from Barzal. "Consider changing your jersey, then." He joked. He turned back to see if you would laugh at his joke, but you were gone. Disappeared into the crowd. Later he would check twitter and find out that, for once, you had set yourself up in the area designated for players friends and family. You had slipped away only once or twice, and fans found it hilarious that one of those times had been to mock Nico as he sat in the penalty box.

This would be his final time playing the Islanders this season, Nico reassured himself as he kicked a soccer ball around with some other boys on the team. The movement helped him dispel his nerves. Soon he'd be on the ice, on display for you. If anyone noticed his quiet stress, they didn't point it out. He got a few shoulder clasps. But no indicator other than that. He didn't even know you. He had to keep reminding himself of that. He just knew you called every penalty the refs missed. And that half the time, the confidence in your voice had them calling it- albeit, a few seconds late and to the chagrin of any opposing team. Nico shook his arms and upper body as he waited for the national anthem to start. Trying to get out the boredom and growing anxiety. His eyes searched the crowd. Away games were always hard. Nothing compared to the joy of seeing an entire crowd wearing the Devils shade of red. Nothing, it seemed, except for the absolute electricity as he recognised you, donning that exact colour. You noticed his attention almost immediately. Then you tugged at the sleeve to show off the number stitched into the side. As if he hadn't seen it already. As if his entire body hadn't been overcome with chills as it took him only a split to realise you had taken his words to heart. Consider changing your jersey, then. And you had. You were still on the Islanders side of the rink, though, and donned the familiar scarf and beanie. Oh well, Nico thought as the lights dimmed and a woman started singing Star Spangled Banner. That will change in due time.

After what he considered to be maybe the best game of his life, Nico felt a little surprised when Beauvillier congratulated him by dapping him up and smiling at him in a way the man hadn't smiled at him before. It was dripping with a knowing look. Twenty minutes later Nico was showered and changed and surprised to find you greeting him outside the locker room. "You give good advice, Hischier." You hummed. He got over his initial shock quickly. "How'd your boyfriend feel about that?" "Don't have one," Your answer had been assumed at this point, "Barzy's my best friend, though. And he found it pretty amusing." "I bet." Nico trailed off. He really didn't know enough about you to keep the conversation going, that much was obvious. "This is the part where you're supposed to ask for my number, Hischier." He fumbled with his phone as he pulled it out of his pocket and unlocked it before practically thrusting it into your hands. Every ounce of manliness had fled his body and he was unable to even speak. He wanted to make some smart comeback. Ask if you even knew his first name. "You ready?" Interrupted the pathetic moment. Mat was coming down the hallway. "Yep." You told him. Nico couldn't even force himself to say something cool as a parting gift. He closed and opened his mouth as you walked away, until eventually calling a "Bye!" to your retreating figure. He heard your laugh. You didn't turn around as you waved him goodbye over your shoulder.

There was no games that could compare to Playoffs. You had made the trip from New York to New Jersey on your own. It was the first time you had ever done so without Mat (What business would I have in Jersey? You had joked to him). After the first game loss, Nico felt like shit. 5-1 was bad. The only thing that made it better was that the second he was out of the locker room you were tugging him to your car with a lazy grin. "Baby, come on." You laughed. His steps were slow and heavy with self pity. When you finally reached your car you rested against the hood and pulled him to you. "Don't sweat it." He grumbled something intelligible in response. You kissed him softly, slowly, and against his lips mumbled "Those refs were fucking idiots. I won't let them make those mistakes next game." "Next game?" He asked, pulling away from you with a shit eating smile on his face. "Yes." You confirmed. "Next game. The Islanders can live without me for a little bit. I have a boyfriend to support." Nico couldn't help but tease "A jersey boyfriend to support" "Don't push your luck, Hischier." You growled in response. But you were smiling and kissing him again, and he knew that come next game you'd be glued to the boards calling out every foul except for his.

#adoristsposts #nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fluff #new jersey devils #hockey #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier fic #hockey fic #new jersey devils fic

[goldsainz]

🧸 — ask me for media recs! (movies, music, fics, etc)

f1 fic’s 👀

there are so many i could rec… i’m gonna do like 2 per driver (or so)

also, check out @lorarri bc they have some of the best fics out there, i just didn’t put them here bc this rec is curated for her <3

DR3

lost cowboy hat | @f1version

got drunk on you | @userlando

CL16

situationship | @lxclerc

a couple (of besties) | @leclvrc

CS55

more than just a crush | @myysaints

take me down | @formulaforza

LH44

hot girls support 44 | @monzabee

queen of latin music | @pucksandpower

LN4

awol | @kiwisa

6 to 1 (series) | @holllandtrash

OP81

2:35 am | @httpiastri

little norris | @charlewiss

MV1

secret admin | @holllandtrash

a different light | @userlando

MS47

sunlight | @f1haaland

they’re talk- talk- talking about | @lecsainz

LS18

blindsided | @holllandtrash

november rain | @lovelytsunoda

PG10

unfathomably | @adoristsposts

daddy day care | @thebearchives

#── my 2k celly #lorarri.

[adoristsposts]

Y/n and Justin Herbert have a 3 month old and in the middle of the night their baby starts to cry, y/n is exhausted from getting up every night to care for a crying child Justin notices and takes over for the night, the baby and him have a bonding moment he talks and soothes the baby.

author's note; i neeeeed to write for hockey but he is the only thing on my mind i can't help myself summary; a kid was all the two of you could think about for ages- but now that your daughter is officially in the world, the late nights and early mornings aren't exactly easy. word count; 0.9K warnings; mention of vomit, pregnancy + babies, mention of sex, unedited characters; Reader x Justin Herbert

Having a baby with Justin was one of the best decisions you had ever made. It fell right in front of marrying him in the first place. And both of you had reaped the benefits of your pregnancy. Attention and gifts made the sore back and swollen ankles worth it. Justin had even been stopped by a few players he looked up to to be congratulated and given tips. Hell, Jason Kelce had reached out, which sent you into a bit of a fangirl fit. And while you had found Justin sexy as hell before hand, nothing made him more beautiful to you than watching him with your baby. He could be covered in her vomit, for gods sake, and you'd still be convinced he was the most gorgeous sight you had ever seen.

He still had football, though. He spent as little time at practice as he could, but the chunk of the day he was gone had led to a firm agreement: he dealt with her at night. "She gets me all day," you told him. "I will put milk in a bottle and you will let me sleep through the night." Which never fully worked out. You were easier to raise from sleep than he was. It got to the point where exhaustion crept up on you and you were snappy and annoyed all day. You would stomp around the house, calming yourself only for the baby or Justin. Once, his brother had made the mistake of saying the house was a mess and Justin had to laugh and put his arm around you to stop you from throwing a dinner plate at his head.

So this time, when the sound of her crying woke him, Justin told you to go back to bed and that he would deal with it. He groaned as he padded across the room and took her out of her crib. His height was not an advantage when it came to leaning over it. "Hi, pretty," He greeted, taking her out of the room with him. The pet name had come to him out of nowhere- as a family of all boys, neither he nor his brothers had ever been called 'pretty'. But by god, was his daughter beautiful. She coughed with her mouth open, threw up on him, burped, and did all other bodily functions with no shame, but to him she was perfect because she looked like the two of you. Which sounded insane- she was three months old with barely a hair on her head, but he could feel the resemblance in his soul more than see it. Sappy. He was becoming sappy. He cooed to her and bobbed her in his arms to calm her down as he looked in the fridge for the milk you had put aside. "You hungry baby?" He asked when she finally stopped crying. He groaned over dramatically as he put her in her high chair to amuse her. The giggle that came out of her sent his heart soaring.

Warming the bottle usually took a while. So he moved her chair to where he could see her and the water. "You wanna hear about how me and mommy met? Or my teammates?" The second one elicited another giggle. "I would obviously rather tell you about my wonderful wife, but sweaty guys work too," He joked. He explained football to her, as he had done before and would continue to do. His daughter was going to grow up to be as big a football fan as he could get her to be. He continued on, talking about recent trades and injuries, inside jokes, the ones he was sure she would like when she started being able to really comprehend what was going on around her.

"Did you know, when you came, I had the doctors convinced your mom had an affair?" Justin told her. She looked up at him with big blue eyes and it was almost as if she wanted him to continue. "There's this quote from the Grinch- you'll start quoting things, soon- where he says 'Hey, honey! Our baby's here! He looks just like your boss,'" Justin laughed to himself at the memory. "I said it to your mom, you see, when you popped out of her. And the nurses and doctors were mortified- they thought I was serious! It was so embarrassing to have to explain to them I was quoting the Grinch." Her bottle was ready, and so he scooped her back up and began to feed her. "If you throw up on me I'm going to have to show up to practice in one of your mom's blouses- I am fresh out of clothes," he warned. The food went down smoothly, thank God.

He rocked her until she fell back asleep. When he turned to walk back into your room, you were standing in the doorframe. "I told you to go back to sleep," Justin said softly. You smiled and padded over to him. "You're very good with children." "Thanks. I practiced on my hamster," Justin finished the quote. He pressed a kiss on your forehead when you reached him. "You're so handsome," You told him, "I love watching you with her." "Careful," Justin warned, "we have a roommate- no sex, I'm afraid." "Mmm," You hummed, "She'll get a sibling as soon as she moves into her own room."

#adoristsposts #anon request #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert #justin herbert fic #la chargers #la chargers fic #nfl #nfl fic #nfl fluff #he is giving me baby fever #i actually saw a photo of him with kids the other day and tweeted it with the caption 'i understand the whole baby fever thing now'

[adoristsposts]

justin herbert winning superbowl and proposes to y/n on the field

author's note; oh ABSOLUTELY anon u ate with this idea!!! singlehandedly bringing me out of my writing slump summary; the superbowl was supposed to be justin herberts biggest win of the day- but he can't help himself from making it just a little better. word count; 5k warnings; mention of underage drinking, nsfw joke Lol! unedited characters; Reader x Justin Herbert

There was no world in which you weren't shaking with nerves and anticipation. You had grown up watching the Super Bowl on television. You had honestly never really paid it much mind unless your local team had made it through, and even then it was usually your teenage excuse to have a few friends round and sneak a few drinks. In the past couple of years, however, football had become integrated into your life in the form of a 6'6, 236 lbs sweetheart. When you and Justin had begun dating, the idea of it lasting had been far from your mind. You complained incessantly to your girlfriends about his schedule. "He's always busy!" You had whinged to them, far from dramatic. He always had practice or a game or team bonding. Finding a time he could carve out for you was hard. But damn, did he try. And it worked. Three years later, you looked forward to the familiar thump of his football bag hitting the floor on a Sunday to alert you to his arrival. After a win, he'd come to find you with a grin on his face and wild eyes, usually peppering you with kisses. A loss, however, meant he immediately took a solemn shower and put all that gentle giant weight on you to lie in your arms and soak in your affection. This year had been filled with wins. After two losses at the start of the season, the team managed to turn the tide and keep a strong string of games going. The result was enough to put them head-to-head against the Kansas City Chiefs in this year's Super Bowl.

And the Nevada heat was not helping you stay calm. You half wanted to peel your Herbert jersey off and stand in a refrigerator until the game was over. You were nervous for all sorts of reasons. Firstly, you wanted Justin to win. Secondly, you wanted Justin to get through the game without getting injured. The injury to his ribs last year, he liked to joke, had scared you more than it had hurt him. You would be happy with any result as long as he left the field in one piece.

So far, it was a close game. 21-31 in the fourth quarter, with the Chiefs leading. You couldn't figure out how you felt. You were bursting at the seams with pride as is, but you were desperate for Justin to win what he had been working towards for so long. Justin had played an incredible game so far. You and his family kept repeating so to each other, like a mantra that he would continue doing so. You wanted nothing more than to see them win this game, even if watching was growing more difficult with each passing second. Mitch and Patrick, his two brothers, watched standing up. They either perched, staring and analyzing the game in a way only a football player could, or paced whatever stretch of ground they could, discussing their conclusions. "He's doing great," Holly said, not really aiming the words at anyone. Your hands were clasped in hers, and you gave her a squeeze. The sweet moment was interrupted by Patrick's yelp. Your gaze snapped back to the field, and Holly let go of your hands as both of you stood up. There was a wide opening, where Keenan Allen was waiting. Justin's snap made it to him, and Allen set into the most determined run you had ever seen. He dodged defense, with help from Chargers players doing their best to block them from his path. And then- "Touchdown by Keenan Allen! The Chargers are beginning to close the very small gap between them and the Chiefs!" The announcer called. You and the Herbert family erupted in glee (as you had with every previous point.)

With just under a minute now left in the last quarter, 28-30 was beginning to seem like it would be the final score. Both sides were not letting anything or anyone pass. You could practically feel the tension radiating from the players. No one had sat down since Keenan's touchdown. The electricity in the box was too much for anyone to stay stationary. Your hands were clasped, pressed to your lips as you watched your boyfriend set up. He got the ball, pulled back, and paused. "Go!" Mitch yelled like Justin could hear him. And then, like he could, Justin started running. They had set up close enough, he could make it- you could see he was going to make it. You had never heard louder yells than in the second Justin made it to the endzone. The clock after that ticked down painfully slowly. But second after second, the Chiefs were unable to score any points that would put them back in the lead.

Then the game ended, and the Los Angeles Chargers had officially won the 2024 Super Bowl. You were right behind the Herberts as the four of them rushed out of the box and down to the field, Patrick dragging you next to him with a handful of your shirt. "Slow down!" You laughed at him. "You're dating a Super Bowl winner, there's no slowing down now!" He exclaimed back at you. You felt the warm flush of giddiness and pride. Justin was a Super Bowl winner. Your boyfriend. Your lovely boyfriend. When you made it down, the field and sidelines were already flooded with family and friends. A sea of red and blue. You were sure the pure, unadulterated joy radiating off of you was salt in the wound for the Chiefs players, but the moment you locked eyes with your boyfriend you didn't care. In a surge of energy, you raced towards him, your large smile somehow growing even bigger. When you reached him, you didn't even care that he reeked or that his pads were wet with sweat. He picked you up on impact and twirled you around. "You won," you told him. When he put you down, he kissed you quickly but passionately. "I'm so proud of you, babe." You said. "I love you." "I love you too." He said, smiling down at you. That damned height. His family caught up, hugging him and crying and showering him with love and congratulations. Once their excitement had faded a little, Justin wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side. He pressed his lips into your hair and mumbled something. "What?" You asked, pulling away. "Marry me." He said clearly this time. You froze. His eyebrows lifted as he waited for your answer, a shit-eating grin uncurling on his face. You couldn't think of what to say except for "What?" "Marry me." He repeated. His words sounded so sure, and the way he was looking at you- You reached up a hand and grabbed the front of his pads to pull him down to kiss you. This time not short, but definitely just as passionate. "Yes," You told him against his lips, "Of course I will." "Woah! Slow it down on the PDA, Justin." His dad laughed. Justin pulled away from you. "Sorry, dad." He apologized, "Just excited." "Don't let the Super Bowl get to your head," Mitch joked, reaching up to slap his little brother lightly on the back of the head. "It's not just that," Justin began, "I just kind of.." he scratched the back of his neck, unsure how to explain it. He looked to you for help. "I think we just got engaged?" You said, not breaking your gaze away from his. Holly let out a yelp of excitement, but Patrick beat it by a mile. "I call best man!" He yelled without missing a beat. From near you, Sebastian's head turned. "What did I just hear about a best man?" He asked. Justin rolled his eyes and groaned like the question annoyed him. Underneath it all, he was bursting with the anticipation of telling everyone. He had been pondering when to ask for months. There was a ring in the drawer of his bedside table that had been waiting for him to finally propose. But of course, he had to choose the spontaneous moment that felt right. He wished you had a ring to show off to the boys, but instead, he just had to tell them, "We're engaged!" The team exploded with cheers and congratulations, all still riding the high of the win. Still under his arm, you looked up at your now-fiancee with a sly grin. "Go shower and get changed. You and I are in for a very fun night." You told him under your breath. His eyes widened and his eyebrows raised in a cheeky expression. "You're on," He retorted, beginning to walk away. "But don't forget baby, I'm a Super Bowl winner! It'll be a fun month." You ignored the curious glances his family and teammates gave you at his comment and tried to hide your bright red cheeks.

#adoristsposts #justin herbert #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert fanfic #my little princess (he's 6'6 and 236lbs) #nfl #nfl fic #my bbg idk what else to say #anon ask

[adoristsposts]

hickeys | jamie drysdale

author's note; i am filled with total brain rotting love for him. jamie drysdale the only thing that could make me adore you more would be if you signed with the leafs summary; parties are supposed to be a time to socialise. instead they usually become an excuse for you and your boyfriend to get shit faced and make out. word count: 0.9k warnings; making out, slight nsfw characters; Reader x Jamie Drysdale

Jamie's hair had grown long and shaggy over the season. He loved the way it poked out under his helmet. His 'flow', as he and his teammates called it, was just a part of playing hockey. But you knew it was because he felt handsome when his tousled hair was on display for you and every other adoring ducks fan in a stadium. And you preyed on this now, carding your fingers up some strands at the back of his neck. He hummed, turning to face you. His lids were droopy. They always seemed to get heavier than he could handle when he drank. You could tell how far gone he was from how much eye you could see. He was really drunk. Of course, you couldn't argue that you were any better. You laughed at the lazy grin that was uncurling on his face at your affectionate gesture. "You good, baby?" He asked. He placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing your leg as if to comfort you. It did the opposite. You tried to bite your lip to keep your suggestive smile from blooming, but it didn't work, instead causing a spark to light in Jamie's eyes. You stared at your boyfriend like it was your first time seeing him. Raking your eyes over thick eyebrows, his wide shoulders, his slight stubble. You couldn't stop yourself from getting up from where the two of you were sitting and beginning to step into the house. You turned back to him, as if to ask Are you coming? He couldn't get to his feet faster. Within a minute you two were in Trevor's guest bathroom, where you had brushed your teeth many a morning after a night gone a little too wild. This party surely had to fall in that category. And there was no way Trevor had left it unlocked without the knowledge it would be put to some sort of use, right? As soon as you shut the door between the two of you Jamie had you caged in with his body. He fell against you with slight pressure, connecting your lips quickly. He was so eager that your teeth clashed and you laughed against his lips. He smiled at that, pressing on. Because Jamie wasn't embarrassed by it. He was too drunk to care. Plus, you had reassured him time and time again that there was nothing he could do to ick you out. "Not even like- trimming my nose hairs?" He had asked when you told him, grasping for the first thing he could think of. You had laughed and he had grinned widely at the fact you found him funny. "Not even that, Jimbo." You ran a hand down his chest and you could literally feel his toned stomach through his shirt. This drove you wild and you moved your lips down to his neck. Hockey season was over, and that gave you the freedom to give your pretty little boyfriend as many hickeys as you desired. You thanked God for that as Jamie groaned and buried his face into your shoulder to try and muffle the noise. You kept going, finding a sweet spot right under his jaw. He must have been tired of the teasing, because his teeth clamped playfully on your shoulder and you yelped out a loud laugh. "Did you just bite me?" "Yes." He answered simply. Then, "Kinky?" Wiggling his eyebrows. You laughed and shook your head at him, pulling him down for one final kiss. "We can finish this later. At home." "Fine." He groaned. The two of you stepped out into the hall. Trevor was out there, and looked up from his phone. "Finally, I've been waiting for ages." He moved past you before freezing. "Holy shit." He said, stepping back to you two. He pulled the neck Jamie's shirt down, eyes widening as he scanned the skin. Then finally the man burst into laughter. "Fuck, Jimbo, I think you better borrow a hoodie." "What?" Jamie asked, then another, more frantic "What, dude?" But Trevor was already shutting the bathroom door behind him. When Jamie turned back to you, you understood Trevor's suggestion. Multiple blotches on his neck were already turning red, and the second you two stepped into the well-lit backyard his teammates would be on him like dogs. Teasing and pointing. You covered your mouth to suppress. "I think you should listen to him, love." You told him. Jamie furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?" He whined.

You steered him into Trevor’s room, pointing at the mirror for him to see for himself while you rummaged through the boys closet for a hoodie. You heard an “Oh, shoot.” and threw one towards the tall boy. He was smiling and shaking his head as he put it on.

“Sorry, Jamie.” You said, but you really weren’t. He rolled his eyes as if he could hear your added thought.

“Whatever. I’ll give you some matching ones later.” You rolled your eyes and lightly swatted his chest, but his words rang as more of a promise than a tease.

I’ll give you some matching ones later.

It took everything in you not to drag him home right then and there.

#adoristsposts #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale fic #jamie drysdale x reader #anaheim ducks #trevor zegras #nhl hockey #jamie drysdale blurb

[adoristsposts]

hi i love your writing! could you possibly do justin herbert and reader breaking up but then they rekindle and it’s a happy ending?

author's note; anons treating me so well u guys have better ideas than i do icl summary; alcohol and not being over your ex doesn't exactly mix well- unless, of course, your ex seems just as hung up on you. word count; 1K warnings; drinking, swearing characters; Reader x Justin Herbert

You let a loud sigh escape your lips the second your apartment door shut behind you. You placed a palm on the door, using it for support as you slipped off your heels and let your bare feet sink into the carpeted floor. "Jesus," you muttered to yourself. Without missing a beat, you headed to your fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. You set your purse down on the kitchen island and, wine bottle in hand, padded over to the couch. You turned it on and, of course, your ex-boyfriend's face filled the screen. "It was just a flesh wound." He told the press before you could switch the channels. Your hand paused, hovering over the Netflix icon you had been meaning to press. A flesh wound? You couldn't stop yourself from pulling your phone out and googling it. Three years later you were unable to resist the need to know he was okay. His dismissal of it on television seemed reasonable, you decided as you scrolled through a few articles. But then a few articles became a highlight reel. And then media posts. And then his Instagram. He still followed you from back when the two of you had dated. You remembered his management encouraging him to make the account, and how, despite the fact he didn't run it, he had made sure you were one of the few hundred he followed back.

The split had been amicable. Your post-college heart had been absolutely broken, but Justin was moving to LA and you couldn't handle the distance. The two of you tried keeping in contact for a few months, but the second he was spotted with another woman you shut down. By the time you had sorted out your feelings for him, it felt too embarrassing to reach out. Now, ironically, you were in LA. And you wished you had held on to contact. Because god damn was dating in LA boring. The one you had just returned from had entailed a Chiefs fan mansplaining football to you and complaining about Taylor Swift- all because you had peeked past his shoulder to get a look at the Niners' score. You forced yourself to close your phone. You stood up and walked over to the closest mirror, checking yourself out. You had done your hair and makeup and picked a cute outfit- even worn heels!- just for the guy to be a tool. You smoothed out your shirt. Fuck it, you told yourself. You texted your best friend. Wanna go out? Absolutely, bitch. She replied.

The next morning you woke up with a pounding headache. How you had gotten home, or what exactly had happened the night before, you had no idea. You groaned loudly and leaned over to grab your phone off the nightstand. The notifications that greeted you were so mortifying you were sure you were going to puke. Seven missed calls from Justin, three voicemails, and five text messages. There was no chance in hell you were looking at any of those. You took an everything shower, blew out your hair, painted your nails, and made yourself food. Who knew that your ex-boyfriend could be so helpful when it came to working through a hangover? Finally, hours later, you had to check. The time without your phone- although you hated to admit it- was driving you crazy. You could only sit through so much without wanting to check it. And you were sure your best friend had to be worried you had choked on your own vomit at this point.

You responded to her texts first, with a simple 'I think I drunk called Justin.' You ignored her frantic texts and clicked on his first voicemail. "Hey." His voice sent shivers down your spine. There was something so homely about the way he sounded. Like hearing an old favorite song. "I think you drunk called me. My hand's fine, thanks for asking. Just a sprain, it'll be fine by the end of our by week. " Ever polite. When Justin first stepped into the spotlight, so many people questioned his personality and whether he would be fit to lead a team as their quarterback. He had never cared. He always dismissed it with a quiet wave. He was how he was, and you had loved him for it. The voicemail cut out there, and you played the next one. "Sorry," He began, because what else would he start out with? "I can't stop listening to what you sent me. I know you're drunk, but you said you haven't gotten over it- just in case you don't remember in the morning- and I haven't either. Just thought you should know." A click. You cringed. You truthfully didn't remember a moment of it. You understood now how the prohibition had happened. The last one. "Ok, I swear this is it." He laughed. The sound was like stepping under a warm ray of sun on a cold day. "I miss you. Text me when you wake up- I'm sorry for blowing up your phone. You said you were in LA? We should reconnect."

You put your phone face down and ran a hand over your face. Reconnect. With your ex-boyfriend. That you still weren't over. You texted your best friend. She responded with a bunch of messages that all had the same point; 'absolutely, you dumbass, you are still so in love with him and i'm sick of hearing about it.'

You swiped out of her messages and opened Justin's, which were full of concerned texts and him asking for you to text him when you got home to ensure you were safe. You bit your lip to try and control your smile. I'm free anytime this week. Coffee?

#adoristsposts #justin herbert #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert x reader #nfl #nfl fic #nfl fluff #la chargers #anon request #my pookie bear

[adoristsposts]

Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat | Quinn Hughes

author's note; another song fuelled fic for quinny boy. based on ode to a conversation stuck in your throat by del water gap because i fell in love with it as quickly as i did with the oldest hughes brother summary; a casual hookup is enough for quinn. until he realises it isn't. word count; 0.9k warnings; slight nsfw, mention of drinking if u squint enough characters; Reader x Quinn Hughes

I do not want to fight this anymore I just want to lay back And watch you pin me to the bed

Quinn had never felt better than when he finally gave in. The two of you had taken the boat out before anyone else could ask to tag along. And now, as the sun hit your bare skin and turned you into a glowing deity, he only wanted to worship you. "Why are you staring at me like that?" You laughed. He turned red and shook his head like the dirty thoughts would fall out of it. "You checking me out, Hughes?" "Yeah." He admitted. You turned pink, "Do something about it, then."

I used to call you my best friend Way back before you were my everything Now I'm sucking your neck

They're just a friend, he had said so many times. Just a friend. A friend that he was totally obsessed with. Every thought he had was about you. It was far from fair. How was he supposed to tell people you were just a friend when you meant everything to him? He didn't voice this. Instead, he laid in bed with you. The only trace of him he could leave behind were hickeys. And he marked you with as many of them as he could. Mine. He wanted to tell the world. Mine, mine, mine. And the hickeys were the way to show it. Because you were his. Almost.

And you wrote my favorite song Now I'm fucked up and carrying on I do not know the words to it yet, oh

He was yours, too. He couldn't escape you no matter where he went. He was at the bar with his teammates. Fucked up beyond comprehension. And the song you had shown him yesterday when he had driven you home and you had asked him to come in came on. The lyrics were so familiar, but he didn't know them. You would know them. He should tell you to come here. To hear your new favourite song, to see him. He should call you. "Hi." A girl in front of him giggled. He tucked his phone back into his pocket. "Hey."

And you're not my protector I hope you know it wasn't her That kept me off your side of the bed, oh

"Brock told me you met someone the other night." You said as you handed Quinn his plate. "Oh." He replied like an idiot. He couldn't think of anything better. "I called you that night." You stated. "Oh." He said again. He wanted to cry. He hadn't even touched her that night. Hadn't wanted to tarnish his body with the feeling of her when all it ever wanted to feel was you. "So was she pretty?" "Who?" "The girl, Quinn." You laughed. Like it was so casual. Like the two of you were still friends, and you were wondering about his latest date. Prying for details so you could make sure she was the one for him. "She was fine, I guess." He told you.

You're in his living room And it may not mean much you But your plates are in his sink And your sweater's on his bed Won't you text me when you're home? My baby, spare me all the rest

Quinn wanted to throw up. He stared at the text. Over at a guy's house. He's washing the dishes. Scary! He couldn't think straight. Your dishes should be in his sink. Your shirt was still on his bedroom floor where you had left it the other day. Text me when you get home safe. He sent back.

Please just tell me That nobody else touches you like I do Oh tell me that nobody else touches you like me

You two were together again. Bodies becoming one tangled mess of limbs and love. "Tell me" He mumbled against your lips, "Tell me no one touches you like I do. Come on, baby." He coaxed. "Quinn," You moaned breathlessly, "No one. Only you."

And it hits me I don't want anybody else touching you Like I do Like I do Like me

When you were done you curled up on his chest. Wearing his Canucks shirt and a pair of his old shorts. He couldn't shake the thought that you had slept with that other guy. Couldn't stop himself from hating the idea of it. He wanted to be the only person that touched you. That got to love you. It felt unnatural that anyone else could do it if they wanted to. If you wanted them to.

Is it okay? That I don't want Anybody else touching you like I do Like I do Like me

"Be with me," Quinn whispered into your hair. You looked up at him. Your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and he realised that maybe his declaration of love should have been more poetic. "What?" You asked. "Be with me. Like, officially." Because he couldn't come up with anything poetic. All he could do was breathe in your scent and hope you'd agree and he'd get to hold you forever. "Quinn." You said softly. For a moment he thought you'd say no. But then a smile uncurled on your lips and you kissed him. "Yes. God, yes."

#adoristsposts #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes x reader #vancouver canucks #hockey #nhl #nhl fic

[adoristsposts]

book boyfriend | mat barzal

author's note; he's so handsome i can't breathe summary; when you go for an interview, the last thing you expect to be asked is who your famously charming book character is based on- and who your readers suspect is the muse. word count; 0.9k warnings; none that i can think of characters; author!Reader x Mat Barzal

Mat's suit was wrinkled and your furrowed eyebrows caused similar lines to appear on your forehead as you tugged lightly on the collar to try and smooth it out. "Babe," He laughed, "It's fine." "'M just trying to fix it." You dismissed. He stopped your fussing by clasping your hands in his own, momentarily bringing your cupped hands to his lips before dropping them. "Stop stressing. It's just an interview." You pursed your lips at him and glared. Just an interview! You scoffed to yourself, of course the hockey player would say it's 'just an interview.' As if he could hear your thoughts, he smiled at you and the radiance of it washed away your annoyance. You rolled your eyes at him and tried to suppress your own growing grin at him. Damn his rugged handsomeness. "You look gorgeous. I'm just behind the camera." You quirked an eyebrow at his reassurance, "And you broke out a suit just to be behind the camera?" "It's in case you need to give the people what they want," He joked. His pointed canines showed when he smiled lopsidedly like that. You prompted him by asking "Which is?" "A rare sighting of your gorgeous boyfriend." Before you could compliment his humility, your manager popped her head out of the room and said "You ready? Mat can come in if you want." You took a deep breath like you were trying to hoard all the air in the room into your lungs. Mat placed a hand on the small of your back and you looked into his eyes for reassurance before turning back to your manager and nodding. He led you into the room with his hand comfortably there, thumb rubbing up and down. "You'll do great." He told you, pressing a kiss to your temple before separating from you and going to stand behind the cameras. The interviewer stood up from the chair, a tall woman with beautiful brown hair and bright red lipstick. "Hi! I'm Trace, I'll be interviewing you today. Before we start, is there anything you don't want me to ask about? It's mostly viewer questions, but we can throw out anything you don't want to answer." "Not anything I can think of off the top of my head." You tried offering her a smile, but it turned out meek. She seemed kind enough, and you felt more at ease in her presence, but still.

After a short conversation to allow the tech guys to set up, you settled into a chair across from Trace. She offered you a big smile, and said, "Right!" before delving into the questions. As the interview went on you slowly grew more comfortable and relaxed in your answers. Then, like a slap to the face, she asked "And readers are desperate to know who your heartthrob love interest is based on. There are a couple theories!" "Oh!" You laughed. You had written the book when you and Mat began seeing each other. The whole thing was littered with not-so-subtle mentions of him. A leading man with dark, wild hair, a fear of dogs, and an insane number of lines about his incredible nose and jawline. Readers had been quick to wonder who on earth could have inspired the character. "First of all is a buffer version of Timothee Chalamet," Trace laughed. "Since we all know he doesn't have those-" she subtly checked her notes, "-rippling back muscles that Duke Halard has." Your eyes went to Mat beyond the camera, who was hiding a laugh behind his hand. "Rippling?" He mouthed to you as if he hadn't read the book. He teased you incessantly about the thing. Not that you weren't extremely proud that millions of people had fallen in love with the version of Mat Barzal you saw. "Um- yeah, I definitely had a muse." You admitted. Then added, "Not Timothee Chalamet, though. Sorry to break the news." "Well, the fan favourite theory seems to be that you based him on-" she checked her notes again, which made you sure she had no idea who your boyfriend was as she said (and mispronounced), "hockey player... Mat Barzal?" You had to bite your tongue to stop from correcting the way she said his last name.

You had seen the fan theories. The way people had connected you and Mat from your similar posts, you being spotted at games, and other little things like that. But technically, none of that had ever been confirmed. You gave him a look that he seemed to understand since he nodded and smoothed out his crinkled shirt a little. God, you had tried fixing it for him. You held back an eye roll. "My muse is actually here! Can he come on? Is that okay?" Trace nodded at your question and Mat walked into view of the cameras, coming to stand by your chair. "This is my boyfriend, guys, take him in." Mat did a little spin to help with your point. "This is who you should picture while reading." You wagged a finger at the camera, then turned to Mat and said, "Okay, your job's done, you can go." "Okay, bye baby." He muttered to you, leaning down and kissing your hair before going back to his supportive place on the other side of the room. He sent you a thumbs-up and grinned. Trace gave you a moment to collect yourself from the public display and then asked, "So have you ever shown him publicly before?" "Nope." You told her, "So I hope you feel special."

Needless to say, twitter freaked the fuck out.

#adoristsposts #hockey #nhl #nhl fic #mat barzal #mat barzal fic #new york islanders #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fluff #i could write about his nose and jawline for hours

[adoristsposts]

false god | nico hischier

author's note; obsessed w that false god edit of him on tiktok by zegraser like i cannot stop watching it summary; christmas has a set-in-stone tradition: going to mass with your grandfather. but this year you and your boyfriend are coming up with your own traditions. word count; 0.9k warnings; reader isn't religious but her grandpa sure is! characters; Reader x Nico Hischier

When you agreed to spend Christmas with Nico's family in Switzerland, you had no idea the uproar it would cause. Namely with your grandfather. The man was so old that he could rival Mr. Magoo for senile shenanigans. You loved him, but the absolute offence he took to your missing Christmas mass was shocking. "You're breaking the old man's heart." Your mother joked. Your father mumbled something about how in all his years of living, he had never been able to escape his father's demands to go to mass. But being in a different country seemed like a great excuse.

"Baby, you ready?" Nico asked, poking his head into the room. "Yeah. I gotta go, guys. Tell Papa I love him." Your mother grimaced. "He says he's not talking to you right now. But he loves you too." You laughed and told your parents you loved them before hanging up the phone. "Okay. I think I'm ready." "It's not that big a deal," Nico told you for the millionth time. His mother had put the two of you in charge of making the Zimtsterne and Mailänderli. Nico had gone on and on about the importance of making Christmas cookies every year in Switzerland. Now you were a part of the tradition and you were determined to prove yourself. "It is to me, Neeks." You got up and kissed his nose. "Need to get it right so we can make them next year." He smiled and flashed those obnoxiously gorgeous dimples at you. "Fine." He sighed, even though the simple mention of there being a next year for the two of you had his heart fluttering.

You had missed Santa's visit that brought nuts and mandarins, which Nico joked he was devastated about. His two older siblings had already eaten the cookies and chocolates he had brought. He was showing them to you now, as you waited for the cookies to bake. "Nuts and mandarins?" You asked, scrunching your nose up. He laughed, "Not a fan?" "Of nuts, no. I've never had a mandarin." "Try one." He offered, handing one to you. You pursed your lips. "What?" "I feel like we need to do something fun with this." You admitted. "I'm missing my traditions. Let's come up with something new." "I have an idea," Nico said. He took the mandarin from your hands and peeled it open. Expertly, he pulled out two slices and set the rest on the table. "Come on, don't want to give my mother a heart attack." He laced his hand in yours and pulled you into your room. "Nico," You laughed, "What on Earth are we about to do?" He stood facing you and grabbed your other hand lightly, careful not to crush the slices. "We," He took a deep breath like he was preparing, "Are going to put a slice in each of our mouths. And we are going to bite down. And whoever's sprays the most juice gets to eat the chocolate from the advent calendar." "Oh you're on, Hischier." You said, even though it would be all luck. He pulled his hand out of yours and opened it to you, letting you pick your slice. You pursed your lips and pretended you were thinking. In all reality, you didn't really know which one to choose. "This one." You grabbed the one on the left. Nico hummed like he was sure you had made the wrong decision. Both of you placed the slices in your teeth. The juice sprayed a little when you bit down and dripped down onto your chin. You couldn't help your laughter as you watched Nico's do the same. You swallowed what was left of your mandarin slice and wiped the juice off your face. "I think mine was definitely juicier." You reached up to cup his face. "Oh really?" He said. You just hummed against his lips as you pulled him into a kiss. You had to admit, this new tradition was a lot better than listening to some priest preach for hours about things you didn't fully understand.

Later, you and all the Hischiers were still bundled up in your warm clothes from your walk when Nico's mom happily exclaimed, "You should light the Adventskranz!" And you had no clue what she was talking about. "The candles." Nico's older sister laughed, "We light one a week. Usually, we let Neeks do this one, but we like you more." "Hey!" Nico protested at his sister's teasing jab. He wrapped and arm around you and you leaned against his chest. "I'd be happy to." You told them. You weren't sure if the flush of your cheeks was from the warmth of the house or the absolute joy as you felt yourself slotting into their family activities.

That night Nico traced patterns on your hip. He was propped up on his elbow, watching his finger drawing elaborate swirls as you studied his features. "I love it here." You finally told him. His eyes lit up as he looked at you. "Really?" He said excitedly. "Really. It was worth my grandpa's wrath." He laughed at that. "Tell Papa it's my fault." You waved a hand in the air dismissively, "Please, he loves you." "I'm glad." He dropped his head to nuzzle into your neck. "I'm going to marry you someday." You couldn't stop your grin. "Oh, really?" "Yes." He pulled his face up. His hair was falling every which way and you adored it. You adored him. "Just don't propose on Christmas." "Why not? Overdone?" He asked. "No," You said, "My grandpa will never forgive me for taking attention away from Christmas mass."

#adoristsposts #nhl #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier x reader #new jersey devils #new jersey devils fic

[adoristsposts]

hand warmer x msc47

author's note; lord i love mick schumacher. ask me what i'm thinking about and the answer is probably him. summary; cold hands are no problem with your boyfriend word count; 0.3K warnings; fluff characters; Reader x Mick Schumacher

"Oh, shoot" You gasped, reading the instructions of your primer. From his spot on your bed scrolling through his phone, Mick asked "What's wrong?" You were desperate to leave the house on time, but of course you were the one running behind schedule. Your boyfriend was ready minutes ago, and was now waiting for you to do your makeup. "I have to warm my hands up." You said through the open bathroom door. Your new primer had very specific directions; apply with warm hands to help work into skin. You had just wet your beauty blender, though, and so your fingers were freezing cold like the water you had run it under. "Come here." You told Mick. He obliged, bed creaking as he rose. He trudged over to you, feet sliding on the wooden floors. As soon as he was close enough you slipped your hands under his shirt and pressed them against his warm sides. He hissed at the cold, "What the hell?" slipping from his lips. "Oh calm down, you big baby." You teased. You pressed a light kiss to his nose, "You're warming my hands." A smile grew at the affection, "'kay" he hummed contently. He wrapped his arms around you, encasing you almost completely. "You happy?" He asked. "Very." You replied. You two stayed there for another moment before you pulled away. He whined childishly and you laughed. "I have to finish getting ready, babe." "Let's just stay home." He suggested, grinning at you. You were tempted by the offer, and he could tell as he lightly grabbed at your waist, pulling you in. "Come on." He said sing-songingly. You pursed your lips. "Okay, okay. Fine- But you are texting to cancel!" He pulled his arms back to give you a two-fingered salute. "I'm on it."

#mick schumacher #formula 1 #formula1 #formula 1 fluff #formula one #adoristsposts #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher one shot #formula 1 x reader

[adoristsposts]

growing up is | quinn hughes

author's note; i love a hughes boy and i love a ruel song. also my keyboard has a wonky r key right now. pls bare with me and any spelling mistakes because of it. summary; in which quinn has a hard time coming to terms with the road your relationship has taken. inspired by growing up is ___ by ruel. word count;warnings; angst, mentions of drinking & smoking, mentions of sex. characters; quinn hughes x reader

Heard you moved out of town on the weekend. Understand, but I'm sad that you're leaving. Are you up making friends with the ceiling? Yeah, I know the feeling

Quinn wondered if his brother could hear his frown down the phone. He held it to his ear, refraining from a grimace as Jack described how he had just helped you move out of you first apartment. The one Quinn had helped you pick out.

I wasn't trying to let you down, I was just working my shit out. I'm sorry I didn't know how much I led you on

He could remember where your friendship had stuttered, becoming complicated and messy and unbearable. You had wanted so much more than he could give you. He blamed himself. Hockey was his life, and he had chosen his passion for it over any hope of a life with you.

Growin' up is weird, sleep with friends, break a heart

The two of you had first slept together on a Saturday night. Jack had friends 'round to hang about the firepit and Quinn was facing a self-imposed confinement to his room because of it. You, however, were his biggest opponent in that. He could hear you laughing, howling with delight. After an hour of sitting thee, waiting for you to start sulking that he wasn't there, he finally left his room. Only to loiter in the kitchen for a few minutes, but it was enough. Before long you were holding a quiet conversation with him. It only took an hour or two for the older boy to escort you back to his bedroom.

Question everything you thought

The one night stand had left his head spinning. He was far too infatuated with you. You lingered on his sheets and clothes, and he couldn't step foot in his bedroom or even glance at the clothes you had helped him discard without thinking of you. It wasn't long before it happened again. He never realised that his interest in you could spiral this far.

Split a pill, smoke a dart. Growin' up is weird, fall in love for a year

He lit up with Luke months later, the off season giving them a rare opportunity to partake in the regular activities of older brother corruption. And as Luke's faced twisted as he tried to hold the smoke in, he said "So, when are you two going to admit you're in love?" "Shut up." Quinn laughed. He reached over and plucked the blunt from Luke's fingers. "We're basically just fuck buddies." He clarified, taking a long draw of it and then rudely blowing the smoke back into his brother's face. "For like, a year." Luke pointed out. Quinn just shook his head, and so the younger boy laughed "Fine! Call it what you want. We all see how you two look at each other."

And then I disappear, wish that you were here

The conversation had really thrown him off. Quinn was now hyperaware of how he treated you. He was blowing you off, ignoring your texts. He wasn't in love with you. Definitely not. Probably not. The distance was affecting him. He spent practices wondering if you were thinking of him and games wondering if he would catch you in the crowd. He was distracted and it was throwing him off. He didn't miss the looks from his teammates. He knew he either had to call it off officially or go crawling back to you.

Growin' up is strange, get too close, push away, thinking you would do the same. New regrets, new mistakes

For a while, Quinn chose the second option. It was just sex. Right? That's what he told himself at the club with you, his brothers, and some of their friends. You had brought some of your own, chatting away happily. Quinn only noticed your distraction because he was playing his game on how long it lasted. He needed to show himself you weren't all he wanted anymore. One day you would find someone and decide your fuck buddy status was discardable. He needed to know he could still play when that happened, still live. So he picked a girl and before long his tongue was down her throat. He felt giddy with alcohol and guilt, especially so when he turned to see your back as your friends escorted a crying you out of the club.

Growin' up is strange when the one who's to blame is lookin' at the mirror, wish that you were here.

He needed a haircut. It was shaggy and dishevelled and he didn't have you to carefully trim the edges when it annoyed him anymore. Of course the thought only enraged him more as he looked at himself in the mirror. His jaw locked as he saw the physical proof of how far he had fallen since fucking it all up. He covered the mirror with a towel and booked an appointment at a barber's shop.

Get emotional at two in the morning, it's a habit, know I shouldn't be callin'. Then you let me in, is that what you wanted? Is this what we wanted?

A tough game finally breaks him. He should have been asleep, exhausted from the physical and mental work he had put in for his team. Instead he's dialling your number. To be safe he had deleted your contact, but those 10 digits were engrained in his head. When you picked up your voice was raspy with sleep. "Quinn?" "Hey." He breathed out happily. "Trev's sleeping, what's up?" He paused. "Trev? As in Trevor?" He questioned. Jack's friend, his friend, player on the team he had played days ago. "Yeah uh- I thought Jack had told you. Sorry." "Oh no, he did. Don't worry. I just uh..." He bit back the tears. The lie rolled off his tongue easier than it should've. He racked his brain for an excuse. "Tough game?" You filled in for him. "I watched. I'm sorry, Q." He held back a curse. "Yeah uh. Thanks. We should catch up." "Sure." And then the two of you fell silent. There were quiet snores on your side of the phone and Quinn was hit with the harsh reality 'Trev's sleeping' meant he was sleeping next to you. "Think we can plan it in the morning?" You said. He was reminded of all the times you would say that smilingly to him about breakfast, or how he was going to sneak you out of his room without his family noticing. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Now you're back in town, no, I can't come around. Are we better without the what if's and doubts. Is this it? Are we both too far gone to forget, and try again?

"Quinn? Are you listening?" Jack asked. Quinn snapped out of his thoughts about the phone call you two had shared less than a week ago. "Yeah, sorry, go on." "Anyways," Jack began again, "the two of them are having a house warming next week. Since you're in town you should come." "I don't know, Jack." Quinn sighed. "She asked if I would ask you." Oh. You wanted him there.

Oh-oh, bet I'll just disappear. Oh, will I just disappear? Wish that you were here. Growing up is

But he was too old now, a year and a half between when your relationship had started with fiery passion and clashing teeth. "I have practice, I think." He lied. "But you can tell them I'm happy for them."

#nhl #nhl fic #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #adoristsposts #trevor zegras #jack hughes

[adoristsposts]

hangovers x mv33

author's note; Have never had a hangover #superior I'm just too good summary; Three times you've had hangovers around Max during the progression of your relationship. word count; 1.4K characters; Max Verstappen x merc!Reader warnings; Mentions of alcohol, describing a hangover

"Oh my god. Please, do not say a word." You groaned, head dropped in your hands as you heard someone walk into your drivers room. When you managed to muster up the strength to peek through your fingers you came eye to eye with Lewis Hamilton, who gave you a sympathetic smile. "Fun night?" "Ask me tomorrow when my head isn't pounding." You replied, uncurling yourself from your seated position to stand up and join him by his side. "Do you think you'll be good for free practice tomorrow?" "Please. I could do free practice in the state I was in last night and still get fastest lap on all three." You joked. You laughed at your own hilariousness before your head reminded you of the pain you had put your own body in and you groaned in agony. Lewis just shook his head at you before moving out of your room. You trailed behind him. After a thankfully silent walk (you felt like if you opened your mouth to speak you'd be sick), the two of you ended up by Verstappen and Ricciardo. "You look like shit." The dutchman greeted, nodding at you so it was clear who the statement was directed at. "Wow. Thanks. Lovely of you to point that out." You said back dryly, giving him a thin lipped smile. He laughed at you. "So what did you do last night?" His loud voice was genuinely excruciating, and you shot him a glare to make that clear. "Please, could you just be quiet?" "He's barely making any noise!" Ricciardo teased, laughing. You grimaced at him, "I beg to disagree." "Why don't you go take a nap?" Lewis recommended. You perked up at the idea. "Oh my god, you're a genius! See you guys later, yeah?" It turned out you would see Max much sooner than you had hoped. Your nap had been so perfect. You'd been dreaming of a life where you weren't sickly pale and insanely nauseous when you were woken up to blaring music and a camera in your face. "Oh my god! I'm going to kill you!" You practically screamed as Max laughed at you. The second you began clambering off your couch though, he was singing a different tune. He shot off in seconds, leaving you alone with a camera man. "Fucking hell. Accomplice, much? I try taking one decent nap." You started muttering to yourself as you wandered off, cursing Max Verstappen and secretly praying for him to get a DNF t race.

"Hungover?" George asked as you reached the group, a pair of sunglasses set snugly on your nose bridge despite the cloudy sky. "So, so hungover." You confirmed. The night before had been a big win for you and you had drank in regards to it. Regrettably so, as you piled onto a plane with your fellow drivers and found yourself immediately wanting to strangle them with every noise they made. As you settled into your seat, you let your head lull back onto the headrest and shut your eyes. There were light steps and then, "Do you think she's asleep?" "'She' is awake." You croaked, opening an eye to see Max standing next to you with two coffees in his hands. He clambered over you to sit in the seat by the window, the one you had strategically blocked. But if anyone was going to disobey that, it was Max. Over the past couple months the two of you had grown increasingly close. While he used to find no greater joy than annoying the shit out of you, you had learnt to put up with him and then slowly enjoy his presence. You could currently safely call him one of your best friends. He handed you one of the coffees and you took it gladly, sipping it and thanking the gods you had told him your regular order all those months ago. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." You muttered. He laughed at you quietly, clearly trying to keep his volume down. He shifted around in his seat, wincing every time it squeaked and sending you an apologetic look. "It's okay, I can survive an airplane seat." You told him after watching him fail at being quiet for at least a good minute. He sent you a thin lipped look of annoyance before finally settling in. "You gonna nap?" He asked. "Probably. I downloaded some episodes of that show I was telling you about. You want to watch?" "Sure." Max said, nodding. You handed him an earbud and held your phone up in front of both of your faces. It only took twenty or so minutes for your hand to grow weak as you grew increasingly tired. "You're pretty shit at this." Max grumbled, slipping your phone from your hand into his. You just hummed. He shifted in his seat again, and you opened your mouth to tell him to pick a god damn position when all of a sudden the arm rest between you two was up and he was pressed against your side. "Sleep." He commanded simply, gesturing to his shoulder. "My knight in shining armour." You said sarcastically, resting your head against his shoulder anyways. "Shut up." He replied. The last thing you heard was your show and Max whispering harshly at some of the other drivers to stop being so loud before you passed the hell out.

You groaned when you woke up, the covers around your lower body nice and warm in contrast to the cold hitting your upper back. "Get up, schat." Max cooed, despite the fact he was the villain behind your covers being tugged off of you. "God, please close the windows, my head is killing me." You whined, grabbing the edge of the sheets and pulling them over your pounding head. It was like some tiny creature with a hammer was pounding at the back of your eyes. "Come on-" "Shut it, Verstappen, or I will literally castrate you." "I made you coffee?" This made you sit up. "You are my dream man. Come here." You placed your hands on Max's cheeks and brought him in for a quick kiss. He went in for more and whined when you dodged him. "Coffee first. And let me brush my teeth." He nodded, watching as you pulled yourself out of bed and padded into the kitchen. You hopped up on the counter as he followed in behind you and passed you your mug of coffee. You wrapped your hands around the soothingly warm cup. You almost moaned in delight after just the first sip. "You look like shit." Max noted. "Thanks, love. That really makes me feel better." He walked over to tuck your hair behind your ears, smoothing down your flyaways and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The two of you had started dating just over a year ago, after some very intense admissions of feelings and a long, long talk with both of your teams. The headlines had been hell- a female driver and a male driver dating, especially Mercedes and RedBull ones, was utter chaos. But it was worth it, especially when you had an insane hangover and Max, who got them much less than you did, was there to take care of you. "What do you want to do today?" He asked, settling in to stand between your legs. You hummed, thinking. "Movies?" He frowned. "I wanted us to go to the gym." "Max. I am so insanely hungover. Please, no." You laughed. At his pout you sighed and said a promising "Tomorrow." "Fine." He told you, acting as if it was his greatest heartbreak. You almost rolled your eyes. "Can we watch Game of Thrones?" He asked. "Oh yeah. Kit Harington is so handsome." "Hey!" He laughed. You smiled at him. "Sorry. You know you're my one and only." "Better be. I make you your hangover coffee." He grumbled. You ducked down to kiss him. He reciprocated quickly, hands finding your waist. "That enough proof?" "Hell yeah." "Cool. Now lets go get my other boyfriend on the big screen." You hopped off the counter and rushed into the living room before your words could process in his head. "I thought I was your one and only!"

#formula1 #formula one #formula 1 fluff #max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #adoristsposts

[adoristsposts]

enforcers (pt2) | jack hughes AU

author's note; ignore the fact that the format changes a little like halfway through LMAOO i had to do some of it on my phone summary; enforcing is hard. it’s even harder when you and your mentor are a little too in love with each other to focus on the job word count; 2.8k warnings; blood, description of burns, swearing, slight nsfw characters; Reader x Jack Hughes, platonic!Reader x Luke Hughes

When you and Jack got home from that night's Summoning watch, both of you were covered in demon blood and had been given wary stares your entire walk home. Because "How else would we get there?" Jack had laughed. A few weeks had passed since his sick fit outside the stadium. You hadn't seen him even a little ruffled since. Every morning when you woke up he was dressed and ready with breakfast. Unless you two had an early morning job. They were never-ending. There was always someone with a pixie infestation or an enchantment they just had to perform. He gave you the credit for him managing to hold on to at least some food that night. You wondered if maybe that was why he didn't need to rush off to the bathroom whenever you two got home from jobs. He had looked a little pale after this one. You weren't sure whether that was from the fighting or the nasty magic that doubtlessly hung around demons. But he had grabbed your hand on the walk back and let out a huge breath. Your magic feels good, you remembered him saying. You blushed just thinking about it. "You alright?" Jack asked. "What? Yeah, why?" "You just look a little red." Your blush just deepened. "I'm going to go shower." You squeaked.

When you came back downstairs, completely rid of demon blood, Luke was there with Chinese takeout. Jack had changed into sweatpants and a shirt. You could see the shape of well-defined pecs in how it hung off him. In a few months maybe you'd be as lean as him. Maybe not. "There you are." Luke beamed at you. You hugged him and took the bag from his hands. Beginning to set it up on the counter, you asked "Not that I'm not happy, but what are you doing here?" "Saying hello to you guys. I'm not that far away, and I missed you." "Awww thanks, Lukey Boy." Jack cooed from the couch. Luke rolled his eyes, "Not you." Jack just stuck his tongue out at that.

A few hours later you were exhausted. Luke had helped clean up. Which basically meant he had washed the three plates while you threw away empty containers. Enforcing made you and Jack really hungry. When you shut the door behind Luke, Jack mused "You know our mom wants him to marry you." You turned to him, furrowing your eyebrows, "What?" "Yeah." You scoffed and shook your head at him. "That's never gonna happen." "He said that too," Jack said. It seemed settled, but then "She asked Quinn next. She's determined for you to become a Hughes." "Never you?" You asked before you could stop yourself. You leaned against the door as Jack smiled at you and got closer. Like he was a predator caging you in. "I don't think she had to ask to know what I'd say." "What would you say?" He was dangerously close. You could feel his breath against your face. "That you're Lukey's" That snapped you out of your daze. "What?" But Jack had pulled away. His smile didn't reach his eyes as he said "Come on, we all know it's going to happen." "Jack-" "I'll wake you up for the job tomorrow." And he was gone. You were certainly not Luke's. And you weren't sure where the assumption had come from. "For God's sake." You muttered, and the house groaned. Jack told you it wasn't particularly fond of holy figures being mentioned. "Sorry." You told it. Then you realised you were speaking to a house, so you shook your head and made your way to bed.

When Jack woke you up it was the same way he had been doing it for weeks now. Soft touches and words. He tucked your hair behind your ear and you swatted him away. "Tired." You groaned. He laughed at you. "Get up, we have a Chimera problem." The calmness with which he said that shocked you. You got up and changed quickly. You didn't fully register that Jack hadn't left, instead, he had turned his back on you. "It's stuck in the mausoleum that the necromancers keep their used bones in. Obviously, they didn't ward it as well as I told them to." You tugged your sweater on. Summer had faded faster than you had hoped, and the early mornings were growing colder to show for it. Jack turned around when he heard the thud of you forcing your thick boots on. He raised an eyebrow at them. "They're thick. Rubber. Chimeras are poisonous, remember?" "And you're going to be... stepping on their backs?" You shrugged. "Better to be safe than sorry." "Can't argue with that." Jack agreed.

The two of you took the subway. It felt a little surreal to hold on to the pole as Jack chatted away, a sword strapped to his back and a gun secure in a holder against your thigh. Of course, both had been glamoured for attention to pass over them. When you arrived at the cemetery it was eerier than usual. Quiet except for the far-off animal noises coming from the mausoleum. "What do you remember about the Chimera myths?" You asked Jack as the two of you crept closer. "That it was killed by Bellerophon. He flew on his Pegasus and shot it from the air." "Then I think we might have a bit of a disadvantage." Jack didn't have the time to respond. They had reached the gated mausoleum. You were going to make a joke about playing rock paper scissors to decide who would open the door, but Jack stepped forward before you could. He took a deep breath to steel himself, then unlatched the gate and jumped back. He grabbed the sword from his back, holding it expertly in his hands. It made him look a little bit like a knight. His long hair tousled in the morning wind as he held on to such an archaic weapon. You could have opted for that. But instead, you had taken the logical path. You pulled the gun out of its holster. If it failed you had a blade of your own. A curved one, about six inches long, that would spring out of the hilt in your back pocket the moment you pulled it out. There was a dreadfully quiet moment of complete calm before the creature came bounding out. It was gorgeous. It had the body of a lion, those graceful, rippling muscles that you had seen so many times when your parents had left discovery channel on. You could see its tail, a snake writhing around and snapping at the air, fangs ready for use. You studied the goat head in its middle a moment too late. In the Iliad, Homer said, "She was of divine stock not of men, in the fore part a lion, in the hinder a serpent, and in the midst a goat, breathing forth in terrible wise the might of blazing fire." You remembered the fire now, as you leaped out of the way of the goat's wrath. It landed on the grass spot you had been and the ground sizzled and turned into black ash. You raised your gun, steadying it in your hands. Jack was busy fighting the lion part of the animal, and you could hear grunts and roars of pain as he did. You weren't sure which sounds came from who. You were ready to pull the trigger when the serpent tail came lunging towards you and knocked it out of your hands. "Shit!" You couldn't stop yourself from exclaiming as it landed a few feet away. You pulled the hilt out of your back pocket and didn't spare a moment, cutting off the serpent head as it went to bite you, jaws open and ready. The whole body of it went limp immediately, a dead weight dragging behind the lion. "Are you okay?" Jack's question startled you. He was staring at you, eyebrows furrowed when he should have been paying attention to his own battle. The lion reached up a large clawed paw and slashed at him. He barely managed to jump out of its path when the goat was back to its fire-spewing ways. Jack hissed as the ball of fire hit him on the shoulder, singing through his clothes and doubtlessly burning his skin. "Jack!" Fell from your lips, a helpless cry as he hissed. He tried to wield the blade to no avail. His skin was already red and beginning to pus. He couldn't even lift the sword, the tip dragging on the grass. You stopped thinking for a moment as the Chimera prowled closer to him. You ran to your gun, not caring if you looked stupid or not as you stumbled to pick it up. You raised it and didn't check your aim as you shot and shot at the Chimera until you ran out of bullets. The creature fell over with a loud thump! Just in case it wasn't fully dead, you used your foot to roll it over and plunged your dagger into where you guessed the heart was. It was technically your job to pick up all the shell casings, move the corpse into the mausoleum, and try your best to clean up the blood.

But you were a little more worried about Jack. He laid on his back in the grass, writhing in pain with his eyes shut tight.

“Mary.” He groaned. You had to stop yourself from being a little heartbroken. He was calling for some girl.

“St. Mary’s.” He groaned again.

Of course. The magical hospital. You idiot, you reprimanded yourself in your head. “Jack.” You said, crouching down to him. “I need to pick you up. It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

“Okay. ‘S okay.” He mumbled. He was beginning to sweat. You pulled on his good arm to get him to his feet. If only you were strong enough to carry him. But that was a ridiculous notion. The man was at least 175 pounds and too tall for you to carry no matter how much he weighed.

You dragged him through the empty streets. St. Mary’s, you repeated in your head. St. Mary’s. St. Mary’s. St. Mary’s. You just had to get him to St. Mary’s.

You couldn’t actively remember where it was. You let your feet carry you there as you focused on Jack’s breathing. In and out. Shuddering breaths, but there nonetheless. Burns wasn’t exactly something that you were well versed in.

When you finally got to it, the large cathedral-looking hospital, you used your foot to bang on the massive oak doors. A woman in a nun’s habit opened them, took one look at Jack, and ushered you two inside. Immediately there was a swarm of women, all in the nun disguises. Or maybe they really were nuns. You had never asked much about the hospital. You’d like to say you handed him over to them. But it was more that they pried him out of your grip. Still, you were happy to turn him over to their expert care. Even if your stomach did clench in turmoil as you watched them carry him down the hall and away from you.

“Wait here. We will come to get you when he is ready.” One of them said in a thick accent. You just nodded. Your throat was too dry to talk and you were sweating. You looked over at the cathedral in front of you. Maybe the church thing wasn’t a cover-up after all. But taking a seat in the pews would do nothing but freak you out. So instead you settled down on the floor, leaning against the wall and letting your head lull back on it.

About a half hour later the same woman from earlier came to get you. “He is ready.” She said in her accent as if they had just been getting him changed for a big event and not treating what had to be at least a second-degree burn. You scrambled to your feet and followed her down the halls. She led you into a room that looked like one of those old hospital rooms. Jack was in the far corner, the only bed occupied in the creepily empty place.

He offered you a forced smile when he saw you. His shoulder was wrapped in bandages and his shirt was off. You had to remind yourself that your mentor was in pain and could have been killed. Now was not the time to be staring at his abs. But by god, you couldn’t stop yourself. Even after an injury, he was beautiful enough to blind an angel. “They fixed me up nice, didn’t you Magdalena?” He asked the woman. She snorted,

“We are used to taking care of your injuries, stupid boy.” Jack just smiled at her somewhat loving insult. “I will leave you.” And she departed with that.

“You come here a lot?” You questioned like it was a stupid pickup line.

He winced. “Yeah. Injury prone.”

“You scared the hell out of me.” You admitted, “I’ve never seen someone get hurt before. I thought you were going to die.”

“From a little burn? Come on now, have some faith.”

“I’m serious, you asshole.” When silence fell over you two, you asked “When can we get you home?”

“Now.” He said, “But you’ll have to tell Maggie. She’ll be devastated to see me go.”

‘Maggie’ was not devastated to see Jack go. She had mumbled what you assumed to be Polish curses at him as he flashed her a charming smile and said he was going home despite her recommendation. She had pushed a salve into your hand and looked you dead in the eye as she said “Every night and morning. You apply for him. Boy is too stupid to do on his own.”

Now Jack sat shirtless on the couch as you dipped your fingers into the container. Again you had to pry your eyes away from his chiseled chest and abs. “Are you sure this is okay?” You asked.

“Yes” He replied, but the word was breathless and a little unsure. The burn stretched from the top of his right shoulder and down in a leftward arc to spread over his pec. You forced yourself to breathe as the tip of your fingers made contact with his skin. The damaged part had originally been disgusting to look at. A peeling red and yellow that was ripe with pus and other gross things you didn’t have the anatomical knowledge to name. But after St. Mary’s it was just a shade redder than the rest of his deliciously tan body.

Pull it together, you told yourself.

Your breath hitched when your eyes flicked to his own. He was watching you. Even as you noticed it, his gaze was unwavering. His lips parted and you could see that the nuns had taken it upon themselves to fix his tooth.

“Tell me not to.” He whispered.

“I can’t do that.” You told him. And it was like that broke him. His lips were on yours within seconds. He moved them slowly and with purpose. A hand snaked around to lightly grab your waist and he guided you onto his lap. You set your knees on either side of him. He had to tilt his head up to keep your teenager-like makeout session going.

“Fuck.” He groaned, “You’re mine.”

“What?” You laughed, pulling away. His hand cupped your ass and you steadied yourself by grabbing onto his good shoulder. “Not Lukey’s” He referenced your conversation from the day before, “Mine.”

“Little eager there, Hughes.” You teased. But all you really wanted was for him to shut up and go back to kissing you. And as if he could sense it, he did. He was such a good kisser. Nothing like the non-magic boy you had kissed at a party in Sophomore year. Or the boyfriend you had the summer before Senior year that had been such a passionate kisser that he had slobbered all over your chin every time.

Jack broke the kiss this time. “Ever since you showed up. I wanted to call my mom and tell her I would be the one to marry you. That you had grown up into such a pretty woman.”

“You could have realised this years ago. I was totally in love with you.” He grinned cockily at that and raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Oh come on, like you didn’t know.”

“I totally knew.” He laughed. “You were too young for me then.”

“Not anymore?”

“Not anymore.” He mused, leaning up to kiss you again. Then against your lips he mumbled, “Not too young for me to fuck, either.”

“Woah there, cowboy.” You said, breaking away from him and getting up. He whined involuntarily at the sudden lack of contact. “Salve first, sex after.”

“Fine.”

#adoristsposts #hockey #jack hughes #jack hughes au #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #new jersey devils #new jersey devils fic #luke hughes

[adoristsposts]

enforcers | jack hughes AU

author's note; i finished ninth house yesterday and it has instilled me with so many feelings and thoughts. so many that i had to split this into parts LMAOO summary; when magic runs wild there need to be enforcers. however you never thought that picking up the widely respected job would bring you right back to your childhood crush. word count: 2.5k warnings; gore? swearing characters; Reader x Jack Hughes, platonic!Reader x Luke Hughes

Jack Hughes was unmistakably gorgeous. You could still remember stumbling through the halls, trying your hardest to catch his eye as you passed him. When he'd spot you a large smile would light up all his boyish features. He'd nod to you then move on, and you'd hold your breath until you were sure he was too far away to notice how your shoulders would relax. Of course, his looks weren't the only thing perfect about him. Although they did certainly give him a leg up. He excelled in every area at school. Curses, rituals, the arcane. It was as if magic was drawn to him. One time you and Luke had decided to have a little fun of your own and try your hand at Summoning. It had gone disastrously wrong, with both of you on his bed shrieking at the scorpions crawling on his floor. Like one large hive mind, they were growing and shrinking and moving as one united creature with one huge dark shell and thousands of stingers. Jack had heard the commotion and, like a knight in shining armour, come in and banished the creatures quickly. Not scorpions, he reprimanded. Some magical counterpart that would have killed you in no time if he hadn't been there. He never stopped smiling at you in the hallways. His little brother's best friend.

You hadn't seen him since he had graduated. Older siblings were a complicated matter to people like you and Luke. Too busy doing what they're doing and almost dying doing it to come home for family dinner. The night of graduation you ate at the Hughes' house. You saw Quinn for the first time in a few years. The boy-man, now- had enveloped you in a slightly uncomfortable hug and congratulated you time and time again on your good marks. "What are you going to do?" Quinn had asked both of you. Luke had laughed and said something about going into sports. Being one of the people behind the scene who pricked their finger every full moon so that their team was a little more likely to find a gap in defense to score a goal. You had squared your shoulders and tried to look serious. Not like an 18-year-old child. "I'm going into Enforcing." Quinn had smiled and nodded. A better reaction than you had gotten from anyone other than Luke. Who of course had asked if you would accept bribes from him. "Jack went into that. Maybe you two will cross paths." Your heart panged involuntarily at the mention of your high school crush from Freshman year. You gave him a thin-lipped smile and said "Hopefully."

And now there you were, in front of an old townhouse. It looked completely run down. With old architecture and accents that made the whole thing seem like it belonged somewhere in the past. The people around you didn't spare it a second glance. No doubt it had been glamoured by Enchanters at some point. If you didn't know it was there, you never would. Unnoticeable. You found that hard to believe. It was such an eyesore next to the beautiful buildings of New Jersey. It was dark and ominous. And honestly, it gave you the heebie-jeebies. The Ahriman. Lord of darkness and chaos. The darkness seemed accounted for in the way it tilted towards you like it was beginning to fall over. The chaos bit was for you to sort out, you supposed. Little advice had been given to you. Other than "Be like Jack Hughes!" no one had much to say. Because of course, Jack was still the golden boy. You raised a hand to the door. In contrast to the peeling paint of the building, it was black and gleaming. Before you could make the decision to knock on the shining wood, a shadow appeared in the frosted glass and the door in front of you had swung inward. "No way!" Jack Hughes hadn't changed much. His hair was much longer and in need of a haircut. And he was missing a tooth. As if he noticed you noticing it, his fingers touched his lips lightly and he said "Yeah, I've gotta get that fixed. Haven't had time." When you just continued to stare at him, gobsmacked, he opened the door wider and said. "Come in, come in."

The place looked more like a home than a place of work. In fact, Jack himself was in grey sweatpants and a hoodie that had New Jersey Devils splashed across the chest. You pointed at it, "Luke's working for them." "He is?" Jack's shocked expression surprised you. He had always been a lovely boy. If anyone would keep up with their family, you had expected it to be him. You supposed not. "Yeah. The school set him up with some internship with their head Favour." Which meant Luke would be helping someone else prick their finger every full moon. But he got to sit it on practices and games and talk to the players (and the hot fans, he had added with glee). "Oh," Jack said. His lips pursed and you felt like you had rubbed his nose in his lack of knowledge. Good. Luke deserved better than that. Even though it really wasn't Jack's fault. "I didn't know your last name till now." Jack changed the topic. "I would have cleaned myself up a little if I had known it would be you." You gave him a doubtful look. "Oh come on, Hughes. I saw you in pajamas all the time in high school." "Yeah but-" He turned pink and looked at his shoes. "It's different." You couldn't stop the blush that crept onto your cheeks. No, you tried to steel yourself, this was a serious job, and you wanted to be taken seriously."Aren't I supposed to get a mentor?" You asked. He looked up shyly at you through his eyelashes. You wanted to tell him to pull himself together. He was twenty-two years old. He could deal with a teenage girl's inquiries. "You're looking at him." He told you. That same grin from the hallways uncurled on his face and you could see all the parts of it that had changed. Or maybe your imagination had warped the beauty of it. Because Jack Hughes was still gorgeous. Maybe even more than he had been before. And he was in charge of making sure you didn't die on the job. Assuming being around him wouldn't distract you enough for you to take care of that yourself.

Jack had explained as well as he could that the Ahriman was more like a college dorm than anything else. There were buildings like this set up over the world, a revolving door of Enforcers coming in and out. He was the head of the New Jersey department, one of the youngest. Which fit him obnoxiously well. Your things were already unpacked in your room. The walls covered in familiar posters, and your closet full of clothes. Jack wandered in behind you and leaned against your doorframe. When you looked at him he was studying every part of it. "What?" You asked sharply. He smiled at your slight hostility. "I've never been in your room before." Your eyebrows drew together. "Obviously not. You wouldn't have noticed me if it wasn't for Luke." You said, waving your hand dismissively. "Oh please, I was the one who told Luke to befriend you in Kindergarten." When you looked at him he wasn't looking at you. Instead looking out your window, eyes squinting slightly against the sun. "What?" "I can like, feel magic." He stated, as though it was the simplest thing he had ever said. "And I could feel it coming off of you. It makes it easier for me to read people. And your magic felt warm and nice." You snorted, "Like peeing in the ocean?" "Yeah." He laughed, "Like that. Anyway, I'll leave you to it." He began to walk down the hallway. You heard his footsteps pause. Because of course, after years of sleeping over at Lukes, you could recognise them. Like you were in high school again, you held your breath. "We have a job tomorrow morning. I'll wake you up." He called. "Cool!" You said after him. Then you heard his footsteps wander down the stairs to the first floor. You let go of your breath. "Cool?" You hissed at yourself quietly. "Jesus, get a grip." The house creaked loudly, as though it didn't appreciate you using the lord's name in vain.

Jack wasn't lying about waking you up. It was still dark out when he did, and he was shockingly gentle about it. He ran a hand up and down your arm, cooing "Hey, you gotta get up." You groaned into your pillow. It was like many mornings when your mother had woken you up for school. Then you realised the hand was too large to be hers, and the voice was deep and familiar, and you shot up. Your sudden movement startled Jack, who laughed. "Good morning, then." You ushered him out of your room, telling him to give you twenty minutes to get ready. You showered and changed quickly, brushing your teeth twice out of nerves. Your first job. It could be anything from exchanging quick introductions with someone important to banishing escaped demons. Guiltily you hoped for the second one. Perfect-looking enforcers were never taken seriously. Jack's missing tooth gave him a perfect demeanour. Relaxed in his jeans and sweatshirt. But a simple smile showed you he meant business. And you were sure if he grinned a certain way he could maybe, just maybe, look menacing. His charms had a certain power of their own, though. You realised you had been too busy studying him as he led you through the empty streets to ask him what the job was.

When you saw a familiar figure, the answer was easy to guess. Supervising a ritual. Of course, that wasn't the most important thing to you that morning. Because you squealed and called, "Luke?" The boy looked up from his phone and his jaw went slack. "No way!" He exclaimed. So similar to his brother, you mused to yourself. The two of you hadn't seen each other since he had started his internship over the summer. You rushed into his arms quickly, letting him spin you around in excitement. "I knew I had to show some stuck-up Enforcer inside, but I didn't think it would be you." "Stuck up?" "Never." Then he turned to his brother. They exchanged a very manly hug and some quick words. You had to remember that Luke had seen Jack a lot more than you had over the past couple of years. It wasn't awkward for them to be in each others’ presence again. Luke turned around and began to lead the two of you two into the stadium. He nodded at everyone he passed, who all smiled at him and sometimes offered him short greetings. Jack fell back next to you and leaned down so you could hear him say quietly "These rituals are the worst." "Why?" You asked. Ghosts? Demons? "Dreadfully boring." He wiggled his eyebrows and took two large strides to wrap his arm around Luke and start up a conversation with him instead. He looked over his shoulder at you in time to catch you rolling your eyes.

After an hour and a half of watching Luke excitedly stare as his boss, a lean silver fox of a man who insisted you call him Dean instead of by his last name (which he hadn't offered you), pour blood over hockey pucks. What kind of blood, you couldn't bring yourself to ask. When the whole thing was over you felt tired. You looked to your right at Jack. When you had snuck glances at him throughout the beginning he had seemed solemn and serious. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He looked horrible now. His forehead was slick was sweat and he looked almost green. "Are you okay?" You asked. Instead of answering he walked out the door. You almost followed after him, but remembered the fact that he wasn't your priority. "You'll clean all this up?" You asked Luke. He nodded. "And you'll use salt? You know even animal blood can attract all sorts of-" "Nasty ghoulies," Luke interrupted. You didn't correct him. "I know. Go on, go get some sleep. I'll call you." "Okay." You pursed your lips, wondering if there were any other precautions you should tell him to take. Of course, you weren't sure, since your mentor had skipped out on you. Without giving him a proper goodbye, you spun on your heel and went to track down Jack.

You found him outside the stadium, hands on his thighs as he hunched over some bushes. You could smell the vomit. You didn't say anything to him. Simply bundled his hair up in your hand and allowed him to purge whatever was making him sick. "Sorry." He kept mumbling between retches. When he was finally done, he straightened up and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie. Your fingers untangled themselves from his hair. "I hate Favour rituals." He said. "That magic is foul. It stinks, although usually, I can hold myself together till I get home." You couldn't stop pity from softening your features, and he looked away from your face. "I know it's a gift to be able to feel magic like that. You don't need to give me the speech." "Not if it makes you sick. How did you get through school?" "I scraped by." He flashed his pearly smile at you. The gap where his tooth used to be was growing on you. His regular lazy drawl to his words almost made you think he was fine. But then he took a step and his knees almost buckled. "C'mere," You said, slinging his arm around your shoulder. It barely helped, considering he had a few inches on you. But you had helped too many drunk girls throughout your life to count. His stomach growled. "Where's the closest diner?" "Few blocks away." He told you. You let him steer you.

After ten minutes or so you slid into a booth across from him. Colour was leeching back into his face and he was smiling easily. "Thanks." He said simply. "It was no big deal. Warn me next time, though." "It was a big deal. I told you, your magic feels good. I would be much worse off if you hadn't been around." You swallowed loudly, trying not to smile like an idiot. "Thanks, Hughes." "You can call me Jack, you know." "I call you Jack." You argued. He shook his head at you, still smiling. He was always smiling. "You always call me Hughes." He pointed out. "Fine, whatever. Just order yourself some food, Jack." He picked up a menu in front of him. "Yes ma'am."

#adoristsposts #hockey #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes au #hockey au #new jersey devils #luke hughes

[adoristsposts]

midnights x msc47

author's note; i love taylor swift and i love mick schumacher even more summary; a bad race is easily fixed by dancing with you in your kitchen to taylor swift word count; 0.8K warnings; fluff characters; american!Reader x Mick Schumacher

You were overjoyed to be home. The air felt different in the US. And as dear as Switzerland was to your heart, you wanted to fall to the floor and kiss the ground. You had a little apartment in your home state, one you and Mick had agreed to spend the week in after the Texas race. You usually rented it out, but you had make sure to start dealing with short term rentals when Mick brought the idea up the year before. You could only get the week off of work from Sunday to the next Wednesday. Perfect for you to be able to relax for the week with your boyfriend, but you would have to miss COTA and all the fun that came along with it. Honestly you were disappointed, but the giddiness of the time with Mick outshone it.

When you got home you immediately turned on the race and began setting the place up. Sheets were put down, pillows fluffed. Just in time for you to sit down on the couch with a glass of wine and watch the almost devastating end to the race. Stroll's DNF, Vettel's pit stop, Mick's drop to the back of the grid. The only highlight was that you truly liked all the drivers on the podium. Being Mick's girlfriend had earned you mostly pleasant interactions with the other drivers, but you could say wholeheartedly that Charles, Lewis, and Max deserved the wins. You grabbed your phone to text Carlos a sympathetic message, and then opened your messages with your boyfriend. you did great, babe. i'm proud of you. i'll be waiting at home for you xx He replied after a few minutes, and you turned the sound of the post race interviews down. i love you You smiled down at your phone, sending him back an i love you too before turning your phone off. You knew it would be at least a few hours before he walked through the door, so you turned on a random show and settled in.

When Mick walked in you were cooking dinner and listening to Taylor Swift's new album. At the sight of you in the kitchen, hips swaying and head bobbing along to the rhythm, he felt himself relax. The race hadn't gone the way he wanted- So good until suddenly it wasn't anymore, on top of a penalty for exceeding track limits. His shoulders visibly fell and he exhaled loudly, alerting you to his presence. You didn't stop your slight sway, bounding over to him with a small dance and lightly grasping his hands to pull him to you. He complied, chest pressing flush against yours as he wrapped his arms completely around you and smiled down at you. You laced yours around his neck, fingers playing softly with his hair. "Hi, baby." You said. "Hi." He cooed back, pressing a quick kiss against your lips. You could feel his loving smile. "What song is this?" "Mastermind. It's Taylor Swift's new album." "I love it. I love you." You laughed at his sweet words, blushing lightly. "Stop it." You giggled, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his solid chest. Your nervous state made him laugh, dropping his chin onto your head as he held you to him. There was a comfortable silence and suddenly he felt so heavy with adoration. You pulled away first, leaving him cold. You pulled his arms off of you, hands inching down them as you did so you could lace your fingers through his. "Dance with me." You told him. "Alright." He grinned. The song had changed during your tender moment, the soft synth and calming drums of The Great War giving the perfect backdrop to the romantic dance. Mick twirled you, you twirled him. Kisses were shared, loving touches and teenage like moves pulled. When the song finally changed you wrapped one of your arms against his middle and he obliged, pressing up against you again. "I should have asked, how are you?" "Better now." He admitted. "Taylor helps." You kissed him. "Me and Taylor will always be here to help. Now I have to finish up dinner." Mick clicked his tongue. "Let it burn- we can order pizza. I just want to hang out with you." You laughed but peeled away from him. "Go sit down. It'll take ten minutes, and then you and I can sit and watch a movie. Okay?" "I can think of some much more fun ways to spend ten minutes." He purred suggestively, reaching for you again. You giggled, lightly slapping his hands away. "Sit." "Fine, fine. At least a kiss?" "Mick!" "Okay! I'm going."

#mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #formula1 #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #msc47 #mick schumacher 47 #adoristsposts #formula one #taylor swift #oh my god i want to dance in my kitchen with mick schumacher so bad #love of my life

[adoristsposts]

masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

here u can find my fics !!

nhl. quinn hughes ➔ growing up is ➔ ode to a conversation stuck in your throat jack hughes ➔ enforcers (1) (2) nico hischier ➔ number one supporter ➔ false god jamie drysdale ➔ hickeys mat barzal ➔ book boyfriend

nfl. justin herbert ➔ engagement (r) ➔ drunk call (r) ➔ baby (r)

formula one. daniel ricciardo ➔ muse pierre gasly ➔ unfathomably mick schumacher ➔ childhood (r) ➔ midnights ➔ hand warmer max verstappen ➔ hangovers ➔ opera (r)

outerbanks. nothing yet ᴖ̈

#adoristsposts #masterlist