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comphy-and-cozy · 3 months

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the guy on the team - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f) - A Dream Come True universe

Word Count: 4.2K

Author’s Note: rediscovered the three paragraphs of filth i wrote after seeing this dude play (and score) in his first ever home game as a detroit red wing, then went buck wild writing about it. that's all you really need to know. 🎶 karma is the guy on the wings coming straight home to me... 🎶

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering (f receiving), brief masturbation (f), very minor spanking, creampie, me being a huge fucking simp series masterlist

October 2024

The goal horn—restored from the glory days at Joe Louis Arena, reminiscent of legends and lore and well-decorated history—blares through the arena, the sound nearly swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Don’t Stop Believing plays over the speakers, the “born and raised in South Detroit” chant almost deafening as 19,000 of Hockeytown’s finest pay a proud homage to the city.

The energy is palpable, infectious, and your eyes fall to the sea of red jerseys at center ice, sticks raised in appreciation and celebration of their first win and first home game of the season. They’re smiling, a few of them clapping each other on the back or tapping padded knees with their stick, circling around as they soak in the joy and promises of a strong season.

The 37 on his back stands out proudly, the bright white stark against the rich red. He offered to get you a jersey, identical to the one he’s wearing right now, but you’d declined and opted for an old sweatshirt from 2002; wearing his name still felt a little too cheeky. Your eyes follow his movements, almost subconsciously, and your gaze slides to the winged wheel embroidered on his chest when he circles around.

There’s a burn in your cheeks as you shamelessly check him out, anonymous in the sea of fans who are starting to make their way out of the arena. No one there knows you from any other admirer, that you know what he looks like beneath his pads and his gear, underneath the delicious slate gray suit that the Red Wings’ socials posted.

You’ve barely made it to your front door when the text buzzes your phone in your pocket.

[JT:] You free tonight? [JT:] Feel like celebrating [You:] Why, did something happen?

You don’t have to see his face to know he’s smirking at your comment. The text bubble pops back up, and you do your best to summon the chill, cool girl and not squeal when you see the response.

[JT:] You want to come over later?

Despite the effort, you can’t help the smile that emerges on your face. His next text informs you that he’s out getting post-game drinks and dinner with his family who came to town to see his debut in Detroit. You’re not offended that you didn’t receive an invite—just excited to have received a text. The status of your relationship is still up in the air, floating somewhere between casually dating and something with benefits. Meeting his family is far from your bucket list. At this point, anyway.

Though your makeup was already done for the game, you decide to reset in the shower. You exfoliate, shave, and take your time moisturizing until you’re squeaky clean and your skin is smooth. Your pre-dick appointment ritual is practiced, having perfected it in the last six weeks that you’ve been involved with JT Compher. He doesn’t expect perfection, has told you on multiple occasions in so many words, but the routine makes you feel like you’re worth his time, his affection, his attention—that’s something you’ll deal with in therapy, though.

After the body prep comes a quick blow dry, a light layer of fresh makeup (you learned your lesson with too much makeup after JT made sure that the entire sultry eye you’d worked so hard on ended up smeared all over the sheets), and then the undergarment selection. By no means do you have an expansive luxury lingerie collection, but you’ve found yourself glancing at the intimate wear section when you’re out, anticipating the reaction of a certain redhead as you run your fingers over the various pieces on display.

Tonight does feel special, you admit, with plenty to celebrate: a debut, a win, and two points for JT. The lacy red bralette feels fitting, perfect for a little ‘wow’ factor without feeling like you’re trying too hard—and, of course, a nod to his (and your) team. Cheeky red panties finish your look, hidden by a pair of yoga pants and a cropped zip-up hoodie: the quintessential dick appointment outfit.

By the time you’re spritzing on your perfume, the come over text comes through. Slinging a small overnight bag over your shoulder with a few essentials, you lock up your apartment and head on your way. Nerves flutter in your chest the way they always do, anticipation building as you pull into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

JT hasn’t changed out of his pregame suit, the takeout box sitting on the counter an indicator he hasn’t been home for long. Your heart flutters at the realization that he must’ve texted you before he’d even left dinner, that he was thinking of you even while sitting and celebrating with his family.

After closing the door behind you, he moves in to greet you with a kiss, and once his lips touch yours, it’s like the floodgates of desire have opened up and you lose all self control. Without warning, your hands tug at his neck to kiss him fervently, quickly pressing your body against his and sighing at the warmth.

He groans, returning the kiss with equal ardor as his hands find their home on your hips. As you’re turning your attention to his belt, pulling your lips away from him for a moment, he murmurs, “Not that I’m not really, really appreciating this welcome home, but is there a reason for the extra enthusiasm?”

Clink. The belt’s hit the floor, and you waste no time getting your mouth back on his. Your hand slinks up his thigh, palming the half-hard appendage in his slacks eagerly. Involuntarily, you feel a needy throb between your thighs, the low thrum in his chest adding fuel to the fire.

“Really liked you in that jersey,” you purr.

“Oh yeah?”

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth and you nod, glancing up at him. “Yeah.”

JT smirks, allowing his ego to inflate just a bit. He doesn’t say it, but you know it drives him wild how much of an impact he has on you. How little he has to work to have you desperate for him. “Anything else?”

“I really liked it when you scored,” you say, wistfully recalling the way it sounded hearing his name announced over the loudspeaker at Little Caesars Arena. “You should do that some more.”

“How much did you like it?”

With just one sentence, he’s managed to increase the temperature in the room by at least 20 degrees; the words themselves are innocent, but the rumble behind them offers a filthy, sinful promise. His gaze is hot, predatory even, following the movement of your hand as you unzip your hoodie in response to his question. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches at the peek of red lace, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when you shrug off the fleece.

Tension is thick in the air as you stand before him, heart pulsing in your throat. With a blink, he seemingly regains his composure, though his eyes linger on your cleavage between the lace cups. “That much, huh?”

Another nod, shivering under the heated way he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. Breaking eye contact with him is difficult, but you’re met with an equally pleasing view of his firm length pressed against the rich material of his dress pants.

Your hand works at the zipper of his slacks, the other slipping between the metal teeth to press your palm against him. He’s throbbing under your touch, growing more and more solid as your hand strokes him through his boxer briefs.

Words aren’t necessary—or capable, for that matter—once you finally fish out his length and lap at the tip. The only thing exiting his mouth are strangled curses mingled with the sigh of your name, hand slipping into your hair when he slides further into the hot cavern of your mouth. He’s fully hard now, resting heavy on your tongue as you trace the vein that throbs on the underside of his shaft.

JT grunts, tilting his head down to watch the way his cock slides between your lips. Your hands hold yourself steady against his strong, muscular thighs—one of the more underrated parts of his body, in your opinion—as you bob your head back and forth, wetting every inch of him with your mouth. You wrap your fingers around the base, twisting and setting a cruel rhythm that earns a loud whine from his throat, followed quickly by a long, “Fuuuuuuuck.”

Nails scratch lightly at your scalp, like maybe he’s searching for purchase, his chest starting to heave a little more frantically the more you work him to a state of dizzy bliss. It’s the least you can do, you think, to congratulate him on his first ever home game in Detroit. And, maybe, there’s a little piece of you that wants to reward him, because you still haven’t quite thanked him thoroughly enough for selecting your city as his final destination in free agency. For coming home to you.

A wet, frothy mixture of spit and precum coats your chin when he finally tugs you back with a groan. His eyes are dark pools of umber, arousal seeping out of them as he drinks in the sight of you on your knees, lips shining with the lewd evidence of your worship.

“Bedroom,” he husks, helping you onto your feet and pressing his groin against the swell of your ass as he gently nudges you down the hall toward his room.

Falling forward onto the mattress, you glance at him over your shoulder and catch him admiring the view before his fingers are digging into the hem of your pants and tugging down. The sharp intake of breath tells you he likes your choice of panties, left as a sneaky surprise for him to unwrap as his reward. “Oh, she really likes it when I score goals.”

A wiggle of your hips earns a slap to your ass. Soon enough, you’re flipped onto your back, feeling the weight of him settled between your legs and his mouth slotting over yours. His lips are sure, certain, plush against yours, lazily commandeering control. Kissing him never gets old, not even when his erection is bumping against your lace-shrouded pelvis, silently begging for entry.

One of his hands runs over your neck, down your chest, palming your breast through the bralette. He toys with the scalloped hem, admiring the feel of it beneath his fingers. The low rumble of his hum vibrates against the spot on your jaw that he’s paused to mouth at while his hands explore, hot breath cascading down the sensitive skin of your neck. “Y’look so pretty, I almost don’t want to take it off.”

“You like me in red, too, hm?”

“I like you in anything,” he muses, allowing his tongue to trail along the thin strap that rests on your collarbone. It’s a sweet comment that you don’t have time to dwell on when his attention moves to the swell of your breast, then flicks at your taut nipple through the lace. “But red definitely suits you.”

JT punctuates his statement with a gentle nibble, tracing the floral pattern with the tip of his tongue until the fabric is damp with his saliva and your back is arched off of his sheets. Your fingers are threaded through his hair, knees pressed into his sides when your hips start to roll against his thigh that’s slotted between your legs.

“Can’t decide if I want to taste you or fuck you first,” he murmurs against your breast. A hand slinks down your body, eventually settling on the fabric between your thighs; a pleased hum leaves his throat, presumably at the moisture he finds there. The breath in your throat catches when he brings two fingers to his lips. “A taste can’t hurt, right?”

The sight of JT Compher gazing lustfully at you from between your legs is one you’ll never take for granted, nor is the feeling of his hot breath against the inside of your thighs. Even better than that is the sound of his groan when he tugs the lace panties down your legs, eyes never leaving the dripping heat in front of him.

His hand draws to the apex of your thighs, and you brace yourself to feel a finger slipping past your lips; instead, you only receive the ghost of his touch, drawing up the slick that’s dribbled out of you.

“J,” you whine, hips bucking impatiently. You’re not sure you’ll survive his teasing antics—not tonight.

“Jus’ wanna enjoy my treat,” he says, cheeky, popping the finger in his mouth with a groan. “I love when your pussy drools like this.”

Soft, pillowy lips press against your core, and you aren’t sure who moans louder: you, from the feeling of his mouth finally touching you where you need, or him, at the taste of you on his tongue. He sets to work, devouring your cunt with his usual practiced precision; long laves of his tongue paired perfectly with gentle sucking of your clit. It isn’t until he pauses for just a moment to wrap your legs around his head that you realize he’s grinding himself against the mattress.

“JT, let me—”

“No, baby,” he pants, barely parting his mouth from you, his voice muffled by your skin. “Y’taste way too fucking good.”

You’re in the process of wondering what you did to deserve a man who enjoys eating your pussy more than you do when his hand slips between your legs, joining his tongue to aid in his quest to bring you to climax. He alternates between dipping his finger into your heat and using it to circle your clit while his mouth continues its sinful magic.

“Fuck,” you gasp, spine peeling off the mattress when he curls his finger, striking at the spongy spot inside of you. The pleasure is blinding, radiating from the place where he strokes diligently. “Don’t stop.”

For being a man, JT is good at following instructions, especially when it comes to making you come. It doesn’t take long for your legs to quiver and a loud moan to rip from your throat; he hums in encouragement, fingers pumping relentlessly until you’re spent, slumped back against his pillow. You’re pretty sure your bones have disappeared and your body is now just a floating, ethereal being. You know, status quo with him.

“One for the assist,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips are glistening with your slick and his spit, coating the auburn whiskers of his beard, and you draw him up to taste it.

His contented hum that vibrates against your lips when you kiss him makes your heart warm, like he could kiss you all day and not get sick of it. The feeling is mutual, you think, savoring the way his mouth fits perfectly against yours along with the heady taste of you on his tongue. His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb rubbing gently as he swallows your sighs and comedown whimpers eagerly.

“You gonna fuck me now?” you ask into his mouth, once you regain the ability to speak. Sometimes, he has a habit of kissing the thoughts straight out of your brain. You love it more each time.

JT’s smile curls up against your lips. “Greedy girl, aren’t you?”

The sense of satisfaction watching his smile falter when your hand reaches between your bodies to stroke his erection is unmatched. Anything to render him speechless, too; the guttural moan is just a bonus. “Been waiting for this since warmups, when I saw you skating around in the winged wheel.”

“That’s a long time,” he says smugly, sitting up with a grunt and urging you to follow. When you turn your back to him, he pushes you down onto your elbows playfully, then offers a slap on your ass. “Your poor, poor pussy. So deprived.”

Turning your head, you watch him discard the rest of his clothes before his fist wraps around his cock, dragging up and down a few times. It’s a struggle to resist the whimper that threatens to bubble up in your throat. He runs the tip through your folds, coating it in your slick with a tsk. “So pretty. Should I give her what she wants?”

Instead of giving in, begging him the way you know he wants you to, you lean forward, ensuring he has an even better view of everything you have to offer. Your hand slithers between your thighs, fingers flattening as they rub at your clit. You part your folds before allowing your finger to dip into your entrance.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice dripping with a mixture of desire and awe. You swear you can feel the heat from where his eyes are burning a hole in you, staring at the way you touch yourself. “You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Preening under his praise, your marriage joins your middle finger, moaning loudly when the two plunge into your heat. The sound of your slick is audible, harmonizing with your soft sighs and his deep, ragged breathing behind you. You muse, “I’ve always wanted to fuck a Red Wing. Doesn’t really matter who. Just want to say I did, you know?”

JT’s dark chuckle behind you sends shivers down your spine. He probes the head of his dick—still positioned at your entrance, waiting patiently for its turn—against your fingers, teasing you before nudging your hand out of the way. It falls to the mattress, and you return to leaning on both elbows. “You know how much I like making your dreams come true.”

The huffed laughter that falls out of your mouth is quickly usurped by a gasp when he pushes his hips forward. Pausing halfway, he hums at the way you squeeze him tightly before he sheaths himself completely. It’s a feeling you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to; so perfect and satisfying and full. Just the touch of his skin to yours is enough to ignite a flame deeper than you’ve ever experienced with anyone else—the intimate feeling of him inside of you is nothing short of euphoric.

You push yourself back onto him, body acting on its own and greedily taking what it wants. He makes a sound behind you, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt; whatever it is, it’s followed by a firm slap against your ass that has you moaning.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “Fuck yourself on it.”

As if to accentuate his point, his fingertips trail up your spine before his hand fists into the lace strings displayed on your back. Once his hold is firm, he uses the material to drag you back against him and set a rhythmic slapping of your ass against his hips.

JT fucks you until you’re a babbling, sweating mess, only capable of incoherent whimpers and crying out a semblance of his name. He’s steady and consistent, confidence rolling off of him even despite the way his voice falters when he’s murmuring filth in your ear, using your bralette to tug you backwards against his chest.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he whispers, beard scratching deliciously against the curve of your jaw. You nod, desperate, even your thoughts echoing the rhythm of his length driving in and out of you.

Teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder at the same time the universe explodes. Eyes squeezed shut, legs clenched tight, the air wrenched from your lungs as your body goes rigid in his arms. He hums lowly, working you through it, soft praises whispered against your skin.

“One for the goal,” he says, cheeky. You don’t have the brainpower to even roll your eyes at his hubris. Given the way your legs are still shaking, you’d say he has a right to be cocky.

Strong arms help you back down to your stomach, and you’re thankful for the soft mattress beneath you, no longer needing to hold yourself up; you’re not sure your limbs have the strength to. JT’s hands gently pull your hips back, lifting them up slightly to slide a pillow beneath them before he’s diving in face first with a groan. “Fucking love the way your cunt tastes after it’s been fucked.”

His tongue laps at you, and you squirm under his attention. Grabbing at your ass with both hands, he kneads the globes and offers a hearty smack that earns a squeal from you. “JT!”

“Sorry, baby,” he says, but the nip on your ass tells you he isn’t. You feel him shift before he’s helping to flip you over onto your back, and the sight of him smiling down at you makes your heart flutter. “Can’t help it.”

Something you’ve learned over the last few weeks with JT is that he is a thorough, meticulous lover. He worships at your altar until he’s completely absolved and your thoughts are wiped clean, pulling prayers from your throat with easy, intentional thrusts. With your legs resting in the crook of his elbows, he drives into you, solid, steady, watching the union of your bodies with a hunger that might intimidate you if it wasn’t the same one consuming you entirely.

“Look so good like this,” he murmurs, eyes roving over your body, admiring each curve as if he sculpted them himself. His gaze holds the sway of your breasts, testing the way you respond to different pulses of his hips. “Y’take dick like a fuckin’ pro, sweetheart. You know that?”

You hope the question is rhetorical, for when you go to attempt an answer, all that comes out is a garbled whimper. The praise makes your skin hot, heightens the flutter in your belly, and when he tells you to touch yourself, you blink dumbly at him. It garners a smile on his pretty lips—so fucking handsome—perhaps pleased with the way he’s fucked you stupid on his cock.

“Won’t last much longer,” he purrs. He swallows thickly, and if your brain wasn’t complete mush, you’d be very satisfied that he’s losing control, too. “Make yourself come for me. Jus’ one more, baby, please.”

And when he asks so nicely, how can you disobey?

Your hand snakes its way between your legs, rubbing at your tender clit; the action enhances the delicious, soul-altering feeling of JT’s dick delivering pleasure and promise. His eyes are glued to your movements, but your eyes are watching him.

JT Compher has always been beautiful. Handsome. Exquisite, even. But the sight of him, eyes shut, lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks, mouth open as his head falls back in ecstasy? No words. Truly, indescribable.

It’s enough that you try to stave off your own orgasm just to prolong your view—that is, until the force of it absorbs you and then shatters you, seizing every last cell and filling them with euphoria. When the fuzziness fades from your eyes, JT’s panting body is on top of you, planting kisses along your collarbone. “And finally, one for the win.”

A dreamy smile slides onto your face. Weakly, your arms wrap around him, grazing the skin on his back lightly. He feels good in your arms. Safe. Comfortable. Natural.

“Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

There’s a pause as you try to process what he said, sure that he fucked you so good, your hearing’s gone out, too. He nudges your jaw with his nose.

“B–breakfast?” Your voice comes out way shakier than you intended. You feel the short exhale from his huffed laugh against your skin.

“Don’t want you to think you’re just a booty call,” he says, like it’s obvious, like he’s not still half-hard buried inside of you, his cum seeping out onto the wrinkled sheets beneath you.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Can’t think about anything else about you or I’ll get hard again,” he admits wryly. The confession strokes your ego, something he manages to do without even trying. As you debate if you should, in fact, rouse a round two, your pussy flutters weakly in protest—dick too good. Need break.

JT’s hands never leave your body as he helps you walk to the bathroom, laughing at the way you waddle to avoid spilling cum all over his floor. Once you’re cleaned up, you slip on the t-shirt you packed, joining him at the sink to brush your teeth. He bumps your hip affectionately with his, and the domesticity of it all contrasted with the filthy aura from 5 minutes prior is astonishing—in a good way.

Back in his room, he eyes the bag that you place on the floor. “You can keep some things here, you know. I cleared out a drawer.”

It’s a simple statement, but one that strikes you hard; symbolic and heavy in its meaning: a place carved out for you in his home.

In his life.

JT sees you standing, gaping at him, and closes the gap between you before he’s tilting your jaw upward to look at him. His lips hover over yours, the ghost of his touch lingering in a way that makes your heart stop.

His voice is low, almost a whisper, like he doesn’t want to burst the bubble surrounding you. “If I’m coming on too strong, let me know.”

“You aren’t,” you breathe, surprised that your voice even works. His lips curl into a smile against yours before he presses forward to kiss you. It’s slow, ardent, sweet. Dizzying.

“Let’s go to bed. You can fill the drawer tomorrow.”

Tag list: @somuchf4rstardust @tpwkstiles @smileysvech @senditcolton @robindrake13 @laurenairay

#jt compher fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #jt compher x reader #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl smut #hockey smut

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laurenairay · 2 years

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breathe me in, breathe me out - JT Compher

Summary: a reunion with JT at a summer wedding brings you more than you could have ever expected.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: fluff, mild pining, summer wedding.

A/N: this is my entry for @antoineroussel’s summer fic exchange, and I have written this JT Compher fic for @fallinallincurls! I really hope I captured everything you asked for Bre, and I hope even more than you love reading it as much as I loved writing it!

Fic title from Watermelon Sugar, by Harry Styles.

Series masterlist

“In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.” – Maya Angelou

Weddings were a complex thing. Fundamentally, they should be easy, simple, celebrations of love. But often they were so much more than that; the stress of organising the ‘perfect day’, choosing who to invite and who not to invite, things going wrong, items not arriving, last minute cancellations, bad weather and so many more things that can effectively ruin what should be the happiest day of two people’s lives, starting them off on that new chapter together.

Over the past few years, you’d watched more and more friends getting married, helping out with all the planning and preparations, so when it came to helping out with your brother’s upcoming wedding, you were at least prepared for all the things that could go wrong. Your brother’s fiancé was (thankfully) fairly laidback compared to some brides you’d been around before, but even then there were some tears when there were complications with the flower orders and arguments over the seating plans. There were more than a few stressful moments that you’d had to deal with personally, as the only sister of the groom and the only non-related bridesmaid of the bride, but when the morning came on the big day, all you could see was how happy excited your brother was to marry her.

And that’s what mattered. Seeing him so in love, so happy, so excited for his future with her was all you cared about.

Waking up at the crack of dawn to head over to where the bride’s party were getting ready wasn’t your favourite idea, but you arrived with a tired smile and two trays of coffees, earning tired smiles in return. The bride’s father was a member of the local country club, which had its own venue area and private rooms (as well as its own mini hotel), so this was where your brother’s bride had chosen to get ready before the cars picked you all up for the church (your brother and his groomsmen were getting ready in your family home). All of the other bridesmaids were sisters or cousins of the bride, so you were mostly left to your own devices – which suited you fine – giving you a chance to wake up slowly while your hair and make-up were done, sitting to the side of the room while the closer bridesmaids rushed around squawking.

If your only job today was to take candid sweet photos to send to your soon-to-be sister-in-law later, then that was fine. The less stress the better.

But eventually it was time. Your whole troupe of bridesmaids were primped and polished and perfect, and the bride…well, she was radiant. And it was her happy-nervous-excited smile that topped everything off, only making her look more beautiful. Your brother was a lucky man indeed.

“Ready to officially join our family?” you asked softly, smiling at the bride.

She huffed out a laugh, a little watery, a lot emotional, but nodded and smiled at you in return. “Yeah, I am.”

You just grinned at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before stepping back to let the procession to the cars take place.

If you were being honest, the ceremony sped by in a blur – all you could remember was your brother’s happy smile and happy tears. Thank god for the photographer. It wasn’t until your car was pulling back into the country club and the bridesmaids were all piling back into the rooms you’d gotten ready in this morning that you even took a moment to just breathe. The serious part of the day was over – now it was time to relax, have a drink or two, and party. That was your new sister-in-law’s intentions anyway, and you were determined to follow her wishes. Especially her idea to change into white sneakers for the reception; that was an idea of hers you were more than happy to do.

But it was as you walked through the reception hall, smiling and greeting old family friends on your brother’s side of the party, that you saw someone you weren’t expecting.

“Mom, I didn’t know JT was coming,” you murmured, trying to be subtle as you glanced at him out the corner of your eye.

“Oh you know how it is, honey – your brother invited all the neighbours we’re close friends with, especially those with the boys he grew up with, and the Comphers are on that list. We just weren’t sure if JT would be able to make it with his hockey season and the cup win, and, well, that’s not something you can ever truly plan for this time of year, is it?” she explained with a smile.

She had a point, sure – but maybe if you’d had a little heads up, you would’ve been able to prepare yourself for how good he looks with that beard. Like, damn. Hockey championship wins looked good on him. No, focus, don’t be a creeper.

“Do make sure to go and say hello to them later, yes? I know you and JT always got along when you were younger too,” she added, before wandering off.

More like you were the awkward younger sister and JT was always super nice to you, but close enough. You bit your bottom lip briefly, trying to think of what you’d even say to him (‘congrats on the cup, bud, how’s your life been for the past eight years?’), when he turned his head and caught eyes with you. And immediately started walking over to you, big smile on his face, sending your stomach erupting in butterflies. How had you forgotten how handsome he was? From 18 to 27, he’d only gotten more attractive, especially with how he’d obviously grown in confidence, that ease in his walk and his body language, and it was all you could do not to melt as he stopped in front of you.

“I can’t believe how long it’s been since I last saw you,” he said with a soft smile.

“Hello to you too,” you laughed, fighting the heat that wanted to rise to your cheeks.

A light flush rose to JT’s cheeks, making you smile even more, even as your traitorous heart started beating a little faster. You’d thought that you would’ve been able to get over your childhood crush on him by now – it had been so many years, after all – but apparently not. Who could blame you though, when he smiled at you like that?

“You look amazing, by the way,” JT said, smile turning a little shy.

“Oh thanks! The bridesmaids’ dresses were a great choice, right?” you grinned.

“Great for you, definitely,” he nodded.

The butterflies in your stomach swarmed with a vengeance, but you tried to ignore them. A little light flirting meant nothing. Right?

The two of you ended up sitting nearby, just talking, catching up about everything and anything that had changed since he left to play ice hockey, which turned out to be a lot. Everything from you going through college, starting a career, moving out into your own apartment, to JT going through the AHL and making it into the NHL, the highs and lows of professional hockey, and of course his Stanley Cup win. He only knew his family and your immediate family here tonight, and while you knew a few more than that you still knew less than half, so you didn’t feel bad about monopolising his time – JT certainly seemed happy enough to stay by your side. Time had flown by, both over the last eight years and tonight, and before you realised it, the two of you had been talking for a few hours, and were only broken out of your little bubble by the DJ announcing the last slow dance of the night.

“Would you, uh, maybe want to dance with me?” he asked hesitantly.

The hope in his eyes gave you hope of your own, stupid ridiculous hope, and you found yourself nodding, JT just smiling as he took your hand and led you onto the outskirts of the dancefloor.

At last, My love has come along, My lonely days are over, And life is like a song.

What a song. As the two of you swayed in time with the music, in time with everyone else paired up on the dancefloor, you found yourself staring up into his pretty brown eyes, him watching you back with the softest smile on his face. And even though you’d spent the last few hours talking, not a single word was spoken as you danced, one of his hands on your hip and the other clasping one of yours, while your free hand rested on his chest. It was sweet, and it was intimate, and it was soft, none of the things you ever thought you’d experience with JT. All those childhood fantasies and hopes came bubbling back to the surface, and just this once you allowed yourself to live in them, floating like you were on a cloud.

As much as you didn’t want the moment to end, you knew it had to, even though it made your heart ache to step away from him. Thankfully, you knew that the reception would be ending soon, and you would be able to go and bask in the sweetness of the evening in your own room, savouring each moment you’d shared with him in secret, in private. The two of you stayed silent as JT walked you over to the bar, getting you a bottle of water each, and it wasn’t until he took his first sip that he started talking again, murmuring a joke about a man walking past that had you almost spitting your own water back out. And just like that, your conversation started up all over again, people drifting in and out of your bubble, but for you everything was focused on JT. How could it not be?

“Are you staying here tonight? Or are you in the group of taxis back into town?” you asked, smiling up at him as you noticed a small set of people gathering by the doors.

“Ah, thankfully my mom booked us all a room before playoffs even started, so I’m staying here,” JT grinned, “I’m guessing you’re staying here too?”

“Yeah that’s right. Third floor,” you nodded.

“No way, us too! Good to know that I can walk you back tonight,” he said softly.

Walk you back? Oh, walk you back to your room? The very thought of him escorting you upstairs made your cheeks heat up, and although he raised an eyebrow as he noticed, JT didn’t comment on your reaction, which you could only be grateful for.

The two of you stayed by the bar, the few last family members who were staying in the country club hotel suites chatting with you too, until your mom wandered over, looking a little glassy-eyed but happy.

“We’re heading up to the rooms now – are you coming?”

You shook your head with a smile, holding up your half-full glass. “I’ll just finish my drink before heading up.”

She nodded, smiling at both you and JT, before walking away again. It was strange that she hadn’t said anything or even implied anything about JT being by your side all night, but you weren’t going to complain. It was probably a perk of him being a long-time family friend – it wasn’t like JT was a stranger who was going to take advantage of you. Just an insanely attractive guy that had been more than happy to spend a whole evening with you.

That wasn’t something you wanted to think about while he was standing next to you, so close that you could feel his body heat through his jacket.

Eventually though, it was time to head to the hotel suites, when both of you had finished your drinks. There weren’t many people left to say goodbye to, but you waved cheerfully and kissed cheeks as you passed people you knew, JT staying silent by your side until the two of you reached the elevators.

“Thank you for letting me stick to your side all night,” he mused, loosening his tie a little around his neck.

“Are you kidding? That’s the most fun I’ve had at a wedding in ages,” you grinned.

“Yeah?” he said, blushing again, offering you a sweet smile.

Oh he really was so cute.

“Yeah, JT. It was great spending some actual time with you after all these years,” you nodded, smiling back at him.

The last thing you wanted was for this sweetheart to think he’d been a burden or annoying, because that was so far from the truth. It wasn’t like you were lying – it really was the most fun you’d had at a wedding, and it was all because of him.

When the elevator stopped at your shared floor, JT gestured for you to head out first like the gentleman he was, quickly joining you to walk along the corridor. But as you got closer to your room, unmissable noises got louder and louder, until you realised that your next door neighbour for the night had a partner with her…and they were clearly having incredibly athletic sex. Damn it.

“What’s the likelihood they will finish in the next 5 minutes?” you winced.

JT just grimaced at a particularly loud moan. “Like, 0.1%?” he offered.

You just groaned, the groan echoed unintentionally by occupied room, making you both laugh despite the frustrating situation.

“If you want, and I’m not trying to be skeevy here, but I have two beds in my room? I’m at the other end of the corridor so you won’t hear them, and you’re more than welcome to have the other bed if you want to actually get some sleep?” he said.

His eyes were wide and earnest, although they narrowed in annoyance as the banging of a headboard started in the silence. If he thought there was any chance of you not agreeing to that, he had another thing coming. Sharing a room with JT? Hell yes. Even if it was totally innocent, he had no idea what that offer was doing to you. Sure, you’d been looking forward to basking in the fairytale that the reception had been, but this was way better.

“I will absolutely take you up on that. Let me just get changed into pyjamas?” you said, smiling.

“Oh, yeah, of course. Uh, I’m in room 310. I’ll see you soon?”

You just nodded, sending him a thankful smile, before you opened your hotel door. Somehow the sex noises were even louder in here, and you grimaced, turning your head to see JT already grimacing too, before he laughed a little sheepishly.

“Yeah don’t subject yourself to that for long. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he mused.

Wasting no time, you stripped out of your beautiful bridesmaid’s dress and hung it up in the wardrobe, and quickly pulled on your pyjamas. After brushing your teeth, scrubbing your make-up off and letting down your fancy up-do, all you needed to do was grab your phone charger and phone before heading back out of the room. The noises hadn’t lessened in the slightest while you were getting ready for bed, and to be honest, if JT hadn’t offered you his spare bed, you don’t know what you would’ve done.

The blessings for this guy just kept on coming.

Especially as JT answered the door shirtless. You found yourself freezing slightly, eyes planted on his sculpted chest, before heat rushed to your cheeks as you broke out of your stupor, only to find JT blinking as if he’d done the same. Was he…was he as affected as you were? Well, that was something to think about, you know, when you were eventually alone again.

“Thanks for letting me stay in here,” you murmured, as you plugged your phone in to charge.

There were plenty of photos to put on Instagram, but that was a job for tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. In this moment, you just wanted to enjoy this extra time you had with JT – you didn’t want to waste any of the time that he was looking at you and smiling at you staring at your phone instead. Not a chance.

“Oh you don’t have to thank me. There’s literally no way I would’ve been happy with you trying to sleep with all of that going on next door,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“Well I’m still going to thank you,” you mused, rolling your eyes fondly, “it’s been a long day and I definitely need my beauty sleep.”

JT bit his bottom lip, as if he was trying to think whether to say something or not, before he exhaled, not saying a word. What was he holding back? You frowned slightly but didn’t push him – you sure as hell didn’t want him to pry into your own thoughts after all.

“Good night, JT,” you said softly, snuggling down under the covers.

“Good night,” he murmured, smiling over at you, “See you in the morning.”

Waking up in an unfamiliar bed was disorientating to say the least. Luckily you didn’t have much of a headache from all the drinks you’d had last night, silently thanking JT for all the water he kept ordering for the two of you. Oh damn, JT. You quickly lifted your head, easily spotting his fluffy red hair in the neighbouring bed, and bit your bottom lip as you cheeks heated up. Last night wasn’t a dream. You really had stayed in JT’s room overnight, after a whole evening spent by his side. And you weren’t dreaming, not a chance.

All of a sudden, your phone started ringing, loud and obnoxious, earning you a groan from the guy next to you as he woke up. Mom. What did she want? And why so early?

“Where are you? Why aren’t you answering your door?”

Oh damn, that was the last thing you’d expected.

“Brittany-Louise had a very loud bed partner as I headed back to my room last night, so JT offered the second bed in his hotel room,” you explained, wincing.

“He offered…in his room… you didn’t sleep wi-”

“No, it was very kind of him to offer the spare separate bed in his room,” you interrupted, willing away the heat rising on your face.

It was blatantly obvious that JT was listening to the conversation, but you desperately tried to keep your cool. The last thing you wanted was for him to think that your mom thought you’d slept with him. Definitely not after how sweet he’d been last night.

“Well that boy always was a gentleman. Is he staying for breakfast in the club restaurant?”

“I don’t know, let me ask,” you replied.

You pulled the phone away from your ear, pressing it to your chest as you smiled at JT sheepishly. “So, um, my mom wants to know If you’re having breakfast downstairs too?”

JT’s eyes went wide in realisation at who were talking to, but he just nodded. “Yeah I was planning on it. I think my parents and Jesse are too.”

Oh good. You smiled at him, before putting the phone back up to your ear. “Yes he will be.”

“Okay good, both of you can meet us down there when you’re ready. I will be having a word with Brittany-Louise’s mom in the meantime.”

You end the call with a wince at your mom’s abrupt tone, laughing softly at JT’s confused face. “Well Brittany-Louise is going to get an earful, and we’ve been summoned for breakfast,” you explained.

“To be fair, she gave you an earful last night,” JT grinned, making you groan, “and breakfast sounds good to me. We can head down together if you want?”

You bit your bottom lip as JT sat upright in bed, the bedsheets slipping away to reveal his thickly-muscled chest all over again, and it took all your concentration not to blush. Somehow he looked even better than you remembered last night. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’m literally just going to having a quick wash and brush my teeth before throwing on a dress so I won’t take long?”

“Perfect, see you soon,” he said, smiling softly.

You sped through a quick body wash in your own shower, throwing on a simple blue dress and a little mascara, and you were just slipping into your shoes when there was a knock on the door. Opening it with a smile, you saw JT standing there in a plain tshirt and jeans, looking unfairly fresh and awake. He did also look a little stunned though, making your smile slide into a light frown, before he seemed to break out of his thoughts by shaking his head.

“Wow you look amazing,” he murmured.

“I’m not wearing anything special,” you said confused. It was just a simple old dress?

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” he said, shrugging, although a fierce blush spread across his cheeks - which he clearly felt burning, so he turned away. “We should probably head down.”

“Oh jeez yeah, definitely don’t want my mom sending up a search party,” you laughed.

The look of fear on JT’s face made you laugh, and that seemed to break the awkward tension between the two of you.

When the two of you reached the club’s restaurant, JT’s family weren’t down there yet, so he sat next to you on the tables that your mom and aunt had pulled together. You grinned to yourself when you noticed how mortified Brittany-Louise looked, JT snickering when you told him. The two of you ordered your food with little fanfare, and although you were mostly in conversation with other people while you waited for your breakfast, every time you glanced over at him, he was already looking at you.

That had to mean something, right?

By the time you’d finished eating (JT’s family finally having joined the big group), there were a few people ready to head back to their rooms too, so you and JT headed back with them, even though you wished you could’ve spent just that little bit more time alone with him. Just that little bit more, before you were separated to see him again who knows when. Eventually though, you reached your room, the rest of your group continuing on down the corridor.

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he murmured, as the two of you remained the last people in the corridor.

You knew he had to pack his bags. You knew you had to pack your bags. But that didn’t mean you want this time with him to end. So you took a deep breath, hoping your smile wasn’t shaky.

“Kinda wish we had more time,” you said softly.

The moment the words left your lips, your breath hitched in your throat, and you tried not to wince. What if you were reading everything wrong? What if the fantasy really had all been in your head?

But then JT smiled, ever so lightly, and the tension melted from your body. That soft smile wasn’t one he gave out often, you knew that much. So maybe you weren’t the only one who felt this way, that there was something worth exploring between the two of you.

“Then maybe we should do this again some time. Dinner, drinks, breakfast the next morning,” JT said smoothly, “Just maybe without all your family around.”

Definitely without your family. But oh wow, he wanted to take you out on a date? JT wanted to take you out on a date?

“I’d really like that,” you said, smiling shyly.

JT’s soft smile shifted into a confident grin, sending a sharp jolt through your body and heat rushing to your cheeks, both of which you ignored as he handed his phone over to you to put your phone number in. He stayed silent as you typed, just keeping that intense stare in you, not helping the rush in your body at all. And the moment you handed his phone back, he started typing himself, until you felt your own phone buzz in your handbag. Ah, smart. Very smart.

“I’ve got some pr team things to do the next couple of days, but I’ll call you? Are you free on Friday?” he asked hopefully.

For him, for this? You’d make sure you were. But he didn’t have know that. Not yet.

“I’m sure I can work something out,” you said simply, smiling innocently.

JT’s eyes flashed with something a little more heated in response, sending a shiver down your spine. Damn, how was that possible? How did he have such an effect on you like this?

He must have seen something in your eyes, must have felt that same flash of heat because the next thing you knew his hand cupped your cheek, and he took two seconds to search your face for a reaction before he leant down and took your lips in a kiss. You made a soft noise of surprise before you could stop yourself, but you wasted no time in clutching at his T-shirt, kissing him back just as intently, JT making his own soft noise in return. You lost yourself in his kisses, desperately glad in the back of your mind that no one else was in the corridor, but far too consumed by the feeling of his lips on yours, how soft his beard was against your skin, the way his tongue lightly brushed your tongue, how this was all so much yet not nearly enough. Then he pressed you lightly into the door, tearing a quiet noise from your throat, making the embrace all that more intense before suddenly breaking the kiss and stepping away, breathing just as heavily as you were.

“I’ll see you Friday,” he said, his voice a little rough, his eyes a little wild.

You just nodded, head still spinning slightly as you watched him walk down the corridor to his own hotel room. Did that really just happen? Were you still dreaming? No, there was no way that you could’ve dreamt the way his beard felt against your skin, the way his lips perfectly fitted with your lips. No way. The moment that you stepped into your own room and closed the door behind you, your fingers drifted up to your mouth, lightly brushing over the slightly swollen lips in a daze.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

#my writing #jt compher fic #the summer fic exchange 2k22 #jt compher imagine #jt compher fanfic #jt compher x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey imagine #hwn cloud

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jostystyles · 2 years

Text

our love was made for the movies | jtc

a/n: because i am always late to everything i've ever done, here is my fic for @antoineroussel 's fic exchange! this is always such a joy to do demi, thank you <3 this fic is for @apoormansyou , i hope you enjoy!! (edit: i had this queued to post on the 31st until i realized i set it to post on july 31st 2023. im an idiot.)

warnings: swearing, tooth rotting fluff, jt being my puppet for a rom com boy, allusions to sex, fem reader pronouns

word count: 2.2k

In the movies, they always over elaborate the scene where the main characters realize they’re in love.

There’s a soundtrack playing, usually some orchestral ballad or a top 40 love song, the camera work is exaggerated, and there’s a close up of the character smiling at a cheesy shot of their love interest doing something cute.

But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life.

And JT knew he was in love without all that stuff you see in the movies.

But for the sake of the story, let’s set the scene.

Our story starts 3 years ago at a coffee shop in Denver. Tyson had asked JT if he wanted to go after practice because he had a crush on the barista and was afraid of embarrassing himself. Naturally, JT grudgingly obliged, half because he loved his best friend and half because he was hoping Tyson would do something stupid. And something stupid he did.

“I’m telling you bro, she’s totally into me. She gave me the biggest cinnamon roll!” Tyson gloated. JT rolled his eyes.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean she likes you genius. She picked the one that was closest to her in the case.” He replied.

Tyson scoffed,” Whatever man. You just can’t believe that-“ There’s the stupid. As he turned back to retaliate against JT, he ended up walking right into someone, spilling his iced latte all over them.

JTs eyes widened as he tried to stop the inevitable, but it was too late. The girl stood dumb founded, her blouse now covered in the brownness of Tyson’s stupidity.

“Oh, fuck, I am SO sorry ma’am.” The curly haired boy said, looking frantically around for something to clean up.

“It’s um, it’s ok. Wouldn’t be the first time this had actually happened.” the girl laughed.

“Josty, you idiot. Go get paper towels.” JT grumbled.

As Tyson sputtered an apology and left, JT turned to the girl who somehow didn’t seem as upset as he would’ve been given her situation.

“I’m really sorry about him. He’s kind of an idiot.”

She let out a laugh, and JT came to realize that his heart skipped a beat upon hearing the sound.

“It’s ok. I have an idiot friend too. Besides, I kinda thought this shirt could use a coffee stain.”

JT chuckled, brown eyes looking up to meet her (Y/E/C) ones. In that moment he knew he was fucked.

“I’m (Y/N) by the way.” She said, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smile.

JT swallowed a lump he didn’t know he had in his throat. “I’m uh, I’m JT.” he replied.

JT thinks that he was going to like (Y/N).

Almost 4 months after Tyson made a fool of himself, JT had fallen quite hard for the girl from the cafe.

As much as a klutz Tyson is, JT really had to thank him for it this time. After they had helped her clean up her shirt, Tyson had removed himself from the situation out of embarrassment. That left JT and (Y/N) to make small talk, and one thing led to another.

Now, JT stood in the rafters of Red Rocks Arena at a Coldplay concert, with a huge smile on his face. But the smile wasn’t directed towards the band at all, no. In fact, he was staring at (Y/N). She stood at his side, full attention directed towards the band on stage. Her (Y/H/C) was bouncing at the speed she was jumping, her floral sundress pillowing it out like a cloud around her each time she rose off the ground. Her eyes were shut so tight that JT was sure she was seeing stars, and the electro lights illuminated her features.

Growing up with two sisters, JT had watched his fair share of rom coms. He always rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of them, and the dramatic scenes where the guy finally get the girl. He never understood why Morgan squealed when Kat read her list to Patrick, or why Jesse always said her childhood crush was Jack from While You Were Sleeping.

But now it hits him. He never understood what love was really like until this very moment.

In this moment, he was standing with a grin on his face, watching a girl who was a stranger to him 4 months ago dance her heart out to a band he had never really paid attention to before.

After the concert had ended, they sat on the floor at the end of JT’s bed, an open pizza box laid across their laps. (Y/N) was a little drunker than she’d like to admit, but JT had insisted he’d do the driving so she could let loose a little.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them, the only sound to be heard was the faint chewing of food.

Swallowing a bite, (Y/N) wiped some grease from the side of her mouth before speaking up. “Y’know, I had a really good time tonight, J. You really outdid yourself on this date.”

JT replied with a chuckle. “I don’t really think I had much of a part in causing you fun as Chris Martin did.”

“Ok, that may be true. But, he's not the one who bought me a tshirt and is now eating pizza and asking me about my day.”

JT laughed again, looking to his left at her. She had a few crumbs on her face, and was looking up at him with the biggest (Y/E/C)-est eyes he’d ever seen. Her makeup was a little smudged and her hair a bit out of sorts, but he doesnt think he’d seen anything more beautiful.

“Can I tell you something?” he said too quickly before he could think. (Y/N)’s eyebrows rose a bit in surprise.

“Yeah, of course.” She said softly.

Looking down, he realized that their hands were intertwined slightly, and he gave hers a squeeze before taking a deep breath.

This was it. Now or Never. If there were boxes to check in the story of JT’s rom com, quite a few had already been checked. Denial that true love exists. Meet cute. The comedic relief best friend. Girl who changes his point of view. Moment of realization.

Now, he was about to check another box. The love confession. It might not be a kiss in the rain, an objection at a wedding, or a first kiss in front of the building they used to work in together. But it belonged to him. This was JT writing his own story, the one where he tells about the love of his life.

And she was sitting right next to him, looking at him with wide eyes, probably expecting the worst.

“I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I’m not usually, like, good with words or anything, and I don’t exactly like, know how to do this. But I do know a few things. I know that Tyson is an idiot,” that elicited a laugh from (Y/N), “And without that idiot I wouldn’t have you. I know that meeting you changed my life forever. I know that we want the same things out of this. At least, I hope you feel the same as I do. And I know that we’ve only been together for like, 4 months, but I just really want you to know how I feel, even though it scares the fuck out of me and I don’t know what I’m doing. But I think I love you. Wait, no I know it. I don’t think. I know I do. Love you.” He finished, knowing that he just rambled on and probably sounded like an idiot.

Looking up at (Y/N), he noticed that her eyes were teary. “Oh no, you’re crying. I’m sor-”

“NO! No I’m not. These are happy tears. I promise.” She cut him off. “I feel the same way. About everything. It sounds crazy, but you’ve changed my life and my outlook on a lot of things. And I want this with you, I really do. I love you too, JT.”

JT smiled, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks and flow through his veins. In a swift motion, he threw the pizza box across the room, grabbed (Y/N), and practically threw both of them onto the bed. A soft squeal followed by a giggle came from her lips just before he captured them in a sweet yet passionate kiss.

As the kissing ensued, and their bodies grew closer together with each piece of clothing discarded, only one thought was running through his brain.

JT really loved (Y/N).

Now, in some stories, the movie ends with that. The lovers embrace intimately after confessing their love that was discovered throughout the story, and an upbeat love song plays as the screen fades to black and the credits roll. But this is not where JT and (Y/N)’s story ends.

It’s been 3 years since that night. Of course, there were times where it got tough, like always, but true love always comes out on top. The love story continued, and (Y/N) has been through JT’s side through it all. Their first home together, a cat named Dumpling, Jesse’s Olympic run, and Tyson’s trade. (Y/N) was there to hold JT when he cried about losing his best friend to the trade, and JT did the same for her when her friendship ended with a close friend.

Their relationship wasn't picture perfect, but it was healthy. JT and (Y/N) were two sides of the same coin. Twin flames. Destined to be together, if you really wanted to be specific.

They’d been through a lot of monumental things together, but nothing really compared to what was happening right now.

(Y/N) sat in the rafters of Amelie Arena, head in her hands. “I can’t fucking watch this Jesse. I can’t look up.”

“(Y/N), its fucking happening. JT is going to win the Stanley Cup.” Jesse replied, gripping her arm and shaking it.

Just as she finished speaking, the buzzer sounded off, signifying the Avalanche as the 2022 Stanley Cup Champions. (Y/N) jumped up, cheering at the top of her lungs and tears streaming down her face. She began to embrace each of JT’s family members in her arms, and before she knew it she was down on the ice, eyes scanning the crowd for the familiar head of bright red hair.

JT spotted her before she saw him. His head was full of a million thoughts, but they all reduced to one as soon as he saw her. “(Y/N)!” he called out, and before he could say another word, she came running across the carpet on ice and jumping into his arms.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD. You did it baby, you fucking did it. I’m so proud of you what the fuck.” She rambled on, the tears falling from her cheeks onto his, rambling on in between kisses.

“We did it baby. Stanley Cup champs.” JT said, voice wavering, not even realizing he was crying.

“God, I love you so much J. I’m so proud of you.” (Y/N) said, running her fingers up and down his face, pushing tears away.

He looked away from her for a second, seeing his fellow teammates embracing each other, and their loved ones, and even at his mom for a second. As he looked down at (Y/N) once again, he realized something.

JT had done a lot of realizations while looking at his girlfriend throughout their relationship. But this was a big one, one that he had been pondering on for a bit of time.

This was the part of the story where the main characters get their happy ending. The problem is resolved, the dragon is slayed, the princess is saved, whatever. JT’s happy ending was (Y/N). All the movies and the romance novels that he once found ridiculous made perfect sense, and he loved them. Because he knew what it was like to experience them, all because of her. The girl who made him believe in love. And he realized he never wanted to let that go, ever.

“Marry me.” He said, looking at her once again.

(Y/N)’s head shot up, a surprised “What?” falling from her lips.

“Marry me. I mean it. I don’t have a ring or anything, and this is not at all how I pictured doing this, but that’s not how anything has ever been with you. It’s always unexpected. I never expected you in my life. Or to win the Stanley Cup. But I know I never want to forget this, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, marry me?” He finished.

“Yed, fuck yes, I’ll marry you. Oh my god.” (Y/N) babbled, as JT closed the gap between them, her hands tangling in his hair and lips burning with the scruff of his beard.

This is where our story ends. JT and (Y/N)’s story is far from over, but this is where we have to part for now. But, this isn’t really a movie is it? This is real life.

And JT was going to marry (Y/N), the love of his life.

Scene.

[FADE TO BLACK, CAMERA RISING AS “HEAD OVER HEELS” BY TEARS FOR FEARS PLAYS.]

#emmie writes #jt compher #jt compher x reader #jt compher imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fic #colorado avalanche

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ilyasorokinn · 2 years

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I feel like JT would be a total GirlDad™️. I also love the idea of twin girl dad JT. He would be/is a total simp for all the ladies in his life.

TWO OF EACH

tw: babies

every single piece of kids merch the avalanche produced, jt was first in line to purchase two of them. and if they were customizable, he was ordering at least 20.

he came through the front door, two bags in hand. you looked over at him and shook your head, "again?"

"what? a few of them were on sale and the other stuff i couldn't say no to."

"joseph..." you sighed.

"what? they're so cute." he cooed, rushing over and sitting next to you, opening the bags and pulling out all the items, which weren't all of them.

a few were still being personalized with his last name and number, so they were going to either be shipped to the house or he would be coming home with even more bags.

"we're gonna go broke at this rate."

"well, i guess i'll just have to keep playing." he joked. he gathered all his bags and made his way into the twins' bedroom.

the twins, two girls, elizabeth or lizzie for short, and avery, were wide-awake when jt walked into their room, "hi," jt greeted them with a big smile, setting down his bags and kissing each of their heads.

"what'd you get us daddy?" lizzie asked, excitedly peeking into the bags.

he pulled each item out of the bag, showing it to them. they both "oohed" and "awed" as he pulled out each item, "and look, i even got your names on these." he pulled out the shirts, showing them the new sweatshirts with their names on it.

"yay!" they grabbed their sweatshirts and ran off to go put them on.

"what do you say?" you cut in.

"thank you, daddy." they giggled.

taylor's dilf day!

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typical-simplelove · 2 years

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love your writing so much, can I please request #13 from the prompt list with jt compher? thank you so much 💗

"I saw you looking at it last time we were in the store together, so I got it for you" with JT Compher

Requests are now closed!

Bouncing his knee up and down, he waited for you to come home from work. He's not normally this nervous, waiting for you, but he had a surprise for you. It wasn't that he thought you weren't going to like it, but it could be the surprise that changed everything. It could be the surprise that showed it all.

It could be the one thing that finally conveyed to you how much JT loves you.

You gave him the key to your apartment for emergencies, and while this didn't qualify as an emergency, JT didn't feel like waiting in the hallway. He texted you to let you know he was at your apartment, so you know, but it isn't stopping his heart from hammering.

"Hey," you say, announcing your presence as you walk in the door. "I got caught up in a last-minute meeting, so I'm sorry I'm a bit late."

He nods and swallows. No greeting leaves his mouth. He didn't even realize you were running late. As far as JT was concerned, he'd wait for you no matter how long you took.

"Let me just change into some comfier clothes, and I'll be right there," you continue, choosing to ignore JT's confusing behavior.

"Okay," he breathes out, knowing that you're onto his awkwardness.

By the time you emerge from your bedroom in leggings and a sweatshirt—his sweatshirt, which didn't go unnoticed by him—JT's pretending he's okay.

"Did you want to order dinner or something? There's this new Vietnamese place around the corner that I ordered from earlier this week, and it was really, really good, so I think you need to try it."

"Oh, yeah, sure, sounds good," JT replies. His plans of surprising you were just thrown out the window.

"Great," you respond, bouncing up from the couch to find the menu and place the order.

For the next hour or so, JT's returned to his normal behaviors, for the most part. His mind is still trying to figure out just how to tell you about his surprise.

Thankfully, the moment seems to make itself available.

"I got something for you," he tells you as you reach for the remote.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask, a small smile on your face.

"Remember when we went to the jewelry store to buy my mom a birthday gift?" JT begins, walking to where his jacket is hanging on a chair. He reaches for a small box. "This is for you."

Your face goes warm as his hand gently brushes against yours as he places the box in your hand. Slowly, you open the box and gasp at the necklace inside. Hanging on a dainty gold chain is a pendant with JT's initials and a small heart with a tiny diamond.

"I saw you looking at it last time we were in the store together, so I got it for you," JT explains.

"It's so pretty!" you exclaim, jumping from where you were sitting into JT's lap and wrapping him in a hug. You hold him tightly and feel yourself mold perfectly against his body. Slowly, you pull away and look intently into his eyes. "Thank you so much; I love it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Slowly, you close the gap between your and JT's lips. You softly kiss and hope he's not freaked out because it would break your heart if he were freaked out. He's not, though, as his hands go to cup your face, and he deepens the kiss. When you both slowly pull away, you're both warm with love and excitement. "You have no idea how much I love you."

JT laughs. "I don't think you know how much I love you."

You playfully roll your eyes and lean in for another kiss because, after all, the best way to show someone how you feel is by showing them.

#jt compher #claudia writes #jt compher imagine #jt compher fic #jt compher x reader #jt compher imagines #hockey #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl writing #claudia's debut season of heartfirst writing #op: 2022

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matthewtkachuk · 3 months

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bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last.

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you.

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado.

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’.

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count.

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way.

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house.

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid.

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely.

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you.

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours.

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes.

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy.

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level.

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law.

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it.

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit.

It warms your heart.

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate.

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway.

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander.

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena.

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell.

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility.

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier.

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass.

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp.

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs.

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy.

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff.

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.”

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot.

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces.

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you.

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16.

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer.

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move.

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners.

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy.

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed.

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire.

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more.

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper.

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate.

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth.

“It’ll be worth the wait.”

And worth the wait it is.

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices.

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too.

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you.

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure.

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other.

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign.

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan.

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up.

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed.

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life.

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie.

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants.

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is.

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you.

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed.

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush.

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss.

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again.

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing.

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body.

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast.

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs.

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone.

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises.

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too.

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths.

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch.

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him.

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better.

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips.

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him.

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm.

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too.

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up.

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs.

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery.

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall.

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake.

Not only is it not your pizza, it’s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with.

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying.

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless.

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.”

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing.

The reality of the situation hits you.

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life.

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply.

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time.

“He loves you,” she says.

You’re not so sure.

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here.

It’s not all bad though.

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities.

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school.

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat.

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be.

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.”

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.”

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away.

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same.

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red.

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist.

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded.

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head.

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit.

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up.

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled.

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan.

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone.

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts.

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked.

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass.

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours.

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back.

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again.

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact.

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head.

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.”

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist.

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again.

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.”

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial.

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug.

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone, it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother.

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #nhl x reader #jt compher fic #shelb writes

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equallyshaw · 1 year

Text

soft launch feat. Cale makar x reader

—

@y/username: canadas not too shabby

678 likes, 54 comments.

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@mel.landeskog: love this 🙊

@y/username: love u 🫶🏻

@mikkorantanen: wait this is so cute 🧐

@y/usarname: hehe

@bestfriend: breakfast of champs 🤌🏻

@y/username: 🥑🥑🥑🥑

@bigh0rny: pls tell me you learned how to play golf

@y/username: u know i only went for the drinks and golf carts

@syddbad: the only way to golf 🙌🏻

@y/username: you already know !

@gabelandeskog: I already know that this is cheeks

@y/username: 😌😌

@calemakar: stunna

@y/username: u the stunna

@jtcompher: glad my Christmas gift is coming in handy

@y/username: the bass pro hat 😭😭

@bestfriend: now come back I miss u

@y/username: me too :(

@bestfriend1: he stole her away 😭

@nathanmackinnon: not the toast

@y/username: hehe always

@bobyram: ur short

@y/username: not everybody can be a hockey player😾

@bestfriend1: rUdE

•

@calemakar: california ain’t too shabby.

89.9k likes, 2.9k comments.

Load more comments.

@gabelandeskog: there’s no way that you dressed yourself

@bigh0rny: NO CHANCE

@jtcompher: who’s this cale?? Never seen this man I’m my life

@mikkorantanen: 🧐🧐

@mel.landeskog: CHEEKS

@y/username: cHeEkS

@nathanmackinnon: the kid is in love

@gabelandeskog: they grow up so fast 🥹

@bobyram: I wanna go to cali with u cheeks :(

@y/username: come out shortie

@bobyram: rUdE

@y/username: stunning view

@calemakar: ur the stunning view

—

Hope you guys enjoyed! Pls like and reblog if you did :)

#cale makar #cale makar x reader #cale makar blurb #cale makar imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #hockey blurb #hockey imagine #hockey #gabe landeksog #mikko rantanen #erik johnson #bo byram #jt compher #colorado avalanche #Colorado avs

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powermakar · 2 years

Text

Powermakar's master list

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL/REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE.

! = smut

NHL/UMICH HOCKEY

Owen power

The Art of Secret Keeping: Part one Part two Part three! Part four

Keep Your Glasses On !

You Don't Need Your Glasses for This !

I love you, for you

Just not enough

5>1

In Sickness and Health

Ethan Edwards

Paybacks

Don't Say Goodbye

Brace for Impact

Luke Hughes

My Best Friend's Brother !

I'm Not Falling for That Trick

She's Busy

Nick Blankenburg

So Care for a Dance?

Kent Johnson

5>1

Jt Compher

Take a Picture !

Oscar Piastri

New Sheets

Dating him

Logan Sargeant

Slut! (3+1)

This is me Trying

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withwritersblock · 2 months

Text

Dog Days Are Over

~Dog Days Are Over by Florence + the Machine~

Author's Note: saw @kaleforcale888 say something about how he'd react after the game. I could write a thousand different versions but this feels SO Cale coded to me. Summary: Cale scores his first hat trick Warnings: mentions of bo byram being traded lol Word Count: 1,250 Cale Makar x fm!reader

For the past few games, Cale has struggled with his confidence. His entire career, he’s been seen as a superstar. Suddenly, for the first time in his professional career he hasn’t had a great game. He’s had several average games, not up to his personal level of where he needs to be. People were starting to think he was nursing an injury because of how he was playing. He was frustrated and disappointed in himself for how he was playing.

Sure, he got rid of his pointless streak but they were only secondary assists. He wanted more, he needed more. He wanted to contribute to the team and build back his own confidence.

He left his house, stoked for the game giving Y/N a thousand kisses before he left the house. He wore a new suit, for a new Cale. Or rather Vintage Cale. It was a suit that Y/N picked out and he gladly wore it. If he plays well with it, he’ll happily add it to his rotation.

It was a beautiful ceremony before the game with the celebration of Darren Helm. The ceremonial puck drop with Nathan Mackinnon and JT Compher brought tears to her eyes.

“Cale’s flying,” Gabe muttered to Y/N as he leaned his arms against the small table. For the night, Gabe was sitting with the wives and girlfriends of the players. His wife and kids were also in the suit hanging out.

Not long after the Red Wings get on the board, Cale wrists one to the net and scores. The suit erupts into cheers.

“He’s back,” Gabe mumbled before he wandered towards his wife in the center of the suit. Y/N smiled to herself as she watched him skate towards the bench. A simply group celebration is all it took and he was back in the zone. He was pumped and ready to win.

The second period started and for the first nine minutes of the game it was back and forth but the boys were playing well and something was going to happen. Artturi scored to give the boys their first lead of the game.

This was the best game she’s seen them play in a long time. It was the best game she’s seen Cale play in a long time.

With only three and half minutes left in the period, Cale fought hard around the net and scored another goal. “Oh my god,” Y/N muttered as her mouth fell open as she watched him smile for the first time during a celebration. She leaned her body against the table as she smiled and felt a bit of tears filling her eyes. “He’s back,” she mumbled to herself, knowing that he was finally back to who he sees himself to be. He was confident. He was Cale Makar.

They were up by two and on the powerplay. She intently watched Cale pass the puck to Mikko and see him wait for the pucks return. Mikko sends it back as Cale holds for a few seconds before letting it rip towards the net. It was as if the puck went into the net in slow motion. She jumped up and cheered. At first she thought it was Artturi’s goal since he was near the net but hats starting flying onto the ice as Ball Arena was louder than it’s been in a long time.

“Was that Cale?” she found herself asking as her chest ached.

Gabe nodded with a huge smile on his face. She stared towards the ice as the hats continued to rain down and the jumbotron showed Cale smiling widely and talking with Mikko as they skated around the ice waiting for the hats to be collected. Her heart filled with so much admiration and joy as she watched him celebrate. Even if it was just a smile, it was more than he’s done in the past.

~~~

The boys ended up winning 7-2 and she was anxiously waiting outside the locker room for Cale to exit. It was a nightly routine for Cale to be the last one to emerge from the locker room but tonight was vastly different as he had more interviews and some social media obligations.

She couldn’t wait to see him and was getting anxious as Nate walked out of the locker room wearing his warm up attire. He beamed towards Y/N, “He’s almost done,” he let out as he walked towards her giving her a hug. She gladly accepted it, “I knew he’d pull himself out of it,” he mumbled against her hair. He pulled away before he continued his walk out of the arena.

After a few more anxious minutes, Cale emerged wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. She smiled when she saw him and quickly jogged towards him. He chuckled nervously as she wrapped her arms around her neck. He gladly wrapped his arms around her waist as he lifted her up into the air excitedly.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered into his ear. His cheeks were bright red as she pulled away, keeping her arms rested on his shoulders as his hands stayed looped around her waist.

“The boys played really well,” he let out with his lips curled upward. She rolled her eyes playfully as she took a hold of his cheeks.

“Stop being humble,” she muttered before she kissed him. He returned the kiss with urgency as he pulled her towards him. She pulled away, keeping her lips a mere inch away from his. “Be proud of yourself,” she let out before she kissed him again.

“I guess it was pretty cool,” he mumbled as he pulled away, a toothy grin on his face.

“You guess?” she teased as she ran her fingers through his hair. “It was incredible.” she let out.

His smile widened, the longer he looked into her eyes. He was trying to contain his excitement. “Yeah,” he mumbled, pressing his lips together. He pulled her against his chest again as he rocked her body back and forth. “It was a little unbelievable,” he muttered against her hair. He reluctantly released her from his grasp as they began walking towards the parking garage together.

“Comph came up to me after the game and gave me a hug,” he let out as they walked side by side, their hands interlocked.

Her lips fell into a pout as it had been a difficult day filled with so many complex emotions. JT’s first game back at Ball Arena, Darren Helm ceremony, and Bo was traded away a few days prior. It was a bittersweet feeling.

“You’ve been overdue for a while now, Darling,” she mumbled as she knocked into him slightly. She began walking faster as she began dragging him towards their car, “We’ve got celebrating to do,” she mumbled. He raised his eyebrows, a shy smile forming to his lips.

“Oh yeah?” he asked teasingly. She hummed as she pursed her lips forward.

His phone began to ring in his pocket and he pulled it out to see Bo was calling him. Cale smiled widely as he brought the phone to his ear.

“Caler congrats, man!” she heard Bo shout through the phone, she shook her head slightly a small chuckle leaving her lips.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, “Have you met any of the guys over there yet?” Cale asked.

She rolled her eyes playfully. Cale always puts someone else first even on one of the best nights of his career.

#cale makar x reader #cale makar imagines #cale makar #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagines #hockey #nhl fic #nhl x reader #nhl #nhl imagines #Nathan mackinnon #Nathan mackinnon imagines #nathan mackinnon x reader

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sc0tters · 3 months

Note

Speaking of threesomes, do u have any recommendations to read?

there are so many great ones on this app but here are some of my favourites that I could find right now!

OUT WITH A BANG by @holy-pucks (jt compher x reader x tyson jost) - this overall was really hot and well written, I haven't had a chance to finish it yet but I do know that there is a part two for those interested!

TOUCH ME LIKE A SUMMER NIGHT by @senditcolton (casey cizikas x matt martin) - this was actually my first introduction to both of these players and I have to say that it is still one of my favourite things that I have read to this day.

ADDICTIONS by @drysdalesv (trevor zegras x jack hughes) - you guys are getting the entire series linked here because of how much I loved it, this is honestly the entire reason why I started writing threesomes too!

↳ honourable mentions from this author

THE AFTER PARTY by @comphy-and-cozy (brady skjei x andrei svechnikov) - this one had me KICKING my feet I loved it so much, the whole new fling x old flame pairing had me rolling on the floor.

IN A BOX by @babydollmarauders (trevor zegras x jamie drysdale) - this had such a good progression that not only had me feeling like a puddle but also beyond speechless in the best ways possible.

DIGITAL ANIMALS by @burreaux-drys (ethan edwards x rutger mcgroarty) - THIS ONE, im still not over. literally if you're a reader for college boys go read this right now.

THE ROAD WIFE by @cellythefloshie (tampa bay lightning) - I put this at the end because I am not entirely sure that it counts as a threesome but like literally if you don't mind a bit of cheating then. you gotta get behind this one.

#amber recommends fics

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holy-puckslibrary · 3 months

Text

━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc — 14k synopsis — what's a reunion without some groveling?

note — this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au — tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, reader’s wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger???

Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time.

Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far you’ve come until it pinches you.

You’ve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as you’re a different person than you were three years ago.

Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldn’t believe it’d one day feel too small. You can’t fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.

But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too.

Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting.

The drive between your new life and your old one hadn’t been too bad, but that’s probably because you didn’t do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand.

“This is so weird,” JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.

As you survey the crowd, you nod.

He didn’t need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. You’re well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you don’t think you’re all that different, but everything still feels foreign.

All the right pieces are there, and you’re sure you’ve put them in their proper places, but the image won’t behave.

You quickly realize the only thing that’s misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket.

“Look what the cat dragged in, boys!”

A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.

Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.

“Compher and the missus,” the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JT’s a quick pat but merely cups yours.

His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would.

“I was starting to think we’d have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.”

JT’s affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.

“A night, Landy. We’ve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,” your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabe’s flushed cheek, returning the favor.

The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet it’s as well-trained as your firstborn.”

Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabe’s strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.

Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit.

Free booze and a free show—lucky them!

Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you would’ve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.

Tyson’s loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.

You would like to say nothing’s changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That you’re just as close as you’d been in college, that distance hadn’t done as much damage as it has.

You'd be lying if you did.

You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didn’t end up mattering much.

JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and you’ve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tyson’s sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriend’s head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.

Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JT’s respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.

After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. He’s yet to see it, still.

Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.

A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tyson’s insistence on you finally hooking up and “putting everyone out of their misery,” his smile didn’t meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasn’t a one-night thing.

Maybe his “little crush” hadn’t been so little after all.

If that’s the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.

Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You weren’t sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.

Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.

“Yikes,” Gabe drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. This—whatever it is —feels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.

JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed house—some remix you don’t remember learning the words to. “Trouble? Nah, Josty’d have to give us the time of day for that.”

Gabe laughs, but you know JT isn’t trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. It’s impossible not to without an artificial buzz.

There’s no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck.

Kate.

“Fuckin finally!” The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.

Definitely drunk. Or high—or both.

“Don’t look at me,” you say, beaming when she pulls back. “I wasn’t driving.”

Kate swats JT’s chest with her open palm. “And this is why we don’t let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.”

The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and she’s probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.

The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, they’ve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. She’s more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.

“Well, we’re here now. Alive.”

Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.

“And now I’m stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do… whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.”

“Excellent idea, Madame President,” Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male ginger’s shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kate’s direction.

Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, “President’s bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.”

Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.

“Good girl.”

As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.

Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someone’s mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so it’s no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm.

When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.

It’s not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so it’s going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.

“You, my dear, look thirsty,” Kate declares through a mischievous grin.

You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but she’s quick to show you off to whoever’s trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kate’s been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and it’s very… dizzying, to say the least.

“Kit-Kat!”

Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.

In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, you’re having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.

“Blake Meyers,” the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.

You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name.

“Meyers?” you ask, attempting to work it out.

“Ava’s younger sister,” Kate interjects. “And one of our best steals this past recruitment.”

Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.

You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight,” the freshman tells you bashfully. “Kate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed like—I don’t know, a non-negotiable?”

Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldn’t have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldn’t physically be there for her.

You won’t be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. It’s basically a family tradition.

Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.

Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. You’re more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.

Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.

This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You can’t help but smile when you see her reach for the lock—your old lock.

Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.

“Wait, can you even drink?” Kate asks you from where she’s kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.

“Hilarious,” you reply with a playful glare. “And before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, don’t. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."

Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your “old age.” She shoves a ratty sweatshirt—an old favorite of Tyson’s—back into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.

“So, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?” you ask, brow cocked.

“Do you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?” Kate counters.

“Touché.”

Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. She’s going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when you’re the one doing the asking.

“Okay, so, d’you remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?”

You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.

Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, “Well, I was understandably pissed—Don’t give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldn’t have been that blasé that soon—so, I hatched a plan.”

You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.

“I wasn’t planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before… I don’t know; I just couldn’t resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyone’s getting a reaction, it’s Landy. I had to.”

“And?” you prod.

“And…” she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. “…we might’ve done it in the backseat of his truck.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

She buries her face in your shoulder. “The venue’s parking lot.”

Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry they’ll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.

“And I didn’t tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,” Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. “You don’t, right?”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,” you giggle, and she’s quick to join you. Lowering your voice, “Especially the hottest of hot blondes.”

“I’m so telling JT you said that,” she teases, pulling away.

You shrug and take your first sip. “Go ahead. He’ll agree.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite couple,” she says, bumping her hip against yours. “The worst part is Tyson didn’t even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabe’s neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?”

“I wish I had an explanation for you, but I don’t. I’m starting to think I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast like there’s something super interesting between the floorboards. “I know he’s busy, and we’re busy, but he’s acting like our friendship meant nothing.”

“Not to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"

A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain what’d been weighing on your conscience.

Then, your boyfriend looked clueless—because he was. JT didn’t remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Josty’s image of you.

After a scene or two, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JT’s permission, but you felt it wasn’t entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.

You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where there’s none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be.

Something shifted that night. You’d known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t uncommon for his dejected expression—his forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalance—to visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.

But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down… You couldn’t get yourself to see it through.

At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just plain, garden-variety sadness.

It was—is disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.

"In the moment, I was certain he didn’t. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,” you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I don’t know, say anything?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."

You snort despite your woes.

“Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one night. How’s my nephew?” Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.

It’s a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions you’re starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents you’ve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with you—it lasted all of a day in his over-excited grip—then gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.

By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, you’re feeling a bit better.

Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairs—alone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesn’t give you a hard time. To be honest, she’s just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.

Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Three’s the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

“What? No riddle this time?” you tease over your shoulder.

The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. “I was given strict instructions to ‘keep the shenanigans’ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.”

“JT?” you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. He’s the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.

“Landy, actually.”

Well, close enough.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JT’s more salacious antics.

As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kate’s. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal… while you were defiled on the balcony.

“Still doing his bidding, I see.”

He counters with that lopsided “Get Out of Jail Free” grin. “What can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.”

As if cued, Cale’s companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alex’s raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowen’s, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know he’ll misplace before he can polish it off.

“Jesus, how drunk is he?” you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.

Sure, the quality’s shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; it’s a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.

“Not drunk enough to not see you here with us.” Cale’s voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, “…and not up there with JTC.”

JTC — Talk about a blast from the past.

An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing he’s up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your “homecoming” that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.

As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but you’re finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.

Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, you’ve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, they’ve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.

However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agency—the ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involved—has you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.

Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, “Thank you for your service!” accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You don’t stick around to catch their responses, though.

As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for something—Something about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?—but it’s more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what you’re accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, who’d been JT’s vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancé out of your path by the shoulders.

You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.

Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You can’t help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who would’ve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That would’ve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy she’s happy.

Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.

As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the president’s suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.

JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. That’s a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.

And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?

Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. “I was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.”

The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isn’t a hard person to read—downright wolfish when he’s homing in on a target—but the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.

Your body thrums with anticipation.

“Never,” you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: “Is there a reason we’re in your old bedroom instead of, I don’t know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?”

Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.

“Y’know, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,” JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.

He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.

You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.

The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.

JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until he’s pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.

Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.

“There’s still one thing left on my college bucket list.”

He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desire—of who is in charge.

Message received. Loud and clear.

JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; you’ve never been able to hide from him and never will.

His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like he’s committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.

This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; it’s a primal instinct.

For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.

There isn’t enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge — and you’re glad for it. It’d be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.

JT’s chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. “You gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?”

His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didn’t realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.

The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous — your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like it’s the first.

“Hm, sweetheart? Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”

Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.

The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.

His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.

“P-please,” comes your pouted whimper.

“Focus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to — and you aren’t in a position to be difficult, are you?”

You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JT’s ultimately satisfied.

“Such a good listener I’ve got myself. But you’re always to eager to please, aren’t you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but it’s just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.”

His frankness sears your face.

You’ve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said “odds” being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. “Don’t l-let it go to waste, Compher.”

It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.

He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.

“I don’t think it matters, sweetheart. I know there’s no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.”

With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. “Is that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?”

Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remark’s undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.

His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. “Are you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?”

You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.

“Nothing to say now?” JT taunts. “Funny how that works.”

Fuckin’ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.

Your boyfriend’s smugness—and your subsequent annoyance—becomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.

Hips bucking forward—you just can’t help yourself—you're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. He’s made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like it’s already his to occupy.

Your surprise drips down his hand.

The bliss—the relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.

Before, you didn’t see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasn’t lost on you, of course, but that’s all you’d written it off as.

Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.

This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress you’ve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoons—this ostensibly clichéd moment is an amalgamation of it all.

One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?

Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?

The journey might’ve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.

Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride would’ve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.

His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad back—I’m feeling nostalgic, he’d said. In more ways than one, apparently.

“S’good—wanted this for so long, Compher—k-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.”

JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.

Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back.

Away.

Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.

“I don’t ever want to hear another man’s name outta your mouth when it’s my fingers buried in your pussy.” His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like he’s been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "—'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.”

You’d grin if you weren’t so miserable.

That’d been your intention. It wasn’t anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTC’s hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason you’d been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.

Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, you’d of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JT’s buttons.

There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didn’t know that. If sitting in their chapter house’s kitchen at 5 o’clock the next morning didn’t raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.

Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didn’t have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.

You’d tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.

“Did you like what you heard?”

His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.

You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, “Did you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place… wishing it was my pussy instead?”

You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.

He squeezes until you’re no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close you’re getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit.” His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when it’s you yanking his chain. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste —Grapefruit, maybe?—and you suck it in like you haven’t had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.

He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.

“Don’t want him, never wanted him. Jus’ you—Always you.” It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.

JT’s cock isn’t immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, “Go on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly who’s fucking you this good.”

You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.

JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once you’ve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.

A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.

His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."

You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.

“What’re you doing?” Strained, barely above a whisper.

He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. “Come on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, can’t you?”

You aren’t an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JT’s… Well, anything—but definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your company’s holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.

It hasn’t lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.

Fuckin’ tease.

Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. “As long as you let me return the favor after—need to taste you so bad.”

“Deal,” he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.

His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you don’t miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because it’d normally be a tease-able offense.

But not tonight, not right now.

Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.

JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriend’s earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward to—

Something bangs against the door.

His face falls; your heart seizes.

“Occupied!” your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

A full, lilting sound barrels into the door—too-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. “It’s me, dickhead.”

Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JT’s reprimanding; you’re hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.

Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in time—good-humored, untouched. As if nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasn’t ignored you for months on end, like your and JT’s absence in his life wasn’t felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.

Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasé demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honest—too much.

The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isn’t capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.

Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. It’s difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when there’s no easy place to lay blame.

A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. You’re nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words you’ve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammable—your silence is probably for the best.

Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesn’t suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues you’ve never seen in him before.

The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.

Anxiously, you chew on time; you’re trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.

JT’s pulse races against your skin. He’s just as affected, just better at hiding it.

“Took you long enough,” is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.

All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces you’re missing.

JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. “Fuck now, talk later. Sound good?”

His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotions—lust overtaking the pack with ease.

Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. It’s as if you’re afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.

“Figured you’d be a little parched, baby.” Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”

You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy you’d become if he ever stood before you again.

Both men notice.

Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriend’s trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriend’s weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. “Filthy bastard.”

Charming as ever.

“She deserved it.” JT’s nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.

Wicked eyes twinkle. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.

He yelps and bats your hand away. “Got you good, didn’t he?”

You nod.

The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriend’s back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.

Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.

“Poor thing,” Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. “M'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.”

It’s something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but you’d never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. You’re too eager to impress them both to give in and react—to the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything you’re given.

Still, either by virtue of Tyson’s lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isn’t enough time to consider wiping it off; Josty’s mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.

“Would be a shame…” Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks he’s decided to spoil your décolletage with, “…to let it go to waste.”

JT’s begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. “Jesus, kid. Where’d you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking ‘who' you've been doing?"

Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of reaction only you’re close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever he’s implying.

You’re too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.

Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skin—your boyfriend a few paces away, watching. That’s more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesn’t take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tyson’s chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.

Happy.

“Somethin’ special, aren’t you?” Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.

“As sweet as this reunion’s been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we don’t have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.”

You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you weren’t the intended target.

JT’s dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JT’s thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. He’s conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.

Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadow’s fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.

“You’re scaring me, Josty.”

This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. “If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.

“I-I’ve been such an ass. I—I just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than ever—without me. It fucking sucked, and I didn’t cope well. Didn’t cope at all, really. Kate’ll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.”

You can’t help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.

Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. “But that’s no excuse for what I did—didn’t do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like you’re supposed to.”

He claims JT’s old spot knelt between your parted knees. “And I’m sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you—let me apologize properly.”

Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.

A silent pardon.

The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible content—of relief.

“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.

Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejection—and to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possible—to bother with words, you nod immediately.

“With how much she’s been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?” JT interjects, mood vastly improved.

Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.

The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.

A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything. Didn’t want to embarrass her.” He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; he’s that stupidly attractive. “ —was try t’be a gentleman.”

You’re a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.

Tyson wants to tease your body; it’s in his nature. But he won’t. Namely, because he can’t. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, he’s already on JT’s shit list as is.

Besides, he’s only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...

Your guttural scream—an appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clit—pumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadn’t thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.

“Pause.”

JT’s clipped command is a bucket of ice water.

Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tyson’s, but you both know how delicate a game you’re playing.

With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tyson’s inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, it’s swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriend’s firm hand.

You can’t even convey how hot you find JT’s fingers casually twisting in his friend’s curly mop—just the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JT’s self-assured manhandling.

Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.

“Have to make sure he does it right, don’t I, sweetheart?” JT’s voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; he’s enjoying the view as much as you are.

Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. “Controlling much?”

“I know what my woman needs.”

The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.

And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.

His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tyson’s breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the two’s eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.

JT licks his lips, triumphant. “Open her up for me, will ya?” Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriend’s lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. “Don’t screw around, ‘kay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we don’t have all night.”

Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where you’re most sensitive.

You actually yelp.

Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his name—But who knows? And who fucking cares?—unable to control yourself while he’s finally touching you like this. Finally back.

Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.

“What d’ya think, baby? Think you’re wet enough to take another finger?” JT’s tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. “Please—c-can I? Can I have another?”

His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.

JT’s reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. “You heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.”

Kid—Tyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. There’s barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, he’s still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that won’t end.

He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.

He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all three—wide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)

Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.

JT’s hand retreats—only slightly—to make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriend’s chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.

During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tyson’s tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.

“Holy shit — Ty, I-I’m — I’m — “

The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.

Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesn’t hurt either.

Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.

“Just like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so good—doin’ so good for us.”

JT’s praise sends the brunette’s unoccupied hand right to his bulge.

This is the best he’s felt in months.

There’s the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.

He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.

Josty’s guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.

“Y’haven’t earned it, bud,” his mentor chides.

The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering there’s work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.

Tempting him to do something, to take it further…

He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about it—you can see the tape winding in his eyes.

JT can read Tyson’s mind through his skull, apparently. “Don’t even think about it, kid. Her last one’s mine, but you’re more than welcome to watch from right here.” —Your boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing it’ll be close quarters for you both— “Just remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.”

And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, he’s just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.

He’s always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.

Finally ready to play fearless.

JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.

Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck you’re graduated and gone. Otherwise, you’d never live this down—Kate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if she’s feeling particularly charitable, though.

Your boyfriend’s grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.

He wants you on display.

Your gasp is rivaled only by Tyson’s pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.

The ginger’s chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.

Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.

“Bend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl he’s been missing out on—what a filthy thing you’ve turned into.”

As soon as you’ve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. It’s fast and dirty; primal. He knows there’s no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.

You watch Josty’s mouth part like he’s about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.

Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriend’s bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; that’s what you’re now watching. He’s mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.

JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.

I’ll handle it.

At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo.

“Fuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.”

Keep rubbing your clit.

Keep playing with you.

Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.

Be present.

Be here.

“Such a fucking mess, baby. Don’t know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.”

The two halves of Tyson’s demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.

Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering you’re doing.

A familiar palm shoots to your raw neck—tender, inside and out—lightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.

Still, he furthers their madcap banter. “I dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I think she’s tryna milk me dry for good.”

If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pants—post-pubescence, it would be now.

Like, right fucking now.

The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JT’s neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.

Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too much—it’s all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the last—half-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friend’s damp, tented lap.

“Not gonna last, sweetheart—y’feel too damn good, s’tight and warm, always strangling my cock—know you’re close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girl—need to feel your perfect pussy squeezin’ me dry.”

It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.

You’re a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JT’s arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.

For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; there’s simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enough—silence says it all.

Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.

JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the door—only as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; you’re too tired to take any initiative.

Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, that’s how much of this your boyfriend’s willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.

“Paging Mrs. Compher!” Gabe hollers over JT’s head. “Clean up on aisle ‘Kate.’”

Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.

You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. It’s pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn don’t exactly lend themselves to effective primping.

And it’s not like you’ve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either.

Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.

Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.

As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriend’s irritation. “—and you’re sure there isn’t anyone else to hold her hair back? Why can’t you do it?”

The gears in Gabe’s skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your haven—he’s intoxicated, not stupid.

“CupKate wants her mommy.” The blonde winks at you over JT’s shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tyson’s equally disheveled state. “And what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weather’s hot and steamy this time of year.”

“Real mature, Landy, real mature,” JT scoffs.

The sound just revs him up. “Says the fucker who’s locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.”

“Can you two go measure your dicks, I don’t know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.”

You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday.

Years have passed, but you’re all still the same.

“Me-yeoh!” Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.

Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JT’s jaw tick.

The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. “Whoops?”

Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that you’re decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.

He juts his head in Landy’s direction with a sardonic eye-roll. “Go on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. I’ll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.”

“Meet you out front?” You ask, and he nods.

You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. It’s faint, but they instantly soften for you.

Before they know it, you’re slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accouterment—chivalry isn’t dead!

Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. “Nicely done, boys. Nicely done. Can’t say I thought we’d see the day—or that either of you had it in ya—but I feel like a proud father.” He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. “Makes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost ti—”

JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.

The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded.

As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bell’s hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tyson’s stomach along with it.

The air shouldn’t, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.

“If—uh, wow.” A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.

JT doesn’t interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.

Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. “If I’d known this would be our swan song, I would’ve tried to enjoy it more. I don’t know—savored it, I guess?”

“This,” JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isn’t hanging fire. “— is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Before they got into it in the garage, before they’d been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.

They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.

JT’s alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.

Tyson balks. “Me?”

Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. He’s bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.

“I love her—and I know you do, too. I’m not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.”

Tyson’s head hangs lower, chagrined.

JT continues, “I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I didn’t want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure you’d be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.”

Tyson can’t help but snort at the sheer absurdity. “Left out… God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isn’t even mine.”

“Pathetic was going AWOL.”

Josty winces. He doesn’t argue because he has zero ground to stand on.

“But feeling something? Far from it.”

“I didn't—don’t want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.” The hurt’s been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.

JT’s smile is just as downy. “I do, and you’d be wasting time by trying.”

Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.

You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. He’s always been it for you. There’s never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.

“Thank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,” the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.

They’re side-by-side, as they should be.

“Why’s that?”

JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, “Something to remember tonight by.”

Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.

Your boyfriend grins.

“The best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, don’t you think?”

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comphy-and-cozy · 8 months

Text

unforgettable - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Word Count: 3.1K

Author's Note: This is fully the most self-indulgent and personal fic I have ever and will ever write, so if no one likes it I'm still not gonna be sorry. This is wildly contrived and barely passable as realistic. It is quite literally Y/N's Story (C's Version). You'll know what I mean when you read it. Thanks to @smileysvech for listening to me be unhinged about this for like two months straight - you a real one. And in case you are wondering, this is the fic in question.

Warnings: Suggestive/adult content (18+ recommended), discussions about sex/sexual implications, alcohol use/consumption, full insanity. Like a medium burn/banter that's basically foreplay but no actual sexy times.

series masterlist | nhl masterlist | part 2

November 2021

Meeting a personal idol is always a special experience, full of excitement, nerves, anticipation; hopefully making a connection to tell them how much you admire them or what they mean to you. Even if it’s the intention, it feels a little embarrassing to be at a fan event put on by the team, like you’re too old to be at a function for the sole purpose of meeting professional hockey players, and the concept of being perceived is, frankly, almost overwhelming.

But then they turn out to be kind, funny, and courteous; not at all what you expected. They smile at you, ask you your name, thank you for coming, engage with you like you’re a regular human being. Like they’re a regular human being. (They are, of course, but it’s difficult to comprehend that when you’re used to them being little men on your television screen with ice knives strapped to their feet.)

When you get to your favorite TV Ice Man, he’s beautiful, and it takes you a moment to get rid of the shakiness in your voice when you hear him say your name for the first time. The warmth of his hand on your back when you pose for a photo together lingers long after he pulls away, smiling at you as he says, “Tag me in that on Instagram.”

It’s exhilarating, enough to have you bouncing from cloud to cloud as you leave, heart soaring. Still, after walking out on shaky legs with the most precious memories and photos tucked safely into your phone, you’re in need of a drink to settle the nerves that have been floating in your belly since the night began.

As soon as it touches your tongue, the drink helps to calm you down, and you’re in a dreamland as you reflect on the evening behind you. A real conversation with JT Compher, the man you’ve had a crush on for years—and he talked to you! He is aware you exist! And though you’re sure it’s a figment of your imagination, you’ll remember the warmth in his eyes when they connected with yours for the rest of your life.

Luck is on your side, it seems, when you catch a group of tall, muscular men walking in out of the corner of your eye; the aura of the room instantly changes in their presence, like the room automatically got ten degrees hotter. In the middle of the pack is the unmistakable red hair, styled meticulously, only now he’s lost his tie in favor of unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. He looks good, dressed down in a way that makes him look even more delicious than before.

His aura is different now that the event is over, like he’s able to remove the mask he put on for the public at a work event; now, he’s just a normal guy out on a Friday night with his friends. Other than the Gucci belt and Tom Ford suit, one would have no idea that he’s got an extra digit at the end of his paycheck, and he loves that.

Until he sees you. You, who knows exactly who he is, who is fully aware he’s unwinding from a long and tiring fan event with his friends. He’d have to be an idiot to forget your face, the one that made him pause when you told him your name, his breath hitching in his throat just for a moment.

When he sidles up next to you at the bar, the last thing you expect is for him to greet you, let alone remember your name. You look at him in surprise when he offers to buy your drink, gaping for a little too long until you’re nodding shyly.

“Have fun at the event?” he asks after sliding his card across the bar to open a tab, leaning up against the ornate marble as he faces you.

“It was incredible,” you reply with a blissful smile. “They—you guys—are always so nice.”

The corners of his lips curl upward, just slightly, pleased at your positive review. “I’m glad to hear that. The fans are so important to us, so I—we—like to be able to give back when we can.”

“It doesn’t get exhausting? Talking to all those people?”

Something shifts in his eyes, and briefly you wonder if he’s toying with the line of talking to a fan versus just a stranger, contemplating if he should drop a layer of his public persona. Eyeing the extra sliver of creamy skin peeking out from his unbuttoned collar, you’d say he’s already halfway there.

“It can be a lot,” he admits. “But it really is fun. And very humbling.”

Your drink is placed on the bar in front of you, and the bartender nods at JT when he asks to keep the tab open. Your heart does a flip, but you remind yourself he’s here with friends.

“How long have you been a fan?”

“I’ve been watching hockey since I was a kid,” you say, and he nods in understanding. You tell him of the photos of you as a toddler, standing in your neon windbreaker next to the Stanley Cup; you note the way his eyes glitter when you mention it, like he’s wistfully envisioning the day he’ll lift the trophy himself. You note the way you like it.

“Let me guess. Your favorite player was Joe Sakic.”

“Actually, you might hate this, but my favorite player was Steve Yzerman.”

JT’s eyebrows raise as he shrugs. “Hard to argue with that, even if he did beat the Avs. Are you a Wings fan?”

“I went to U of M, so I went to a lot of games when I lived in Ann Arbor. So I think I am by default.”

You can see his eyes shift at the mention of his alma mater, like something’s permanently altered in the dynamic between you. He doesn’t need to tell you that he went there, too, but he does anyway. “Go Blue.”

With a smirk, you raise your glass and clink the base against his as you say it back. Your eyes flick to the group he arrived with, upstairs in the VIP area, surrounded by pretty girls in tight skirts.

“Do you need to get back to them?”

JT takes a sip of his own drink, an Old Fashioned, then licks his lips again like he knows it’ll catch your attention. Then he shrugs, nonchalant. “Would rather stay here with you. Have to make sure the drink I paid for doesn’t go to waste.”

He’s too smooth, you think, warning yourself to keep an eye on him or you’d be swooning at his feet. Not that you aren’t already ready to, your own willpower barely holding up under his gaze and your Amaretto Sour weaving its way into your senses.

“What’s a Wings fan doing in Denver?”

It’s a simple question, the logical one, but you’re still surprised that he asks, that he wants to know more about the one of many fans he met tonight. Still, you answer, explain that you’re visiting friends who are big Avs fans. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you’ve had a crush on him for years, that you timed your visit to coincide with the event. That you’re having an internal meltdown just existing in his presence and trying desperately hard to remain cool and composed.

And you can’t tell if he’s flirting with you, or if he’s just being nice, which makes you panic even more, gulping down the remainder of your drink in an attempt to calm your nerves. Do his eyes keep shifting down to your cleavage, or is that your imagination? Is he letting his cheek brush against yours when he speaks into your ear, or is it just an accident?

Another round of drinks later, and he’s still here, and now you’re sure he’s at least some kind of interested. His friends are upstairs, loud, rambunctious, and he hasn’t even given them so much as a glance, instead focused on you and making you shiver under his attention.

The conversation has been steady, making its way through hockey, past childhood, and college, and jobs, and now you’re onto hobbies. And you may have accidentally let it slip that you like to write.

It’s against your own will that your mouth announces, out loud, to a professional athlete, that you write hockey fanfiction. Or, wrote. Have written. Either way, it’s the alcohol’s fault, and you’re tempted to dump the remaining contents of your glass on the ground to avoid saying anything else.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, a grin breaking out onto his face. “Oh, now you have to tell me more.”

You’re shaking your head no, face sweltering hot when you realize what you’ve just admitted. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I just said that. I think this conversation is done.”

“Aww, come on, tell me,” he prods, nudging your knee with his. “Was it about someone I know?”

You draw your lips tight, shaking your head to tell him your lips are sealed.

“It was!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “I bet it was about Gabe. Wasn’t it? All the girls love Gabe. He’s a dreamboat.”

Covering your mouth with your hand, you shake your head at him again. This cannot be fucking happening right now.

“No Gabe? Hm…” he looks around, as if he’s searching for the subject in front of him. “Oh! Josty. He’s got a whole following of fangirls.”

Part of you wants to laugh, and the other part of you wants to die immediately on the spot, buried beneath the ground without another word. He isn’t wrong, but he is dangerously close to discovering the truth.

He sees your reaction, inferring that no, it wasn’t Josty, and he takes another sip of his drink as he racks his brain. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, mulling over the options like he’s mentally running through an encyclopedia of NHL players. Then, his eyes shift, a glitter returning to them before they’re landing back on you, and suddenly you feel hot all over, sensing the end of your life hurtling rapidly towards you.

“It’s me, isn’t it?”

Face scorching hot, you can’t help the defeated smile on your face as you cast your eyes away, mortified beyond belief. Why did you have to say anything? Things were going so well, and now you’re preparing for him to make a quick exit and dash upstairs to laugh at you with his teammates, a story that would surely make the rounds through the league. You’re contemplating which path to the door is quickest, which will get you out of there fast enough to avoid dying of embarrassment on the spot.

But instead of making a run for it, he just laughs, a surprised expression on his face. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m just gonna go now—”

“No, no,” he’s quick to say, waving his hand to show he isn’t bothered, and maybe an air of, please, stay. “I’m flattered, honestly. I didn’t think anyone liked me like that.”

Oh, they do, you think, but your semblance of self-control has taken over again, covering your mouth before the thought can verbalize; at least you can shut the fuck up sometimes. Instead, you shrug playfully, then take another sip, thinking that at the very least, you can drown out your humiliation with more alcohol.

“You gonna tell me what it was about, or you playing hard to get?”

His question is subtle but clearly twofold in meaning, and you nearly choke on your drink again. Is this real? This has to be a dream.

Forcing yourself to get your wits together, you say, “I’m gonna need another drink if you want to even remotely convince me to share that.”

“I can do that,” he grins. “Say no more.”

It’s only after he returns with another drink in hand that you notice the flush in his cheeks, the way the warm mahogany of his eyes have turned a little more molten. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe—unlikely—it’s you. Probably the former. Surely the former.

He keeps the conversation light, allowing you to ask about life as an NHL star, about his favorite part about Denver, about who his funniest teammate is. He’s surprised, though, when you ask what he misses the most about life before the NHL; what he wishes he could have amidst the fanfare of being a professional athlete.

Mulling over your question, he takes another sip of his cocktail, and you seize the opportunity to admire his face, up close. The neat landscaping of his beard, the perfectly styled coiff of his hair, the deep mauvey-pink shade of his lips. God, he’s handsome.

His laugh pulls you out of your daydream, and he raises his glass toward you. “Thank you.”

You’re confused for a moment, until you realize that your thought wasn’t an internal commentary at all, but something that slipped out of your mouth by accident. You have quite literally turned into a stuttering, bumbling fool in his presence. He doesn’t seem bothered, though, swiftly moving past the moment to answer: “Honestly, I think what I miss most are conversations like this. Where I don’t have to be ‘on,’ where I can just be a normal guy with a pretty girl at a bar.”

“A girl telling you she wrote smutty fanfiction about you is ‘normal’?”

JT’s face shifts, and all at once you realize the additional descriptor you used, immediately groaning at the accidental admission. Why do you keep doing this? Why does it have to be him?

“Smutty? Like, it’s spicy?”

“No,” you lie, but the speed of your reply is a dead giveaway, and suddenly he’s grinning.

“You wrote—” he drops his voice to a whisper, “—sexy times about me?”

Your non-answer is an answer in itself, and the smile on his face is so wide, he might as well have won the Stanley Cup. Your face burns, could probably fry an egg on your cheeks, ready to slink into a hole and never come out.

“Oh, come on, now you have to tell me!” he says. “I won’t judge. I swear.”

“I’m sorry, that information is classified. It’s firmly secured under lock, key, and shark-infested waters with lasers attached to their heads.”

“Okay, fine, I can play this game,” he grins, pretending to crack his knuckles. “Was there… a blowjob?”

“Jesus, JT. Coming in hot, are you?” Then, “No.”

“That hurts, but I understand,” he places his hand over his heart. “What about… cunnlingus?”

“I am shocked that you know what that word means.”

“I have an elite education. You should know.”

“The leaders and best,” you say with a raised glass.

“Stop deflecting. Did I eat you out or not?”

The intimacy and bluntness of the phrasing makes your heart flutter, along with the area in question. The devil on your shoulder is whispering, fuck around and find out. So, with an internal shrug, you do. “You may have.”

JT beams. “Excellent.”

He rapid fires off more categories—spanking, handcuffs, edging, foot fetish?—all of which make your cheeks burn the more he inquires, as casual as asking you about what you do for a living.

“Threesome?”

“No.”

He hums. “Good. I didn’t want to share.”

The admission catches you off-guard, and judging by the way he eyes you for your reaction, he said it intentionally to rile you up. You hope he can’t see the rapid way your heart beats in your throat, the idea that this professional athlete would ever be possessive over a fan with a crush.

His last question pulls you from your thoughts and also makes you nearly snort your drink out of your nose. “Anal?”

“Jim Tim, I’m really gonna need you to cool it with topics I’m wildly unprepared to discuss.”

“That sounds like you’ll be ready at some point, though.”

“Maybe if you call me in about 100 years, I will be.”

He hums, then swirls the ice left in his glass. “What about the time it takes me to cash out and Uber back to mine?”

Your brain completely shuts down at the invitation, the proposition striking you in the face. He couldn’t have seriously been flirting with you this entire time, could he? Surely, he was just being silly with a girl—a fan—who he’ll never see again?

But he’s looking at you, and it feels like the time has long since passed if he was going to announce that it’s all been a joke. He’s waiting for your reply, for a confirmation that all of his hard work and perfect banter has not gone to waste.

So you nod, letting out a loud sigh as soon as his red hair disappears back into the crowd to pay his tab. Your hands are shaking, your heart threatening to leap out of your throat, and you glance around like everyone is going to start laughing at you for believing that JT Compher would want to take you home.

JT’s skin tingles as he signs his check, nodding a ‘thank you’ at the bartender before pocketing his wallet. This wasn’t what he expected when he prepped himself for the event tonight; he anticipated photos, nervous fans, hand aching from signing so many hats and jerseys—and afterward, decompressing at the bar with the guys, having a few drinks, guffawing along as Bo surely makes a fool of himself. Instead, he feels like he’s been smacked in the face, in awe of the girl he met and promptly learned he can’t get enough of. It’s only been a few hours, but he’s hooked on her smile, on her quick wit, on the way she makes his cock twitch in his pants when she laughs.

He yearns to be with her, now, to try his chances at feeling her pretty lips on his, to get a better glimpse at the jeans she painted on over the tempting curve of her hips. Though he’s confident—she wrote fanfiction about him for Christ’s sake—it’s far from a slam-dunk, but he’s eager to embrace the challenge ahead, and equally content to just spend more time basking in her presence.

But when he returns to the spot he left her at, she’s nowhere to be found. He scans the crowd, searching for the eyes that have captivated him so deeply. A tinge of nerves blaze through him, the thought of being ghosted flitting through his brain, but then he remembers the way she looked at him, the way her breath hitched when he leaned in close to her.

So, he searches for her, sure she’s just stepped away for a moment. He checks the bar, the restroom, the front door, the back door—nothing. And then he finally accepts the truth: She’s gone, disappeared without a word, far too good to be true.

JT Ubers home alone, left to quell the burning in his gut in the somber solidarity of his bedroom, wistfully wondering if your paths will cross again someday.

SIMILAR CONTENT: Already Ready to Go* A Night in Paris* Adore You

Tagging: @somuchf4rstardust @laurenairay @senditcolton @fallinallincurls

#jt compher fic #jt compher imagine #jt compher x reader #hockey fic #nhl imagine #jt compher fanfiction #jt compher smut #nhl fic #hockey imagine #a dream come true

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laurenairay · 2 years

Text

watermelon sugar high - JT Compher

Summary: after three years together, it’s finally your turn – the day of your wedding to JT Compher.

Word Count: 4.5 words

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, kissing, wedding day, anxiety

A/N: we made it! The end of this little story series – I sincerely hope you’ve all enjoyed reading these as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them! I’d love to know your thoughts 💛

Third, and final, part in the watermelon sugar series, sequel to breathe me in, breathe me out and strawberries on a summer evening.

Tagging: @fallinallincurls @suitandtys @sorryjustafangirl @jostystyles @starshine-hockey-girl @xsyntheticsensation @senditcolton @hockeylvr59 @corneliaskates @tysojost

*"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." – Dr. Seuss

Sometimes it can be scary how fast time flies.

The longer you dated JT, the more romantic he became. It was all the little things – he brought you flowers every time he saw you, he started keeping your favourite tea in his kitchen for when you stayed overnight, he always gave you little kisses in passing, he never failed to hold your hand whenever the two of you were out in public, and he spent ages shopping for the perfect Christmas decorations that first Christmas together. And those things were only the tip of the iceberg. He only grew softer, sweeter, sappier when you moved in with him too, two years into your relationship. This was your JT, the sweet gentleman; it was a side of him he never let show in public, and you got to be the person to see the real him, more and more each day.

Before you knew it, three years had passed since that fateful summer, reuniting with JT after so long, starting up that change from childhood friends to more, and you couldn’t imagine your life without him. Not that you would have to, with JT proposing only three months after you’d moved in with him a year ago.

You hadn’t thought much of the walk JT had invited you on one Sunday morning through your old Northbrook neighbourhood, the two of you just talking softly in the early morning quiet, hand-in-hand, until you reached a clearing in the local park with dozens of bouquets of flowers. Before you’d even been able to ask him what the hell, JT had dropped down on one knee and pulled out a ring that still made your stomach fill with butterflies – there was no way you were going to say no.

(and when Jesse and Morgan had both appeared from behind trees, one filming and one snapping photos, you knew they’d played a big part in the planning, which didn’t surprise you in the slightest).

So much of JT’s season had been filled with the wedding planning, both of his sisters and your moms more than willing to help out while JT was off on roadtrips, and somehow within all the chaos and all the differing opinions (and with JT chiming in over facetime), you’d manage to figure out a wedding that would be perfect for the two of you.

Finally though, the time had come for you to marry JT, to become his wife. And you couldn’t wait. This was a day you’d dreamed about since you were a little kid – innocent fantasies then, but now it was the reality that you were giddy to be able to live.

The venue you’d chosen was an all-in-one ceremony and reception site – the ceremony was going to outside in the middle of a beautiful gardens, full of wildflowers and trees lining the outside of the clearing, with the reception hall in a giant converted barn complex, with multiple rooms for changing and food storage & preparation. It was intimate and rustic and stunning, and the moment that the two of you had seen it (because it was actually one that JT had been able to go with in person), you’d fallen in love. And by the look on JT’s face, you knew that he felt the same way. You were getting ready in the largest room right at the back with all your bridesmaids, far away from all the final decorations, and even when people started arriving they wouldn’t be able to see you. It was perfect, for the both of you, and you knew the photos would preserve the memories of your special day exactly how you’d envisioned it.

Waking up early for the hair and make-up stylists was no more fun as a bride than all the times you’d done it as a bridesmaid, but at least this time you weren’t the one running around to make sure things were ready – you left that to your mom and your bridesmaids (JT had claimed Jesse as his best ‘man’ so you’d quickly claimed Morgan as your sane bridesmaid, which she was living up to with tissues and glasses of water). All through getting ready, the light breakfast, the jewellery, sliding into your gorgeous wedding dress, you could hear the photographer snapping photos but it was something you were trying to let fade into the background, just trying to enjoy the peaceful time you had while it lasted. This was something you were only going to experience once (hopefully?) and the only thing you wanted to do was live in the moment, to make the memories rather than let everything pass in a blur.

The one thing that JT had specifically asked for was a moment just for the two of you before the ceremony. Not a first look – no, he wanted to be surprised – but a moment where everyone else left the room so he could hold your hand.

He really had become such a romantic.

When that time came, when your group of people filed out of the room, murmuring their coos of encouragement to JT, you couldn’t help but smile as you heard JT breathe out shakily, the door open less than a foot, just enough for JT’s hand to slip through. You knew he was standing with his back to the door, to not risk seeing you, so you did the same, clasping your hand in his in the ever-familiar motion. The moment that his hand squeezed yours, you felt tension leaving your body that you hadn’t even realised was there.

And with a final click of a camera before the photographer slipped out of the room too, the two of you were finally alone.

“Hey JT,” you murmured.

“God it’s good to hear your voice,” JT groaned.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the desperation in his words, imaging the exasperated look on his face.

“We’ve only been apart for one night, it can’t be that bad,” you giggled.

“I’ve had Jesse and Josty competing all morning to take my mind off how nervous I am,” he said dryly.

What an image – you knew he’d gotten ready in his parent’s home that morning, travelling all together to this venue when they were all ready, and you could only imagine the chaos. There was something that caught your notice though.

“You’re nervous?” you asked, frowning slightly.

“Not nervous to marry you, not that,” he said quickly, “I’m nervous that I’ll do something stupid, like trip over my own feet, or tread on your dress, or forget my words, or just, I don’t know, make an ass out of myself and ruin the day.”

One of the things you loved most about JT was his emotional honesty – drunk or sober, he always told you what was going on in his head and you were so grateful for it. Not just because it was hard to read him sometimes, but because it meant that he wasn’t bottling things up inside. Even if he did worry way too much.

“There’s not a single thing you could do to ruin today. We’re getting married, baby. There’s nothing to be nervous about at all,” you said firmly.

“You called me baby.”

There he was. The happiness in his voice sent butterflies soaring through your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your lips. He really was so sweet.

“I’ll get to call you baby for the rest of our lives now,” you teased.

The happy noise he made only made you laugh softly in return.

“I can’t wait,” JT said softly, “are you ready to be Mrs Compher then?”

As if that wasn’t the one thing you’d wanted for years.

“I’m ready. Let’s do this,” you nodded.

“Let’s do this,” he echoed, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I would kiss your hand but that would bend your arm in a weird angle and I’m not sure these pants are squat proof.”

The very thought of him splitting the ass of his wedding suit just to be able to bend down enough to kiss your hand had you busting out in laughter, JT laughing as well, taking the final fizzle of nerves away.

“Rain check?” you offered, still laughing.

“Rain check. I love you,” he said.

“I love you too. Now get out of here so I can meet you at the end of the aisle,” you mused.

JT squeezed your hand again, knocking twice on the door in goodbye before letting go. You clenched your fist briefly, clinging onto the phantom feeling of his hand in yours, before trying to compose yourself as you heard footsteps approaching. The whirlwind of last-minute preparations continued, giving JT enough time to get to the ceremony venue outside, enough time for another round of hugging and almost-tears before it was your time too. Your mom shuffled off to get your dad, ready to walk you down the aisle, and your bridesmaids all lined up in the order you’d discussed, although Morgan stepped up next to you and rested a hand on your forearm.

“I’m so glad you’re going to be my sister,” Morgan said, smiling widely, “my brother is a lucky man.”

It was all you could do to choke out a laugh, hugging her tightly in turn, trying not to cry all over again.

The ceremony setting outside was stunning. The clearing in the trees on the venue grounds was lined with all colours of wildflowers, complementing the olive green of the bridesmaids’ dresses perfectly, with white chairs laid out for the multitude of guests, the mix of rustic nature and wedding blending perfectly just liked you’d hoped. You saw your wedding planner signal to one of the venue staff, and the sound of the wedding march started immediately, making your stomach fill with butterflies, even more so as everybody stood up from their seats.

Here goes nothing.

At the end of the aisle stood your bridesmaids, the groomsmen, and most importantly, JT. He was framed by a beautiful wooden arch that his dad Bob had made as a surprise for the two of you, more of the wildflowers threaded through it, and to be honest you didn’t think you’d ever seen anything looking better.

The tears JT wiped away from his cheeks were just the icing on the cake.

You paused only briefly to pass your small bouquet to a bridesmaid, Morgan straightening your dress out behind you, before you stepped those final steps towards your soon-to-be husband, the smile on his face as wide as you knew yours was.

“Hey,” you murmured.

“Hey,” he said, laughing softly.

You were ready.

The officiant started his speech, welcoming everyone to your wedding, but all you could focus on was JT’s smiling face, both of his hands holding yours, full of so much love. Time stretched out into a blur, everything feeling like a floating magical dream, until Jesse stepped forward with the rings. You knew you were smiling like an idiot as you exchanged I Do’s and slid the rings onto each other’s fingers, but you didn’t care. He was yours, and you were his, and nothing else mattered.

“I now pronounce you as married in the eyes of the law in the state of Illinois! You may now kiss your bride.”

The grin JT shot you made you laugh, and you wasted no time in clutching at his lapels as he pressed a soft slow kiss to your lips, one of his hands cupping your face with the other resting on your waist. Cheers and applause and whoops filled the air, JT slowing the kiss down to a few pecks before pulling away, the sappiest look on his face.

“Wanna get out of here for a moment?” he murmured.

“Hell yes,” you laughed, taking his hand and threading your fingers together.

As you took your bouquet back from your bridesmaid, you murmured to her that you just needed a moment, to have a breather alone with your husband (husband!) and to change out of your heels, and she promised to let everyone know, letting you focus on enjoying walking back down the aisle, flowers in one hand and JT in the others, that giddy rush hitting you harder than it ever had before.

You were married.

JT Compher was finally your husband and you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. And why should you stop? You were so unbelievably irrevocably happy, so much so that you felt like you were about to explode, JT’s hand in yours being the only anchor. He led you into the room you’d gotten ready in that morning, and the moment that he closed the door behind the two of you, he let out a laugh of disbelief.

“Did that really just happen? Did we really just get married?” he grinned.

“Fuck yeah baby, you put a ring on it,” you teased, holding up your left hand to display the beautiful wedding band.

“Baby,” he cooed, sliding his arms around your waist, you sliding yours around his neck, “I get to call you mine for the rest of my life. I like the sound of that.”

And with that, he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, barely grazing his tongue over your bottom lip before he broke the embrace.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” he asked softly.

He thought you were beautiful?

“Not even once,” you fake-pouted, trying to ignore your racing heart.

“Well I’m going to have to make up for that, aren’t I?”

A kiss to your neck. You’re beautiful. A kiss behind your ear. You’re beautiful. A kiss to your cheek. You’re beautiful. A kiss to your lips. You’re beautiful. Over and over and over again he murmured those sweet words between kisses until you couldn’t take it anymore. You took his lips in a firm kiss, tangling a hand in his hair to keep him in place, earning a soft laugh from your husband before he returned the kiss eagerly, JT sliding his tongue against yours in an instant.

That was more like it.

You lost yourself in his kisses, your blood swirling heatedly through your body, even more so as JT backed you against the wall, his hands like a hot brand even through your dress. And to think, this man was yours for life. Whew.

“Baby, everyone’s waiting on us,” you said with a groan, breaking the kiss reluctantly.

“They can wait,” JT muttered, pressing wet kisses down your neck, making you moan softly.

As much as you’d rather stay alone with him right now…

“Baby, we gotta, come on,” you giggled.

JT nipped your neck, making you gasp before batting at his shoulder, and he just laughed before nodding reluctantly.

“Baby,” he grinned, “Alright, I guess we should go say hi to our guests.”

“And take official photos, and eat, and dance, and actually sit down,” you added.

“And then we can have some alone time,” he smirked.

The dark heated look in his eyes made you shiver and bat at his shoulder again with a laugh, JT letting you out of his arms. If you started thinking about how excited you were for your wedding night, then you knew you wouldn’t be leaving this room any time soon. There were some things that your elderly relatives didn’t need to know. JT sat down next to you as you quickly topped up your lipstick and changed out of your heels into sneakers that your brother had customised for you, Mrs Compher, his eyes lighting up like it hadn’t really sunk in yet. To be honest, it hadn’t really sunk in for you yet either, that you were really actually finally married, that you were JT’s wife, that you were starting this new chapter together – but those were things you didn’t have to think about right now. All of that could come later, because right now all you wanted to do was head back out to your family and friends, and have some fun.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

You’d already asked for photos to be taken in as many combinations as possible, wanting a ton of just yourself and JT (and you couldn’t wait to display them in your home because you knew they were going to turn out amazing), as well as both of your families and your wedding parties. You wanted to remember this day for the rest of your life, to capture every detail as much as possible, and you knew JT felt the same way.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t getting a little grumpy by the time that it was time to head in for the reception.

“JT’s looking a little hangry – do you want me to sneak him a snack?”

Jesse’s whisper made you giggle, glad you weren’t the only one who noticed. “Absolutely – I’ll flag down a waiter to get us drinks too.”

“Teamwork! 1, 2, 3, break!” Jesse grinned.

JT looked over his shoulder from where he was standing with his mom, frowning at Jesse’s whoop.

“I don’t want to know, do I?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I promise it’s nothing bad?” you said, smiling innocently.

JT snorted, but rolled his eyes fondly. “I suppose I just signed up for you conspiring with my sisters for the rest of my life.”

Hearing him say that, for the rest of my life, wasn’t going to get old any time soon, you knew that much by the way it made your heart beat just that little bit faster.

“That’s the spirit baby,” you grinned.

You watched a happy glint pass over his eyes briefly, making you smile to yourself as he seemed to settle into himself a little more. Baby. You loved how much he loved that.

“They’re ready for your entrance now!”

Snapping out of your thoughts at your wedding planner’s words, you took the hand that JT held out to you with a smile, that giddy buzz filling your body again. He tilted his head towards the door in a silent question, ready?, and you smiled even wider, nodding. You were more than ready.

“I give you, Mr and Mrs Compher!”

The double doors of the venue hall opened, and you were immediately hit with a wave of cheers and whistles and applause and whoop’s, JT grinning widely and proudly down at you before he squeezed your hand. You squeezed his back, grin just as wide on your own face, and with that, the two of you walked into the packed room. There were strings of fairy lights everywhere, just as you’d asked, with clean white tablecloths on every table, rustic wood centerpieces with more of the bright wildflowers from outside decorating as far as your eyes could see. It was exactly how you’d envisioned, exactly what you’d hoped for, and you couldn’t stop the tears that stung at your eyes.

“Shit, it’s perfect,” JT murmured, eyes wide as he took in the room.

Good to know he felt the same as you did. By the time the two of you were sitting at the table at the other end of the room, Jesse had snuck a little bundle of snacks onto JT’s plate, the waiter that you’d nodded to having brought over a glass of prosecco each already too. Teamwork indeed.

“This feels surreal,” JT said softly, voice full of disbelief.

It really, really did. But it was your reality, your dream that you’d built together, and you were going to savour it while it lasted. “Better believe it baby. This is all for us,” you grinned.

“Cheers to that,” JT laughed, lifting his glass in salute.

First came the speeches – JT went first, making your eyes fill with happy tears as he openly declared his love for you in front of all the most important people in your lives, saying how lucky he was to finally be your husband. Then came your dad, as father of the bride, who had everyone in sappy tears, welcoming JT to your family officially, asking him to take care of his little girl. And then came Jesse, as best ‘man’, who had everyone in tears of laughter with embarrassing stories of JT, as well as a few of you too.

“Before I finish up and let JT’s flaming cheeks cool down, I’ll tell you one last story. On JT’s cup day back in summer 2022, my new sister came along even though she wasn’t sure she should, seeing as they’d only been on three actual dates by that point. But I told her, as did everyone else that day, that JT was smitten and that she was already family, so she belonged as much as the rest of us did. But it was on the way home that night that I knew they were going to last. JT was sloppy drunken mess, as we all know-”

Your husband’s face scrunched up in a sarcastic thanks, Jesse just beaming at him.

“-and he basically had to be poured into the taxi by the two of us. And then, she called him baby…and you should’ve seen his face. It was like he’d seen the moon and the stars and the sun all at once. The love on his face, so open and so pure, was like nothing I’d ever seen him show before, and it was then that I knew for sure that I’d get to call her my sister one day.”

Oh god. Oh wow, that was when she knew? That sweet little passing drunken moment? You heard JT let out a soft laugh next to you, a little wet like he had tears in his eyes, and just a glance over at him showed you that he was indeed more than a little emotional. That day had been so early in your relationship, before he’d even asked you to be his girlfriend, before you’d even moved to Denver to be with him for good, and that’s when she knew?

“Clearly I was right, because here we are. Everyone knew long before they even did, how perfect they are for each other, and I’m honoured to be able to welcome you officially to our family. So everyone raise your glasses, and let’s toast to the new Mr and Mrs Compher! Cheers!”

You took a big mouthful of your own drink as your guests drank too, applause immediately filling the room while tears filled your eyes all over again. JT glanced at you, smiling widely, before he stood up to pull his sister into a firm hug, both of them holding on for a little longer than usual, before Jesse let go of him to pull you into a hug too.

“Thank you, so much,” you murmured to her.

“No, thank you. For bring out the best in him, always,” she murmured back.

You pressed your lips together in an attempt to compose yourself, Jesse just grinning as she stepped away to move back to her own seat. JT saw the storm of emotions on your face as you sat back down, and slid his hand into yours with a word, squeezing that silent show of affection he always did.

“Everything okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah, just a little overwhelmed. That was…whew, that was all so much,” you admitted, “in a good way though.”

“As long as it’s all in a good way,” he nodded, eyes serious.

Your sweet overprotective man. It was all you could do to lean over and press a soft kiss to his lips, pouring all your emotions into the embrace, JT just sighing happily as he raised a hand to cup your face. Just a slow, soft, sweet kiss, but it was everything you needed to steady yourself, and when you felt a little less shaky you pulled away, JT just smiling at you. You knew you were smiling like an idiot back at him, but you couldn’t help it. This happiness, this genuine unparalleled joy, was unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you wanted to savour it.

The rest of the evening was smooth riding from there on it. All the food courses were brought out, JT making sure you ate between talking with guests, as well as mason jars being brought around with your favourite cocktails in, polaroid cameras at every table to capture those candid moments, and so so many sweet little kisses with JT. It was perfect. So undeniably perfect. There was just one thing left to do – to open up the dancefloor.

“Here with their first dance, let’s hear it for the bride and groom!”

You grinned up at JT as he led you to the middle of the dancefloor, resting one hand on your waist then clasping the other with one of yours up by your shoulders, you just resting your free hand on his chest. He’d been worried about looking like a fool in the first dance, seeing as it wasn’t something he usually did in public, so the two of you had actually practiced swaying together in a little two-step in your kitchen a few times, just to ease him into the motions of it all. It was those kinds of sweet little moments that let you know you were right in choosing him to spend the rest of your life with, and to be honest, you couldn’t wait to get started.

“Stars shining bright above you, Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you", Birds singing in a sycamore tree, Dream a little dream of me. Say nighty night and kiss me, Just hold me tight and tell me you miss me, While I'm alone and blue as can be, Dream a little dream of me.”

As Ella Fitzgerald’s voice filled the room, you lost yourself in the feeling of JT’s arms, his eyes locked with yours like he didn’t want to miss a moment of it either. This moment, this was the one you wanted to remember the most, this little pocket of time that was just yours. Nothing would ever match up to this, ever, and you could only hope he felt the same.

“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, But in your dreams whatever they be, Dream a little dream of me.”

Cheers and applause filled the room as the song faded to a finish, JT capturing your lips in a soft kiss that left your heart racing, whoops and catcalls adding themselves to the chorus around you too. JT broke the kiss with a laugh, shaking his head fondly at his teammates, before looking back down at you.

“I love you, Mrs Compher, so much,” he murmured, eyes shining as he said your new name.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, smile spreading across your lips.

JT just kissed you slowly again, hand cupping your face, his tongue lightly brushing along your bottom lip briefly before he pulled away once more. There would be more time to explore that later, to explore his body all over again to start this new chapter of yours lives together, when the two of you eventually retreated to your hotel room. But for now, you just looked up at his smiling face full of adoration and let him sway you from side to side amongst the other couples who’d joined you. For now, this was all you needed, just him. And it was everything.

#my writing #jt compher fic #watermelon sugar series #jt compher series #jt compher imagine #jt compher fanfic #jt compher x reader #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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eyesthatroll · 2 months

Text

wip catalogue ! ft. qh43, lh43, jh86, nm29, tz11, jc37, dm91

author's note; hey everyone, mari here, just wanted to say thank you for 1k followers!!!!!!!!1 that's crazy, and you guys are so so amazing and cool and swag. i thought about doing a celly, (fun fact, i've never done one of those!) but i've decided to save that for next time and attempt to do a draft clean out.

i have 117 drafts, really just pages upon pages of unfinished work that i'd like to get out at some point. so, if you enjoy my writing, under the cut will be excerpts from fics/oneshots/series' that i haven't finished. if any of them of them peak your interest, please let me know by either leaving a comment, or something in my inbox. i'll try and work on the ones that have the most interest first, and then finish the others. if this doesn't make sense, or you have any questions, you can let me know in the same fashion.

dad!jt compher x fem!reader

Eamon huffs out of frustration. “She’ll already marry Sammy B. by then.”

Laughter escapes JT’s lips, “and who is Sammy B.?”

He huffs again. “He has black hair, and he sits by her in reading. Why can’t I have hair like mommy?”

“I got my hair color from my dad, your papa, just like you got yours from daddy.” You explain.

“Well, I don’t want daddy’s stupid h-hair.” Eamon’s voice waivers, and the tears that he was holding in begin to free fall. He turns into your side, clutching your shirt.

This idea randomly came to me. Eamon would probably be in either first or second grade, and has a little crush like all kids have. Said crush doesn't like his hair color, and tells him that flat out because kids are menaces and very blunt. OR. Was floating around the idea of the same concept, but perhaps a teenage girl? tween girl, maybe middle school age, and the boy she likes only likes blondes, so she asks to dye her hair blonde? But obviously that conversation would be waaaay more mature. I don't know. If you have any thoughts, feel free to let me know.

———

jack hughes x fem!reader (best friends brother/kinda enemies to lovers)

"You can put your drink on my tab." A voice says, coming up from behind you, a hand on the small of your back as he takes a seat at the barstool to your right. You smile to yourself, shaking your head before turning to him.

You quirk a brow at him, "I did that already."

He rolls his eyes at your answer, taking a sip of his own drink, some beer you'd never heard of until earlier tonight. You'd taken a sip of Luke's earlier, and about gagged at the taste. "Of course you did."

You shrug your shoulders, no shame in your game. You were at a bar with about a dozen NHL players, you'd be damned if you had to buy your own drinks. "I already told Lukey I'm not paying for anything this weekend."

The request: Hiii can I request something where reader and luke know each other from college and they’re at a party or bar and jack is visiting luke so they see each other and jack is interested in reader but she’s playing hard to get 🤭

I changed the request a bit, so it's set in this season when Luke is already with the Devils, and reader visits during that 5 game homestead. This would probably be a long one shot, and I like the idea of combining these tropes:

forbidden

best friends brother

enemies to lovers (but not insanely enemies)

(more below, but a different part than above)

He scoffs, his hand pushing into your shoulder, playfully of course. "I love this relationship that we have."

You quirk a brow, bringing your glass to your lips, finishing off the rest of your white russian. "And what relationship is that?"

"The one where you pretend you're not in love with your best friends older brother."

"I always did like Quinn." You respond, an innocent smile on your lips.

"No-"

You cut him off. "Plus, he has that whole Captain thing going on. Very sexy."

"He has a girlfriend!" He exclaims.

You shrug your shoulders, leaning in closer to face him. "That's too bad."

You're obviously joking, but Jack doesn't seem to catch on. "And, you're too young for him."

You shoot him a questioning look. "But not for you, huh?"

He slides his barstool closer to yours, the fabric of his jeans making contact with the bare skin of your knee. "Are you still dating that college fuck, what was his name.. Alan?"

Your tongue rolls over your bottom lip. "Aiden."

He nods, feigning a look of realization, while you both know that he knew his name. "Right, Aiden." He confirms. "The guy who leaves you on the side of the road at 3am."

You scoff, shaking your head. "That was one time."

Your eyes shoot to his palm, that has found a place on your thigh, his warm hand against your cold skin sending a chill throughout your body.

"I could never leave a pretty girl like you on the side of the road." He continues.

Probably going to have a lot of bickering throughout the fic, reader will be hardheaded and uncompromising on fucking up her friendship with Luke. I haven't fleshed out the personalities I want them to have yet so this is in a very rough stage. If you have any thoughts, feel free to let me know.

———

nathan mackinnon x fem!reader (5 year age gap)

“Today’s my 23rd birthday.” You say, before taking a sip of your drink, your attention to the right, where a man as struck up a conversation with you at the bar.

He takes a swig of his beer, his eyes roaming your body before they finally meet your gaze again. He looks conflicted, his brows tensed as if battling an internal war.

You weren’t stupid. You graduated college top of your class—with honors, and even if you hadn’t, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that you were speaking to an older man.

The only man, to even catch a sliver of your entire, in the entire bar. You’d caught eyes with him from across the room, back when you were pushed in a booth with your friends. He looked away immediately, but you could feel his eyes on you every now and again, before you finally excused yourself from the table and went up to the bar. You wore a black slip dress, your hair cascading down your back with silver glitter hair tinsel placed throughout. You didn't bother turning to see if he would follow you, you don't chase, you attract. If he sat in the chair next to you, then he was buying you a drink. And if he didn't, then you'd move on to the next.

“Happy Birthday.” He finally said.

"What happened to your nose?" You were over the birthday formalities-having received them all night. You had questions for the man sitting next to you, starting with his bruised nose, a prominent and formidable feature dominating his face that you couldn't take your eyes off of. With him looking straight at you, you could see that it curved slightly to your right. Nothing stopped the thoughts of feeling it against your skin.

"My nose?" He questions. There's surprise in his tone of voice, like he forgot about the bruise on his nose, or surprised that you'd asked about it.

"Quite the shiner you got there." You comment again, bringing your glass to your lips again, this time finishing off the rest.

"Uh-" he pauses. There it is again with those tensed eyebrows, you wished you could gauge what he was thinking about. "Work incident."

"Damn, where do you work?" You let out a chuckle. You hadn't meant to be blunt, but you couldn't imagine what line of work would create a bruise like that.

He finishes his beer, setting it back on the counter with a light thud. "I work in..sports."

"What are you like a gym teacher?"

He laughs, for the first time since he's sat down next to you. You could tell that he had a nice smile. "Something like that."

Another fic starting in a bar. Don't know how this started, but very self indulgent as I am 22 and suffer from nate mac brainrot daily ! I have no idea for plot at all, literally nothing. I'd probably want to include smut of some sort, that seems very much where the vibe is heading, but I am absolutely terrible at writing it, so I'll have to do some research and practice writing that (if you have any tips-please let me know!!)

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader (debating on making this an oc)

Quinn and Reader (debating on making reader an OC!) are getting married in a week, and reader is still struggling to write her vows. Will probably be a long fic and include the wedding. A bit angsty, but a lot of fluff to make up for it. I'd probably give reader/oc emotionally distant parents?? Or maybe her parents are divorced? Not sure. It'll mid offseason, so we'll probably see a lot of familiar faces (j. norris, b. tkachuk, etc.)

Your frustration mounted as you released an exasperated sigh, the eraser of your pencil frantically working overtime to correct yet another line that failed to capture the right essence. You flicked away the eraser remnants with a swift motion of your palm, straightening out your legs and allowing the spiral notebook to settle in your lap. Leaning back against the arm of the couch, you closed your eyes, simultaneously opening and closing your hand in an attempt to alleviate the cramping in your fingers. A burgeoning headache threatened to take hold, and you could feel a slight discomfort in your eyes after hours of writing without the aid of your glasses.

A week, you were getting married in a week, and you still hadn't finished writing your vows. Admittedly, you had procrastinated until the last minute, but you hadn't anticipated the challenge to be this daunting. Your love for Quinn surpassed anything you had ever experienced, so why was expressing it in words proving to be such a formidable task? Frustration morphed into annoyance, and you carelessly tossed the notebook onto the modest coffee table before rising from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

You were grateful that no one was home at the moment. Everyone had gone out for lunch, and you chose to remain behind, citing a lack of sleep the previous night as the reason for your decision to take a nap. While that wasn't entirely false – your night had indeed been restless – your true intention wasn't to catch up on sleep while the others were away. Quinn, being the caring soul he was, insisted on staying with you, but you resisted his efforts and practically ushered him out the door. That was about an hour ago, and you were keenly aware that their return was imminent.

Delving into the medicine cabinet, your fingers located the bottle of aspirin. You poured two into your palm, easily popping them into your mouth and washing them down with water from the sink. Gazing into the mirror, you couldn't help but cringe at your reflection. The extent of your fatigue hit you with full force – the bags under your eyes were darker than you had ever seen them.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader

This would probably just be a fluffy, short, domestic blurb, don't really have any other plot ideas for this.

Arriving home from work, all you wanted to do was take a shower and collapse into your bed. Tonight was an exception, with your shift extending later than usual, around 10:30, instead of your customary 9. Combine that with your regular hour-long commute, and it's almost midnight by the time you finally get home. Silently navigating through the dark and quiet house, it appears that your boyfriend is already asleep. However, as you step into your shared bedroom, you find him slumped against the headboard, eyes fixed on his iPad, headphones in.

The soft glow from the screen casts a muted ambiance in the room, the only sound being the distant hum of the city outside. Your initial fatigue gives way to a subtle pang of guilt, realizing he stayed up to wait for you, something he quite often did when he was home, even though you insisted he not.

He doesn't notice you, until you've crossed over to your dresser to grab your nightclothes before your shower, slightly jumping before dropping his iPad and taking out his headphones. "Hey, you're finally home." He comments, climbing out of his previous spot on the bed to sit at the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off the edge.

You yawn, turning around to face him. "Don't you have to be up early tomorrow?" You question. He pats his thighs, gesturing for you step over to him.

Leaving your clothes to rest on the dresser, you walk over to him. Quinn widens his legs so you can step in between them. Wordlessly, his fingers trail up your waist, to your chest, beginning to undo the buttons of your white lab coat. He slides the fabric off your shoulders, leaving only the black satin blouse you'd been wearing underneath.

He pulls gently at your collar, drawing your lips to his softly. His hands drop to your waist, gripping at your sides to guide you on top of him until you're straddling him.

"Are you okay, Quinn?" you ask, breaking apart from the kiss, just enough for your foreheads to remain pressed against each other.

"Just missed you." he mumbles, pulling you into a hug, his head finding a comfortable spot in the crook of your neck.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

jack hughes x fem!reader

Toxicity, angst, angry sex, maybe second chance love, idk.

"Where have you been?" Jack's inquiry slices through the air, surprising you as you step quietly through the front door. Your boyfriend, still awake and perched on the couch, rises to his feet the moment the door closes, arms crossed at his chest, a sour expression gracing his features. Your brows furrow in confusion as you lift one foot behind you, placing your hand on the wall for balance while attempting to undo your heel.

"What?" His question catches you off guard, especially because you had left him multiple messages earlier, clearly communicating your plans for the night—messages that went unanswered, leaving you on read once again. He sighs, a mix of frustration and concern, and crosses over to you, bending down. Without a word, he grabs your knee, gently pulling your heel-clad foot to rest on your knee, his hands deftly moving to undo the straps. He repeats the same with the other foot, before releasing you of his hold.

"I don't like you being out this late," he says, the firmness in his voice evident as he pushes himself up from his feet. Suddenly, he's towering over you, and you angle your neck to look up at him, annoyance etching your face.

"Sorry, Dad, didn't realize I had a curfew," you slur with a wry smile, a hint of laughter punctuating the absurdity of his concern. With a last dismissive glance, you shake your head and push past him, your shoulder bumping into his side as you ascend the stairs to the bedroom.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader

Quinn shows the reader that she can enjoy her birthday when the two of them spend it together for the first time. Would be super fluffy, reader will be written to have two dads, though I might make it an OC instead.

Quinn's persistent nuzzling against your shoulder blade disrupts your peaceful slumber. With a groan, you bury your head deeper into the pillow, yearning to cling to a few more precious moments of sleep before the demands of the day pull you from its embrace. Gradually, he initiates a series of tender kisses, commencing at your collarbone and concluding at that delightful spot just beneath your neck. "Happy Birthday, Angel," Quinn murmurs, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

Gently parting your eyelids, you shift on your other side to meet his gaze. His eyes are already fixed on you, brimming with adoration, as his teeth graze at his bottom lip. The morning sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow that accentuates just how gorgeous he truly is. Even in the early hours, with disheveled hair and faint remnants of drool, he remains undeniably handsome in every retrospect.

"Thank you," you express your gratitude softly, a subtle shyness tinting your voice.

Birthdays, even as a child, never held much appeal for you. The discomfort of being the focal point, the recipient of attention, has remained a constant, and birthdays, with their inevitable spotlight, are something you've always actively avoided. Yet, here you are, facing a birthday that feels different, primarily because Quinn is here to share it with you. This marks the first birthday you're spending with him in the span of your three year relationship, and it's a welcomed departure from the usual routine. It's a rarity, considering his demanding schedule that seldom grants him time off, but you know it's because he'll be leaving for a four game road-trip on Monday.

Reaching over, his hand envelops yours, fingers applying deliberate pressure that prompts a satisfying crack from your knuckles. It's a peculiar habit he picked up from you, a subtle exchange of quirks that began when you surprised him with it initially. "I have a special day planned for you," he announces, punctuating his words with a tender kiss pressed into the center of your palm.

"You know I don't want a fuss, Quinn," you mumble, weariness etched across your features.

He senses your reluctance and responds swiftly, his touch gentle as he brushes a strand of hair away from your eyes. "Not too much," he reassures, his words soothing against your worries. "Just want to celebrate you, Angel, on your day." Drawing nearer, he shifts, propping himself up on his right arm as he hovers over you. "Will you let me?" He wets his bottom lip, anticipation palpable as he awaits your response.

A small, close-lipped smile graces your lips as you reach up, your fingers delicately tracing over the overgrown scruff that lines his face. "Of course I will." A wide grin spreads across his face in response to your words, and he leans in, morning breath be damned, as your lips meet in a soft, synchronized dance.

He breaks apart, planting a kiss on your nose, before carefully stepping over you to get out of bed. "You get ready, I'll make breakfast."

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

luke hughes x fem!reader (but not really)

This is part two to Nobody's Love. I finished it, but I absolutely hate it, and will basically be starting over from square one. Below is where we would've left off, but when I finish this properly, it won't start with this dialogue, it will probably open within a flashback, and this part will be later in the story (if that makes sense).

"What's going on here?" Your blood runs cold at the sound of his voice, and you immediately break away from Jack, moving with an urgency as if you'd been caught doing something forbidden. Frantically, your hands move to wipe away the lingering traces of tears that you'd shed just moments ago. But your efforts to disguise your emotions prove futile as Luke's keen eyes detect the remnants of your sorrow, and his face contorts into a mix of confusion and well-intended concern.

"Why is she crying? What did you do to her?" Luke's voice brims with accusation, his words directed at his brother.. He takes a step forward, his intent to comfort you clear in his movement. You instinctively shuffle backwards, creating a protective distance, your arms loosely crossing over your chest.

Jack scoffs, disbelief etched across his features. "I didn't do anything," he retorts, his tone dripping with emphasis on the word 'I,' subtly implying that Luke is the source of your distress.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Luke's words slice through the air, laced with an unmistakable edge. His face tinges with a reddish hue as his gaze drills into Jack.

Again, would love to give you a bigger excerpt, but I hate everything else of what I've written LMAO. Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

quinn hughes x darcy sorokin (black fem!oc)

Basically a quinn x single mom au. May rewrite this entire thing. Also, started this months ago and loved the name Sunny for the kid (Sunny Sorokin) (no relation to the hockey player) but now I kind of hate it :)

Quinn became utterly enamored with her the moment his gaze met hers in the diner. She was a delightful surprise, replacing his usual waiter, Johnny, to collect his order. Her dark skin seemed to radiate a subtle glow under the dim diner lights, and her curly hair was artfully gathered in a loose bun resting at the back of her neck, adorned with a floral bandana draped over it. When she smiled, her dimples and the slight gap between her front teeth only added to her charm, leaving Quinn captivated and unable to shake thoughts of her for days.

Quinn stumbled upon Alma’s, the quaint diner, during his rookie year in Vancouver. Its unassuming atmosphere, a hidden gem tucked away, immediately resonated with him, providing a sense of ease. Combine that with the staff’s familial treatment, and he easily became a regular patron. Now, however, his visits weren’t just about unwinding and savoring a meal; he hoped to encounter the beautiful waitress he had learned was named Darcy (not through inquiry, but thanks to her name tag — he was too anxious to ask). Quinn relished any excuse to come to the diner, whether to be served by Darcy or simply steal glances at her when she wasn’t looking.

Quinn’s attempts to discreetly observe Darcy didn’t go unnoticed. She could sense the weight of his gaze, subtly tracking her movements around the diner. Intrigued and slightly puzzled by his behavior, Darcy decided to approach her co-worker, Johnny, to inquire about this regular customer. Johnny, with his wealth of experience at the diner, shared that Quinn was a nice guy who had been a faithful patron for years. He detailed Quinn’s routine of ordering the same breakfast every morning—soft scrambled eggs on wheat—followed by prolonged disappearances, especially during the summer months. Armed with this newfound knowledge, Darcy’s curiosity about the handsome and somewhat mysterious customer deepened.

Darcy couldn’t deny the undeniable attractiveness of the man. His chestnut brown hair, steadily growing out since their first encounter, months ago, often required his attention as he habitually moved it out of his line of sight. His eyes, a deep brown that occasionally hinted at hazel in the early morning light. The way his teeth grazed over his bottom lip during conversation, though she was unsure if it was born out of nervousness or mere habit. Following the tumultuous chapter with her ex-boyfriend, after nearly five years, another man had finally found a place in her thoughts.

She harbored these thoughts secretly, keeping them locked away from anyone but herself. With her son, Sunny, now five years old, she couldn’t afford to be hasty. Sunny, more aware of his surroundings, comprehended things with greater clarity. She had already delicately explained the departure of his father, her ex-boyfriend, wanting to shield him from the unnecessary pain of the wondering, not knowing. And despite yearnings for companionship, she held the burden of guilt for Sunny’s lack of a father figure, and understood the importance of not rushing into a relationship that wasn’t genuine. Both she and Sunny deserved better, and she was determined to prioritize their well-being.

Let me know if you have any thoughts.

———

quinn hughes x fem!reader

Quinn and Reader go to their favorite diner late after a game. Probably lots of fluff, reminiscing. Possibly out of character Quinn, not too sure if he'd be into pda in front of the wags LOL.

Hovering in the distant corner, your fingers nervously toyed with the security pass draped around your neck, its edge resting just above the waistline of your jeans. A cluster of other wives and girlfriends lingered in the same vicinity, engaged in casual banter among themselves. You offered polite smiles, but there was no effort on their part to include you, nor did you make any overtures to join their conversation.

At last, you caught sight of a familiar mop of brown hair making its way down the hallway. The impulse to sprint towards him, leap into his arms, and plant an immediate kiss on his lips surged within you. However, with watchful eyes fixed on you, you opted for a more restrained approach, contenting yourself with a gentle caress of your hand against his right bicep. "Great game, Quinn."

A puzzled expression settles on his face, seemingly oblivious to the attention directed your way, or perhaps indifferent to it. His calloused hands find their place on your waist, guiding you closer as he dips his head low to meet your lips. Your fingers intertwine around his neck, and as his towering figure elevates you slightly off the ground, he murmurs, "Thank you, baby."

An orchestra of 'awws' surrounds you, a symphony of approval that bathes your cheeks in warmth. Quinn, charmed by your bashful response, lets out a chuckle, drawing you back into the protective embrace of his side. As he ushers both of you towards the back door, he bids the women farewell with a casual, "Goodnight, ladies," leaving the echo of their admiration suspended in the air.

"Goodbye, Quinn!" Their voices lingered with a touch of wistful admiration. You couldn't help but notice the collective enchantment Quinn seemed to cast on them. It wasn't entirely surprising—your boyfriend possessed a magnetic blend of boyish charm and dorky allure that had a way of rendering anyone weak in the knees. Since being crowned captain and amassing a string of victories, his newfound confidence only added to his undeniable sex appeal.

The night air nips at the exposed skin, coaxing you to cling closer to Quinn's comforting frame. As you approach the car, the two of you reluctantly break apart. "Do you want me to drive?" Quinn shakes his head with an easy smile, planting a tender kiss on your forehead before courteously opening the passenger side door for you.

You smoothly slide into the car, and Quinn secures the door behind you. With a jog to the driver's side, he swiftly settles into the seat, key in the ignition. Your hand instinctively reaches for the heat controls, but Quinn, ever attentive, beats you to it. After ensuring your seatbelt is on, he rests his hand on your thigh, the warmth of his touch contrasting the cool night air as he skillfully navigates out of the once bustling parking garage.

"Eddie's?" His voice dances just above the soft melody of the radio in the background. Tilting your head to the left, you catch his gaze for a fleeting moment before his focus returns to the road.

"Okay" You nod absentmindedly, a yawn escaping your lips as you lean your head against the window of the car.

He peers at you once more, skepticism lingering in his gaze. "Are you sure? We can just call it a night and head home if you're tired."

Your hand descends onto his, offering a reassuring squeeze. Fatigue clings to you, but the knowledge that he's hungry and wouldn't eat if you went home propels you forward. "I want to go out with you, Quinn."

A grin overtakes his lips, and he brings your hand up to his mouth, peppering a kiss against your palm.

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

dawson mercer x juniper hughes (fem!oc) (luke's twin)

Remember last halloween when I floated around the idea of dawson x hughes sister. I started it, barely a sliver into the universe. I also know very little about dawson other than I think he's an absolute cutie pie, so I'll have to do some research for this series for sure. Will deal with heavy topics such as alcoholism, addiction, etc, so if that is triggering for you, this may not be the series for you, please take care of yourself, love you.

Juniper Hughes was no stranger to the judgmental eyes. They seemed to trail her everywhere she went, the invisible weight of societal expectations bearing down on her, reminding her both of who her family was and who she wasn't. While her brothers excelled as perfect, professional athletes, following in her parents' footsteps, she had been on a different journey—one of recovery from alcoholism after her expulsion from school due to underage drinking.

Twelve long years of arduous study, relentless commitment to extracurricular activities, unending string of tests, and the suffocating pressure of expectations—Juniper endured it all. Only one fateful night was enough to strip away everything she'd worked for. In the blink of an eye, her scholarship to Brown University was lost, her only friend torn from her, and her dignity shattered into pieces. The ruthless media, once her cheerleaders, rapidly transformed into her tormentors, subjecting her to a public shaming campaign for her mistakes, constantly drawing odious comparisons with her accomplished brothers. The intrusive question hung heavily in the air, echoing endlessly: where had her parents gone wrong with her?

Why was she so deeply flawed while her brothers seemed to glide through life unburdened? Why couldn't she manage a regular relationship-whether it was with alcohol, food, or people, but they could? Juniper's life had always been marked by relentless effort, a result of sheer necessity. Unlike her brothers, nothing seemed to come naturally to her—school, sports, it all required double the hard work just to lag two steps behind them. Alcohol served as her escape, a means to shed the heavy cloak of perfectionism that enveloped her. It provided release, a fleeting respite from her self-imposed pressures. Juniper enjoyed the person she became when she drank, but the mornings after, the ensuing guilt and repercussions, they ruined her.

"Cleaned out the guest bedroom for you, Twinny," Luke's voice is gentle as he opens the bedroom door, ushering you inside. Juniper offers him a nod, accompanied by a faint smile, and steps into the room. It's devoid of any distinctive character, featuring only four white walls, a simple bed, and a closet. As she walks around, she can't help but grimace, the stark emptiness of the room triggering memories of your time in the rehab center.

Juniper gracefully lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, her fingers delicately tracing the intricate designs on the black and white duvet. Luke and Jack linger in the doorway, observing her with wordless, almost reverent gazes, as if any sound might shatter the fragile stillness of the room. She clears her throat, then turns her gaze toward her brothers. "Thanks."

While this fic will deal with heavy topics, I don't want this entire series to be super depressing, so I'll try and add equal amounts fluff!!

———

jack hughes x fem!reader

Part of the Bless the Broken Road series. Jack gets the kids up and takes them to school for the first time without readers help. Super fluffy. Might completely rewrite it, though.

"Hey, wake up." Y/N shakes Jack awake, her hand pressing into his shoulder as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to him.

Jack groans, stirring in his sleep, his eyes squinting open to meet her chocolate brown gaze.

"Remember, school starts at 8, kids need to be up by 7, and you need to be out the door no later than 7:45."

Y/N leaned down to plant a tender kiss on his forehead before straightening up. With grace, she retrieved her phone from the dresser and picked up her coat hanging from the back of the door. "Yeah, I know, I got it, baby," he dismissed, though when Y/N glanced back at him, his eyelids had drooped shut once more.

She flicks his cheek. "Don't fall back asleep!"

She was well aware of Jack's exhaustion, considering he had a late game last night that went into overtime. However, she had a scheduled meeting with a contractor at the bakery early in the morning, which meant Jack had to shoulder the responsibility of taking the twins to school.

Smacking her finger away, he forced his eyes open once more and sat up, leaning against the headboard. "I'm up." He rasps, "now go before you're late."

She gives him a knowing look, shaking her head. "Call me if you need anything."

"We'll be fine." He assures.

Things were definitely not fine. Jack couldn't pinpoint when or how it happened, but at some indeterminate moment, he'd drifted back into sleep, only to be roused by a gentle poking on his forehead and a soft voice by his side. He blinked his eyes open, finding his youngest son, Adler, right in front of him, his lips curved into a pout.

"Where's mommy?" Adler asks.

Jack's eyes shoot wide open, and he promptly sits up, his gaze fixed on the alarm clock perched atop the dresser, which displayed the time as 7:36. With a swift hand running through his tousled brown hair, he mutters a curse under his breath. Adler instinctively takes a step back as Jack moves abruptly, his tiny hands fidgeting nervously, forming knots of unease in front of him.

Exhaling a deep breath, Jack pushed off the covers, swinging his feet to the right side of the bed. He gently grasps Adler's shoulders, using one hand to push stray curls out of his eye line, his voice soft and reassuring. "Mommy had to go to work early today,"

Adler nods. "So no school today?"

Jack shakes his head. "I'm gonna take you. Will you wake up your brother for me, please?"

He nods, and Jack breaks into a grin, pulling Adler into a tight hug. With a gentle lift, Jack stands up, eliciting gleeful giggles from Adler as he spins them around in a circle. The sound of the child's laughter fills the quiet stillness of the house, prompting laughter of Jack's own. Setting Adler back down, the boy immediately dashes off, sprinting back to his bedroom.

———

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

jack hughes x fem!reader (ex-situationship to lovers??)

Months ago, when Jack had insisted that you attend your first hockey game when the season started, he had presented you with one of his jerseys. It had ended up tucked away in the back of your closet, gathering dust and fading into oblivion. In fact, you'd nearly forgotten about it altogether. However, the morning after your conversation with Luke, a sudden thought about what to wear to the game had crossed your mind. You were certain of one thing: you had no intention of donning Jack's jersey. You did briefly consider asking Luke for one, but that would have been counterproductive since he shared the same last name as him. Instead, you were determined to indulge in a little pettiness.

On that particular day, you impulsively ordered a Red Wings jersey from eBay. It happened to be Moritz Seider's jersey, though you didn't really know much about him, or whether he was still actively playing or not. Frankly, you didn't care. You had no intention of cheering for the Red Wings, you simply saw the purchase as a final "fuck you" to Jack Hughes.

Reader and Jack "breakup" and so she wears a different jersey to a game to spite him. Jack gets jealous, yada yada you can probably guess the vibes.

———

trevor zegras x fem!reader (bookstore owner)

Trevor comes into readers bookshop a couple times a week, begging to take her out on a date. Might turn into a 3 times he asked and the 1 time she said yes type thing. Not sure!

"Go on a date with me." Your gaze transitions from the non-fiction books that you were presently shelving to the tall blonde on your right. He regards you with eager anticipation, awaiting your response, although it seems to be no different from all the previous rejections you've given him.

"Don't you have anything more productive to do than pester me while I'm trying to work?" Your voice carries a tinge of irritation as you descend from the small stepladder.

He offers a nonchalant shrug, feigning innocence with an expression of mock sincerity. "Just one date."

You push your way past him, making contact with his side as you stride back toward the front desk. He tails you, mirroring your movements like a lost puppy, eventually leaning his elbows casually on the tall counter, opposite to where you take a seat behind it.

"Why must you deny this obvious chemistry?" He's teasing, his face leaning on his hand as he looks intently at you. You let out a huff of laughter, settling into the spinny chair.

"Does rejection get you off or something?"

Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

———

luke hughes x fem!reader

Reader broke up with Luke months ago, and doesn't expect to see him again, but she does, and he wants answers. Angsty, but will probably have a happy ending.

You tried your best to move on from him, putting in every ounce of effort you could to try and forget him. You threw yourself into your work, deliberately steered clear of the songs that held his memory, and even canceled your ESPN Plus subscription to shield yourself from the overpowering sadness that welled up whenever you saw him on the ice.

You weren't angry with him; anger had no place in your heart. After all, you were the one who had made the difficult decision to end things with him. You had asked him to leave your apartment as he struggled through sobs, his voice filled with desperation, seeking answers about what had led to the dissolution of your relationship. And despite the tears brimming in your own eyes, you didn't break down, standing your ground as he tried to challenge your conclusion.

Your sadness clung to you like a relentless shadow, casting a long and persistent gloom over your life for months. The vibrant and extroverted girl you once were seemed like a distant memory as you found solace in the confines of your home. Days passed in mechanical, robotic-like motions, each one blending into the next in a monotonous blur. Even the cheerful banter and laughter of your co-workers, which once provided a semblance of happiness, now felt like distant echoes in the cavernous emptiness of your heart. And nights were spent curled up on the couch, lost in the embrace of comforting films from your childhood, each frame a desperate attempt to escape the crushing loneliness that had become your all-encompassing reality.

You were aware it wasn't healthy, and though that knowledge weighed on you like a heavy anchor, you made no effort to climb up to the surface for air. The relentless ache in your chest, filled with sorrow and regret over losing the boy you had loved so deeply, was like a suffocating fog, clouding your vision at every turn. You couldn't go anywhere without being haunted by phantom images of him, his presence lingering like a stubborn ghost in the back of your mind.

It only got worse in the weeks leading up to the Devils vs. Red Wings game. You were aware that he would be in town, and that knowledge sent you spiraling into self-pity and uncertainty. You had deliberately steered clear of any rumors about his dating life, but your mind couldn't help but obsessively wonder whether he still missed you. Whether he mourned the loss of your relationship, or had moved on to someone better – a fear that had haunted you ever since he moved to Jersey even before the breakup.

It's a rainy Tuesday night, and you impassively make your way to Walmart with one single purpose in mind: to purchase alcohol and junk food. Your plan was simple – to watch the game and numb your sorrows with alcohol. You were fully aware of how pathetic it might seem, but at that moment, you simply don't care.

You stretch up onto your tiptoes, straining to reach a tall bottle of merlot perched on the top shelf, your shopping basket hanging from the crook of your elbow. In your haste to secure your wine, a sudden, sharp pain pierces your sternum. Your grip falters, and the basket slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor with an ear-splitting thud. One hand flies to your chest, your fingers resting on your heartbeat that pounded wildly against the thin fabric of your shirt. Disoriented, you stumble backward, the voice of a concerned stranger echoing in the distance as your vision blurs and darkness encroaches.

Let me know if you have any thoughts.

———

jack hughes x fem!reader

Jack spends the night at Readers apartment for the first time, and asks her to move in with him. Probably would be a short blurb, maybe 1k-1.5k words and under.

"You live in this building?" Jack inquires, his gaze sweeping over the aging building, a typical five-story apartment complex in dire need of renovation. You nod at him, shutting the passenger-side door as you step out.

"Is this area safe?" He inquires, his eyes lingering hesitantly on the parking lot.

You were roughly forty minutes from Jack's neighborhood, and while this area was a bit rundown and perhaps less safe, you thankfully had never encountered any issues.

"Uh, yeah," you respond, taking Jack's hand and leading him toward the entrance. After a moment of rummaging in your bag, you locate the key to the building, insert it into the lock, and swing the door open. Jack grabs the door, gesturing for you to enter first.

Your building lacked an elevator, so you faced a long climb to the fifth floor, where apartment 48B awaited.

As you unlocked the door, you visually cringed at the chaotic scene that greeted you. Clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor, dishes forming a precarious tower in the sink. You hadn't had a chance to tidy up before Jack insisted on spending the weekend in your modest abode. And although you hesitated, knowing your apartment was far from perfect, you couldn't resist any longer. You two had been dating for about a month, and he had yet to see where you lived. He'd casually mentioned it a few times, so you knew it was time to swallow your pride and invite him over.

"Sorry bout' the mess." You apologize, nearly tripping over yourself to grab a pile of clothes off the floor.

Jack runs his hand across the wall to his right, his fingers tracing the scattered nail gun holes. "What the hell happened to the wall?" he asks, furrowing his brows in concern.

You pause in your cleaning, turning to face him. "Oh, the neighbors like to get drunk and play with their nail gun. Don't stand too close." you warn, shaking your head.

———

quinn hughes x pharmacist!femreader

Nothing started for this, but my time working in a retail pharmacy has me obsessed with writing this pairing. Might make her an OC, though. I love the idea of a badass working woman who doesn't put her life on hold just because she's married to a hockey player.

———

If you're wondering about the status of Never Have I Ever, I'm gonna be honest, I may discontinue that 🫣. Sorry! I just have no motivation to write out that storyline now, but maybe sometime in the future I will.

author's note part two: Obviously this isn't all of my wips, only some, and most haven't been edited at all and a very rough drafts, but I wanted to give you a glimpse of what I have sitting in my drafts. I also have a lot of things in my inbox that I want to get written, but I have been slacking (clearly). I also wanna do some song fics because I've never done one and think that could be cool. Again, if you have any thoughts, don't hesitate to let me know.

#quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes imagine #luke hughes imagine #dawson mercer imagine #jt compher imagine #nathan mackinnon imagine #trevor zegras imagine

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