Latest Posts by 47chickens - Page 2

gasped out loud when i saw this posted

perv | pt. 2 | s. crosby

after being called out for his perverted actions, he gets a taste of his own medicine.

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY MDNI, piv, oral, for visual purposes only), sidney being a perv,

retired!sidney crosby x younger!fem reader

read pt. 1 here

"i was wondering, if you'd wanna see the real thing?"

sidney was sure he was in a dream. how did he end up here? how did he get himself in this promiscuous situation? oh, right. he was being a perv, that's how.

he was frozen in time. his mouth slightly agape as he was stuck, watching her- the stunning young woman in front of him take her bikini top off. the top strings come undone, gravity making them fall and unfold on top of her stomach. god, he feels like a teenager again, remembering what it felt like looking at a playboy magazine for the very first time. hard. painfully hard.

then she reaches around her back, pulling at the delicate bow that sidney had politely tied for her. then, it falls.

she steps closer to him, reaching for his hand. inside she's freaking out a little bit- why hasn't he said anything? but she pushes the thoughts aside and takes his hand, forcing him to palm her breast. he breathes in sharply, biting his lip.

"y'know sidney, i've heard rumors about hockey players," she whispers, leaning into his touch as his hand plays with her breast.

"probably all bad," he chokes out. he takes his other hand and rests it on her back, pulling her closer to him while he squeezes lightly on her round flesh.

"just mostly, that hockey players only care about themselves in bed," he hums, "they only have one setting when they're fucking women," he raises his eyebrow.

"and what might that be?" he teases, the tip of his nose just centimeters away from hers.

"rough. hard, fast," she runs her hands up his chest, she can feel the toned but soft muscles that are underneath his soft t shirt. she feels his breath pattern change, his eyes have grown a little bit darker by now. "i've even heard that they can't even make a woman cum." he grins, "is that true, sidney?"

by now, his hands have started to play with the strings on the bottom pice of her bikini. he's lightly playing with the bows that are holding it together, teasing to pull them apart.

"partially," he grips her hips, pulling her close to him as he starts to walk backwards into a hallway. "what part is not true?" she responds.

he opens the door to his bedroom. he backs her up to the bed, the back of her knees hitting the mattress and forcing her to sit on the bed. he stands in front of her, taking off his shirt to reveal his broad, tan chest. she takes in a deep breath.

"not true? that i can't make women cum," he takes her legs in his hands, spreading them as wide as she would let them go for him. she bites her lip while feeling his rough hands smooth over her soft thighs. she lays back on her elbows as he sinks to his knees, putting her legs over his shoulders.

he stares at the bright red, thin material that's been keeping him from getting the good stuff this whole time- it's been taunting him. he presses his nose up against her clothed cunt, taking in a deep inhale of her scent. she doesn't know whether to be turned on or turned off, but the feeling of his nose pressed up against her clit is heavenly. he mouths at her pussy a couple times, his teeth grazing against her clit draws a moan from her. he chuckles.

"you sure you wanna keep going?" he asks.

"now you're asking for consent? after taking pictures of me, groping my breasts, and putting your nose in my pussy?" she laughs, untying her bottom piece and shimmying to get it off, tossing it onto the floor. "get to work sidney, show me you're not lying about that rough and fast part."

he takes a rough grip on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs there's going to be bruises in the morning. he doesn't care, she asked for it to be rough. he spits on her pussy, taking his tongue and pressing it flat against her clit, shaking his head side to side.

out of pure physical response she spreads her legs wider, arching her back off the mattress. she moans, feeling the hot, wet friction against her clit. sidney pulls back to get a breath, kissing the inside of her thigh just briefly before sucking at her folds. inserting his tongue into her hole, then licking up a stripe along her wet cunt.

she's giggling out of pleasure, gripping the sheets and moaning into the air. she takes a hand and stuffs it into his salt and pepper hair, gripping tightly, as if she is holding him in place. "don' stop," she breathed out, grinding her cunt up against his mouth. she feels him smile against her, what a dirty dog.

he starts to lap up her juices, licking fat stripes up and down her cunt. she's giving him the loudest moans he's ever gotten, letting out a string of curses with his name mixed in with it.

"please," she inhales sharply when he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks harshly, "ohmygod- fuck i'm cumming sidney!" she shrieks, gripping onto his hair he thinks she might pull some of it out.

with just a few short hard sucks, she cums on his tongue just like he wanted her to. squeezing her thighs around his head, his ears ring just a little bit before he spreads them with his hands. one more lick to her cunt, getting every last drop on his tongue, he swallows everything she just gave him. dirty.

she sits up, brushing her hair back with her fingers and reaching for the waist band of his shorts. she pulls his hard cock out, grinning at how big he is. that gets his ego going.

she licks her hand, jacking him while looking deep in his eyes. this girl is going to kill him- and they only met twenty minutes ago.

"goddamn- lay back again. all the way on the bed," sidney climbs on the bed with her, keeping her legs spread as he stood on his knees in between them. he picked her up by the back of her thighs, pulling her against him to line his dick up with her aching hole.

he took his thumb, pressing it against her clit as he drug his tip through her folds. he got a kick out of watching her facial expressions, her eyes screwing shut as he teased her pussy. "ohmy- please put it in sidney-"

she let out a sharp gasp as he started to press inside of her, hearing him moan as he slipped inside her tight hole. "suckin me in baby," he pressed the palms of his hands on either side of her head, inching in all the way in her cunt until he couldn't go any further.

he saw tears brimming her eyes, for a second he felt bad but then he felt her thighs squeeze around him, pulling him forward as close as he could get. "it hurts so good," she breathed out, dragging her nails down his chest.

"yeah? you like your hole stuffed full of cock don't you?" she nodded her head while he started to thrust. starting off slowly, grinding into her in and out, in and out, in..and...out.

"keep going," she arched her back and moaned, locking her hands around his neck to try and bring him closer but he isn't budging. he wants to stay above her, to watch, to analyze. see how she's reacting to his big and bad attitude.

he hasn't picked up his pace, he's stayed slow and steady for at least a minute. it's driving her crazy, he can tell. and he loves it.

"c'monnnn sidney, is that all you got?" she whines, nails scraping down his shoulders, trying to get him to do something. "thought you were s'posed to be...fuckin' rough..or something," she whined in between thrusts from sidney.

"you want rough?" she nodded eagerly, "yeah baby?" he pulled out just halfway.

then suddenly he pushed back in, and started to push her halfway off the bed. the only part of her on the mattress were just her hips and nothing else. "fuckin' take it then," he said through gritted teeth.

holding onto her hips with an iron grip he fucked her hard, rough, and fast. just like she asked. the bed was creaking with every thrust he made and she was moaning and whining with every deep thrust she made, hitting her g spot every time.

he was deep inside of her, and she was so overwhelmed with pleasure. she shrieked again when she felt her orgasm coming along fast, her hands gripping onto the carpet underneath her while she felt him abuse her cunt with every snap of his hips.

"fuckin' cum baby, cum hard for me please-" that was all he had to say before she was screaming his name in pleasure, her orgasm coming like a tidal wave over her body. she felt her arms give, before she was going to fall completely sidney held onto her legs, using his strength to pull her up and face him again.

still inside of her, he kindly brushed hair out of her face and brushed his hands along her flushed cheeks.

"was that enough for you? or you want more?" he teased, both of his hands gripping her ass hard to keep her in place.

she's still catching her breath, but she lets out a light laugh, "give me all you got, captain."

feedback | masterlist

universe please take all of lando norris', yuki tsunoda's and ollie bearman's sufferings, quadruple it and give it to christian horner, zak brown and flavio briatore🙏

fun fact for the lb, i live in florida. there will be more fucking annoying people in THESE FUCK ASS wife beater jerseys that the sell. i can’t i can’t.

goodnight lb. sleep tight, remember the wise words

“why you so mad. it’s only game”

i’m going to read that one knies fic that’s been at the top of matthew knies x reader for forever and then i’m gonna find the saddest woll fic and read that.

was fun while it lasted 🫡

was gonna stop watching BUT WE CAN DO THIS WE CAN WIN

ok maybe time to pull woll

DOMIII OH MY GOD

joe woll, i love you. i love you so much but perchance its stolzie time

lock tf in my guys

can we like score or smth man... or kill the panthers

AH THE BLOOD ON THE BOARDS IS TERRIBLE

omg poor guy tf

yk the stress is bad when i’m doing my homework to calm down

i’d like to say hello to the lb, first time caller long time listener and we WILL get through this together

(n.mackinnon) — i just had sex with my ex in a new york apartment

a/n: i was sad after the mikko trade and so this happened. i finally got around to finishing it. not proofread and i wrote this entirely on my phone. do with that what you will. and welp, i don’t know what that ending was. so i hope you guys like it anyways <3

word count: +7.1k

synopsis: | based on the song sex with my ex by fletcher | the biggest trade in hockey in years has you texting your ex, something you swore you would never do. but you thought it would be harmless.

warnings: mentions of the mikko rantanen trade, smut — (oral female, unprotected!sex) cursing, accidental injury, mentions of blood, descriptions of blood & bruising

if there is anything else that needs to be tagged as a warning please let me know so i can make sure it’s tagged properly!

🚨 you are responsible for your media consumption. do not interact if you are under age.

tagging: @jostystyles @comphyjost @mrs-mikko-rantanen @krugstrash @lyds21 @davidpastrsnack @fallinallincurls @ilyasorokinn @laurenairay

—

you bit your lip as you debated sending the message. the news playing in the background of your apartment. the wine in your system telling you to do things you shouldn’t, but you wanted to.

you were in shock. the whole hockey world was in shock. what the hell were they doing?

you had already texted mikko and he had responded. despite everything that had happened between you and his friend, you remained friends with some of the guys on the team. even after your ‘traitorous’ move to new york.

you were now working for a different team. donning different colors and cheering on different guys.

which they all hated. but you had grown up in colorado, and no matter what, you wanted them all to succeed.

so you kept following them. you followed the moves of what was happening with the denver based team and tried not to think about him, but how could you not? he was the face of the goddamn team.

did he think about you?

despite talking to mel and gabe all the time, you’d never ask that question.

you’d shut him out after moving. it was best for you and in the end, it was best for him to. he went back to just focusing on hockey and forgetting what it was like to hold you, to sleep beside you.

but his nights were restless and wanting. there were bags under his eyes and he seemed tenser than usual in the weeks that followed the break up.

reporters across the league talked about it. how he was exploding on the ice, a hot head.

and you hated that you had caused it, but it wasn’t you who had led to the demise of your relationship. you had promised you weren’t gonna blame him, but you did.

you were only human.

but it didn’t matter now, things had started to settle down. and the relationship that had lasted years, was over now. and you were settled in a new city. with a new team. and you hadn’t thought about him for over a year. well, that’s a lie.

you hadn’t talked to him in over a year.

even when they made their east coast road trip and the guys insisted on seeing you, he didn’t come. and you knew why. because you wouldn’t have shown up he was there.

on the ice when you were taking pictures and conducting rink side interviews and shooting content, cale and mikko stopped by to chat before the game.

you tried to pay attention but you couldn’t, not with his eyes on you.

your breath was catching in your throat, your heart speeding up. sweat furrowing your brow.

it was like that every time you saw him.

so why the hell were you texting him now?

you definitely were blaming the wine.

i’m sorry about mikko.

that was all you said. simple. nothing more, nothing less.

a tiny dialogue. something easy.

this was the biggest thing to come out of the avs front office since…well ever.

you chewed on your bottom lip and sipped on your wine as you watched anxiously for the little dots to appear.

you practically dropped your phone on the counter when they appeared.

your heart sank when they disappeared. but then they appeared again. it happened several times.

you breathed deeply and set your phone down on the counter and ran a hand through your hair.

you paced around your apartment and looked out across the skyline. it was late at night, but the city lights were still bright.

trying to pay attention to the news playing on your tv, you stared blankly at the screen.

they were talking about the same thing you had been thinking about. the damn fucking mikko trade.

of course, there were some really shitty takes. and you expected nothing less from biz.

you huffed and chugged another sip of your red.

the phone buzzed on the counter and you almost choked as you rushed over.

the name on the phone you hadn’t seen in so long.

it fucking sucks.

wow, what a way with words, you thought. he always had a talent.

all that waiting for this. honestly, you didn’t know why you were disappointed.

you were just about to shut your phone off and go to bed, ignore what you started when your phone lit up again.

you home?

a lump formed in your throat and you had to read the message six times trying to understand it.

yes. why? are you in new york?

you waited with baited breath as the bubbles popped up on the screen again and disappeared.

ugh! you felt like screaming and throwing your phone across the room.

will be. we land in 20.

god. what do you do? oh my god. he wants to come over. for what? oh. you’re not stupid. you know what he wants to come over for.

you were just about to text back when another message popped up.

can i come over?

against your better judgment, you were texting him your address and turning your phone off.

you chugged the rest of your wine before pouring yourself another huge glass.

you felt frantic as you looked around your place. it was decently clean. should you pick up before he comes?

no. god no, you should shower. most definitely shower before he gets here.

what were you doing? you asked yourself as you made your way to the shower.

the shower wasn’t comforting as you frantically scrubbed yourself clean and tried to blow dry your hair so it wasn’t soaking wet when he got here.

you drank more wine as you stand in front of your dresser debating what to put on. you knew him so well. would it be obvious if you put on one of his favorites? would that say something to him? would he read into it?

the wine was clouding your mind. you weren’t thinking clearly as you slipped the white lace over your skin.

you checked your phone for messages. there were none, so you made your way to your closet and searched for something you hadn’t thought about in ages.

although, it was still your favorite piece of clothing. and you’d never give it back to him.

even if he asked.

though, he never would. and you knew he never would.

he liked seeing you in it too much. the day you walked out wearing it was one of the worst days of his life.

you held it close to you, staring at your reflection in the mirror. because what were you doing?

here you were…in your new city. putting on his favorite set, putting on his shirt. inviting him into your safe space for what? to have sex? was it harmless? fuck no. you knew it wouldn’t be.

but as you thought about him. the broadness of his shoulders, the crook of his nose and how it felt buried in your cunt, you were throwing on the old fabric.

you debated more wine, but anymore and you’d probably throw up so you decided on some water. water with some liquid iv. you hated the taste. it was definitely not as fun as what you had just been drinking, but you were not about to miss out on what you had basically invited to your place.

your skin was crawling as you crossed your legs in anticipation and stared out the window.

when your intercom buzzed you fell off the couch. you hit the floor with a thud and you scrambled off the ground rushing to it.

“who is it?” you asked hitting the button. you knew damn well who it was.

there was a huff of annoyance and god you hated what it did to you.

“it’s me.” his voice. god his voice. you hadn’t heard it in person in so long. only just what had played on your tv or over your phone.

you felt weak in the knees as your shaky finger buzzed him in.

the minutes that took him to climb the stairs to your fifth floor apartment felt like hours.

you were slumped against the door practically panting.

how were you still this down bad for him? you swear it hadn’t been this way. you felt strangely pathetic and euphoric at the same time.

when there was a knock on the door, you jumped out of your skin.

you turned on your heels and stared at the door knob. you were trying to calm your breathing and get your hand to stop shaking so bad.

“y/n.”

your eyes fluttered shutter when he called his name and in a trance, you opened the door for him.

“nate.” you breathed.

his breath hitched in his throat as the door swung open. the sound of his name on your lips was heavenly to him.

you were standing there, cheeks flushed. no doubt from wine. he wasn’t stupid, nate knew what had driven the text to him. your hair damp and tossed to the side.

his eyes trailed down, landing on the hoodie you were wearing. his hoodie.

his number on the arm and his team’s logo on the front. no doubt his name still on the back.

nate groaned low.

but you still heard it and it went straight to your core.

your legs were bare.

“hi.” you said breathlessly.

“hey.” nate responded and pushed his way into the apartment.

you stepped aside to accommodate his size.

nate kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat. he dropped it on top of his sneakers.

“you know, i have a coat rack.” you said.

“i know.” nate replied and glanced towards the door.

you rolled your eyes and picked up his coat.

hanging it up next to yours, nate watched you. secretly, he wanted to see you do that. all this time, he longed to see his coat next to yours like it had been for all of that time.

truth be told, when you texted him. he wasn’t all that shocked. the mikko news was everywhere and he knew it would reach you. that it would bring you back to him.

but he had no idea that it would bring him here. to your new york apartment on the eve of a game after they just to lost boston.

when they got to the hotel and he was checking into his room with cale and immediately leaving after final call, cale was concerned.

all he said was your name and cale understood what that meant and shut his mouth before rolling back over in his own bed.

nate made his way down the back stairs of the hotel floor and hailed a taxi. the ride to your place he was anxious. he decided against texting you on the way.

nate didn’t want to give you the chance to back out. he’d waited too long to see you, to apologize for what had happened. for not seeing you, paying enough attention. given the chance, he’d do better.

all this time, he wondered if you had a new guy. as much as he hated it and against his better judgment, he’d asked one of the players he saw you posting a lot on the team’s social to find out if you were seeing anyone.

you weren’t. and he hated that he now knew that nate was thinking about you, but it wasn’t like people didn’t know you guys had been a thing. i mean for fuck’s sake, you were standing next to him in his cup photos.

tonight, nate was gonna talk to you. after losing mikko, fuck it. he needed to air everything out.

but when you opened the door and you were standing there in his clothes, his thoughts darkened and everything went out the window.

all he could see was his cock sliding in and out of you and he knew you had been thinking the same thing.

“i hate this.” nate had been taking in the contents of your apartment, the decorations. he’d seen most of them before. you hadn’t changed. but there were new things.

the blue shirt with the new lettering and new team logo.

he picked up the shirt and it looked small in his hand like a rag as he waved it at you.

“nathan.” you said.

“what?”

“it’s where i work.”

“i know. it doesn’t mean i have to like it.”

“nate—“ you started but nathan tossed the fabric to the floor and suddenly he was in your space. backing you against the kitchen island.

“why’d you put that on?” nate asked. his tone was dark and his voice low.

his hands were resting on the countertop, your body trapped between his strong arms.

your breath was caught in your throat and you felt like you were choking on your heartbeat as you tried to speak.

before, when you had put it on…you felt so bold. so brazen, but now. here, under his gaze. you felt small. and oddly his.

although he hadn’t touched you in a year, but the both of you knew that didn’t matter. you were always his. and always would be.

“what do you mean?” you finally squeaked out. you tried to sound as normal as possible, but you knew you sounded like a mouse.

nate chuckled and you resisted the urge to crumble.

“did you put it on for me? or do you wear it all the time?” nate whispered, his lips brushing slightly over the exposed skin of your skin as he dipped his head.

oh. you moaned soft and inaudible, but nate knew you, he knew your body and he knew what his presence in your tiny was doing.

just like you knew without looking down, without feeling him, what you were doing to him.

his hands left the counter and they reached for the hem of the sweatshirt.

nate tugged at one of the lose threads. there was a slight ripping sound.

your stomach lurched.

“don’t.” it felt as if your heart was being ripped with that seam. it reminded you of that year ago when everything happened. you still hadn’t healed. you had just put a bandage over everything and moved on because you wanted him. you wanted him to fix it all, but you didn’t give him that chance because you just packed up your shit and took a new job with a new team and moved to a new city.

“i’ll give you a new one.” nate whispered. his lips closer to you this time. they were hovering over yours and you felt drunker than you had before.

desperate for him. to taste him after the longest year of your life.

“promise?” you questioned. your eyes fluttered opened and to your surprise, nate was staring at you with his big blue eyes. they were cloudy and stormy. a hint of lust in them, but something you couldn’t put a name on.

“promise.” nate nodded and as the words left his mouth, you felt whole again.

you knew you’d regret it because how could this be harmless? but you threw your arms around his neck and breathed him in.

his lips were warm and rough. slightly chapped from the cold air. nate tasted like mint and maple. you smiled to yourself. he was still using that chapstick you’d found in a market back home with him.

when you’d left, the first time nate went home, he was there with sid and saw the booth again. he bought the entire inventory. it was stupid and sidney made fun of him for it, but the older forward understood. nathan was trying to hold onto any piece of you he could.

and that damn lip balm you loved so dearly was something he carried with him always. tucked away in his pocket, his suitcase, and his hockey bag.

nate was falling into you, his arms sliding around you. his body pushing your ass into the edge of the countertop.

you gasped into him and nathan was sliding his tongue into your mouth.

his hands gripped your ass and halted you onto the countertop in one motion before sliding underneath the comfort of his hoodie and squeezing your sides.

they were heavy and familiar on your skin. you loved the feeling. after all this time, he still felt so comfortable.

nate discarded your hoodie and dropped it to the kitchen floor. you felt a chill slide up your spine. your arms flooding with goosebumps.

before nate was throwing his head back, his eyes rolling.

he groaned loudly.

“my god.”

you smiled bashful. a pink tint painting your cheeks.

“what kind of man do you think i am, y/n?” nate asked as if the both of you didn’t know he wasn’t coming here for one thing and one thing only.

“the kind who’s gonna fuck me.” you replied.

“you’re killing me.” nate said before his hands were back on you again. exploring and touching everything he could.

his lips were more harsh this time. they weren’t soft and gentle on your lips, taking their time to memorize them again. although, he’d never forgotten. now, they were latched on to your neck and his teeth were nipping your skin. you yelped and he shushed you.

you tugged at his t-shirt and nate pulled apart from you. he was annoyed now. all he wanted was to touch you.

nate was starved and you were his meal.

nate tore his shirt from his head and threw it aggressively across the room and you watched it in surprised.

he didn’t pay attention to your surprise before he was kissing you again and his hands were cupping your ass and yanking you towards the edge of the counter.

“god i missed you. i missed this ass.” nathan said with a smack.

“nathan!” you chided.

“don’t act like you don’t love it.” nate said and kissed you again. you’d protest, but he had you there.

why did this all feel so weird? you should stop it, you thought. this was mudding the waters between the two of you, but honestly were they ever gonna be clear?

probably not. there was too much history.

so what the hell? was one night with him really the worst thing you could do?

everything in the world was going to hell. and he’d just lost one of his best friends and lost to the bruins. nate needed to let out some steam. and you were here now and with his hands on you, all you could think about was how good it was, how good he was.

and how there was no way you’d be able to walk again tomorrow and you wanted that.

nate picked you up as you were thinking. your feet touching the ground, but your weight was barely registering against the floor as nate spun you in his arms and walked towards your bedroom. his foot heavy against the door as he kicked it open.

you rolled your eyes as he tossed you on the bed. you didn’t even have a chance to scold him for it before he was crawling over you.

there was something so playful and domineering about him when you were together. it was a part of him only you got to see and god, you missed it.

nate kissed your lips before making his way down your chest. he paid extra attention to the tops of your breasts before leaning back. his hair was a mess and his pupils were blown.

nate’s chest was rising heavy and slow. you loved the sight of him.

you wanted to take a picture of nathan and place it beside your bed so you could always remember him this way.

nate’s hands were rough as he ran them along your breasts yanking at the lace and there was that ripping sound again.

“nathan!” you snapped. nate shrugged before doing the exact same thing to the matching underwear. you were completely bare now except for the leftover strands of white lace clinging for dear life.

“what?” nate shrugged.

“i can’t believe you.” you grumbled. you were so annoyed with him, but you were so wet for him. only him. which he knew.

nate looked at you smugly.

“yes, you can, y/n.” nate started, his hands rubbing circles in the tops of yours thighs as he planted both your legs on either side of his body. “which is why you wore it.”

a lump formed in your throat and as you laid there, bare chested in front of your ex boyfriend you had never felt more naked.

nathan had a way of being able to see you more than anybody else in every single way.

his hands were warm and heavy on your skin. nate’s skin was rough from all the years he spent stick handling and firing at the back of the net.

the sensation caused the hair to stand up on the back of your neck.

you gasped and bit your lip trying to be quiet, but nathan’s eyes darkened.

you didn’t even have to wait for him to explain, you knew exactly what he meant. there was no communication that had to be passed between the two of you.

that’s what happens when you spend years studying each other’s bodies.

and his was magnificent.

it was shameful how often you’d picture him after leaving, after you had to go. because you should have left the memory of him in his house, in your shared house.

but you didn’t.

there were nights when your hand would sneak lower and you’d chase a high, but nothing was as good as his fingers, his touch.

nate ruined you.

he ruined you. he’d stolen moments from you and parts of your happiness, he’d stolen countless orgasms in the months to come. but your therapist said part of you did that too.

but it was easier for you to blame it all on him. which is why you didn’t reach out till now.

and your body was teetering in anticipation. it was like every single nerve in your body was a single match waiting to be lit.

nathan’s lips pursed as he kissed the soft skin of your navel.

his bottom lip jutting out and dragging a wet stripe with it.

you moaned in response and you tried to stifle it. nathan growled against you. a warning.

his fingers dug into your hips as his weight shifted the bed while he settled between your thighs.

you were watching his movements with baited breath, your chest still.

your eyes glazed over as he placed a soft kiss on the outer lips of your pussy before delving into you like a starved man.

you shuddered as he instantly found that bundle of nerves and his nose swiped against it. god. it was like a dream.

he breathed deep, taking you in, as he licked and kissed your clit.

nate’s mouth was moving in long strokes. moans we’re steadily coming from your lips and they were nathan’s favorite album.

nate pulled back his tongue disappearing from you briefly as his teeth scraped the bundle of nerves and you gasped in shock, in anguish as it startled you.

the fire was starting everywhere on your body, the matches lighting each other.

your pelvis arched off the bed as you begged for more.

nathan’s fingers kept digging into your hips as hard as he could and his pelvis was rutting against the edge of the bed for any sort of relief from the agonizing ache he felt in his dick.

nate’s tongue circled your hole before swiping upwards and finding your clit again. abruptly, two of his fingers were entering you, stretching you and your eyes grew wide as he did so.

you were louder now. your cheeks painted red and sweat forming on your chest.

nathan itched to reach up and touch your breast, but his fingers were deliciously digging into the top of your ass and he couldn’t wait to see what it looked like in the morning.

if he was still here, and he hoped he would be. nathan desperately hoped that you would let him stay the night.

he was love sick and he’d didn’t get care if everyone knew it at this point because he only wanted you knew.

having sex with his ex in a new york apartment was not going to be harmless and he knew that. but he’d gladly take a puck to the face from shea weber if it meant somehow getting you back.

and maybe you wouldn’t take him back, but he’d have this one night. to keep him company on his lonely nights on the road and at home.

“oh. nate.” you moaned and he continued eating you out like it was his last meal because it was in so many ways.

it was the last meal he wished he’d gotten before you had rightfully so walked out his life.

nate’s tongue flicked against your clit fast and rough as his fingers pumped in and out of you in tandem.

you were a mess above him, screaming his name as the fire came to a full blaze.

the word ‘nathan’ was no longer bitter on your tongue as you screamed his name, crashing like waves extinguishing the fire inside you.

the waves crashed into you so hard, you were panting gasping for air. there was pleasure written all over your face and your eyes were stormy.

nate didn’t let up though. he continued kissing, sucking, and licking. he loved tasting you.

“nate.” you whispered, it was barely audible. your voice stuck in your throat.

nate pulled his mouth from you with a smack and his fingers slid out of you slowly.

you whimpered at the loss of contact and nate finally released the one hand that was holding a vice grip on your hip bone.

nate crawled upwards till he was leaning back on his heels again.

he was unfairly wearing more clothes than you.

nate’s eyes were glazed over just like yours and his movements felt not his own like he was drunk as he brought his fingers up to his lips and sucked.

he moaned as he cleaned you off him. his breath deep and as nathan memorized all the details.

you could’ve come right there again at the sight of him.

“nate.” you whispered.

“shush, baby.” nathan said, “i know.”

and you melted. nathan stepped off the bed and his knees almost buckled out underneath him.

he prayed to god you didn’t notice, but you did.

because you were also committing everything about this night to memory. a memory that would be burned into your brain forever.

“nathan mackinnon.”

“yes?” nate cocked his head.

you lulled your head to the side so you could take him in. the sheen of sweat on his toned chest, the smooth curve of his biceps, and the crook of his nose. your eyes trailed downwards towards his waist wear his jeans hung low and the calvin klein logo was practically embedded into his skin.

you wanted to peel them off of him with your teeth.

“y/n.”

you kept staring at him, your eyes fixated there as you imagined it, watching him come undone underneath your touch.

“mmm?” you asked.

nate chuckled darkly.

“like what you see?”

your cheeks felt hot.

“fuck yeah.”

“i know.” nathan replied.

you rolled your eyes, but you still reached out to touch because you couldn’t resist him.

“ah ah.” nathan took a step away from you. his knees were still weak, but he couldn’t give into you like this because he wouldn’t last more than a second and he wanted this. no, he needed this.

he’d been thinking about this for ages.

you were his remedy.

“nate.” you whined like a brat. his brat.

nate unbuttoned his jeans and kicked himself out of his pants.

your eyes immediately took to the black underwear clad against his skin.

his thighs rock solid, his ass perfectly sculpted as he slid the fabric off too.

you were practically drooling as his cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach.

nate’s tip was enlarged and red. nate was throbbing as he stalked towards you.

“i missed you.” nate said as he climbed back onto your bed. his legs on either side of your body.

“i missed you.” you replied. a moment of vulnerability between the two of you as locked eyes.

“especially your superstar dick.” you said after a few moments of silence.

“of course you’d say that, y/n.” nathan laughed light heartedly. his smile reaching his eyes. you hadn’t seen them do that in forever.

“what? it’s true.” you shrugged.

nate shook his head and kissed you, deeply.

his hands roaming all over you as he swallowed your breaths and moans.

your fingers tugged at his hair strands and nails scrapped down his back.

nate’s dick was resting hard between your thighs, prodding near where you needed it most.

you tried to hook your leg over his, a move he knew all too well, but he wasn’t gonna let it happen tonight because if you did, he’d be finishing inside your mouth and not where he really wanted to which he couldn’t have. not after waiting for so long.

“nate.” you muttered against his lips.

“y/n.”

“nate. let me—“

“no.” nate snapped.

“please.”

“i. won’t. make. it.” nate said in between kisses.

you nodded and relented as nate looked to you.

“i need you.” you said and nate kissed you harder.

his hands moving between the two of you. taking himself in his hand, he pumped himself a couple of times before rubbing himself through your slick.

nate smacked his tip against your swollen and worn clit.

you gasped.

lining himself up with your entrance, nate kept his eyes on yours as you watched him enter you. his hips thrust up in one motion and suddenly you were full of him.

there were twinges of pain as you adjusted to the size of him, but you were so turned on and needed to have more of him.

nate pulled out and then pushed into you roughly.

your back arched up off the mattress as he fucked into you.

nathan was above you, painted in the shadows of city light through the windows as he pulled your body closer to his. your head resting against the pillow, lulling to the side in pleasure.

your hands bunching up the sheets as nate’s hips snapped into your pelvis.

your moans and the dirty sounds of your body meeting for the first time in months were the only sounds in your apartment.

nate grunted above you as you shut your eyes and focused on that second wave of bliss.

your hand snaking down to find your clit. your thumb circling in tandem with his rough thrusts.

“god you’re so beautiful.” nathan said from above you.

you moaned.

“sprawled out like this, just for me. even after all this time. it’s just for me. wearing my set. my sweatshirt. it’s me.”

you moaned again in response.

“say it.” nate demanded.

“it’s you.” you muttered.

“speak up, y/n.” nate growled.

“it’s you!” you shouted. “it’s you, nate. it’s only you.” you were a mess underneath him practically crying as nerves began shooting all over you.

the knot was still building in your stomach, but at the same time the wave was hitting you and the sensation was too much.

your pussy’s walls fluttering around him, pulling him in harder and deeper.

nate faltered in his thrusts and let out his own moan.

and that’s what sent you over the edge.

you came with a shout of his name as he continued fucking into you chasing his own relief.

“god, i love you.” nate said as he buried himself deep inside of you, his thighs cramping as he sputtered.

the warmth of him coating your inside walls. nate’s breath was strangled as he collapsed on top of you, panting.

your eyes were wide because the realization suddenly hit you. the blissful high making you drunk, leaving your body as his statement rushed over you.

it was more raw and numbing than anything the two of you had just done in the past two hours.

god, i love you.

did he really just say that?

was it one of those things that guys just say when they get laid? no. it was never something nate said during sex.

nathan wasn’t romantic. and everyone knew it. he only said i love you every so often out loud, but you knew he did love you.

there were moments when he’d make you a cup of coffee and leave it for you by bed before sneaking out for early morning skate.

or when he’d listen to your favorite music over and over again despite not loving it.

nathan would frequent a local book store and constantly book out a new book for you to read and tell him every thing about.

or how he would sit and listen to all your work presentations for hours despite not knowing anything about the specialization you were in, but he’d support you no matter what.

those were moments when he showed his love the most.

the downfall was that as the seasons after winning the cup got more difficult and they had early exists, his focus centered.

he forgot you. he became obsessed with trying to perfect his passes and face offs. dragging himself to practice hours before everyone else and coming home later than everyone else.

nights making dinner for him and then you’d sit for hours waiting as he stayed at the rink obsessively skating and watching tape.

it got bad again. you reached out to sid and he said he knew. he had been talking to him about it, but there was nothing the two of you could do. it was like last time.

and when he forgot your birthday and your anniversary it wasn’t that big of a deal to you.

but one of the biggest things coming up in your life, a memory of someone in your life you missed dearly that he never got to meet that you wished he had, you knew you’d always come second.

you hoped you were wrong. but even sid had texted you about it. and so did landy and ej.

three of his best friends remembering the day you were hurting the most and your boyfriend wasn’t.

so that’s when the job offer that had been sitting your email inbox that you dismissed instantly suddenly became enticing.

and you left.

and now you were here.

having sex with your ex in your new york apartment.

you could feel yourself a mess, obsessed with him again.

why did you think it would be harmless?

because he was your nathan.

and no matter how much time passed, he’d always be your nathan.

and you know that you’re losing your mind, but you were back in his arms. back where you started.

“y/n.” nathan said.

“i gotta go to the bathroom.” you said and pushed him off you before running to the bathroom and locking yourself in there.

nate laid there in your bed shocked at himself.

what the hell just happened? what did he do? what did he say? why did he say that?

“y/n. can we talk?” nathan said his feet heavy on the hardwood floor.

you could see the shadow of him from underneath the door.

“yeah.” your breath was shaky. you said from behind the door.

“i didn’t mean it.” nate said. fuck. why did he say that? he did mean it! what was he doing now?

you sniffled. he didn’t mean it?

“you didn’t mean it?” you asked a little dejectedly and nate slumped against the door, his forehead hitting the door.

“no. fuck. y/n. i.”

you opened the door and nate fell forwards abruptly, his face smacking the bathroom tile floor.

“oh my god! nate!” you shrieked and dropped to the floor as he groaned.

nathan shot up from the ground.

“i’m good.” nathan said with a bloody smile.

“oh my god, you’re bleeding.” you said and rushed to get a towel.

you yanked at the towel rack hanging over his head and it came crashing down bumping into on the way down to clatter against the floor.

“oh my god. i’m sorry.” you gasped in shock.

“wow.” nathan said.

“what?” you asked as you held the white wash cloth up to his nose and watched in horror as it became a mix of red and white.

“i can’t believe i just went from eating you out to this.” nate gestured between the two of you.

you smacked his chest.

nathan laughed so loudly then. it was deep guttural and his chest vibrated.

“i knew we’d regret this.” you mumbled.

“what?” nate asked. his laugh disappearing from his cheeks and his eyes becoming sad again.

“this, we shouldn’t have done, this. whatever it was.” you rambled.

“you really believe that?” nate searched your eyes.

“isn’t that what you just said?”

“what? no.” nate defended.

“you said ‘i didn’t mean it’ as in you don’t love me.”

“what? no! fuck, y/n. i love you. i love you more than anything. do you really think i don’t?”

“i don’t know.” you looked to the floor as you tried not to focus on his eyes or the blood on the towel.

nate winced as his thumbs found your chin and forced you to look at him.

“y/n. i never stopped loving you. the day you left was the worst day of my life. and i’ve been worse off without you.”

you stayed silent.

“i want to love you again.” you said quietly.

that felt like a gut punch to nate.

“you don’t love me anymore.” nate said.

“no. i mean, i do love you nathan. but i have spent so much time trying to unlove you and remove you from my heart. you really hurt me.”

“i know. i didn’t see you. and i promise that will never happen again.”

“are you sure? i’ve seen the standings.”

“okay, don’t bring that up, we’re getting better.” nathan chuckled, but there was a tone to his edge.

“how would this even work?” you whispered.

“i don’t know. but starting out you never wear those colors again.” nate’s eyes flicked towards the t-shirt he had discarded on the floor so distastefully.

“that’s my job.” you rolled your eyes.

“i hate it.”

“there are lots of things you hate, nathan.”

“but not you.” nathan said.

“not me.” you smiled.

and leaned into kiss him, but stopped short.

“we should really get you to a doctor.” you said and helped him get up even though nathan was twice your size.

nate pulled the bloodied rag back to the reveal the cut in his nose and there was already a bruise forming across his cheek.

“i can’t go to just any doctor.” nathan said.

“well, you need to get it looked at.”

“you’re looking at it.”

“nathan.” you said sternly.

“alright, i’ll get doc to look at it first thing.”

“no. now, you need to go now.”

“now?”

“yes. now.” you said.

“what about us?”

“i’ll see you after the game tomorrow.” you whispered into his chest and kissed him there.

nate felt like your lips had been seared into him on his peck.

“fine.” nate sighed and you watched as he got dressed so slowly to stall time.

despite his injury, nate kissed you hard and deep.

he pulled back wincing, his face swelling already. your fingers brushed across the purple bruise forming.

“i’m so sorry.”

“why? you didn’t do it.” nate deflected.

“i’m still sorry.”

“i’d take a beating if it meant getting the chance to talk to you.”

you giggled, “you look like you did.”

“that’s what i’m gonna tell people.” nate said.

you laughed.

“get out of here, superstar.” you pushed him out the threshold and he held the ice pack you handed to him to his face.

“see you tomorrow, baby.” nate said and he loved that sentence. he never thought he would say it again.

—

“i’m not quite sure, mose. but you’re right it does seem like nathan mackinnon is sporting quite the bruise under his right eye and across his nose.” ryker said as the camera trailed nathan as he skated across the ice.

it waited for him to turn to showcase the dark purple and blue that had spread across his face.

“seems like 29 is well enough to play today, but i did not see any incidents that would cause that in last night’s game ryker.”

“me either, mose. it’s good to see him on the ice.”

“i agree, hopefully the nate and the rest of the avs will be able to capitalize after the loss—“ the broadcast trailed off after erik had gotten what he wanted.

a screenshot of nathan’s face. there was something he’d seen on twitter about it, so he tuned in to see what everyone was talking about and there it was the giant bruise his friend was sporting.

erik was slightly concerned for nathan as he texted the groupchat with a select few guys.

—

nate’s phone buzzed on your nightstand as he nuzzled his neck into your shoulder.

“are you gonna get that?” you asked.

“no.” nate said.

“why not?” you asked.

“because i’m comfy.” nate murmured.

you reached over.

your lips curled into a smile.

“turn it off, it’s bright.” nate pulled you into his body, twisting his arms around you tighter.

“it’s from ej.” you said seeing the text message.

“what does that fucker want?” nate asked.

and you swiped up to see what erik had said, the phone unlocking with ease.

erik johnson: sent an attachment

erik: did you ride the subway alone or something?

gabriel landeskog: he wouldn’t tell me what happened

tyson barrie: damn

cale makar: he said y/n happened

erik: oh my god y/n punched him?! i would have paid to see that

cale: i don’t think that’s what happened.

erik: questioned cale makar’s message

mikko rantanen: since when does y/n talk nate?

cale: since you were traded :/

mikko: disliked cale makar’s messaged

“oh my god tell them to fuck off.” nate said reading over your shoulder.

you laughed.

“that’s all you slugger.” you said and dropped the phone for him to take, but nate didn’t move and it him in the face.

“ow!” nate said as it made contact with the bruise.

nathan mackinnon: y/n smacked me in the face with my phone after sex

nathan: thanks mikko

nate hit send and showed you the message.

“nathan!” you yelled incredulously at him and he laughed as he pulled you into him.

“my face hurts.”

“i don’t care.” you huffed trying to get away from him, but you weren’t really struggling.

the phone on the nightstand was buzzing so much that it started to slide towards the edge before it clattered to the floor and continued making noise underneath the bed.

“i hate you.” you muttered in defiance as nathan tried to kiss you.

“no, you love me.” nathan corrected.

—

Heat Check (18+)

Nate MacKinnon x reader

summary: enemies to lovers, friendship with the team, smut

—--------------------------------------------------

Disciplined. Focused. Dedicated.

That’s how Nathan MacKinnon was wired, and your mere existence threatened that. 

The Avalanche hired you before the season started to join the marketing team, and your job required you to work closely with the players.  You made sure they were always where they were supposed to be for different non-hockey events, and watched over press conferences and interviews - that sort of thing. 

Being in your mid-20s had a major advantage; you had enough years out of college that the players took you seriously, but still young enough that they messed around with you. You loved most of the players, but specifically, you were close with Jack Drury and Parker Kelly since they were the closest in age to you. 

They took pity on you for not knowing anyone in Denver when you moved and quickly integrated you into their friend group which you were very grateful for. Being friends with them was easy since you had pretty much the same hectic schedule. 

While those two loved you, there was one player who did not love you. Unfortunately, he just happened to be the most important one. 

Flashbacks

You were only two weeks into the job when Nate MacKinnon’s sharp voice echoed down the hallway.

"Why the hell am I the only one here on time?" he snapped, glaring at the half-empty media room.

You checked your clipboard and calmly replied, “Because you didn’t read the schedule. Your slot isn’t for another 20 minutes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So I’m just standing here like an idiot?”

“If the shoe fits,” you said sweetly, not looking up from your notes.

His jaw clenched. You didn’t flinch.

—--------------------------------------

“I told you I don’t want to do this ad,” Nate muttered, arms crossed as you stood in the locker room doorway.

You didn’t blink. “And I told you it’s in your contract. You skipped the last two. You’re out of excuses.”

“I have a routine. This screws it up.”

“Then I suggest you adjust,” you said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the waiting car. “Or do you want to explain to PR why your face isn’t in the team’s biggest sponsorship campaign?”

He muttered something under his breath but followed you out.

—--------------------------------------

“You didn’t tell me I had to speak,” Nate hissed as you straightened his name tag at the pre-event check-in.

You raised an eyebrow. “I did. Twice. You rolled your eyes both times.”

“I’m not a public speaker.”

You gave him a cool smile. “Lucky for you, I already wrote your speech. Try not to make it sound like a hostage video.”

“Why do you always have an answer for everything?” he growled.

“Because someone has to,” you replied, turning on your heel and leaving him standing there, speech in hand.

End of flashbacks

Jack and Parker always chastised you for going toe to toe with Nate but you just brushed them off. You didn’t have to answer him the way that they both did. Most of the team found it amusing, how easily you could get under his skin but you were more irritated by it – he was living up to the stereoype of stuck-up athlete who thought they were above listening to people like you. 

During games, you sat in a team suite with other marketing people that had to be there and some operations folks. The Avs captain, Gabe, usually sat up here with you for away games and you had grown to really enjoy his company. The team was playing in St. Louis and you had just settled in next to Gabe who was intensely watching someone during the warm ups. 

“Who are you watching?” You asked curiously, handing him a water. 

“Nate,” he said, his eyes not leaving the rink. “Something is up with him, seems like he’s in a bad mood.”

“He’s always in a bad mood,” you muttered and Gabe let out a short laugh, grinning at you. 

"Just to you, but this is different," Gabe replied, his expression turning serious again. "He's been off since morning skate. Usually, he's laser-focused before games, but today he's... distracted."

You followed Gabe's gaze to where Nate was on the ice. Even from this distance, you could see the tension in his shoulders as he took shots with more force than necessary. One clapped off the crossbar so hard it echoed through the arena.

"Maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed," you suggested, settling back in your seat.

Gabe shook his head. "No, this started after he checked his phone in the locker room. Something's bothering him."

"Well, whatever it is, let's hope he channels it into scoring tonight," you said, trying to sound nonchalant despite your curiosity being piqued.

He did not channel it into scoring. You watched shocked as things started off bad and then just kept getting worse. He got into a fight 5 minutes into the first period and ended up in the penalty box. Nate MacKinnon in the box for fighting??? This hadn’t happened in ages. 

The crowd was relentless, chirping him nonstop and for the man who prided himself on his ability to laser focus, you could see him starting to crack. 

“What the fuck is going on?” You mumbled, watching him get into it with another Blues’ player. 

Gabe was in just as much shock as you, “I have never seen him like this. I can’t even tell you the last time I saw him really in a fight.”

The two of you watched the rest of the third period in silence after Nate was pulled. You could tell, even from way up where you were, that he was fuming. The game ended, the Avs losing 2-0 and you packed up your stuff from the suite, heading down to one of the buses where you waited to leave with the team. You sat with another girl in marketing for the short ride to airport, boarding the jet quickly to get back to Denver. 

As much as you wanted nothing more than to pour a glass of wine and curl up on your couch, you had just a little bit of work to finish up before you went home. So your first stop when the busses brought you back to the facility was to your office. 

45 minutes later you decided to wrap it up and finally head out. You grabbed your coat and retreated downstairs, heading towards the parking lot. Someone came out from another part of the building and was a couple of steps ahead of you towards the same direction. 

It was Nate.

Of course it was Nate.

You debated turning around—just calling an Uber and coming back for your car in the morning—but then he turned his head, clearly hearing your footsteps behind him. His shoulders tensed, and you sighed.

Too late.

You kept walking, giving him a wide berth as you reached your car.

“What?” you snapped when you caught him glaring at you from across the row.

“You have something to say?” Nate barked, tossing his bag into the back of his SUV with more force than necessary.

“Nope,” you said, popping your trunk. “But apparently you do, since you're throwing bags around like a toddler.”

He scoffed. “You think this is funny?”

“I think you picking fights on the ice like a pissed-off frat boy is a little pathetic, yeah.”

Nate stalked a step closer, jaw clenched. “You don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“Because you don’t let anyone know,” you fired back, slamming your trunk shut. “You just sulk and snap at everyone who breathes too loud near you.”

“And you always have to be right, don’t you?” he bit out. “Every damn time, there you are—telling me what to do, acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

He stepped even closer, tension radiating off of him. “You don’t respect me.”

“No,” you said, standing your ground, chin raised. “I don’t coddle you. There’s a difference.”

Nate was quiet for a moment, his breathing shallow. His eyes darted over your face like he was trying to figure you out for the first time.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered.

“Good,” you shot back. “It’s mutual.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Something charged in the air. You were both too stubborn to back down, standing in the glow of the parking lot lights, faces inches apart.

Neither of you knew it - but you weren’t alone in the parking lot. Cale and Gabe had also stayed behind and were standing by the doors, watching your little showdown. 

“Do you think we should intervene?” Cale asked, scratching the back of his head. They had watched the two of you yell at each other from across the row to now yelling in each other’s faces. 

Gabe started to say yes as your finger came up to Nate’s face but stopped short at what he saw. Your finger was in Nate’s face for less than a second before he pushed you back against his car, his lips on yours in a searing kiss. You were frozen for only a millisecond before you responded back harshly against him, wrapping your hand into his hair and pulling roughly. 

Gabe and Cale were both slack jawed watching the scene in front of them. 

"Holy shit," Cale whispered, eyes wide as he watched his teammate and you locked in what could only be described as the most aggressive make-out session he'd ever witnessed.

"We should... probably go," Gabe said, but neither of them moved, too shocked by the scene unfolding before them.

Meanwhile, your mind was racing even as your body responded to Nate's touch. His hands were everywhere—in your hair, gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if the space between you was personally offensive to him. The kiss was all teeth and frustration, months of tension finally breaking.

When you finally pulled away for air, your chest heaving, Nate's eyes were dark and intense. His hair was disheveled where you'd run your fingers through it, and a flush had spread across his cheekbones.

"What the hell was that?" you breathed, staring at him in shock. 

His jaw tightened, “Get in the car.”

“Make me,” you barked back, full of attitude. He yanked open the door behind you and pushed you in. You scooted back in his spacious back seat and he was on you again in an instant. 

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and demanding, as he slammed the door shut behind him. Your back pressed against the leather seat, his weight pinning you down as his hands found the hem of your shirt. The windows quickly fogged as your breaths came in short, desperate gasps.

"I fucking hate how much I want you," he growled against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

"Shut up," you hissed back, tugging his hair hard enough to make him groan. "Just shut up for once."

“God I can’t wait to fuck that attitude out of you,” he growled, flipping you over to where your arms rested against the door. He yanked down your pants and ran his hand over your ass once before slapping it hard. 

“I’d like to see you try,” you said brattily, as you looked over your shoulder at him. 

His eyes darkened at your challenge, a dangerous smirk playing at his lips. "You always have to push, don't you?"

His hand came down again, harder this time, and you bit back a moan. The sting radiated across your skin as his fingers dipped between your thighs, finding you embarrassingly wet.

"Look at that," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "All that attitude, and this is what you really want."

You tried to maintain your composure, but it crumbled when he slid two fingers inside you without warning. Your head fell forward against the door as he curled them just right, making your knees weak.

"Fuck," you gasped, arching back against him.

"That's the plan," Nate replied, his free hand moving to unbuckle his belt. The sound of his zipper sliding down sent a thrill down your spine. He fingered you for a few more minutes before you pulling out, replacing them with the head of his cock at your entrance. 

You knew he was going to tease you and you weren’t going to give him the chance. Moving back quickly you pushed yourself onto his cock all at once, making him groan. 

"Jesus," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. "You just can't let me have control, can you?"

"Not when you're so slow," you taunted, rolling your hips back against him.

That was all it took to snap his restraint. Nate growled low in his throat and pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you with enough force to push you forward. One hand snaked around to grip your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse quicken as he established a punishing rhythm.

"Still think I'm slow?" he panted against your ear, his other hand reaching around to circle your clit.

Each thrust was deep and deliberate, like he was trying to brand himself into you. The car rocked with the force of his body driving into yours. 

Your thighs trembled as you struggled to maintain your position, the dual sensation of his fingers and his relentless pace pushing you rapidly toward the edge.

"Answer me," he demanded, giving your throat a gentle squeeze.

"N-no," you gasped, pride still battling with pleasure. "But I bet you can't make me come before you do."

You felt rather than heard his chuckle, a rumble against your back as he leaned over you.

"Always a competition with you," he muttered, but his fingers moved faster, more precisely against your clit. "Fine. Challenge accepted."

Nate shifted his angle slightly, hitting a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His rhythm never faltered as he used everything he'd learned about your body in the last few minutes to dismantle you completely.

"Shit," you whimpered, feeling your orgasm building. But you still had one trick left up your sleeve. 

Clenching deliberately around him, you heard his breath catch. "Fuck," he groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a second.

"Not so confident now?" you managed to say between ragged breaths, even as your own control was slipping.

Nate responded by sliding his hand from your throat into your hair, gripping tightly and pulling your head back. His mouth found your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Nice try," he whispered, voice strained with effort. "But I know what you're doing."

He released your hair only to snake his arm around your waist, lifting you slightly to change the angle. The new position hit something deep inside that made your entire body jolt.

"Oh god," you gasped, your arms trembling as they braced against the door.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice husky and commanding. "Let go for me baby.” 

He thought he had you exactly where he wanted you but he caught sight of you in the reflection of the window and that sent him over the edge. Your hair was a mess, and you were panting hard but he had never seen anything hotter than you in this moment. 

Your name fell from his lips in a strangled groan as he came, his hips stuttering against you. The feeling of him pulsing inside you combined with his fingers still working against your clit sent you crashing over the edge just seconds later, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared ragged breathing fogging up the windows of his luxury SUV. Reality slowly began to seep back in as your heartbeat returned to normal.

"Fuck," Nate muttered, carefully pulling away from you. The loss of contact felt sudden, almost jarring.

You straightened up, wincing slightly at the soreness already setting in, and began to fix your clothes in the confined space. The post-orgasm clarity was hitting hard, and with it came the realization of what you'd just done. Not giving him a chance to say anything, you simply opened the car door and stumbled out. You didn’t look back as you walked towards your car and it honestly felt like you were in a fever dream. 

You hated Nathan MacKinnon. Hated him. So why then did you just fuck him in the back of a car like a tennager? 

—---------------------------------------

Work the next day wasn’t awkward but that was mostly due to the fact that you normally avoided Nate at all costs; you hadn’t even spared him a glance when you were both in the lobby that morning. Your game plan was calm, cool, and collected. There was no reason for him to know that he was the reason you didn’t get any sleep, your head playing the car scene on replay and then getting mad at yourself for doing it. 

Morning skate was over and you were standing outside the locker room talking to Cale and Parker about an upcoming charity event they both had to be at. 

“Just send us a reminder the week of please,” Parker begged and you laughed, agreeing to his request. 

“So y/n, do anything fun after getting back last night?” Cale asked randomly and both you and Parker gave him a weird look. 

“Can’t say that I did,” you said confused, “Just went home and hung out.”

“So you hung out at a home? Not anywhere else?” Cale pressed. 

You shot Cale a perplexed look. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he replied too quickly, a strange smile playing at his lips. "Just making conversation."

Parker glanced between the two of you, clearly sensing something was off. Before he could question it further, the locker room door swung open and several players filed out. Your heart skipped traitorously when Nate emerged, his hair still damp from the shower.

His eyes locked with yours for a split second before he ducked his head, brushing past your small group without a word. The faintest hint of his cologne lingered in his wake, bringing unwelcome flashbacks of being pressed against him.

"That was weird," Parker commented, watching Nate's retreating form. "He didn't even glare at you. Are you sure you two didn't finally hash things out?"

“Yeah, like in a car or something?” Cale added and you froze. 

“What does that mean?” Parker asked and you turned ot Cale who had a shit eating grin on his face. 

“Can you give us a minute Parker,” you managed to stutter out, mind racing at the words that just came out of this man’s mouth. Parker nodded slowly before turning to catch Jack who was on his way out. 

“How do you know?” You seethed at Cale once Parker was out of sight. “And why would you fucking bring it up?” 

Cale just laughed and grinned down on you, “You two weren’t the only ones in the parking lot last night. Gabe and I got an eyeful.” 

Your stomach dropped to your feet. "Oh my god."

"Don't worry," Cale said, lowering his voice. "We left as soon as things... escalated. But maybe next time pick somewhere more private than the team parking lot?"

You covered your face with your hands, mortification washing over you in waves. "I'm going to die. Right here. This is how it ends."

Cale chuckled. "Relax. Gabe and I aren't going to tell anyone."

"Does Nate know that you saw?" you whispered, peeking through your fingers.

"No idea. We didn't exactly stick around to exchange notes." Cale's expression softened. "Look, whatever's going on between you two—"

"Nothing is going on," you cut in quickly. "It was a... momentary lapse in judgment. A stress relief thing. That’s all.” 

“Hmm,” he said, looking at you carefully. “Just interesting for a guy who has said he’s so focused on the team that he won’t even think about girls to be caught fucking one in the parking lot. Specifically one he claims he can’t stand.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything, filing away that comment for later. 

—---------------------------------------

Gabe was standing in the locker room, hovering near Nate’s locker as he scanned the room for a perfect accomplice in what he was about to do. Cale had told him what you had said about the following night so now he wanted to put to the test if you were the only one hot and bothered about it. 

“Charlie!” His eyes lighted up as he caught side of the new Avs player passing by. Glancing over to make sure Nate didn’t have his headphones in he continued on. “Tough game yesterday.” 

“No kidding cap,” Charlie said. “Definitley was happy to get home.” 

“Good thing we have people on the team to support us,” Gabe tried to say casually. “Have you met y/n yet?” 

Gabe watched Nate still at the mention of your name while Charlie nodded. 

“Yeah - she’s cool,” he said. 

“Kinda hot too right?” Gabe urged on and Charlie gave him a bewildered look. 

“Yeah - aren’t you married?” Charlie asked. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call it like I see it,” Gabe said, already thinking of ways to make it up to his wife for this performance. 

“Enough,” barked Nate and Gabe grinned. “Don’t talk about Avs employees like that.” 

Charlie started to back away, desperate to get away from whatever was going on as Nate glared daggers into the side of Gabe’s face. Gabe pretended to ponder for a moment. 

“Hmm good call, what’s your take on hanging out with them outside of work? Like in the backseat of a car?” 

Nate was on his feet in an instant, shoving Gabe across the locker room. Shouts went out as other players watched Nate stalk over to where Gabe had landed. 

"What the fuck, man?" Nate growled, looming over Gabe who was sprawled against the lockers.

Gabe held up his hands in surrender, but couldn't hide his smirk. "Just asking a question."

The locker room had gone silent, everyone frozen in place watching the scene unfold. EJ took a hesitant step forward, ready to intervene, but Gabe waved him off.

"You saw," Nate hissed, his voice low enough that only Gabe could hear. "How many others know?"

"Just me and Cale," Gabe replied, getting to his feet and straightening his shirt. "Your secret's safe. Though I wouldn't call it a secret when you're going at it in the team parking lot."

Nate ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Gabe grinned, “Then why’d you throw me across the locker room?” 

—--------------------------------------

You were in your head at work these days and still had refused to talk to Nate. You wish you could say that you were over what happened but that definitely wasn’t the case, in more ways than one. 

“Are you sure I can’t stay the night?”

You looked up over at the guy you’d matched with on Hinge hovering near your door with mild sympathy. 

“Yeah - I’m sorry, I have a really early morning,” you lied, hoping your face looked like you meant it. 

“Okay, well this was great, let’s do it again sometime,” he said, coming over to kiss you one last time before heading out. You waited until you heard the door click shut to fall back on your bed and scream into your pillow. 

Everything about this guy was perfect. He was hot as fuck, had a great job, and seemed genuinely interested in you. But the whole time you couldn’t stop comparing him to that fucking asshole on the Avs. 

You shouldn’t have let him come back to your apartment but you did in hopes that it would snap you back into reality but the opposite happened. You had to fake it for god sake. 

It had been two weeks since your unfortunate parking lot adventure and this was the second time this had happened. You just couldn’t “get it up” anymore. 

You hadn’t meant to cross paths with him.

But of course, when you turned the corner into the media room to double-check tomorrow’s charity schedule, there he was leaning against the table, arms crossed, talking with Gabe and Cale.

You stalled for a second in the doorway, hoping maybe he wouldn't notice you. No such luck. His eyes locked on yours immediately, his expression sharpening like he’d been waiting for you.

You moved to the far side of the room, rifling through the papers you needed. He wasn’t going to rattle you today.

“I sent you the updated itinerary,” you said aloud, without looking at him. “So there’s no reason you shouldn’t be where you’re supposed to be tomorrow.”

“I know how to read a schedule,” Nate snapped, his voice curt.

You turned to face him, eyebrow raised. “Could’ve fooled me last week when you bailed on the hospital visit.”

“I told PR I wasn’t feeling well,” he replied, his tone clipped. “I’m not going to show up for a photo op when I’ve got a fever.”

“No one’s asking you to pose on a red carpet,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “It’s called being a professional.”

“Don’t lecture me about professionalism,” he said, stepping closer. “Especially not when you—”

“Nate,” Gabe warned gently, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“No, let him finish,” you said, eyes narrowing. “Since he’s so good at making things personal.”

The room tensed. Even Cale took a step back like he wanted to pretend he wasn’t witnessing this.

Nate’s jaw flexed. “You walk around here acting like you’re the one in charge of everyone. You don’t know what it’s like out there, what we’re dealing with.”

“And you think you’re the only one carrying weight?” you replied. “You think it’s easy managing egos the size of this building? Try keeping an entire media schedule from falling apart while you throw tantrums over a twenty-minute interview.”

He moved even closer, standing toe-to-toe with you now. “You really have a way of getting under people’s skin, you know that?”

“You’re not exactly sunshine and charm either,” you retorted, glaring up at him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The tension between you buzzed like an exposed wire. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else, something sharper, more dangerous.

Cale cleared his throat loudly. “So, uh... we’re gonna go.”

“Yeah,” Gabe mumbled, already walking toward the door. “Enjoy… whatever this is.”

Once they were gone, the silence between you was deafening.

You stared at Nate, heart pounding in your chest. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Then stop starting it,” he replied, voice low.

You rolled your eyes and turned to gather your paperwork, but his voice stopped you.

“Don’t act like you don’t feel it too.”

You froze.

He was still standing there, arms crossed again, but his gaze had softened. There was something behind it—uncertainty, maybe even regret. And underneath that, the same pull that had been growing stronger since the moment you met him.

You swallowed. “Maybe I do,” you said. “But it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

His eyes darkened just slightly. “Most of the best things in life aren’t.”

You shook your head, but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you don’t seem to be going anywhere.”

—-----------------------------------

All you wanted to do after the shit day you had was go home and take a bath and pop open a bottle of wine, but begrudgingly you found yourself at a bar in downtown Denver per Jack and Parker’s request. 

It was Ross Colton’s birthday and you were friendly with him so the boys insisted that you come. You did enjoy the opportunity to let loose and dress differently than you did at work. Your long hair was curled down your back, laying atop of a tight black top paired with cargo pants. 

The bar was loud, buzzing with bodies and laughter and music thumping just a little too hard through the walls. You were doing your best to pretend you were having a good time—smiling when Parker made a dumb face, clinking your glass with Jack’s—but you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest.

Eventually, you drifted away from the group, needing a break. You made your way to the bar, perched on the edge of a stool, and ordered a sparkling water, hoping the coolness would help ground you.

You didn’t notice the guy until he was already too close.

“Hey there,” he said, voice low and way too confident. “Been watching you all night.”

You glanced at him briefly. “Cool,” you muttered, turning your attention back to your drink.

But he didn’t move.

“You alone?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Just needed some air.”

He grinned like you’d invited him in. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got time to keep you company.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He leaned in anyway, his shoulder brushing yours. “You sure? You look like you could use a strong drink and a stronger distraction.”

You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to put space between your bodies. “I said I’m fine.”

“C’mon,” he said, lowering his voice as he moved closer. “Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be nice.”

His hand landed on your leg—too high, too firm—and your entire body stiffened. You pushed it off immediately, heart rate spiking.

“Don’t touch me,” you snapped.

He smiled like it was a joke. “Relax. You don’t have to play hard to get.”

You stood up abruptly, your barstool scraping loudly across the floor. “Back off.”

He grabbed your wrist.

Not hard—but enough to freeze your blood.

“Let go,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as panic started crawling up your throat.

A second passed. Then another. Finally, he released you with a mocking smirk, like you were the one overreacting.

You spun on your heel, pushing past people, your breath shallow. You didn’t stop until you reached the hallway near the bathrooms. The music faded just enough that your pulse was the loudest thing you could hear.

You locked yourself in the farthest stall and sat on the closed toilet seat, burying your face in your hands.

Your fingers trembled. You felt sick. A few tears made their way down your face and you couldn’t stop your mind from flashing the look on that guy’s face when he looked at you. It chilled you. 

Pulling yourself together you made it to the bathroom sink, splashing water on your face to calm down. Your eyes were a little red-rimmed but you hoped that the low lights of the bar would fix that. Smoothing your hair, you gave yourself one last look before heading back out. 

Parker was the first person you saw and you beelined towards him, not even noticing it was Nate who he was talking to. 

“Hey,” Parker greeted as you barreled into him, he started to say something else but shifted gears. “What’s wrong?”

Nate’s attention snapped towards you, taking in your red eyes and the general nervousness you were exhibiting. 

“Nothing,” you said, trying to sound normal. “Just tired.” 

Parker accepted the answer and kept on what he was saying but Nate wasn’t listening, his eyes were trained on you. You met them for a second before blinking away and that was all he needed. He knew what he saw. Fear. 

“Who is he?” He interrupted Parker mid-sentence and you shifted from one foot to another. 

“It’s fine,” you told him. 

"It's not fine," Nate insisted, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me who he is."

Parker looked between the two of you, confused. "What's going on?"

You shook your head. "Nothing. Just some creep at the bar, but I handled it."

Nate's jaw clenched as his eyes scanned the room. "Which one?"

"Nate, seriously—"

"Which. One." His voice left no room for argument.

You sighed, discretely gesturing toward the guy who was now leaning against the bar, watching you with that same smirk. "The one in the blue button-down. But please don't make a scene."

Nate was already moving before you finished your sentence, his shoulders set in a hard line as he cut through the crowd. Parker cursed under his breath and followed, clearly sensing trouble.

You scrambled after them, heart hammering in your chest. "Nate, don't—"

But he was already standing in front of the guy, his presence commanding even in the crowded bar. You pushed your way through just in time to hear Nate's deceptively calm voice.

"I understand you've been bothering my friend."

The guy's smirk faltered slightly as he looked up at Nate, clearly recognizing him. "We were just talking, man. No big deal."

"Grabbing someone isn't 'just talking,'" Nate replied, his voice dropping even lower. "And I don't like when people touch what's mine."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. Parker shot you a surprised look, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding.

The guy straightened, trying to match Nate's height and masking his panic with a fake sense of confidence. 

“Do you usually let your girl dress like a slut then?” He shot out and it wasn’t a second after the last word left his mouth that Nate’s fist was flying towards his face. 

The bar erupted into chaos. The guy staggered backward, blood already trickling from his nose as he crashed into a table of drinks. Glasses shattered across the floor. Someone screamed.

"Nate!" you shouted, lunging forward to grab his arm before he could land another punch. His muscles were coiled tight under your fingers, ready to strike again.

Parker was there in an instant, pulling Nate back with both arms. "Not worth it, man. Not here."

Security descended on your group within seconds, burly men in black shirts materializing from the edges of the room. One of them recognized Nate immediately, his eyes widening.

"Everyone out. Now," the head security guard commanded, pointing toward the exit.

The guy with the bloody nose was still sprawled against the broken table, clutching his face and cursing. "You're fucking dead, MacKinnon.”

Nate just grinned at him. A sadistic sort of grin that had heat flwogin through your body. 

“I’ll see you outside then.”

You followed close behind as security escorted Nate out of the bar. 

Parker and Jack flanked Nate on either side as you all spilled out onto the sidewalk, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin. Nate shook his hand out, knuckles already reddening from the impact.

"What the hell was that?" Parker hissed, keeping his voice low as curious onlookers gathered nearby.

"He had it coming," Nate replied flatly, his eyes still burning with anger.

You stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. "Are you insane? You can't just punch people in public. You're the face of the franchise!"

His eyes locked with yours, intense and unrepentant. "He put his hands on you."

"I handled it," you insisted, though your voice wavered slightly.

"Not from where I was standing," he growled.

Jack glanced nervously over his shoulder. “We might get round 2 soon guys.” 

“Good, I was just getting started,” Nate boasted and you rolled your eyes. 

“No,” you said, irritated. “Your hand is already bloodied and I’m not going to be the reason you have to sit out a game. You two go back in and have fun, I’m taking him to get cleaned up.” 

Parker and Jack both raised their eyebrows at you but didn’t argue. Nate looked like he was going to protest but one glare from you shut him up. You led him down the street and towards your apartment; the walk was silent but luckily short and you were soon climbing up the familiar steps to your place. 

“Come on,” you murmured as you stepped in, motioning for him to follow you to the kitchen. 

He followed you silently, eyes taking in every detail of your apartment. It was tidy but lived-in, with touches of your personality everywhere—books stacked on the coffee table, a sweater draped over the couch, a few framed photos on the wall.

"Sit," you instructed, pointing to a barstool at your kitchen counter. Nate obeyed without argument, watching as you moved to the freezer and pulled out an ice pack.

You grabbed a clean dish towel, wrapped the ice pack inside it, and gently took his hand. His knuckles were already swelling, skin split across two of them.

"This was stupid," you muttered, carefully pressing the ice to his hand. "You know that, right?"

"Doesn't feel stupid," he replied, his voice quieter now, all the rage from earlier simmering down to something more controlled.

“You laid a claim on me to that guy and Parker and Jack,” you said, looking him the eye now. “Why?”

“You are mine,” he said with a shrug, as if it was the most casual thing in th world. 

“I am not yours,” you argued. “We don’t even like each other.” 

“You became mine the second you didn’t push me away,” he said seriously and you groaned in frustration. 

"That doesn't make any sense," you said, pulling away from him and setting the ice pack on the counter. "One hook-up in a car doesn't make me yours."

Nate's eyes followed you as you paced the small kitchen. "It wasn't just the hook-up."

"Then what was it? Our constant arguments? The way you glare at me across rooms? Please, enlighten me."

He stood up, closing the distance between you in two strides. "It's the way you don't back down. How you call me on my shit when everyone else just nods and agrees. It's how you walk into a room like you own it." His voice dropped lower. "It's how you felt against me that night."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Nate—"

"I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, the confession seeming to surprise even him. “You’re in my head constantly - it’s infuriating.” 

You smirked at that, only he would find a way to be into you and pissed about it at the same time. Well maybe you felt that way too. 

“I’ve had to fake two orgasms since then,” you blurted out and his head snapped up, faint amusement on his face. 

“Oh yeah?” He pressed. 

Your face was scarlet and you turned away mumbling, “Keep thinking about the car.” 

Nate stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. His injured hand hovered near your hip like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

“You think I haven’t thought about it too?” he asked, voice low. “That I haven’t replayed that night a hundred times?”

You swallowed hard, unsure if you were dizzy from how close he was or from the confession itself. “Then why are you such an asshole to me?”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t look away. “Because I didn’t know how else to act around you. You get under my skin. You make everything feel... unsteady.”

Your breath hitched. “Unsteady isn’t always a bad thing.”

He reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away—but you didn’t. His hand settled lightly on your waist.

“Let me take you out,” he said, softer now. “Not to the backseat of my car. A real date. Just us. No yelling. No insults.”

You stared up at him, heart thudding.

“You’re intense,” you said quietly.

He gave a small grin. “So are you.”

The silence between you now felt different—warmer, heavier with something that wasn’t just lust or rivalry anymore.

“Okay,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “One date.”

Nate exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. “One date,” he agreed. “But I’m warning you now—I’m not planning on it being the last.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

He leaned down, brushing his lips gently against your cheek, this time not rushed or heated—just a promise.

And for the first time in weeks, your chest didn’t feel so heavy.

hes so endearing i cant

sᴛᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

Pairing | Matt Boldy x afab!reader Summary | (Boston College, fluff) | Matt had been in her orbit since they were freshmen, all day, every day. Until one night, when three words shifted everything. Authors Note | First ever Matt Boldy piece, don’t hurt me, I’m learning the ropes of him <3 Thank you, Cappy for beta reading this!!

She leaned her back against his bedframe, listening to the muffled music from the party below but taking a long observation of Matt’s room. She’d never properly had a look, not noticing the photos on his wall, the abandoned clothes in his hamper, the friendship bracelets and trinkets she’d given him on his desk. It was peaceful, a hiding place. His place of solitude. 

But she was far from peaceful. Her eyes hung heavy and the dread of going back downstairs and through the crowds loomed over her shoulders like an anchor. Parties were only so much fun for a while until the energy started draining and all y/n felt like doing was curling up under the sheets and falling asleep. 

The door opened a crack, and she sat up straight but sunk back down upon seeing Matt’s head peek in, followed by his body and closing the door behind him. He kicked his shoes off and sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder, tilting his head down to meet her eyes and smiling warmly. His whole presence was inviting and comforting, her shoulders feeling lighter as their limbs pressed into one another. 

“So, this is where you’re hiding, I’ve been looking for you. You okay?” He asked, his eyebrows raising with worry, face nervously close to hers. She never admitted it to anyone, but she loved the nasally undertones to his voice, something about how it was naturally rumbly and low managed to set little sparks in her chest alight.

“Sorry for intruding, I just needed somewhere quiet…” Her eyes searched his and she smiled. “I’m okay, just a bit tired and overwhelmed now.”

Matt took a deep breath and chuckled, unable to contain it when she made him feel so fluttery and giddy all the time. His heart found a slow pace again, only hammering when he thought he’d lost her downstairs, unable to find her hanging around their usual spots and he feared he’d been ditched. The relief to find her in his room was nothing hockey could ever compare to but all he wanted was to pull her close and cuddle until the sun came up. But he couldn’t risk that jump - they were friends first.

“Hey, it’s cool. Come here whenever you want, I don’t mind.” He nudged her shoulder with his lightly, cherishing the giggle she released as his chest swelled at how calming to his ears it was, the song he could listen to forever.

Matt always had this way to her heart. He had the right words, and the right thoughts and read her like a book. And she adored him. Painfully adored him to the extent that she was at his beckoning call, and she knew he was like her shadow too. Matt had enamoured her, to the pits of her heart and that’s what made her persistently nervous whenever he was in her proximity.  

“Sounds like you want me in your room more, Matty. Got those dirty fantasies going on, huh?” She smiled and poked his chest playfully, pushing aside her own fantasies for once and mirroring his grin.

“Well, no, that’s not what I meant- I mean I wouldn’t mind- Nevermind.” He fumbled over his words with rosy cheeks, his attempt to defend his honour ending in defeat when he hid his face in his hands. 

With the tenderness her fingers wrapped around his wrists, his muscles flinched upon the contact, y/n slowly pulled his hands away and tilted his head back to look at her.

She brushed strands of his hair away from his face and softly murmured. “I’m teasing, you’re just cute when you’re flustered. Thanks.” 

Her hands dropped to her lap, his following, but his hand edged closer to her thighs while never breaking eye contact. If her nerves weren’t raging as they were before, they stirred violently in her stomach at the sudden shift, her heart thrumming in her ears and the insatiable urge to grab him by the t-shirt and kiss him into the mattress more consuming than ever. Their faces inched closer, smiles dropping feeling their breaths tangled.

“I can take you home if you want…ooor you can…” Matt’s voice rumbled in his chest quietly, eyes flickering to her lap as his fingers crept closer and then back at her eyes. He hesitated, licking his lips and swallowing.

She only broke his gaze when his fingers laced with hers, warmth spreading through her palm and the heavy weight on her shoulders lifting completely, his affection giving her a floaty feeling that incited a fuzzy excitement in her stomach. 

He finished his sentence in a whisper, squeezing her hand with gentle pressure. “...stay with me?”

“I’d love to stay.” She gave a small smile. “Why were you looking for me? All your friends are down there.”

His hands felt sweaty, worryingly sweaty since she was holding it as well and a perfectly coherent sentence in his head blurted out in a flustered panic. “You’re also my friend, my best friend, actually. Why wouldn’t I wanna be with you? That’s what best friends do, they-”

It was an opportunity, an opening, and she exhaled deeply. The pink dusting over his cheeks and sweaty palms gave her all the motivation she needed to spit the words stuck on her tongue out. Adrenaline coursing and enough time between them to hold memories to support his intentions - the hand holding, the quality time, the adoration in his eyes and the bumbling nerves whenever they sat close - were not one of a friend.  

“Am I though?” She asked abruptly, his eyes widening slightly as his jaw faltered, finding the words.

“-No…no, you’re more than that.” He breathed, releasing her hand and cupping her cheeks, closing the small space between them with a long-awaited and yearning kiss. 

She threaded her fingers through the hairs on his nape, pressing herself close to his body letting the anxieties free from her, mind emptying into a bliss where she bathed in his soft hums vibrating against her lips as they moved with hers languidly. His hands glided from her face down her chest, stopping at her waist to pull her onto his lap, a hand on either of her thighs that straddled him before caressing their way back to the curves of her midriff. The feeling bursting between them felt ecstatic like pieces of their puzzle finally fell into place.

[Masterlist] [Requests CLOSED]

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Banners & dividers belong to me

so so so good

play me like a deck -- if you call, i'll fold [mb.12]

pairing: matt boldy x hughes cousin! reader

nickname: sunshine

word count: 19.1k

summary: You've always loved spending summers with your cousins. But since you were forbidden from dating Jack's "no-good" buddies, there's been one big problem -- a 6'2, Massachusettan problem. And since you have a problem, well, everyone else should too.

warnings: swearing, light making out, fakeout enemies and very real idiots to lovers, super nosy NTDP boys

author's note: Celebrating the beginning of summer by dropping my longest fic (to date) and beginning my first series! Welcome to Lake House Summers, friends. :D [P.S. This takes place over a rough timeline in '23. Throwback.]

Summer is, without a doubt, your favorite time of the year. Always has been. When you were younger, it would mean vacationing with Auntie Ellen, her husband Jim and their three sons – your beloved cousins – and being involved in the whirlwind that is the life of a Hughes. 

As you got older, summer turned into vacations with friends and visiting the Hughes family in Michigan. And once the boys went pro, summertime was your one-way ticket to their lake house, where you had a room meant just for you. It was pretty heavenly. 

Sure, you did a lot of the cooking for them especially during that first year and the decorations just screamed “man-house” despite your and Auntie Ellen’s best attempts to redecorate (or decorate at all). And yes, the house was overrun with hyperactive young men all the time since the Hughes’ college or developmental program friends visited. But you love the place. 

And it’s undeniably fun, living on the lake for a month or so before retreating back to college or your parents’ home in Texas. So when your college graduation gift from the boys is the offer of an entire summer at the lake house, you don’t hesitate to pack your summer clothes and move. 

This is your last summer before you face real adulthood. You’re the first of the cousins to graduate, and you’re pretty sure you will be the only one to complete college in person – Luke having recently signed with the Devils and all. 

Quinn has the decency to warn you in advance that they’ll have a revolving door of friends this year, even if you expect it. And you can feel the excitement build as you drop your mom off at Auntie Ellen’s to make the last stretch of the drive all by yourself, like you’ve been doing since the lake house became a thing. By the time you pull the car into the driveway, you’re practically buzzing. 

You don’t bother grabbing your suitcases from the car – even if it’s not one of your cousins who gets them for you, one of the boys will. The first person you see inside the door practically gets tackled in a hug. Lucky for everyone involved, it’s one of the ones related to you. 

Jack laughs, using your momentum to spin you around in the foyer before making sure you land safely on your feet. 

“Yo, Sunshine’s here!” he calls out to the rest of the house, and while you would love a whole crowd to emerge from the woodwork, it’s really just Quinn and Josh. Quinn wraps you in a tighter but less energetic hug than his younger brother. Josh just nods at you. 

“Moose would come greet you,” your eldest cousin explains, “but he’s exercising his right to sleep in past noon. Josh and I are gonna take the boat out for a spin, Jack can get your stuff if you wanna come with.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I didn’t drive up in my swimsuit. You and Josh have fun. I’ll make sure pretty boy over here doesn’t get hurt carryin’ all my crap.” 

You can feel Jack roll his eyes at that, but Quinn smiles fondly as he and Josh head back toward the dock. Jack leads you the other way, back out to your car so he can grab your big bags like the gentleman Auntie Ellen raised him to be. You bump his shoulder with yours. 

“So,” you ask playfully, “Who’s coming to see me first?”

“That would be Josh.”

“Besides him.”

Jack shrugs. “Some of Luke’s friends, I guess. Most of my buddies can’t make it out until later.” 

Your cousins, bless them, are still pretty normal guys. They don’t care much for the specifics of planning. In the summer, that often falls to you. Parties, room assignments, grocery lists (brand names and quantities included) – all yours. 

Also all yours? One of the bedrooms in the “east wing” of the house. It was the one place where your input on decorations had been taken, and now it’s a warm, light-filled sanctuary in a house almost entirely decked out in shades of gray, black and brown. 

You let yourself fall onto the fluffy, pastel yellow bedspread as Jack sets down your suitcases, taking in the feeling of being home. It’s not all there, not yet, and it won’t really be until the house is littered with hoodies and half-finished drinks belonging to who knows, until you’ve kicked a lot of butts in a few rounds of your favorite card game. 

“Sunshine?” you hear your youngest cousin ask blearily from outside your room. 

Sitting up with a squeal, you give him just enough time to rub the crusties out of his eye, and then attack him just like you did Jack. 

“Lukey! Welcome to the land of the living,” you tease, standing on tiptoe to ruffle his curls. “Big league did a number on you, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, turning a little pink. But you know he’s proud that you acknowledged his promotion. His next words are quiet but you hear them loud and clear. “...missed you.”

So he gets one last squeeze for being sweet before you release him to hunt down some afternoon breakfast, and your last summer of freedom officially begins. 

You get a blissful few weeks of peace with your cousins. Josh leaves after a week or so with a promise to try and come back before the summer is over. Luke’s reunions with each of his college teammates warm your heart, despite the fact that they would never admit just how much they missed each other. You get plenty of time on the boat, roaming the town running errands while the boys golf, and teaching the youngins how a game of Scum is played (and lost) before the storm arrives. 

Jack’s friend Matt Boldy is, unfortunately, the first of his many friends to show up. He just happens to be the only one you don’t get along with, too. You hear the knock from the kitchen and head out with the intention of greeting someone who’s almost as much your friend as your cousin’s, but you watch his face drop at the same time as yours through the glass door. 

“Where’s everybody else?” you ask when you open the door. 

“Coming later,” is all he says gruffly as he squeezes in, avoiding you as much as possible. 

“Great,” you drawl, shutting the door back. “Enjoy your stay.” 

And with that, you head back into the kitchen to finish putting away dishes. You hear Jack greet his buddy, having appeared from wherever he was. Somehow, his brothers have ended up in the kitchen – probably searching for snacks. It seems they can tell that your mood has dropped. 

They know why, too. 

“Why do you hate Matt so much?” Luke asks through a mouthful of chips, hand already in the bag for more. 

“That’s ridiculous,” you say. “I do not hate Matthew.”

Luke starts to point out that it’s implied in the way you call him by his full name unlike literally everyone else, especially here, but Quinn cuts him off. 

“You two have been antagonizing each other for years. Why?” 

“Because he hates me, and I’m reacting.” You shrug as you say it, wiping off a bowl as you put it in a cabinet. 

Luke finally manages to get a word in. “But you, like, hated him as soon as you met him.”

“Jack was really excited to introduce you guys. Thought you would get along so well,” Quinn notes, getting up to put his glass in the sink. “It’s not like you have to, of course, but-” He cuts himself off with a shrug when you turn to glare at him. 

The three of you are quiet for a moment, but the peace is shattered by the entrance of Luke’s last remaining friend, Dylan, and Jack and Matt. 

“Who’s ready to go out on the boat?” Jack asks, and the group scatters. 

You’re off to change – you spent the morning cleaning up from the last couple days of cooking, so it’s not your responsibility to help out with the boat today. Unfortunately, your stop in the kitchen to refill the designated “boat cooler” does make you the last one out to the dock.

Matt turns to Jack and makes some snarky comment about leaving you behind as you approach. Dylan sees the murderous look on your face, so he gets up and takes the seat left by Matt instead of making you do it. Because he’s a good kid. 

The afternoon on the boat goes like it usually does whenever you and Matt are there – he “accidentally” rocks the boat while you’re standing on the back so you fall off, you distract Luke while he’s driving which might happen to throw Matt from his wakeboard before he can really get going. 

From your perch on the back bench to tan, a shadow falls over you not long after the boat stops to pick him up. You pull your sunglasses up to sit on your head, smiling innocently at the man blocking your sun. 

“Have a fun run, Matthew?” you ask, but he scoffs. 

“You got me knocked off on purpose.” At his words, you feel more than see the other boys glancing back at you from their conversation. 

“As if. I wasn’t even driving,” you reason, trying to shift back into the sunlight. Matt’s frown deepens, but he knows he can’t push it too far without intervention. Everyone else is well aware that you two get volatile in each other’s presence. Dylan still seems a little nervous even now. 

So he decides to flick water on you instead, stepping over your legs and plopping down on the seat by your feet because he knows you can’t stay comfortable with him so close. 

Boat time ends when Luke starts complaining about being hungry. You volunteer to help cook because you’re sick of cleaning, but only after you shower. Jack’s going to play sous chef because he wants to learn some new recipes. 

Everyone helps dock the boat and unload as is customary, but you notice Matt makes a beeline for the house. You squint at his retreating figure. If he’s far away and your vision’s blurry, your cousins are right – he does kinda look like your type. Jack says something to you, so you shake off the thought. 

The shower is already running in the bathroom across from your room by the time you get there, so you think maybe someone’s been a gentleman and started it for you. But when you knock on the door after grabbing clean clothes, you hear differently. 

“Occupied!” Matt’s distinctive accent calls, though it’s muffled through the door. 

You’re a grown adult and way too mature to be throwing an entire tantrum about this. So you stomp your foot once, sigh, and go steal Luke’s bathroom. And you don’t think at all about Matt making a point to steal your bathroom.  

Everyone heads off to nap or something after Luke and Dylan clean up (though it’s really a group effort). You spend your time on the deck with a novel you’ve been meaning to finish. As much as you love the boys, they’re not ideal companions for reading about romance. 

It sounds like one of the doors opens while you’re out there, but by the time you finish your paragraph and look up, it’s closed again. 

Eventually, Jack comes outside to get you. 

“Hey, Scum Queen,” he teases, pushing down your book so you look at him. “Ready to beat us all?”

“I don’t know about all,” you say, reminding him that while the rest of them were known to lose, Matt is known for his upset wins. Which, of course, tends to upset you specifically. 

Jack takes a seat on the chair next to you, his smile dropping a little. “I was wondering about that, actually.”

“Don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Jackie, I can teach you to play the game but I can’t teach you the inherent greatness that you and your brothers forgot to pluck from the gene pool.” 

“Not that.” And he still sounds serious, so you slip your bookmark back into your book and really look at him. “Did Matt ever do something, to make you… dislike him the way you do?”

You shrug, shaking your head a little. 

“Nothing serious, I promise,” you reassure your cousin with a smile, because you know if Matt really had done something bad he’d be out of the house and fast. “Just beat me at my game and all, you know? We’ve never really gotten along.”

Jack shoots you a look, like I know, and you know he does. Maybe better than anyone. 

“Why?” you ask softly. 

“I just wanted to make sure since you two can barely be in the same room together and all. Never known you to be like this, Sunshine,” he notes. 

You shrug again. “Never known anyone else who brings it out of me like he does.” 

And the two of you leave it at that, because you both know sometimes things work and sometimes they just don’t. 

“So,” Jack starts again. “Are you in the mood to win a card game?”

“Maybe,” you tease, but let him help you out of your lounge chair anyway. 

Three days later, Jack is on the verge of tearing his hair out during the final hours of Cole and Alex’s drive up. You and Matt have definitely been worse this summer, he’s decided, even though both of you have confessed now that you’re not even sure why this whole feud started. 

His only reprieve was Luke taking you along to visit his parents for the morning, so you could catch up with your beloved Auntie Ellen. But you would be back soon enough, and the bickering would resume. 

He can only hope that Cole and Alex arrive first. 

He’s a fool for thinking that it could happen. 

Jack is pacing around the foyer, conveniently avoiding Matt. Matt, who bounds down the stairs at the same time as Jack hears a car pull into the driveway. And they both know Alex and Cole won’t be here until mid-afternoon, which is why nobody went out for long-term activities today. When the car door shuts, Matt squares his shoulders. Jack just sighs. 

You bound in, freezing when you see your cousin’s friend. But you’re in such a good mood you choose to ignore him. 

“This is from your mama,” you tell Jack, then give him a big hug. “She sends her love and, for whatever reason, luck.” Jack knows why. “Anyway, I’m gonna go get ready and head back out. See y’all later!”

Luke comes in as you’re bouncing up the stairs to your room. He sees Jack and Matt watching you leave, looks of confusion on both their faces. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that Matt is hurt by the lack of attention he’s gotten from you today. But Luke knows better. And he will never say that out loud… to you or Matt, anyway. 

“She picked up a date at the store,” he says simply, holding up the few grocery bags in his hands, then continues on into the kitchen. 

He ignores the back deck door slamming a minute later.

Cole and Alex are there with everybody else when you get back that night, gathered around the firepit in the backyard. You slip on a hoodie over your sundress before heading out to join them, grabbing a beer for yourself from the basement fridge on the way. 

“Hey, guys!” you call as you approach, tousling Alex’s hair once you get close since he has his back to you. “How was the drive?” 

Ever the sweetheart, Cole is on his feet right away to envelop you in a hug. 

“Good, Sunshine, it was good. How was your date?” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows and emphasizing the last word. 

You shrug coyly, giggling at his goofiness. There’s always been a lighthearted, playful and flirty edge to your relationship with most of Jack’s friends, and you’re not about to let a one-off date ruin that. You’ll complain to Luke later that the guy made you pay for ice cream, and he looked down on Texans, and that he hated hockey and none of that could ever work with you. 

“We were just discussing going out to golf on Tuesday once Trev flies in, if you wanna join,” Quinn offers, knowing you’ll smile and politely decline like normal. 

“It’s okay, I might be busy anyway,” you say softly. 

The boys ooh, assuming it’s with the guy you were just with, but really you might be going shopping with Auntie Ellen. They don’t have to know that, though. You notice one in particular – sitting across the fire, avoiding your gaze – sipping his beer quietly. It would be reasonable if Quinn seemed to be the one who had a problem with you going out on dates, or even Jack, but Matt? Really?

Luke scoots over toward Matt to make room for you on his bench, so you join him and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. 

“So, do we have any plans for the fourth yet?” you question, trying to change the topic. 

The Fourth of July being on a Tuesday makes it a bit awkward, but there’s normally a party. Maybe hosted, maybe attended, but honestly hosting is easier. You always know exactly where to escape, and you know the bedrooms aren’t being used for escapades because they’re always locked. 

This simple inquiry launches the boys into a debate, one that you know will be heavily influenced by Trevor later. The single boys usually want to find a party; the taken ones like having the party come to them. Oddly enough, though, Matt is leaning toward host with Quinn, Luke, and Alex. 

You’ve been hoping to get a little fling out of the summer – being your last one of complete freedom and all – so your early vote says go out. Jack’s mouth smiles, but his eyes look nervously over the fire. 

“Why do you wanna go out, Sunshine?” Luke nudges you, talking low to avoid putting all the attention on you. 

“I dunno, maybe I don’t feel like cleaning up this year,” you tease, elbowing him back. 

Cole leans over and throws an arm around your shoulder, cheering about the fact that you’re on his and Jack’s side. Everyone assumes that Trevor will be, too, leaving you all at a stalemate and giving Quinn a great excuse to push the conversation back until it can be properly debated. 

Eventually, conversation dies out and someone suggests heading inside to play some games. There’s a ping-pong and a pool table in the basement, next to an old-fashioned blackboard divided into five columns. 

These columns, ultimately, are the lifeblood of the summer in a house full of men who literally live to compete. The categories are: Games Won (Pool), Games Won (Basketball), Games Won (Ping-Pong), Wakeboarding Time Record, and Current Scum Winner/Loser (under which it is usually declared to be Queen Sunshine complete with a smiley face and several exclamation points, and some other poor soul). 

You’re not ready to lose the title to Matt in front of everybody, so you let emerging pool champion Luke sway the conversation in his favor. But when you’re paired up with Quinn against him and Matt for a teams game, well, you refuse to add a tally to either of their names in the “Games Won” column.

The morning that Trevor is supposed to fly in, you wake up early. Which is pointless, because even if you do end up going along to pick him up from the airport he won’t even get in until almost noon. Like any self-respecting Hughes would do, you make for the kitchen. It may be hours until someone else joins you on the main level. Still, can’t hurt to start cooking. That might bring you a companion. 

You start with the eggs because they’ll reheat just fine. Even during the offseason, the boys tend to eat pretty healthy. Minus snacks and the occasional pizza. Nobody will mind if you finish the carton – leftovers aren’t a worry when you have this many hockey players in a single house. 

A tall shadow appears from the same direction that you came from, and you get your hopes up that it’s your baby cousin, coming to save you from loneliness. 

But it’s just Matt, half awake and looking grumpy as ever. You stay quiet, watching him perk up at the smell of scrambled eggs. 

“Those for anyone to take?” he asks softly. You nod. His response is even harder to hear, but you catch it. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You’re welcome.”

The room stays quiet for a few minutes as he scoops a serving for himself and scarfs them down just standing across from you at the island counter. It’s kind of nice, having someone around in the early hours. Even if it’s someone that you wouldn’t normally picture there. 

He offers to help right around the time that you replace his portion of the eggs. 

“Do you even know how to cook?” you tease gently, not wanting to break whatever this new, fragile thing in between you is. 

“Yes!” he says, offended. “Kinda.”

“Ever heard of bell peppers?” He folds his arms, making an incredulous face at you. You’re surprised at how endearing it is in the soft morning light, but push the thought away. “Can you grab me some from the bowl over there?” You point to the other counter with your chin, getting the fridge ingredients yourself. 

He grabs all three – red, yellow, and green – and when he turns back to you, they’re being tossed from one hand to the other almost rhythmically. It makes you smile. 

“I didn’t know you could juggle,” you note, catching the green pepper that he tosses your way without dropping either of the other two. 

“How much do you think you know about me, Sunshine?” There’s a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice, the smallest trace of a smile on his lips. Once again, you have to force yourself to stop thinking that you could get used to interacting with him like this regularly. ‘Cause that’s not how it’s gonna be once literally anyone else comes into the kitchen. 

“Enough,” you answer, adding quickly as to not ruin the current mood, “As much as I know about any of my cousins’ other friends that spend a ton of time here.” 

He hums almost dismissively, and you bristle. Whether it was kind of a cop-out answer or not, it’s the only answer you have. 

“Alright,” you say, leaning back against the fridge while your omelet cooks. “What do you know about me, Matthew? I’m intrigued.” You give him a moment to think. 

“I know you like romance novels,” he offers with a one-shouldered shrug. It takes a minute before he continues. “And that you complain about having to clean, or cook or whatever but you really love taking care of your cousins. I know that you’re insanely competitive, maybe even more than the boys.”

The worst part is that none of it is wrong. He nailed you and your character, nonchalant, like knowing you almost intimately was just another day for him. And you hate it. 

“Your food is burning,” he says, then, pushing himself away from the counter to get a drink behind you in the fridge. 

You scramble for your omelet, hurriedly tossing in the cut-up peppers and ham that you prepared. And you pretend that a shiver doesn’t go up your spine when he puts his hand on your back and moves you so the fridge door doesn’t push you into the stovetop. 

“I’m getting a hoodie,” you announce suddenly. “Don’t ruin my breakfast, please.” Then you run off, nearly bumping into a half-awake Quinn during your escape. 

When you come back, your omelet is cooked and folded to perfection, already on a plate. But Quinn’s the only person left in the kitchen — and he can’t do that to save his life.

You don’t go with Jack and Cole to pick up Trevor from the airport. Instead, you stay and work on your tan on the boys’ little personal beach. Part of that time is spent lying on your stomach, book open but barely looked at. 

If asked, you would say it’s not your fault that the boys decided to play catch or whatever outside and shoot a wink at Alex mid-sentence. 

Luckily, Trevor’s grand entrance prevents that from happening. He comes out of the basement door, carrying a case of beer and yelling something weird. It’s an inside joke, if you have to guess. The beer gets left on a table so he can make the rounds. 

He high fives or daps up or whatever all of the guys as he makes his way across the yard to you. Of Jack’s friends, he’s easily the flirtiest. And while it’s fun for the both of you, it means absolutely nothing – you help him scout for girls that are entirely unrelated to his buddies at parties. He even admits in front of everyone else that you’re the best wingman to him. Wingwoman. Whatever. 

You get to your feet when he gets close, holding your arms up for the inevitable hug. 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he greets you, flirty tone making you giggle. 

“Hi, Trev,” you say, looping your arms around his neck so he can pick you up and spin you around. He doesn’t disappoint, arms tight around your waist to keep you secure. “How was Cali this year? Get enough pretty girls to feed your ego or do you still need my help finding more?”

He laughs, boisterous as usual. 

“Okay, separate!” Jack orders from across the yard, making the two of you laugh even more. 

Trevor lowers you back to the ground to satisfy your cousins, but he grabs your book and carries it inside for you, talking all the while. And you miss the glare from the other side of the yard, but Trevor doesn’t.

The next night, everyone gathers around the kitchen table for a game of Scum. You’ve only lost twice since you arrived for the summer, and both times you regained your title by the end of the night. 

Jack swears you’re a card counter. Quinn shakes his head in resignation and calls it magic. Luke just huffs, but laughs at his brothers’ frustration. He already owns a game; he doesn’t care. 

“So,” Trevor starts, leading the game easy with a single 4. “Sunshine.” You look up at him from beneath your lashes, playing innocent. Because who knows what he’s going to say next, really? “How was your second date today?”

A harmless enough question, but entirely incorrect and he’s definitely asking on someone else’s behalf. Probably Jack. Who absentmindedly lays down a single five. 

You glance at your hand. There is a king, but you’re hoping to save him for later. This better not get too high. 

“There wasn’t one,” you say simply. “I went shopping.”

“Ooh, for us?” Cole teases as Alex mercifully lays down a six, and you wink at him obligingly. 

“Definitely. Y’all’re gonna love my outfits on the Fourth.” 

Trevor raises an eyebrow, but gets distracted by Matt playing two sevens. Luke can’t top it, and neither can Cole. You sigh when you’re forced to play your pair of nines. 

Quinn has to pass too. 

You lose your crown to Matt that night, just like the first summer you met. And just like that first loss, you lose hard. For a couple of games it looks like there’s a chance to steal it back, but Jack cuts it out from under you and immediately loses it back to Matt. At least you’re no longer the scum by the time everybody’s sick of the game. 

Later on in the night, Trevor brings something vodka-infused with a straw in it to aid in your dramatic recovery on the deck. Just like Jack had last week, he plops onto the lounge chair next to you. The two of you sit in silence for a minute while you nurse your drink. 

“Trying to show off for someone, Sunshine?” he asks eventually, only looking at you from the corner of his eye. “I sure hope it’s not that guy who hates hockey and your lovely Southern charm.”

“I’m gonna kill Luke,” you say, but there’s no force behind it. 

Trevor raises his hands defensively. “We’re just lookin’ out for you, kid.” 

“You, Jack and Luke are younger than me.”

He waves off the notion, leaning in with a mischievous grin. 

“So who is it, Sunshine? I know it’s not me, and Turcs has a girlfriend this summer. That leaves two people and you’ve got the most casual platonic relationship I’ve ever seen with one of ‘em.” 

You roll your eyes, hating the blush creeping into your cheeks. 

“I’ll give you this, Trev – he’s physically my type, but I will never get over him being him to explore that. I promise,” you say, pulling the straw out of your drink and tilting your head back to gulp down the rest. “Now, if you don’t have anythin’ else important to tell me, I think I’ll be heading on in for the night.” 

You almost bump into Matt himself as you walk in – he’s leaning out the door like he was going to say something. He does not get out of the way in time, and you barely manage to stop yourself from crashing into him. 

There’s a moment where both of you are frozen. You’re looking up at him, he’s blinking down at you. He’s kind of leaning over you, one arm propping him up on the door frame, and Trevor is definitely reacting behind your back. 

“I was, uh, Trevor… game inside?” Matt stumbles over his words like you’ve never seen, gesturing at your mutual friend and back towards the kitchen table. 

Trevor must nod or something, because Matt starts stepping inside like he’s satisfied. You kind of have to move in sync to avoid touching him, the way the two of you are positioned in the doorway. Still, your arm accidentally brushes his ribs. Goosebumps raise immediately. If you’re not mistaken, he reacts too. 

“Um, goodnight, Matthew,” you mumble, and then you’re gone. 

The next couple of days pass quickly and relatively quietly. All of Jack’s friends are happy to be back together for a bit. You spend more time with Quinn and Luke. Though, of course, the three of you are always invited to things. Like golfing today, which was turned down in favor of a day on the lake. 

During a quieter period where there are more boats around and nobody can wakeboard, the three of you sit and talk. Mainly about the party on the Fourth, which unfortunately you are hosting this year. 

“Trevor did not come through,” you complain from your spot on the back of the boat. 

“Not for you,” Luke says, cringing as soon as he gets the last word out. Quinn shoots him a look, which unfortunately for them you know means shut up. You sit all the way up immediately. 

“What did you guys do?” you ask slowly. 

Neither of them answer you, which means they definitely did do something. Luke even avoids your eyes. 

“Did you bribe Trevor?” 

“No!” Luke scoffs, failing miserably at lying. (You find out later that Quinn has a local friend who only attends parties at the Hughes lake house, and he begrudgingly promised to talk up Trevor if the party happened to land at home.)

You fall back onto the seat, draping an arm across your forehead. 

“Quinn, did you really not want to go out that bad?” you try, focusing on your elder cousin. 

He shrugs, muttering some lame excuse like he likes hosting or something because he can make sure everyone stays safe. 

“Luke?”

“I can’t always get away with drinking at other parties,” he explains. “No one cares here.” 

“You guys have betrayed me today,” you declare, and that’s the end of the conversation. 

Even though it’s not actually July yet, someone made the brilliant decision to shoot fireworks out from the big lake island on the Friday night before the fourth. It’s not even sarcasm when you say that – you’re looking forward to everyone being on the boat together, watching the light show. 

The guys seem pretty pumped about it too, gathering a variety of beers and snacks in advance. Jack scolds Trevor for offering you his hoodie when you shiver on the way out to the dock. You end up wearing an old one of Jack’s, but somehow that still puts a smug look on Trevor’s face. 

Your flip-flops don’t have much traction, so you slip when you’re climbing on the boat. You close your eyes, waiting to feel the cold water catch you – but someone grabs your hand. When your eyes open up again, Matt is holding onto you. Panting a little bit, like he’d sprinted across the boat to get to you. But he wouldn’t. Right?

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly as he pulls you closer – back into a safe and fully upright position on the boat. 

You nod wordlessly, gaze lowering to where his hand still holds yours. He remembers, too, lets go and scratches his neck awkwardly. Then he walks away without another sound. 

Trevor sidles up to you instead, asking if he can join you in your usual spot on the back bench. Of course he can, so he escorts you to your seat and hands you a blanket in case you get cold. The boat ride out to the middle of the lake is quick, jovial. You and Matt are completely avoiding each other, so there’s no fighting. 

You look around in the brief, dark moments before the fireworks start. Quinn drove so he stays in the driver’s seat, Jack has forced you into the middle of the bench and claimed your other side protectively. Luke sits alone behind the driver’s seat, comfortable in between his brothers. Matt, Cole and Alex are on the bench on Trevor’s other side, but even with the proximity you barely notice his presence. 

You’re too caught up in the moment to worry about it, listening to the boys talk amongst themselves with a content smile on your face. 

“They’re starting!” Cole calls and points in the direction of the lights, making everybody turn their heads or twist in their seats. 

It’s beautiful – sparkling golden lights reflecting over the lake, distorting in the surface as small waves rock the boat gently. They’re the kind that audibly crackle and fizz out as they disappear into the dark, fading away with a beautiful grace. You start to think maybe it’s a shame that you all miss the fireworks every year just for the sake of a party. 

The next round is oranges, greens and purples like Mardi Gras. They’re bigger, louder, a bit more rapid-fire than the simple golds. 

It’s pretty, but you’re definitely more of a golden sparkler fan. You make a mental note to ask if someone is willing to get sparklers for the party. It’ll make you feel better. 

Your gaze wanders over the lake, watching the reactions from other boats full of people who seems to be enjoying the fireworks as much as the boys. A hush has fallen over the normally loud lake. Kids and adults alike wait in wonder with their eyes to the sky. 

Even Jack, the most energetic of your cousins, has fallen still beside you. Finally, your eyes find Matt. He’s hardly looking at the fireworks.

The whole world seems to flash red as your eyes meet his in the semi-dark. The next firework is white, shedding enough light to illuminate the deep blue staring back at you. Then the fireworks, too, turn everything blue with their shine. 

Alex points out some of the firework debris as it falls and your spell is broken. Both you and Matt try to follow where Alex is pointing with your eyes. As you lean forward for a better view, you feel Trevor reach for Jack behind your back. 

They seem to be disagreeing about something quietly instead of watching the show, which is now themed around patriotic colors. 

But they’re putting in effort to not be obvious about it, so you let it be. If it’s big enough, it’ll come back up later. 

The fireworks go out with a literal bang: one last, giant, super fast explosion of color turning the world red, white and blue, over and over. Cheers go up from the other boats (and yours) as soon as the sky goes dark. 

Cole is singing the show’s praises as Quinn turns the boat around. 

“The way they split it into different sections,” he’s gushing, gesturing wildly to Luke and almost hitting Matt, “just- awesome!” 

The rest of the night fades away in splashes and peals of laughter. You try your best to forget the way your relationship with Matt is shifting around you. 

Early July makes everyone restless. Some of the boys start offseason training. Since he doesn’t, Quinn spends most of his time helping you prepare for the upcoming party. Trevor has plenty of input, but conveniently never has enough time to actually make it happen. 

Your request for sparklers is approved only if you are the one to get them. But you catch Trevor and Cole on some downtime anyway, so they come with you for “liquor and lighters,” as they (incorrectly) become known. They’re even nice enough to let you have the passenger seat instead of Trevor. 

Which, unfortunately, gives him an excuse to sit unbuckled in the backseat of Cole’s car and lean forward to start gossipy conversations. 

“Cole,” he starts in a suspiciously sweet voice. “Have you noticed anything weird this summer?”

Cole seems to know exactly what his friend is on about. 

“Oh yes I have, Trevor. Did you notice something weird?”

“Indeed,” Trevor responds. “I-”

You cut him off. “The only weird thing right now is the way you two are talking. Wanna bring it up like normal people?” 

They exchange a look. A silent battle ensues, and apparently Cole loses. He sighs, running a hand over his face as he brakes for a red light. 

“Fine. Okay. What is up with you and Matt? Like, one minute you guys will do literally anything to spite each other, but the next you’ve made eye contact or accidentally touched each other or something and it’s like dogs who wear a shock collar.”

“It really is so weird,” Trevor pipes up. 

You think about it for a moment. Yeah, that is how on edge the two of you have been lately, but you’re not really sure why. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you eventually say with a shrug. “We’re fighting just like normal.”

“But you’re actually not.” Trevor holds up a finger and says it with such a matter-of-fact tone, you don’t even bother with a response. You only hum dismissively. 

The three of you sit in near-silence for a few minutes. Trevor’s “pre-party” playlist is on low volume in the background. 

All of a sudden, Cole stage whispers, “I think they like each other,” dragging it out in enough of a sing-songy way to be annoying. 

“Shut up!”

“And you don’t wanna tell each other so you’d rather act like kids-” Trevor adds, cut off when you turn in your seat and stick a finger in his face. 

“Zegras, I swear to all that is hockey if you say another damn word about that, the both of you are getting left at the fireworks place so I can watch your arrest live on the news-”

Cole doesn’t let you finish your threat. “Woah, woah! We’re all friends here. It’s just a little crush, we can be civil about it.” You turn your glare on him, and he deflects it to the backseat. “Right, Trevor?”

“It is definitely not a crush,” you mumble, slumping back in your seat. 

They stay quiet about it for the rest of the grocery run, but you know they didn’t listen. 

On the Fourth of July, otherwise known as Party Day, the guys get up early and nap in preparation for the late night. The morning was spent on the lake. You are the one who gets the house ready – setting out bags of chips in bowls, leaving notes detailing the dips and their locations and what bowl to put them in, making sure the public bathrooms are girl-clean and not just boy-clean. 

The event isn’t huge on decorations, but you got stars and stripes patterned napkins and that kinda stuff just for the sake of it. You make a place for them, but since you’ll be getting ready for the party essentially until it starts, actually setting everything out is up to the boys. 

Your cousins know their responsibilities, especially as the main hosts of the party; this has been how the four of you have been delegating it for years. And you always know that when Quinn comes down dressed in red, white, or blue (you have convinced the trio to choose one main color each for five years in a row now), it’s time for you to head back up to your room. You pass Luke on the way. 

“Don’t look too pretty,” he warns, turning on the steps so you know he’s serious. “We’re not gonna want to chase a bunch of broken-hearted guys out of here at the end of this.”

“Aw, thanks Lukey,” you tell him, bending down to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. “I’ll try to avoid hurting feelings this year.” 

You practically skip the rest of the way into your room. Conversations float up periodically from the floor below – Trevor fishing for compliments, Cole laying it on too thick with Matt and flustering him, Alex missing his girlfriend. They soon turn into greeting the people who arrive early, bearing fruit trays and extra ice for coolers. 

By the time you’re finished, somebody’s already turned on the big speaker in the living room. It’s later than you meant to be done. Still, you hope that people remembered to set out the dips. 

“Somebody call the fire department, ‘cause we’ve got a smokeshow in the house!” Trevor calls when he sees you coming down the stairs, red solo cup already in his hand. You try to hide your cringe at the smell of jungle juice when he gets near. He hooks an arm around your waist and leans in to whisper, “Fiery redhead by the sink. Thoughts?” 

You give her a onceover as Trevor all but hangs off of you. When your scan is complete, you raise on your toes to tell him, “Showing off pictures of a boyfriend. Try the black-haired girl in the off-shoulder thing by the deck doors.” You pat him on the open-shirted chest and send him on his merry way. 

Luke is almost hiding in plain sight in the living room, talking hockey with some guy whose grandparents have lived on the lake forever. He raises his cup in acknowledgement when you wave at him. 

Jack is busy with, you assume, his next fling, and Quinn is actually playing the part of a good host. 

Matt is nowhere to be found. 

It’s really weird that you have to remind yourself not to be disappointed about that. So you shake it off with a seltzer and start making some friends out of the crowd. There’s a girl you recognize who’s been around for a few summers now, and when Jack excuses himself from his not-gonna-be girlfriend you steal her too. 

The music gets louder the more you drink, the beat more enticing. You probably won’t see these girls after tonight, but for now they are your social buoys. They keep you afloat in the crowd until some guy pulls you in for a dance. It’s just in time for Jack to come back for his girl, too. 

Luckily for you it’s only Trevor. 

“She was more into you,” he murmurs in your ear, unaffected smirk on his face. “I would ask if you’re interested, but I think she’s got some competition.” He points with his eyes over to the wall, where Matt has mysteriously reappeared. 

Some girl is trying her hardest to talk to him, but he won’t turn to look at her fully. 

“He doesn’t have a claim on me, Trev,” you remind your friend, facing him and starting to get into the dance when the song changes. “We don’t even-“

“No, just wishes he did.” His hands land on your waist. Jack would not appreciate this if he saw it, but he vanished not long before Matt showed up. Knowing that the way you do, you turn it up a little more. 

You’ve never gotten to see how good of a dancer Trevor is – might as well take the opportunity. 

A couple songs later, you’ve sent him off toward a late-arriving group of girls with a kiss on the cheek for good luck. If they ask about it, he’s going to say you’re his cousin. You know this is how it works because someone asked you last year. 

This is one of the biggest downsides to hosting the party instead of finding one, you remember. When you get tired, you can’t make it go away. You can’t leave. The best you can do is hide. Your favorite spot is at the edge of the water, so close to the treeline that no one will see you from the yard. 

You grab an extra drink for yourself and smuggle a blanket from the boat stash just in case it’s colder outside than you expect. There are games of cornhole and something else happening on the lawn. The firepit is in use. Quinn might be over there now, actually. Probably starting to wind down a little bit, just like you. 

But someone has wandered over from somewhere, and they’re sitting in your spot. 

The realization almost makes you trip over your shoes. And the sound alerts them to your presence. Not much light manages to reach his face around you, but you don’t need it – you can recognize Matt in the dark by now. 

“Hey,” you greet him, voice dull. “Found my hiding spot?”

“Always knew about it,” is the simple response. 

You choose to ignore the roughness in his tone. “Okay if I sit?”

He just shrugs. So you sit anyway, shoving your drinks into the sand while the blanket falls to the side. Silence falls between you and Matt. You’ve always felt like the nearby trees muffle the sounds from the yard and house, for which you’re grateful. 

Even now.

Matt is the one to speak first. “You and Trevor got something going on?”

Almost petty, you shrug. “Same stuff as always, I think. Nothing special. He’s… not my type.” The confession feels maybe a little too vulnerable for anywhere else. But not here. Here, you’re safe. 

It still gets Matt’s attention. His head turns the slightest bit, trying to see you from the corner of his eye. “He isn’t?”

“Not really.” You punctuate that with a swig of your drink, tilting your head back even farther to drain it when you hear a suspiciously Trevor-like whoop in the distance. It’s not your problem now, and you don’t intend for it to be later, either. 

Even with the revelation, Matt stays quiet. Which is normal for you two. But normal feels kinda… wrong at the minute. 

“You weren’t feeling the party?” you ask after maybe a minute or so of silence, as if talking civilly is a normal activity for the two of you to engage in. 

“Nah. Alex and Cole took over beer pong and Trevor and Jack are caught up with women. Not fun being the odd man out in there.”

“What about Quinn and Luke?”

The corner of his lips – the side closest to you, anyway – twitches. Like he’s holding back a smile. “Actually hosting, thank God.” He pronounces the last word differently than everyone else at the lake house, in that Masachusetts-y way that he still talks even after years away from home because of hockey. You admire that about him. He never completely took on the accent that most of your cousins and their friends seem to imitate, even if subconsciously. “‘d you get tired of holding down the fort too?”

You just hum in response. He’s right on the money, but you can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he is. It seems like he’s aware nonetheless. 

“C’mon, Sunshine, just admit that I know you well enough to know that,” he teases, tilting his head toward you a little bit. 

“Never,” you say back, turning ever so slightly to grin at him. 

He sighs, shaking his head. “We’ll get there someday.”

Your curiosity has successfully been piqued. “Where’s ‘there’?” you question, fully facing him now. 

“Just… better. Along, I guess,” he admits, suddenly acting shy. Matt won’t look at you anymore, only now you want him to. 

Hoping to restore some of the odd comfort that the two of you had before your confession, you let silence fall over your little hiding place. Some silence, anyway. Nothing can completely subdue the sounds of the party. 

When it feels peaceful again, you speak. “We get along well enough, don’t we?”

“Always have to disagree with me, don’t you, Sunshine?” he responds, shaking his head before finally making eye contact again. “Can’t just say that yeah, we could fight in front of the guys a little less or something?”

“Fighting with you is fun,” you shrug. 

“Fun for you, sure,” Matt says, making a face. 

You cut him off before he can continue, pointing a finger at him. “You can’t tell me that you don’t look forward to it, Matthew, I notice you gearing up for it everytime you see me enter the room.”

“That’s because you always pick a fight with me!” he says, louder but not yet loud enough to draw attention to your hiding place. “And I hate being called that!”

“What, by your name? It’s Matthew. You are named Matthew.”

“You know everyone calls me Matt.” 

Only now do you realize how close his face has gotten to yours, why his voice has lowered again in volume but not in intensity. 

And you follow his eyes making their way downward to watch you breathe out, “But to me, you’re Matthew.” 

He mumbles something else, something you can’t hear over the sudden noises of fireworks and excited partygoers. You’re pretty sure, though, that his mouth made shapes for the words ‘kiss’ and ‘right now.’ Furrowing your brows, you try to lean in so he can repeat it, but instead he recoils. 

You mostly hear what he says this time, and you’re pretty sure it’s “I’m tired of this. I’m going inside.” 

Matt walks off into the night, leaving you wrapped in your blanket with more questions than answers. 

Everybody sleeps in late the next day, as expected. You pretend not to hear more than one pair of footsteps making their way out of the house before getting up to make some hangover breakfast. 

A door cracks down the hall, but it closes as soon as yours opens. 

Alex, for some reason, is the only one already downstairs when you get there. But he’s on a phone call. He holds up a hand in greeting before heading out onto the deck. 

Trevor bounces down the stairs after you’ve started a cup of coffee for yourself, in a good enough mood that you know at least something went down last night. But at least he has the decency to wait until you’ve gotten your pick-me-up to start talking about it. 

Except he doesn’t say what you expect him to. At all. 

“Why did you and Matt come out of the same hidden spot at the edge of the yard last night, only like twenty minutes apart or whatever?”

You just groan. That’s too weird of a story to share first thing after you’ve woken up, even if Trevor is great at being a substitute for girl talk. He raises an eyebrow and leans over the island counter. With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turn back to the fridge to find some bacon or something.

He waits until you’ve gotten some food and headed out to the dock with it to press again. 

“So. You and Matt. Something fun happen last night, or…?”

You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “I think… we might have almost kissed?” Trevor gasps, grabbing your arm with both hands excitedly. His eyes are wide. “But we didn’t!” you continue insistently. “Just… our faces got really close, and he muttered something I couldn’t hear over the fireworks, and I tried to move so I could hear him and I guess he remembered we’re us so he ran off.” 

“When are you guys going to just admit it?” Trevor asks, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen two people so down bad for each other.” He only gives you like a second to scoff before he’s going on. “Just get together and get over all that other stuff already.”

“I don’t think we can, Trev. Every time I think we might, we just start fighting again. Usually worse.” 

He pats your back a couple of times. It’s awkward. 

“There, there,” Trevor says. “We’ll fix it.” And then he’s moving, up and away, down the dock and back to the house. 

“We?” you call after him. “Trevor, what do you mean we?” 

Just like last night, you never get an answer. 

Except you do. That night, after dinner but before a couple rounds of ping-pong and pool, you’re passing by the stairs to the basement when you hear two voices. Two voices that you’ve come to know pretty well after the past few summers. 

“-Sunshine, she’s just driving me crazy, dude,” Matt is saying. 

And maybe you’re a little too nosy for your own good, so you stop. 

“I can’t be around her without- without-” Trevor must make a face or something, because you can hear the disgust in Matt’s voice. “No, not like that!”

“It’s just like I’ve been saying all along,” your mutual friend tries to tell him. “The two of you would get along so much better if you’d stop acting like kids and just like each other already.” 

You lower yourself to a sitting position on the stairs, listening intently now. 

Matt scoffs. “Never in a million years, Trevor. You’re crazy. She-” He pauses, lowering his voice for the next little bit. Even though you move down a couple of steps, you don’t catch it. “-and I can’t stand it! I can’t stand her. I don’t see how you guys have put up with her all this time, always being here, and- and-” 

You picture him gesturing wildly, like he does when he’s arguing his case during a card game. Except he’s not arguing that a play was legal. He’s arguing about you, and how intolerable you are, apparently. 

He heaves a deep sigh that you can even hear from your spot on the stairs. “I can’t do this anymore, Trevor. I give up. We’re just gonna hate each other forever, and I’ll be an active participant in that.”

Finally – quietly, hesitantly, so unlike either of them – you hear Trevor speak. “Matt, it’s not like you’ve been particularly nice to her, either.” Matt tries to say something again, maybe protest, but your friend stops him. “It takes two people to be nice to each other.”

“We can’t do that, Trevor. You know it as well as I do.”

Something about the resignation in Matt’s voice makes something in your chest twinge. It certainly can’t be your heart, but some part of you feels maybe something akin to sympathy. A similar frustration over the situation. 

There’s a gap between the two of you that formed long ago, and it looks too big now to bridge solely in the name of friendship. At least, you don’t have a clue how to start. 

When you hear a foot land on the bottom stair, you scramble away as quietly as you can. 

There’s supposed to be a storm today. Jack’s been complaining about it all week, and you can hear him complaining about it downstairs now. It’s disrupting any plans he could make – boating, golfing… that’s pretty much it. 

Most of the guys seem to be bothered by the uncertainty of their weather apps more than the storm itself. Jack’s friends don’t have much time left to spend here, and they’re antsy to make the most of what they do have. You’re just relieved by the promise of Matt’s departure, since he evidently can’t even stand being around you. 

It’s not that you’ve always assumed the way that the two of you poke and prod at each other is all in good fun. No, there’s always been some level of real, negative emotion there. But this summer especially, there was something else, too. A mutual understanding, maybe. An almost-friendship. 

You thought that he was starting to feel it too, in the quiet moments between fireworks. When it felt like there was no one else to perform for. 

Apparently you were wrong. 

These thoughts are the first thing you face head-on this morning. Somehow, they’re easier to deal with than your cousin’s whining. Then someone knocks on your door. 

“Are you decent?” Trevor calls through the wood. It would be a nice gesture if he didn’t start opening the door before you’ve really answered. 

“Come on in, I guess,” you say, failing to hide the gloominess in your voice. 

His little half-grin slides off his face. “Oh, man. You’re that upset about the storm too?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not that.” And you don’t want to have to explain it to him, but Trevor was the one Matt chose to talk to. You just pick at your comforter while he comes over to sit next to you. 

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?”

“You can’t tell him,” you say immediately, inwardly cringing at yourself because of course you have to tell Trevor. 

His expression changes to one of understanding quicker than you would have expected. “You heard us talking before the basement games last night.” You nod. He asks something you wouldn’t have expected. “But you were so quiet. What all did you hear?”

“Um, how about that he can’t stand me?” you make finger quotes in the air, your voice raising. “That we’re gonna hate each other forever, apparently, and that I just drive him sooo crazy, don’t I?”

Your friend sighs. His hands go up into the air in a kind of defensive, kind of surrendering way. He starts to talk, then closes his mouth. Finally, he runs his hands through his hair. 

“You’re gonna have to talk that out with him, Sunshine,” he says. “But just know, you’re missing some context.”

You’d really like to press him further, but Luke saves him by poking his head in the door. His brows furrow at something that’s going on in the room, but you don’t know what. “Are you guys coming on the boat?” he questions. 

Trevor interrupts before you can ask where the storm has gone. “We’re taking the boat out?” 

“Yeah, looks like we’ll be clear for a little bit more. Jack wants to get out while we can, so you guys might wanna decide fast.” He starts to leave, but you call him back, shooing Trevor out of the door so he can go get ready for the outing. Trevor doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Is Matt going out on the boat?” you ask urgently. It’s clear that Luke notices how wide your eyes are. Still, he shakes his head. 

“I think he’s out doing something,” your baby cousin tries to offer, but you wave it off. 

“If we’re leaving before he gets back, I’m in.”

Mid-day boating turns into afternoon naps or house-cleaning and cards after dinner. You cheer up as the day goes by, especially since you happen to never be in the same place as Matt. That is, until Jack calls for Scum. 

Matt is the king at the start of the night. He holds the position through two games. 

If you were playing any other game, one where you could spend the entirety of it sabotaging him, you would have taken the seat right next to him. Instead, poor Luke and Cole are playing buffers. 

“I just can’t stand the way you shuffle,” you comment once. “Give me the cards next time, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Think I can handle myself, Sunshine. Just mind your own business for once,” comes the retort through gritted teeth. Quinn and Alex raise their eyebrows. 

By the third and final deal, the two of you have gotten worked up to a point that the others have never seen before. You flick the cards at him so hard that they slide off the table more often than not unless he catches them. He glares back at you, but doesn’t say anything. 

Not until it’s time to lay down his first card. 

“You ever wonder how much better this game would be if everyone could handle not being the king or queen after every round?” he asks Jack next to him. 

“Matt-” Jack starts to say, eyes darting over to you nervously to wait for your reaction. 

You pretend not to hear, just waiting for your turn to lay down your eights and hopefully end the round, but most of the guys can see how infuriated you are. 

Then you lean over to whisper to Cole, “I thought you hockey players were meant to be at least a little competitive.” He does laugh at that. 

Matt narrows his eyes. The next round starts shortly after. 

As the game goes on, people start tapping out as you all go around. You and Matt start taking every opportunity to gripe at each other. 

For a minute, it looks like Matt’s going to beat you. He looks you dead in the eye as he says, “I think my first decree as king is gonna be an exile.”

You suck in a breath. Even if he isn’t saying it outright, you know exactly who that’s directed at. And you can’t say you’re happy about it, but you also can’t say that you wouldn’t kick him out of here right now if you had the power. But you won’t. You never will.

As Quinn takes his turn after you distractedly pass again, you come to a realization: you will never be rid of Matt. As long as he’s friends with Jack, he’s going to stick around.

This antagonistic relationship — whatever’s actually underneath it — can’t last.

So you make him an indirect offer on your next turn, when you lay down a singular ten. “I’m getting kind of tired of this, boys. Maybe we should find a new game, start over and make new rivalries?”

You don’t miss the looks thrown around the table. Least of all, Matt’s brief yet victorious smirk. 

Quinn passes. Alex passes. Trevor lays down a pair of sixes, a playful smile on his lips. He’s the only person at the table who seems so at ease, but even his calm is a farce. Luke passes too. 

Matt makes eye contact with you and only you before he lays his cards down. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to back down.

“Is this just because you’re losing? Spoiler alert: you can’t always be a winner, Sunshine. Not everything is gonna go your way. The sooner you accept that, the better,” he tells you, as he presents his set: the kings of clubs, diamonds, and spades. 

It doesn’t escape you that his trio is heartless. 

Next to him, Jack tenses. Cole’s eyes flick to you. Your skin heats under the lights of the kitchen nook chandelier. Despite your embarrassed blush, you keep a straight face. And you straighten your four remaining cards against the table, nodding to Jack to go ahead with his turn. 

He passes. Poor Cole, eyes darting between you and Matt, double checks his cards. The shuffling sounds like thunder in the silence that’s enveloped the room – no, the entire house. He comes up empty. Matt keeps his steely gaze on you the entire time. 

“You know, I think you forget that at the end of the day life isn’t a competition,” you say, voice tight. “And winning it all is worth nothing if you scare off anyone who might have been close to you.” You take a deep breath before forcing the last sentence out. “Guess we have to learn that the hard way sometimes.”

Your chair screeches on the floor as you stand, shattering the quiet and making almost everyone else at the table flinch. 

“Good luck to the rest of y’all,” you finish simply, tossing your quartet of twos onto the table. “And have a good night.”

With that, you head back through the darkness of the living room and up to your bedroom. Even all the lovely colors you had taken care to fill it with look dark in the dead of night. 

You stay inside your room the next day, though it dawns bright and sunny. You creep out to the empty kitchen at some early hour to smuggle some snacks back up to your room. Hopefully, Luke gets the silent apology you send for depriving him of Cheez-Its for… however long you have them. 

Quinn knocks on the door at some point before noon to ask if you want to come along for something that you half listen to, because they wanna do it before other reasons that you don’t really listen to. No offense to your cousin, of course, but you’re very wrapped up in your wallowing. 

He is given a flimsy excuse and a smile at 75% effort, and that’s all it takes for him to go away. But he can usually tell when you really just don’t want to talk about it. You turn the music back on to cover up the sounds of the boys getting ready to leave and tuck back into your novel. 

Somewhere in the middle of the scramble, you hear someone yelling for someone else to “get a move on, we really don’t have all day”. The noise catches your attention. As you look up from your book, you notice a shadow passing in front of your door. They hesitate, as if they want to come in. There never is a knock like you expect. Instead, the voice yells again and the shadow moves on. You’re pretty sure they’re not calling for Luke. 

The house has been completely empty for a while when you decide to venture out for a little pick-me-up. Unfortunately, your car is trapped in front of Cole’s in the driveway. 44 Scoops is a little out of the way on your bike, but it has the best ice cream around and you deserve some today. You barely notice the sky darkening as you ride. The girl taking the orders greets you warmly.

“Hi, what can I getcha today?” she asks, smile putting her braces on full display. 

“Um, just one vanilla in a cone, please,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear under your hood. You feel like kind of a weirdo keeping it up, but you really didn’t feel like doing anything with your appearance. 

“We’ll get that right out,” the girl says, then tilts her head at you. “Do you like sprinkles?”

You nod, but feel your eyebrows furrow. It’s kind of a weird question since you didn’t order sprinkles, but she doesn’t say anything else so you fork over a five dollar bill. When she returns to the counter a minute later, your scoop is covered in rainbow sprinkles. 

“It kinda looked like you could use them,” the girl offers, shrugging as soon as the cone is safely in your hand. “I hope your day gets better!”

“Thank you,” you tell her, “Really.”

She smiles one more hot-pink-and-metallic smile at you, then moves on to the next customer. 

And the day does not get better. Almost as soon as you turn toward the door, it starts sprinkling outside. Partway through your ice-cream-and-Instagram-reels binge, your phone dies. The cone melts a little too fast for you, and you get a couple spots on your sweatshirt as you finish it up. 

It takes a miniature pity party just to get the courage to clip your hair up, go outside and get back on your bike. 

Unknown to you, the boys are in a bit of a frenzy at the lake house. They started bringing the boat in when the sky got dark (a little earlier than they planned, even), but it was still raining by the time they got everyone and everything inside. 

Then Luke calls for you to see if you want the late lunch/early dinner that Quinn plans on making, but you never answer. So he heads up to your room just to make sure you’re not asleep or still ignoring everybody, and you aren’t even there. 

“Sunshine’s gone!” he announces when he slides back into the main living area. He’s trying and failing to hide his panic. His brothers exchange a glance that they pretend he doesn’t see, and Jack heads off to double check your room as if Luke is blind. 

Quinn designates places for the other boys to check like they think you might have fallen asleep somewhere and failed to wake up despite all the noise they made coming back. Matt disappears into the basement without a word. Luke’s job now is to tag-team calling you with Quinn until one of them makes contact. 

“I checked literally every bedroom upstairs. No sign of her, but her car’s still here,” Jack announces when he gets back downstairs, picking up his phone to start calling too. “You guys haven’t called Mom yet, right?”

Luke shakes his head. Quinn is too busy pacing around the kitchen table looking out the windows, seemingly under the impression that you might emerge from the tree line at the edge of the property. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Matt come up from the basement and head toward the second floor stairs, still not talking. 

“She’s not up there-” Jack starts to tell his friend, but Matt shakes his head. When he finally speaks, it’s gruff. 

“I’m just grabbing a hoodie,” Matt says. Then he’s gone, taking the stairs two at a time just like Luke did. 

The rest of Jack’s friends re-emerge from the basement and start convening with Jack and Luke when they hear the front door open and shut. Quinn is still getting the dial tone in the kitchen. Cole suggests that you may have gone out for food or something. Trevor pipes up that it could’ve been a need for liquor that drove you out in this weather. 

“I wouldn’t blame her if it was,” Alex comments lowly, and Trevor has the decency to look embarrassed. “Matt went pretty hard on her last night.”

“He knows he was out of line, and I think she does too,” Jack assures everyone. “Not that… I’ve talked to her today, or anything. But I just have a feeling that was the final fight, y’know? Something about it…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Nevermind. I’m probably crazy.”

You’ve successfully gotten yourself most of the way home when you see a familiar car heading your way on one of the many weirdly-named streets following the lakeshore. When you think you’re in their line of vision, you start raising your arm to wave for help. Then you see the face behind the wheel. Your hand drops of its own accord, and you move a step or two farther from the side of the road in case Matt decides he’s feeling extra cruel and wants to splash you or something. 

He turns around somewhere and catches up to you as you’re about to cross the top of a cul-de-sak, cutting you off with a turn onto the street. You frown at the passenger side window, watching it roll down.

“Get in the car, Sunshine,” he says. 

“But-”

“I’m not letting you get sick out here just because you want to stick it to me, okay? You get in here. I’ll get your bike.”

A couple of minutes later, the bicycle has been shoved into the trunk and backseat with an astounding lack of grace, and you’re sitting with your arms crossed up front as Matt turns the car around. The pounding rain almost completely covers up what he says to you as he gets back onto the main road. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“No matter what issues we have, it was fucked of me to bring it up in front of everybody during the game,” he admits. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. And I’m really sorry for whatever I did two years ago to make you hate me like you do, because that was probably pretty fucked too.”

You sigh. “You didn’t… do anything.”

His foot twitches on the brake pedal; you feel the car stutter beneath you. Just like you feel him trying to watch both the road and your face, so you burrow back into your hood and look out your window. 

“I didn’t do anything?” 

“No.”

“Then why do you hate me?”

And you know it won’t be good enough, at all, but you shrug. How do you put it into words that your cousins poked and prodded you about how you would like Matt for almost years before you actually met? That Jack had asked you to not date any of his friends a long time ago and of course you wouldn’t disrespect his wishes, but you definitely agreed that if you were allowed to date this one, you might have gone for it? 

How do you tell someone that you’ve had to hate them because you wouldn’t be allowed to love them?

So you mutter some snappy bullshit like “someone had to,” and try to leave it there. 

“Tell me the truth, Sunshine.” Which is about what you expected. 

“Did Jack or Quinn ever tell you how well they used to think we would get along?” you ask, folding your arms and leaning back in your seat but finally looking at him. He’s definitely been in the car for a bit now, but there are speckles and water marks even from before he got out to shove your bike in the back. 

He thinks for a moment, then nods. “I think Jack said once that we would get along… that everybody loves you and I wouldn’t be any different.” His cheeks turn pink when he realizes the phrasing that he used. One hand automatically flies off the wheel to scratch the back of his neck. “Not that… you know what I mean.”

You only hum in response. 

“What does that have to do with you hating me, though?”

“It was never really hate-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Sure felt like hate.” You stay silent, waiting for him to notice that he’s pissed you off. He doesn’t even have to look over to know. “Sorry, go on.”

“It wasn’t really hate,” you insist, as he turns away from where you’re supposed to go. “It was… the rejection of like. Like how cold is just the absence of heat. You’re going the wrong way.”

“Indifference is the absence of like,” Matt corrects you, a little smug. “And we’re in the middle of a conversation that I don’t think we’re going to be able to have once you get back to that house.”

Your eyebrows furrow. He just nods at his phone, down in the cupholder, and you pick it up. Hold it out to him, but he shakes his head. 

“The boys were worried about you. Get on there – password’s 129453 – and text Jack that you’re okay and I got you.” You quietly do as he says, waiting for another command. “And that we’ll be back soon, but we have to do something first.”

Jack knows it’s you because you told him so and he starts to ask questions. But you don’t have the answer to a lot of them. You just reassure him again that you’re safe, everything’s fine, you just wanted ice cream and there is absolutely no need to call any parents or beloved aunts about this. 

Matt looks over at you, nodding for you to continue your original explanation. The rain keeps beating down on the car, a steady drum to drown out the sound of your heartbeat. 

“Jack called it first,” you say. “Said you were just my type, that we’d get along like a house on fire, that kinda stuff. But he also said, back when he started the program with you and all the other guys, that he didn’t want me dating any of you either.” You laugh, trying to keep the bitterness out of the sound. Maybe you mostly succeed. “Because he knew that hockey players were just that – players.”

Matt purses his lips, but lets you keep talking. 

“And it’s not like I’d be able to get to know any of you without him around, so I kinda just had to take him at his word for it, right?” you continue, feeling yourself starting to ramble. “Then we got here for the first summer. And Jack was right on the money. But I knew that if I really let myself start to like you-” you shrug. “-I’d be doing nothin’ but getting myself hurt by toeing the line that Jack set.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You keep going. “So I tried to ignore you. Not feel anything at all. That didn’t work, but I thought it would still be easier for me if we weren’t… close. I’m sorry that it turned into all this mess. I just wanted to protect myself.” You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie up over your hands. 

Matt drives on, silent for a minute. It stretches into two, three minutes until it’s almost comfortable. Then he turns sharply into a gas station parking lot on the corner. The car stays on when he parks away from everybody else on the side of the building, but he unbuckles and twists in his seat to face you. 

“So you’re meaning to tell me – all this time, you just liked me and you were, no offense, a complete pest, as a front?” You nod. 

He collapses back into his seat, running his hands through his hair and accidentally pushing his hood off in the process. It’s hard to ignore his long legs stretching in the little space they have, swim trunks riding up his thighs. 

“You liked me,” he states again, simply. You nod again. His eyes dart to you, tongue tracing his lower lip, cheeks pink. “You… like me?” 

It comes slower this time, and all your nervous energy manifests as your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeves, but you still nod. You aren’t sure that he’s looking at your eyes when you do it. 

Then, he laughs. Your first instinct is to recoil a bit, especially if he’s laughing at your confession. Which would be cruel, but maybe earned. This is probably the worst way you could resolve every conflict from the past two years. It takes genuine effort to keep a straight face. 

“You like me,” he says once more. “Have all this time.” 

Something holds you back from responding, from making a defensive, sarcastic comment that would ruin whatever you’re building or rebuilding here. He speaks again, quieter still, barely audible over the weather outside. 

“That makes so much more sense, looking back.” 

And he looks back up at you, disbelief still written on his face. Then the mask cracks, and he smiles brighter than has ever been directed at you before. 

“You know, one of Luke’s buddies asked me once why we flirted so different from you and all Jack’s other friends,” he admits, making your eyes widen. 

“I mean, I wasn’t really trying to, but-” you stutter, feeling your face turn sunburn-red. 

“If we agree that that’s what all this has been, I gotta say, you flirt like a little boy on the playground,” he teases you. You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder just hard enough to walk the line of playful and mean. 

“You’re no better!” you exclaim. There’s more you want to say, but Matt shuts you up by grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and pressing his lips to yours over the center console. 

Instead of saying anything else, you sigh into the kiss. One of your hands finds itself slipping into his dark blond hair, tugging on the surprisingly soft strands. His other hand grabs your waist, squeezing ever so slightly. You take his bottom lip in between your teeth. 

“Oh my god, you tease,” he scolds you, (smiling) as he pulls away for a second. If you didn’t know him as well as you somehow do, you’d be disappointed by him cutting you off this quick. 

But he moves his seat back as far as he can, putting space between himself and the steering wheel. Then he’s grabbing at your hoodie, your back, your thighs – anything to urge you onto his lap. 

You’re lucky the windows are tinted. 

Once you’re settled, knees on either side of his thighs – which, honestly, aren’t leaving you very much room but why on earth would you fault him for that – he positions one hand gently on your cheek, stroking it absentmindedly with his thumb. 

“I like you too, by the way,” he says, a goofy smile on his face. You raise your eyebrows in a silent question and he nods, closing his eyes in content as you weave your hands back into his hair. “All this time.”

Finally, he pulls your face back down to his, pressing his lips to yours so much more softly and awkwardly than a minute ago. You feel like a teenager having their first kiss again, but this time you know it’s perfect. This one feels like an exhale after years of holding your breath. 

Matt pulls back and you pout, which makes him laugh and wrap his arms around your waist in a hug. Then he leans back in the seat again, big hands resting comfortably on your hips. 

“What are you doing, you weirdo?” you ask, but you kind of mean why aren’t you kissing me anymore. 

“Just admiring,” he replies, making you groan. 

Since you so clearly need to take the initiative here, you lean forward and steal his lips in a kiss again. His breath catches when you nip him, this time, and you wonder why you didn’t just do this sooner. It’s so much better than the whole push-and-pull thing you’ve had going for the past couple of summers. 

He presses you closer to him with one hand, deepening the kiss and using the other hand to pull down your hood and release your hair from its claw clip. In response, you pull on his again and he lets out this breathless little sound that you wanna hear at least five more times before he goes back home for summer training. 

The two of you are interrupted by an obnoxious buzzing from the cupholder. Matt reaches over and grabs his phone without even moving you off of his lap. 

You think you hear Jack’s voice on the other side, asking a series of questions that Matt barely has the time to answer before another three come out of your cousin’s big mouth. 

“Yeah, she’s fine. Took her bike. We’re on the way home now. Do you guys need us to stop for anything?” Jack says something else, and a smile dances on Matt’s lips. “No, we’re all good now. I think the two of us will be more tolerable together from now on. We talked it out.” 

Absentmindedly, you wipe a smudge of your tinted chapstick off the corner of his lips. He looks up at you for a second, winks, and runs his hand through his hair as he looks back toward the passenger side mirror. 

“I promise, it’s chill,” he tells your cousin. “And she says she’s sorry for scaring you. Her phone just died when she was out.” It’s not a lie, you’re just surprised he realized. But maybe you shouldn’t be – the two of you have paid unnecessarily close attention to each other for a long time. Whether you realized it or not, you did get to know each other under the pretense of hatred. “Yeah, we’ll be back in time for dinner. Like I said, heading back soon. Uh-huh. See ya.”

Matt punctuates the end of the call by kissing you again, then pushes you back over the center console to your own seat while he readjusts. 

“So…,” you trail off, back to playing with your sleeves. Matt looks at you, a smile already half-formed on his face. “What now?”

“We’ve got time to talk it out, right? Let’s just get back to the house first.” He reaches over, squeezing your leg. And he leaves his hand there as he pulls out of the gas station, for the rest of the drive, only letting go when the house is in sight. 

He looks over at you again with a knowing smirk once he parks the car in the driveway. 

“So. You still gonna pretend you hate me in there?”

You shrug, smiling, and jump out of the car. The door is mostly closed, but you hear him shout “hey!” after you as you dart off into the rain. 

All eyes are on you once you open the front door. 

And all it takes is one glance from you for Trevor to pump his fist and shout, “Yessss!” dragging it out victoriously. The rest of the boys catch on almost one-by-one. You can see the realization spread from Trevor and Luke to Quinn and Jack, then Alex and Cole as you feel Matt appear behind you in the entryway. 

“Finally!” Trevor continues, throwing his hands up in the air. “It only took you idiots like three years!”

“Trevor, what-” Matt starts, moving out from behind you so he can take off his wet hoodie and toss it down the basement stairs toward the laundry. 

While your not-so-much-anymore enemy gets an explanation for Trevor’s behavior, your cousins approach you and quietly usher you into the office. Jack shuts the door behind the four of you. This feels like a confrontation. 

“You scared us pretty bad there, Sunshine,” Luke starts, crossing his arms and leaning back against Quinn’s desk. 

“I am so sorry, you guys, it was a complete accident. I took a bike ride for ice cream, then my phone died. I was literally on my way back when Matt caught me,” you explain. 

A random cheer sounds from the other room. It distracts Jack, who looked like he was about to start shooting off another round of questions. You silently thank Trevor. 

“We’re just glad you’re okay, Sunshine, we promise.” Quinn’s first sentence is reassuring. Then he asks a not-really question that might be worse than whatever Jack had in mind. “What we’re wondering now is what’s going on with you and Matt. If you’ve made up and all.”

There hasn’t been enough time to define anything. You guys aren’t planning on fighting anymore, you don’t think. Still, what are you allowed to tell your cousins? The anxiety rising in your throat makes you cough. Jack’s eyes widen. 

“You’re not getting sick, are you?” he questions, worrying aloud. “We should’ve let you change into dry clothes before we dragged you in here, our bad-”

“That would be great, thanks,” you reply decisively. “But we’re not going to ruin everybody else’s vacations anymore, if that’s what your concern is. Now-” you make eye contact with all three brothers before you finish. “-if anyone has any problem with me going to get warm, dry, and comfortable, please voice that now.”

“One last thing,” Jack says, nodding for the other two to go. 

The two of you wait, facing each other, until the door closes behind Quinn. You sit down in one of the office chairs and cross your legs, waiting for Jack to speak. He sighs, tucking his hands under his armpits before looking up at you from beneath his backwards hat. 

“Sunshine, I made a big mistake years ago. I was trying to look out for you when I asked you not to date my friends, because I thought they’d all be like Trevor… and me,” he admits. 

You lean forward, definitely wanting to hear what he says next. 

“I was wrong about Matt. He’s not a player, not like the rest of us. We’ve all been watching you two bicker and pine over each other for years now, and I know both of you like each other even if you won’t say it in those words. Not to me, at least.”

He takes a deep breath, making sure to really meet your eyes before his big finish. 

“Please date Matt.”

“What?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “Are you like, asking me out in his place?”

It only takes you looking back at him for Jack to crack and start laughing. It was a weird phrasing. He knows that. 

“I swear we’ve been driving him crazy, making him jealous ‘n’ trying to get him to confess but he wasn’t gonna say anything until you had gotten over whatever he’d done to you originally.”

“What he’d done? Oh no buddy, that was all you,” you tell Jack, and when he just makes a confused face you explain further. “Y’all were completely right when you said I’d like him and I did, but I also remembered that I wasn’t supposed to date your friends. Just wanted to be a good cousin, y’know?”

“I’m so sorry,” Jack says, covering the top half of his face with his facepalm. “I should’ve grown up about that ages ago.”

You agree. “You should’ve, but who knows how it would have gone back then. And we’re here now, right?”

Your (slightly idiotic but lovable) cousin nods along with wide eyes, probably hoping this will absolve him of guilt. “Seriously, though. I am sorry. And also please stop flirting with Trevor – you’re killing poor Bolds, over there.” 

Finally, you laugh, getting up and throwing your arms around him. He holds you tight, just like the two of you used to hug when you were little. You used to say that if you never let go of each other, then your families would never be without each other again. It was cute then, but being mature now and knowing that you’ll have a strong bond whether you’re in the same state or you’re dating each other’s friends is much better, you think. 

“Can we just make a pact that you guys – and I mean all of you – will hold off on meddling from now on? Please?” 

“Will do,” Jack says quietly before releasing you. His eyes get a little twinkle in them when he inclines his head toward the door and says, “Now go get your man.”

“I think I’m gonna change first.”

“Right. That sounds… yeah. Go do that.”

Once you’re in dry clothes, you find Matt in his room, in the process of changing shirts even though his was barely touched by the rain. 

“Hey,” you say, rapping your knuckles gently against his door. “We still need to talk, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, patting the bed next to him. “Close the door, if you’re allowed?”

You nod, heading over to where he directs you without a word. The two of you spend at least a minute shifting in various ways, trying to make this comfortable. Because somehow it worked so much better when you were making out in a car. 

“So. There’s a lot to talk about.” 

He nods enthusiastically, running a hand through still-damp hair. But he doesn’t actually speak. He waits for you to continue, to decide what you want to bring up. 

“I guess… to start, Jack kind of finally gave us his blessing, but there’s a lot more I want to discuss with you before we act on anything like that. Like all the ways you were complaining to Trevor about me a couple nights ago. That stuff… it didn’t sound like a guy with a crush,” you admit, avoiding his widening eyes by fiddling with the hem of your shirt. 

“What all did you hear?” he questions, voice low. 

“That you couldn’t stand me,” your throat tightens, but you force the words out. “How we could never be nice to each other, not in a million years, so you were going to start actively hating me. The way that I just drive you crazy, apparently.”

His hands enter your line of vision. One cups your cheek. The other gently tugs at your own hand until you let him envelop it in his. The hand partly cupping your chin is equally gentle, tilting your head up so you look at him. His eyes are almost glassy. 

“Sunshine, you have to listen to me when I say that I was going crazy that night. I thought I’d fooled myself into thinking that you actually liked me the night before, and I hated myself for it more than anything. But you weren’t around, and you were an easy excuse, so I took it out on you there. I can’t forgive myself for it, so I’m not going to ask you to do it either. But you are missing a little bit of context.”

Matt closes his eyes briefly to take a quick breath. “I couldn’t be around you without trying to find some sign that could give me hope that we’d get over our rivalry, or whatever it was. I said you’re too out of reach, that you would never like me at all, let alone like that.” 

“I pretended Trevor was being the really crazy one, but it was all me. But I still shouldn’t have said any of that, and I’m so sorry. Especially that you had to hear it,” he finishes. 

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. “I really appreciate you admitting that.” Then you continue. “I have to apologize too. For all these years of teasing and taunting you, for trying to let you know that I heard you… literally in front of everyone else during Scum, where we couldn’t actually talk about it. That was uncool of me. I could’ve handled everything a lot better since we met. I should have. You…” You trail off once before you finally manage to get the words out. “Maybe you deserve someone who can handle all of their feelings like, I dunno, a grown-up.”

And this time, when you look up, you see that he really is tearing up a little bit. But he’s smiling. And he’s shaking his head. “I don’t want a grown-up, Sunshine. I want you. Have since we met.”

You giggle. It’s a little choked out, a little wet from making it around the lump that formed in your throat, but you get it out. 

“Don’t tell Jack that,” you tell him. “He’ll be insufferable about being right.”

“God, I know,” Matt groans, falling back onto the bed and almost pulling you with him. “He’s just the worst about that, isn’t he?”

“We can’t forget Trevor,” you say. “He’s gonna be so bad too.”

He groans again, more muffled as he drags a hand down his face. “I’d say we shouldn’t date or change how we act just to fuck with ‘em, but it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”

You’ve swallowed whatever was building in your throat and started to dry your face before you reply, “Jack already asked me out on your behalf, actually, so no, I don’t think that’d work at all. Nice thought, though.” 

“That’s kind of humiliating,” he points out. “Your cousin and my friend who told you to stay away from me got so sick of us acting like little kids around each other that he just – what, said ‘please date Matt’?”

“Bingo.”

This elicits a third groan from him, and he rolls over a little bit to sit back up. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead. Cross my heart. Swear it, all that stuff.”

When he falls back onto the bed like the drama queen you’ve always known he is, you follow. Matt re-opens his eyes to find you leaning over him. So he wraps his arms around you and pulls you down to lay on top of him, your faces just inches apart. 

“Worry about it later?” he asks, distracted by your sudden proximity (as if it isn’t his doing). 

A second passes, but you nod and lower your face to press your lips to his. Just like last time, it feels like breathing fresh air. It feels right. 

Maybe it would escalate. Maybe you and Matt would realize that you’re not in a car and you have some space to move around a little, but your lovely baby cousin knocks something against the wall in his room next door and ruins the moment. When you separate, though, Matt stills holds you close, his forehead meeting yours as you both catch your breath. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” he mutters, making you open your eyes. When he continues his voice is breathy. “...but, wow.” 

You feel a smirk spreading across your face before you can stop it. 

“Hey, I said don’t make fun of me!”

Time passes without you getting into an argument with Matt. Not in front of the boys, not at all. But neither of you clarify what’s changed between the two of you either. So by day three of peace and quiet, some of them are understandably tense. 

You and Matt are sitting out on the deck together during nap time when you hear the blinds hitting the other side of the door. The sound puts both of you on alert – making you look up from your book, Matt open his eyes from his half-nap. 

“‘d you think it’s the guys?” he asks quietly, glancing back toward the house. 

“Probably,” you shrug. “Made Jack promise not to meddle, but I doubt they can go this long without being nosy.” You look up at him over your book. “Not like there’s anything to tell, right? We’re kind of just… kissing. On occasion.”

He blinks slowly. “Yeah. I guess so.” Despite the agreement, his brows furrow. “And… you’re cool with just doing that?”

“If you are,” you respond. The air is growing heavy with the sudden awkwardness of trying to address whatever’s going on between you two now. Clearly, neither of you are the best at actually talking about your emotions, and that doesn’t seem like it’s going to change just because the feelings did. 

Matt sits up, slow and lazy, reaching over to force you to lower your book. 

“I don’t think I’m cool with that,” he says, voice quiet. “Sunshine, I’d like to actually date you. Take you out for dinner or something, make it kinda special and all that.” 

“Make it special, huh?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. 

His face reddens, but he nods. “Jack did ask you to date me, right? Not just ‘kiss me on occasion’?” He makes finger quotes as he reuses your words, then waits for your head to bob once in affirmation before standing. “Okay. Be ready at seven.” 

And with that, he’s heading back inside. The situation reminds you a little bit of that night at the party. But better. This time, the fireworks in your stomach are mixed with butterflies instead of nausea. This time things are working out, you think. 

Voices float out from the door when he opens it. Trevor, you recognize, and Luke. At least the two of them are converging on Matt inside, asking for clarification on why there’s no more fighting if you two aren’t officially a thing yet. Maybe Jack is there too. He’d probably be more defensive of you than your younger cousin, the ‘must defend her honor’ type. You hope for Matt’s sake that he’s still asleep or eating or doing literally anything else. 

Trevor must somehow have a sixth sense for when things are happening between you and his old friend. Because as soon as you head up to your room to get ready for whatever’s being planned, he follows. 

“So,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you as you start ruffling through your closet. “Matt asked me for restaurant recommendations tonight.”

“Okay?”

“C’mon, just admit that he’s finally really going after you. We all know how long he’s wanted to, and I’m pretty sure the last few days have put him as on edge as your cousins.”

His words make you frown. “Why are they worried? It has nothing to do with them.”

Trevor tsks, shaking his head dramatically. His hair falls into his face, so he has to brush it away. “Sunshine, Sunshine, Sunshine. Do you know what happened the last time you two were this quiet around each other, civil or otherwise?” 

Even though you start to answer with a sigh, he cuts you off. “You went missing in the middle of a storm. Freaked out all of us pretty bad, especially your cousins and Matt.”

“He was freaked out?”

“Oh yeah. Went so quiet, just threw on a hoodie and headed out to find you without, like, a word to the rest of us. Almost like he knew where you were or something.” The way your friend answers makes it seem as if he doesn’t think too much of it, just knows that it indicates that Matt has feelings for you. 

You, on the other hand, are struck by that last little admission. He did know where you were. Even that day in the rain, you’d had a feeling that he’d have found you even if you had stayed at the ice cream shop, but now you know. 

And the warm fuzzy feeling grows in your chest until it’s spreading through the rest of your body, forcing you to hide your smile from Trevor behind the closet door. 

“Did he tell you what we’re doing?” you question. 

He nods. 

“Can I know?”

He shakes his head. Heaving another deep sigh, you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Trevor, I at least need to know what to dress for. Can I have that much?”

“You’ll be moving around a little bit, but I’m pretty sure you can wear a skirt without worrying about it. Like, no jumping or anything crazy.” 

“This- you make it sound so weird,” you comment, and Trevor just shrugs. 

Still, you follow his advice even after you shoo him out of the room once more to really put something on. It keeps feeling strange – you’ve never dressed to get Matt’s attention before. You have no idea what he likes besides being pretty sure he likes you. But that’s not helpful. 

There’s a knock on your door as soon as you’ve found your outfit, and you make the person wait until it’s on to enter. It turns out to be Jack. 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he says casually, trying to hide the way his eyes widen when he sees your change of clothes. “Whatcha up to?”

“Going out tonight,” you say simply, because if Matt didn’t tell your cousins and friends then there must be a reason. “Why?”

“Just…be safe,” he replies. “Might be another storm coming in tonight. We really can’t have you getting sick. Mom would never forgive us.” You’re pretty sure he’s figured out that something is going on, but he’s just being sweet now. 

You smile at him. “I will,” you promise him softly. “No more getting lost in bad weather, I understand.”

He looks like he might want to say something, but instead he just pulls you into a hug with a short nod. There he is, you think to yourself. This is the cousin that would insist upon walking your seven-year-old self down the aisle whenever you roped the boys into playing wedding with you. The one who promised to look after you forever because even if you would always be older, he’d get bigger and stronger. 

So you squeeze him just that little bit tighter before you let go.

Matt isn’t in his room when you look, and he’s not in any of the common spaces. Eventually a confused Alex takes pity on you and directs you out to the driveway. You don’t see him by any of the cars, so you call his name. 

“Hey!” he responds, popping up from the other side of his car. “You’re- um, you-” Tripping over his words, he has to take a moment to collect his thoughts before he can talk. “You look great, Sunshine.” 

“Not so bad yourself,” you respond with an exaggerated wink. “What are you up to out here?”

Still seeming a little nervous, he gestures at his car. “Just… cleaning it up before you get back in. You know, since we’re going on an actual date and all.” The admission makes you smile. He keeps talking. “And, if you’re ready to go, we can head out. Starting to look like we might be on a bit of a time crunch with the weather and all.” 

Matt gestures to the sky, rounding the car to open the passenger side door for you. He holds it open until you get there. At which point he promptly leaves you alone in the car to toss the garbage bag he’d been throwing his car trash in. 

The ride to… wherever you’re going is awkward. Conversations are short, fading out quickly. Even though the two of you have managed to coexist peacefully for a little bit now, you still don’t really know how to interact with each other. Just be. 

“So what are you gonna do now that you’ve graduated?” Matt asks at one point after being seated at the hole-in-the-wall, local secret pizzeria that he chose for dinner. 

You shrug. “Look for jobs at home, I guess. Maybe around here, but that’d probably mean staying with Auntie Ellen for a bit and I’m not sure that would work.” 

He nods in understanding. The conversation dies. 

Later, you try starting something. “How do you think your team’s gonna be this season?”

“Well,” he says, brows furrowing in thought, “You always want to be better than you were, right? But with so many guys coming and going between seasons, it’s hard to know what kinda chemistry the lines will have on-ice.” 

This time, you’re the one nodding like you get it. And you kinda do. But since you’re not a hockey player yourself, you don’t quite understand it at the same level as, say, anyone else at the lake house would. 

Overall, dinner is pretty smooth, but the conversation doesn’t come easy. And the sky has definitely darkened prematurely since you went inside the place. Matt opens your door again, then the two of you are back in the car with only a Spotify playlist filling the air between you. The distinct awkwardness of the situation almost makes you giggle. 

“We already know kind of a lot about each other, huh?” you think aloud, looking over to see his face bathed in the red of the brake lights in front of you. He smiles at you, hand reaching for yours over the console. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I guess we do.” 

There was more on your mind, but you cut yourself off with a little gasp as Matt pulls into a parking lot. The parking lot of a mini golf course, to be exact. His smile turns fond when you grab his arm excitedly with your free hand. 

“Mini golf?” you half-ask, half-exclaim. “Matt!”

He shrugs bashfully. “I know you used to love it, and you probably haven’t gotten to do it much recently.”

“No,” you say happily, in agreement. Then your face turns to a pout. “All of y’all got too caught up in boring full-sized golf.” If it were even possible, you’d say that his smile only grows at your words. From pride, maybe, or endearment. “This is the best surprise date ever!” you continue, shaking his arm. 

“I’m glad,” he chuckles, leaning over to gently touch his forehead to yours before leaving to help you out of the car. 

The contrast between pizzeria and mini golf is stark. Playing a game brings out a competitive side in both of you, maybe the side that helped you form your strange bond in the first place. And each of you are fully convinced that you will come out victorious. 

“Watch this!” you call to Matt before sending your brightly-colored ball into a tunnel that should shoot it out as a hole in one. He watches closely, and is very obviously trying not to laugh when it gets stuck in said tunnel and you have to ask if he’ll use his turn to help you out. 

“Maybe next time, Sunshine,” he teases after the two of you free your ball, patting you on the back. 

Though you try to glower at him, the expression doesn’t hold. It quickly dissolves into a grin and a giggle. 

Surrounded by laughter and fake palm trees, the two of you manage to tie up the score by the sixteenth hole. Then something flashes in the distance. A low rumble follows, making some of the parents start herding their families to the exits immediately. 

You exchange a look with Matt. “Keep going until they tell us to stop?” you ask, holding up a fist. 

“Abso-freaking-lutely,” he answers, bumping his fist into yours. 

Of course, the intercom chooses this exact moment to crackle to life and project a wobbly teenage voice commanding all guests to exit the course, but pick up a coupon for another free game on the way out due to the unfortunate weather-related circumstances. 

Both you and Matt sigh, but have little choice other than to follow the instructions given. 

“This sucks,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets along with the free game coupon. “We might not even get time to use this thing before it expires.” 

“Hey,” you say, reaching to tug one of his hands into your own. “I still had fun tonight. Thank you.” He starts smiling at you just as the sky opens and the first raindrops start hitting your head and shoulders. An idea hits you. You let go of his hand, ignoring the offended look he shoots you. “Race you to the car!” 

And he may have longer legs, but you have a headstart. 

The clouds aren’t the only reason why the sky is dark when Matt pulls back into the driveway. There may have been another impromptu gas station stop, but you’d never admit to it. Glancing outside, you hesitate to get out of the car. 

“C’mon, Sunshine, you’re already soaked,” Matt tries to urge you. “Let’s just get in there.” Your gaze redirects to him, a smirk spreading across your face, and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Silently, you start getting comfortable: unbuckling your seatbelt, leaning back in your seat, pulling out your phone. Your clothes just started feeling kind of dry again – why should you ruin it? It barely fazes you when the driver’s side door opens and closes. Then your door opens, and you jump a little.

Matt holds out a hand. “Are you coming inside with me or what?”

Sure, it’s no Prince Charming moment. But it’s your Matt. Only a second or so passes before you slip your phone into a pocket and slide off the seat until your feet hit the ground. 

It’s still pouring out. There’s no way around that. 

But the streetlights and the lanterns next to the front door are casting warm light over the pavement through the apparent wall of rain. Suddenly, you stop caring about the possibility of getting wet entirely. 

Matt doesn’t flinch when you surge up to kiss him. He smiles into it, closing your car door for you and leaning down so you can wrap your arms around his neck. One of his hands finds your face in the semi-dark, his thumb moving back and forth, accidentally rubbing in the cold raindrops that fell there. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re cold. It doesn’t matter that it’s after dark on a summer night. It doesn’t matter that your cousins and all of Matt’s friends are still awake, just inside. 

All that matters is you and Matt, holding each other close in the face of everything else going on right now. 

“Does this mean I win?” you ask cheekily when the two of you part. 

The space between Matt’s brows crinkles for just a second before realization flashes across his face and he’s shaking his head. “Naw, Sunshine. If I’m here kissing you right now, I think it means I won.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, stepping in closer to him so you’re almost completely in his space, “What’s your prize of choice then?”

“I have you, don’t I?”

You look up at him, eyes shining in the light like the puddles forming in the yard. “You mean that?”

Matt’s arms come down to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you even more into his chest and tucking your head under his chin. He’s about to say something else when a door opens and a voice calls into the night. 

“Get in here, idiots! You’re gonna get hypothermia or whatever!”

Jack’s voice joins Cole’s. “You’re so gross! This is worse than when you were fighting!” 

You and Matt exchange a look then burst out laughing. But you head into the house nonetheless, hand-in-hand, prepared to defend each other against the ruthless barrage of teasing all of your friends have prepared. 

After all, only the two of you are allowed to antagonize each other.

i said i was a fan of lando…. i never said i was a lando fan….

absolutely devastating idk what to say but so SO SO GOOD

afterglow ⛐ 𝐈𝐇𝟔

he isn’t fighting to destroy. he’s fighting to give.

ꔮ starring: underground fighter!isack x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 2.5k. ꔮ includes: romance, hurt/comfort. alternate universe: non-f1; descriptions of a fight, blood, injuries. isack is a loverboy, reader is a softie, established relationship e.g. childhood best friends -> lovers, google translated french. title is from taylor swift's song of the same name. ꔮ commentary box: listen. listen. i know i said i would stick to the WIPs i currently have, but i've been unable to function with this idea on my mind. i fully blame @binisainz. this is a short one for now; a bit of a pulse check, i guess, to see if people like this concept/couple/verse? let me know! 🥊 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The crowd is already howling when Isack ducks through the curtains.

It smells like metal and spit back here. Concrete floor slick with old sweat, the low throb of bass rattling his teeth.

All he can think about is you. How you kissed his cheek this morning, barely awake, murmuring something about the cold creeping through the windows. How you curled back into the blanket like a cat, trusting him to go out and do what he always does.

He told you he had errands. That was technically true.

Now, the ring glares under hot lights. A blood-stained mat. Chain-link fence catching every glare like it’s daring someone to look away. The other guy is already inside—tattoos down his arms, jumping on the spot like he’s itching for pain. Isack doesn’t care. Not about the guy. Not about the noise.

He cares about the little shop off Rue de la Liberté, where he saw the secondhand necklace with the gold locket you’d probably never buy for yourself. He cares about the look you’d give him if he managed to hand it to you without a scratch on his face.

He shrugs off his jacket. Rolls his wrists. Breathes in once, steady. His coach, Christian, says something, but it all comes out muffled. His focus has tunneled. There is only the sound of your voice in his memory, bright and impossible: Promise me you won’t get hurt.

Isack apologizes in his head before stepping into the ring.

The cage door shuts with a clang that sounds like punctuation. The other guy smirks. Isack doesn’t flinch.

You’re not here. He would never make you watch, never want you to be in the audience for any of his matches. This is his world. This den of debauchery, this last resort for the desperate. 

But you’re everywhere else. In every breath Isack pulls in through his nose, trying to stay calm. In the way he keeps his stance low, remembering how you once massaged his shoulder after a bad hit. In the fury that doesn’t quite come, because he isn’t fighting to destroy.

He’s fighting to give.

The bell rings.

Fists fly. 

Somewhere in the blur of muscle and motion, he thinks of your laugh. He thinks of the way you once patched his knuckles with ointment and bandages shaped like stars. He thinks of your birthday, only four days away, and how maybe he can afford the locket. Maybe even a cake.

He takes a punch. Spits blood. Laughs.

For the first time in a long while, he has something worth bleeding for.

Isack fights like he always does. Scrappy, sharp, more heart than polish. He’s not as slick as Ollie or as ruthless as Kimi, but he’s reliable in a way people like to bet on. His jabs are fast, his footwork clean, and when he takes a hit, he doesn’t crumble. He recalibrates. Keeps going.

Tonight, he weathers two solid punches to the ribs. Another jab hooks into his jaw and sends stars skittering behind his eyes. Nonetheless, Isack comes back swinging. Left, right, then a knee when his opponent drops his guard. The other guy staggers. The crowd screams.

Isack finishes it clean. A final punch, heavy and sure. The ref pulls him back. It’s over.

His chest heaves. His mouth tastes like rust. But he’s still standing.

Backstage, Christian is already waiting.

“Nice work,” the manager says, all slick grin and fake praise. He hands Isack a rolled-up wad of euros. Lighter than usual.

Isack counts quick, frowns. “This isn’t the full cut,” he grumbles. 

Christian shrugs, too casual. “You got hit too much. Should’ve made it cleaner. Odds dipped in the third round.”

“That’s not—”

“You want the cash or not?” Christian leans in close, voice cold. “Because I can find someone else who wants it more.”

Isack’s jaw tightens. For a second, he sees himself saying no. Walking away. Then he thinks of you, the locket, your birthday.

He pockets the money.

The fluorescent lights make his bruises look worse than they are. He’ll ice the ribs when he gets home. The cut on his jaw isn’t deep. Nothing you’ll see unless he smiles too wide.

Isack walks home instead of taking the bus. It’s a ditch effort to have a bit more money to spend on you. He does mental math the entire way, computing how much he’ll need to get you everything he wants you to have. 

The apartment is peaceful when he lets himself in.

He toes off his shoes gently, careful not to make noise. The hallway is warm, dimly lit by the flicker of your favorite candle on the kitchen counter. It smells like vanilla and something soft beneath it—home, he thinks. It smells like home.

You’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, legs tucked underneath you. There’s a book open in your lap, but you’re not reading. The moment he steps in, you’re already looking up.

“Salut,” you say, voice soft but not accusing. “You’re late.”

Isack manages a smile. “Des petites choses à faire,” he murmurs. Little things to do.

You narrow your eyes. For a second, he thinks he’s caught. 

Instead, you shift, patting the cushion beside you. He crosses the room slowly, sitting beside you with practiced ease. Not too stiff, not too slow. He’s done this before—hidden bruises, concealed aches. You press your cheek to his shoulder, humming contentedly.

“I was thinking,” you say lightly, “for my birthday, maybe we go somewhere. Just us. Nothing big. Maybe that little town you always talk about with the old cinema and the broken carousel.”

Isack chuckles and immediately regrets it.

A sharp pain blooms across his ribs. He tries to play it off, but he tenses just slightly. Just enough.

You pull back instantly. “What was that?” you ask, eyes scanning his face. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Isack.”

You’re already pushing back your blanket, rising to your feet. He doesn’t stop you when you disappear into the bathroom and return with the first aid kit. There’s a gentle fury in the way you set it down. A kind of heartbreak.

“Shirt off,” you say.

He hesitates. “It’s not that bad.”

“Shirt. Off.”

He sighs, peeling the fabric over his head. The bruise is already forming across his ribs—angry, purple, edged in red. Your eyes spark as you kneel beside him.

“Mon pauvre,” you whisper, dabbing antiseptic across the scrape on his side. He flinches slightly, but doesn’t complain.

“You always come back like this,” you go on. “And you always say you’re fine.”

He watches you work, your touch careful, your brow furrowed in concentration. The only person who’s ever looked at him like he was breakable. You sound weary, and for a moment, it sparks something like concern in him. 

Would this be the night? Would this be the evening you decide enough is enough; you can’t be with someone as battered and bruised and addicted to the thrill as Isack? 

“I just wanted to get you something nice,” he says quietly, trying not to give too much of his plans away. 

You pause.

“Mon amour,” you whisper, lifting your eyes to his. “I don’t need anything you have to bleed for.”

He says nothing. Just takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Too late, mon ange,” he says, voice rough. “You’re already everything I’d fight for.”

It had started years and years ago, in the courtyard with the cracked pavement and a broken swing.

You were nine, maybe ten. The older kids had cornered you behind the bike racks, calling you names that stuck like burrs. Isack heard them before he saw you. Your voice was tight and trying not to tremble. He didn’t say anything. 

He just ran at the tallest one, fists flying with all the messy fury of a child who couldn’t stand to see you cry.

He came home with a split lip and a sprained wrist. His mother yelled. Yours baked him cookies. You wouldn’t stop looking at him like he’d hung the moon. He never forgot that.

The fights got cleaner over the years. Less wild, more measured. He trained in secret at first, using borrowed gloves and YouTube videos on his cracked phone. He said it was for self-defense. Everyone knew better. He did it for you.

And now, he still fights.

Not for playground pride, but for rent. For groceries. For birthdays and futures you both pretend to not talk about yet.

He fights so you won’t have to.

But tonight, the bathroom door is cracked open. You’re brushing your teeth in silence; he sees the way your shoulders shake, just barely. The little sniff you try to hide behind a mouthful of foam.

He leans in the doorway, watching for a moment. You blink rapidly at your reflection, fighting tears, trying to smile like it’s nothing. It breaks him.

He steps forward without a word, wraps his arms around you from behind. His chest presses warm against your back. You freeze for a second, toothbrush paused in midair.

“Chérie,” he murmurs against your temple. “Tu pleures.” 

Darling, you’re crying. 

You shake your head.

He hums, unconvinced. “Even your shoulders look sad.”

You let out a wet, reluctant laugh, and he feels your spine soften against his chest. “Want to tell me?” he prompts.

You spit out the toothpaste, rinse, and lean both palms on the sink. “It just… got a bit heavy today,” you say, watching Isack through the mirror. “Everything. You. Money. I don’t know.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder, swaying the two of you gently. “I know. But we’ll be alright, mon ange. You and me, always.”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. Red-rimmed but warm. He presses a kiss behind your ear. “No one gets to hurt you, not even life. Compris?” he hums. 

You nod, wiping your cheek. “Compris.”

He hugs you tighter.

In the mirror, you both look a little ridiculous. Tired and young and too soft for this world. But you also look like something solid. Something that doesn’t break.

The sheets are cool against your skin as the two of you slide into bed. You shift to make space, and Isack follows, slower, careful with the bruises he hasn’t admitted to. The bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlamp outside your window. There’s something about this hour that strips everything down. Even him.

Here, he isn’t the fighter people bet on. He’s not the boy who threw punches for pride or the man who bleeds to make rent.

He’s just your Isack. 

He curls behind you, one arm draping over your waist, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck. You can feel the tension still tucked in his shoulders, the thoughts still churning behind his silence.

You reach back, threading your fingers through his. “You’re thinking about taking another fight.”

He hesitates. Breathes in deep. “Maybe. Just—”

“No.”

You turn to face him fully, eyes shining even in the dark. “I mean it, amour. I don’t want anything for my birthday if it means watching you come home like this.”

He tries to protest, but you cut him off with a hand on his chest.

“You’re enough. Just you. In one piece.”

The silence that follows is thick. He stares at the ceiling like it might give him another way forward. But then he looks at you and sees the worry still lingering around your mouth, the exhaustion clinging to your frame. He thinks of all the times you’ve cried in the bathroom, thinks of the first aid kit that has to get restocked every couple of months. 

He sighs, presses a kiss to your forehead, decides to give you this. 

“D’accord,” he whispers. Alright. “No fight. Not for your birthday.”

You smile, triumphant and relieved all at once, and reward him with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then another. And another. His breath catches when you kiss the tender spot along his jaw, just above the bruise.

He chuckles under his breath. “You always win,” he grumbles, trying and failing to sound upset about it. 

“Only when it matters,” you say before going in to press your lips against his. 

He pulls you close, tucks you into him like a secret, and lets his guard fall entirely. He falls asleep to you softening all of his edges. Chaste kisses, breathless giggles, gentle touches. Isack’s last thought before slipping out of consciousness is that he could live a thousand lifetimes and probably still not deserve you. 

He dreams that night.

You’re laughing in the sun, barefoot in some place he can’t name. Your arms are outstretched, your hair whipped by the wind. You call his name like it’s always meant to belong to you.

He chases after you, light-footed, weightless. The sky is a soft blue. The kind that exists only in dreams. His heart thumps, thumps, thumps in his chest the way only you can make it beat, adrenaline and fighting be damned. 

The dream shifts. 

It bleeds from the sunlight to the darkness, from the sunny outside to your shared apartment. You’re crying. Not loudly, not messily—soundless tears, falling as you stand in a crumbling kitchen with a bill in one hand and nothing in the fridge. He calls for you. You don’t hear him.

He opens the leather wallet you got him for his seventeenth birthday. It’s empty. His hands are bruised, bloodied. His knuckles won’t stop bleeding.

He cannot help you. He cannot reach you. He doesn’t deserve—

Isack wakes with a start.

The bedroom is still dark, but it feels smaller, suffocating. His heart beats in the cage of his ribs like it wants to escape. Beside him, you’re curled against his chest, breathing steady, your hand resting gently at his sternum.

He blinks up at the ceiling, jaw tight.

You don’t stir when he carefully slips out of bed. You don’t feel the draft when he shrugs on a hoodie, tugs jeans over legs that still ache. You don’t hear the pen scratch against paper as he writes, just three words:

Running errands, amour.

He places the note on the nightstand. Stares at it longer than he needs to. Then he’s gone.

The hallway is colder than he remembers. The elevator groans.

Outside, dawn bleeds into the horizon. A light wind stings his face as he pulls out his phone. Fingers hover, hesitate, then dial.

It rings once. Twice. Then:

“Christian.” 

Isack swallows hard. “Give me one more match.”

Silence.

Then, a laugh, low and knowing. “Just one?” 

“Just one. That’s it.”

“Same rules. Same cut. You in or not?”

Isack looks back up at the apartment window.

You’re up there, dreaming still. Safe—for now. Isack thinks of the locket, of cake, of the town you want to visit and the food in the refrigerator. 

He thinks of you. He’s always thinking of you. 

“I’m in,” Isack breathes.

The line goes dead. ⛐

Glass of water (oil on canvas) Artist / Emma May Riley

anyway so the Florida Panthers are very much allowed and even encouraged to injure opponents because they're lightly at best penalized for it - you know, routine penalties that were actually targeted hits on soft spots like heads - and when the opponent's goalie is vomiting over the bench after getting a head hit all you gotta do is shrug and move on because fuck you didn't even get a call for that, what the hell do it to the next goalie too

what are we even supposed to do with wrc? we all know those people are not governable

the captain | s. crosby

warnings: sexual content, strong language, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, minors please do no interact, smut.

summary: Sid is given a hard time by his gf about his very stoic interactions with the media. he's not going to let you off so easy.

request: Younger reader and Sidney are already dating, but she can’t help but roll her eyes at his impeccable media training and family friendly personality in the media he does for the league, so she makes fun of him and takes a strong interest in pushing his limits 👀 (aka ends in smut)

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the extended hiatus guys! i should be back to regular uploads at this point in time and i am currently working through the request list! more to come to keep your eyes peeled guys! thank you for your patience with me! angelsuecult returns!! also to the original requester please don't hesitate to reach out if i completely missed the mark on this and you want me to retry! and requests are still open and update so dont forget to check that out!

--

You’re pretty sure Valentine’s Day games are a scam. Some cruel cosmic joke designed to make girlfriends sit through 60 minutes of freezing cold air and overpriced concessions just to watch their man play his heart out in a sport that could, at any moment, take all his teeth and potentially a limb.  

Not that you minded. Much.  

Sidney had played his ass off tonight—like he had something to prove. Not that he ever really didn’t, because the man didn’t know how to do anything half-assed. Especially not when it came to hockey. Or you, for that matter.  

But of course, it just had to be Valentine’s Day.

You stood now in the tunnel by the player’s exit, phone in hand, watching as Penguins fans in Crosby jerseys flooded toward the concourse, buzzing about the win. Your fingers flew over your screen.  

You: You know I was going to blow you when you got home, but I’m reconsidering because you just had to make it about you tonight.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then vanished. Then nothing.  

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Coward.”  

The man had just been named first fucking star of the game. Of course he had. Two goals, one assist, and a faceoff win percentage so sexy it made you squirm a little. You knew his media obligations were kicking off soon—he was probably just peeling his sweaty gear off now, miserable about the idea of answering questions about “how it felt” and “what went right tonight.”  

Sid: Can’t believe you’re texting me shit like that while I have to sit half dressed with 5 cameras pointed at me.

You bit your lip and grinned.  

You: I can. 

You: You looked good tonight. Real good. Like I’d let you put it in my ass kind of good.  

You: Kidding. Kind of.  

Another pause. He was slow replying, which you’d expected, and it only made you smirk more knowing he was probably trying not to react in front of his teammates or, worse, the media guys. You could practically see his jaw tightening as he tried to suppress a smile, annoyed but secretly delighted.  

You could picture him already—still in his gear, slumped at his stall with his towel around his neck and that half-annoyed, half-resigned expression on his face. Someone probably tossed a mic in his face already. He was probably giving them that polite nod, the “Sure, go ahead” look, all while internally screaming. Sidney, Sidney, Sidney. Too private for his own good.

Sid: Go to my place. I’ll be done soon.

Sid: Stop texting me this shit.

You laughed out loud, drawing a glance from a nearby couple as you stepped out into the cold Pittsburgh night.

You: Oh baby, I haven’t even started.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your bed.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your shower.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in that stupid jersey you “don’t like me wearing because you take it seriously.”  

You could practically hear him groaning through the screen.

Sid: You’re an asshole.

Sid: Say the same shit every time anyway.

Sid: “Good team effort, got the bounces, lucky to come out on top.”

Sid: Happy now?

You: You forgot “credit to the guys” and “just trying to play the right way”

You: Gotta hit all the NHL buzzword bingo squares.

You: And don’t forget to smile like a humble Canadian virgin!

No reply. You let that one simmer. He was either suffering or plotting. Maybe both. Probably both.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, breath fogging in front of your face as you made your way to your car. The wind cut through your jeans, but your smile stayed in place. There was something so satisfying about teasing him after a big win—especially when he hated the attention but couldn’t stop being the best guy on the ice. You just couldn’t help yourself.

You got in the car and cranked the heat while pulling up the radio broadcast. They were still recapping the game, gushing over Sid like he wasn’t just a man who’d once tripped over his own shoe in the hallway.

“…and of course, Crosby with a textbook finish. You can see why he’s still one of the most consistent players in the league…”

You rolled your eyes, mimicking the voice in the car. “Oh yes, Sidney. So clean. So polished. Such a gentleman. Definitely didn’t say he was going to fuck me through the headboard if he scored tonight.”

Traffic cleared slowly as you went to his place, a familiar route etched into your brain. His street was quiet when you pulled in—classic Sid, all understated wealth and privacy. It took you forty five minutes to get from the arena to his house, another five to park and kick off your shoes inside the door.  It smelled like him—like clean laundry, cedarwood, and that subtle vanilla scent of his shampoo you’d teased him for using but secretly loved.

You wandered through his halls, turning on a few lights, getting cozy. It always felt familiar here, even though it was very clearly his space—clean, functional. Like a guy who didn’t like clutter but had more money than he knew what to do with.

You padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Full of ingredients. Not a single thing you could just grab and go.

“Romantic,” you muttered under your breath, pulling out a container of strawberries instead and wandering toward the couch.

The rest of the house was dark except for the hallway light, left on for you, and your socked feet were silent on the hardwood as you climbed the stairs to his bedroom. The hallway was chilly as you padded toward the bedroom in your socks, carrying the half-eaten strawberries and your phone tucked beneath your arm. Sid’s place had that always-too-clean look to it. Like he tried to live in it, but barely spent enough time home for it to actually look lived in. You made a note to mess it up later. Nothing too dramatic—just a sweatshirt on the floor, maybe a bra hanging off the couch cushion, leave a cup on the counter. Domestic terrorism.

You tossed your phone on the nightstand and peeled off your jacket, fingers brushing over the remote on the dresser.  

TV on.  

Pants off.  

You were in his bed now, wearing his shirt—an old Penguins one that smelled like his laundry detergent and game day nerves—and absolutely nothing underneath.  

Just as God intended.  

The analysts were falling over themselves about his performance.

“…you know what you’re getting with Sid. Every single night. Discipline. Poise. He’s just got it.” You snorted.

“Yeah, discipline until he’s got me pinned under him telling me I’m not going anywhere until I apologize for teasing him about his ‘media voice.’”

Another buzz from your phone.  

Sid: About to start media. They’re dragging it out tonight.  

Sid: You’re lucky I like you.  

Sid: And that I want to fuck you stupid.  

You choked on your laugh, clutching your phone tighter as you wiped strawberry juice from your fingers onto his shirt. You stretched dramatically across the bed and typed.  

You: Wow. Romantic.  

You: Just like I dreamed when I was 10.  

You: “One day I’ll date a hockey player who talks to me like a caveman on Valentine’s Day.”

Sid: Don’t act like you don’t like it. You’re already naked, aren’t you?

You: You’re not even here yet and you already think you know everything.  

Sid: I do know everything. And I know you’re wearing my shirt. And that’s it.  

Sid: Because you’re predictable. And a little slutty.

You covered your face with one hand and laughed out loud into the empty room. Your heart fluttered like a fucking schoolgirl even as you cursed him out in your mind.  

There was something wildly unfair about the duality of Sidney Crosby. The version the world knew—stoic, polite, humble to the point of parody. And then the real version. The one who texted you filthy things from the dressing room and called you a brat with that low rasp in his voice that promised you wouldn’t be walking straight the next day.

He was such a damn con artist.

You: You’re the one who’s gonna cry when I leave you with blue balls tonight.  

You: “Sorry Sid, I got tired waiting for you.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I used all my energy climbing your stairs.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I found your toothbrush and that did it for me.”

Sid: You’re such an asshole.

Sid: You’re lucky I’ve been horny for you since warmups. 

Sid: You knew what you were doing, sitting that close.

You had known.  

You always knew.  

And he always played better when he knew you were there watching.  

You yawned, stretched your legs beneath his sheets, and flopped dramatically on the bed, taking up all the space just to be a brat. You could already hear it: his sigh of fake annoyance when he got home, the shake of his head, the way he’d peel your shirt up with one hand and drag your body down with the other.  

You rolled to your stomach, phone buzzing again beside you.  

Sid: I’ll be home soon. You better be exactly where I think you are.

Sid: And if you’re not, you’re done. Actually done. I’ll find a Valentine who respects me.

You: You?  

You: Wanting respect?  

You: I’m sorry. I thought this was Sidney “I’ll fuck you on the bench if no one’s around” Crosby.

No reply. Which told you all you needed to know.  

He was already doing media.  

Probably giving his same bland ass answers.  

Probably planning what he was going to do the second he walked through that door.  

You looked around, debated getting up to light a candle or make the bed look a little less like a war zone. Then shrugged.  

Let him deal with the chaos he caused.  

You flipped onto your back and sighed happily, smirking at the ceiling.  

The remote was still in your hand when the screen switched from the postgame panel to the locker room feed. You didn’t even bother turning up the volume—didn’t need to. You could already hear it in your head.  

Sidney Crosby, media-trained robot, coming to life in hi-def.

You sighed and settled deeper into his bed, still cocooned in his shirt, bare legs tangled in his sheets. The duvet smelled like him. So did the pillow you were shamelessly half-lying on, half-straddling. Your phone sat close, a loaded weapon in the war of flirtation, but for now, you watched.  

There he was, perched in his stall, sweat-slick hair hidden under a black team hat, compression long sleeve clinging to his chest and arms like it was painted on. No jersey. No pads. Just muscle, all angles and sharp focus, like the game hadn’t even left his bloodstream yet. Cue Captain Canada.

The reporter asked about the team’s energy tonight, and you muttered out loud to no one, “We played a full sixty, stuck to our game, did the little things right—blah, blah, blah.”  

And then, right on cue:  

“Yeah, I thought we played a full sixty tonight… stuck to our game, did the little things right…”  

You cackled.

“Fucking called it.”  

He looked half dead behind the eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nodding as another reporter threw a question at him. You didn't even bother listening this time. You just watched his face. That twitch of his mouth when he was trying not to say what he really wanted to say. That calm, serious voice he used like a shield. That stupid, safe, polished version of himself that made you want to throw something at the screen.  

Because you knew the real Sid.  

The one who talked absolute filth into your ear with that same mouth.  

The one who made fun of his teammates the second the cameras were off.  

The one who said “fuck” more than he said “I.”  

And then—then—it happened.  

The reporter asked:  

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Sid. You played a great game. Got any plans tonight?”  

You sat up a little. That one actually surprised you. When did the reporters get so bold?

He gave them that laugh—that stupid, breathy chuckle he only used when he didn’t want to give too much away. Then he smiled, eyes low, lips pressed together like he was fighting off the real answer.  

“No,” he said. “Just recover. Get ready for the next one.”  

That was it. That was all.  

You stared at the TV, jaw slightly open.  

“Recover?” you muttered. “That’s your answer? No wink? No cute little nod? Not even a fucking smirk? You lying sack of shit, Sidney Patrick.”  You looked absolutely nuts talking to yourself.

You picked up your phone and unleashed.  

You: “Just recover,” he says.  

You: Wow. My pussy just dried up.  

You: Say hello to celibacy apparently.  

Still no reply. You fired off another.  

You: You are such a fucking fraud.  

You: There is literally a naked woman in your bed. Right now. At your house.  

You: On Valentine’s Day.  

You: But nooo, he’s gonna “recover.”  

You: Go ahead, Sid. Recover. I’ll just be here. Thinking about life. My choices. The fact I could’ve fucked a dentist. Or literally anyone else but hey.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, watching him wrap the interview up, nodding politely, face locked in full Captain Mode. You could practically feel the tension buzzing under his skin. The itch to get the hell out of there and back to you.  

One more for good measure:  

You: When they say “Crosby keeps his private life quiet,”  

You: They don’t know it’s because he talks so much shit in bed the FCC would fine him.

That did it.

Your phone lit up almost the second he stood from his stall.  

Sid: You need to be stopped.

Sid: You need help.

Sid: I’m not even out of the building yet and I’m hard.

You flopped backward against his pillows, laughing like a lunatic.  

You: I’m sorry did you forget you have a girlfriend? Did your nut brain erase me from memory just because you got first star??

You: Not even a cute little “gonna go home to the girl who’s been letting me rearrange her insides all season”???

You: Also don’t think I didn’t notice your compression shirt. You know exactly what you’re doing you manipulative little slut.

Sid: Jesus Christ

Sid: You knew what you signed up for.

You: I signed up for the hot hockey sex. The rest was a scam.

You: Don’t worry, I’ll be asleep by the time you get home.  

You: No recovering necessary. You’re off the hook.

Sid: You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow if you keep this up.  

Sid: You want recovery? I’ll give you something to recover from.

You swallowed.  

Slowly.  

Okay.  

So maybe you did like poking the bear.  

And maybe the bear knew exactly how to fuck you into next week.  

You tucked your phone under your pillow and let out a slow breath, heart thudding, a little thrill sparking low in your belly.  

Valentine’s Day.  

Just another game on the calendar.  

Until Sid got home.

And the worst part was, you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep. One second you were tucked under his sheets, limbs comfortably sprawled, phone still clutched in one hand and TV murmuring softly in the background… and the next, you were blinking against the warm glow of the bedside lamp and squinting up at a very large, very amused, very smug silhouette looming over you.

“Unbelievable,” Sidney muttered, shaking his head as he stood beside the bed. His coat was halfway off, his cheeks still pink from the cold outside, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and that fucking backwards hat still on his head. “All that mouth, and look at you now. Out cold.”

You groaned before you could speak, voice thick with sleep and low like you’d swallowed a blanket. “'M not.”

“You literally just snored,” he said, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud and crouching beside the bed. “Like a full-on little cartoon snore. Tiny inhale, wheeze on the exhale. Real cute.”

“I did not snore,” you mumbled into the pillow. But your voice was gravelly, throat dry, and goddammit—your limbs were heavy with sleep, and he smelled so good, and everything was so warm.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a few strands of hair off your cheek. “Talked all that shit and knocked yourself out.”  

You shifted slightly, nose scrunching, a quiet little groan escaping your throat.

“Mmph.”  

He grinned. Leaned in close to your ear.  

“Babe.”  

Nothing.  

“Babe.” He kissed your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.”  

You grunted, rolling slightly. “M’tired…”  

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, barely lifting your head from the pillow.

“…What time is it?”

“Late. Or early. Depends who you ask.” He pressed a kiss to your hair. “You passed out. Didn’t even make it to Valentine’s Day sex.”

You groaned again, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to. Your bed is criminally warm. I got cozy. My body betrayed me.”

“You talked a lot of shit.”

“Yeah well, I thought you were gonna be faster.”

He laughed low in his chest, slipping his hand beneath the covers to grab your hip and give it a squeeze. He climbed onto the bed with all the smug grace of a man who had absolutely earned this moment of superiority. He leaned down, one knee pressing into the bed right between your legs, and shoved at the covers just enough to catch a glimpse of your legs tangled beneath his sheets.

“You look real cozy for someone who was talking an awful lot of shit about how boring I am,” he said, tone low and teasing.

You squinted at him, your voice a gravelly whisper.

“You are boring. You literally said, ‘recover.’ Who says that on Valentine’s Day? Recover from what, Sidney? Being 37?”

He let out a sharp laugh and pushed your hair back from your face, warm fingers brushing your cheek.

“You’re a little shit,” he murmured.

“And you’re a liar.” You poked a finger into his chest. “You lied to the media. There was an actual naked girl waiting for you in your bed and you gave them the ‘I’m gonna rest up’ speech like a fucking priest.”

Sid rolled his eyes.

“You know I can’t give them anything,” he said. “They’ve been trained like bloodhounds. If I so much as hint at having plans, I’ll have a fucking headline on every sports page tomorrow.”

“God forbid people find out you’re not a virgin,” you deadpanned.

“Watch it,” he warned playfully. “I am a role model.”

You burst out laughing, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Oh my god, you are so full of shit. You talk like you’re running for office, but then you come home and say things like, ‘c’mere, baby, I’ve been thinking about fucking you against the kitchen counter since warmups.’”

He grinned. “Still true, by the way.”

You hummed and looped your arms around his neck lazily.

“You missed your shot then, Captain Celibate. Shouldn’t have let me fall asleep.”

Sid smirked and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Didn’t realize the threat of dick was the only thing keeping you awake.”

“You should’ve. It’s your strongest feature.”

He laughed again, breath warm against your cheek, before ducking his head to kiss you properly—slow and deep and good, like he had all the time in the world. You melted into it, arms tightening around his neck, legs shifting beneath the covers until you hooked one behind his bent knee, dragging him closer.

Then he nuzzled into your neck again and added, low and dirty:  

“You wanna go back to sleep, or you want me to give you something real to recover from?”  

You groaned dramatically. “You are such a whore, oh my god.”  

“And yet, here you are. In my bed. Wearing my shirt. Wet for me in your sleep, probably.”  

“Shut up—”  

“You were,” he said smugly, dragging his hand up your thigh. “I checked. You twitched.”  

You covered your face with both hands. “You’re disgusting.”  

“You’re worse,” he said, kissing down your throat. “And when you wake up tomorrow sore as hell, I want you to remember who was ready when the moment came, and who—” he nipped your collarbone— “took a nap.”  

“Sidney.”  

“Y/n.”  

You sighed, dropped your hands, and stared up at him.  

“You gonna fuck me or give another locker room interview?”  

He grinned. And with that, he kissed you again, deep and slow and fucking smug. You could feel the smile on his mouth, even as he pressed you back into the mattress like you were the only thing worth coming home to.  

"Holy shit," you said, breathless as he tugged your shirt up over your hips, revealing those barely there red panties you wore when you knew he’d be seeing them. Lacy. Dark. A tiny bow on the waistband.

Sid looked smug. “I’m so obsessed with you, it’s disgusting.”

“You're disgusting,” you corrected, but you were already arching up, letting him pull the shirt over your head. 

He laughed low, all pleased with himself. "You love it."

His hand slipped a little higher, fingertips grazing the side of your hip where your underwear were just barely clinging to your curves.

You sucked in a breath you tried to pretend was casual. "Sid," you warned.

"What?" he drawled, blinking down at you like he hadn’t just started setting your entire nervous system on fucking fire. You lifted your head, giving him a look. "You’re fucking pushing it."

Sid grinned, so goddamn starved it made your toes curl. "You need me to spell it out, Y/N Y/LN?" he teased, voice dropping into that dangerous gravel. "Need me to tell you how bad I wanna fuck you?"

You groaned, covering your face with both hands like that could somehow save you. "Jesus Christ, Sidney."

He pulled your hands away, kissing your knuckles like a fucking gentleman, even while his other hand kept creeping higher up your thigh.

"Could just be gentle," he murmured, kissing the inside of your wrist now, right over your pulse. "Real slow, babe. Let you sit on my cock nice and easy. You barely gotta do anything. I'll do all the fuckin' work."

You whimpered, and he fucking heard it.

He grinned harder, absolutely predatory now, shifting to hover over you more fully, careful not to press too much weight onto you.

"Bet you miss it," he murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin. You literally had sex in his bed this morning but you hated that he was right, you did miss it.

"Sid," you gasped, arching your back automatically, and fuck, he hadn't even touched you properly yet.

He chuckled low and mean, dragging his mouth along your throat, nipping lightly. "Tell me, baby," he rasped. "Tell me how bad you want it."

You shoved at his chest weakly, more for show than anything else. "I hate you," you breathed. "I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, grinning into your hair. "You love this dick though."

You burst out laughing, half-horrified and half-scorched alive. "You are so fucking nasty," you managed between giggles, pinching his arm lightly.

He caught your hand easily, pressing it down above your head, pinning you with almost no effort. "And you're so fuckin' wet for me right now, I can feel it through your goddamn panties," he grunted, pressing his hips into yours just enough to make you feel the thick, heavy line of him behind his dress pants.

You whimpered again, biting your lip. "Sid," you whispered desperately.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Say it," he ordered softly. "Say you want me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing hard.

It was so unfair, how good he was at this. How easily he turned you into this trembling, needy thing even when you thought you had the upper hand for most of the day

But he looked at you like you were the best part of his night. Like he couldn’t wait to ruin you in the best goddamn way.

You cracked your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "I want you," you whispered. "You asshole."

Sid’s grin turned downright feral.

"Yeah?" he rasped, nuzzling into your jaw, his hand finally — finally — sliding under your panties, the rough pads of his fingers skimming where you were already slick and throbbing for him. "Good," he murmured. "‘Cause you're not gettin' away from me, princess. Not tonight."

You gasped as his fingers slipped deeper, teasing, and you clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into the solid muscle there.

"Sid," you panted. "Bed’s gonna break if you fuck me the way you're lookin' at me right now."

He laughed low, dirty, and thrilled. "Then we'll buy a new one," he said, voice rough as he sank two fingers into you slowly and deep. "Hell, babe, we'll break every goddamn bed from here to fuckin' Canada if it means I get to feel you come around me again."

You moaned helplessly, arching into him.

And when he bent down, kissed you— really kissed you, slow and filthy and possessive — it felt like a promise burned into your skin.

Sid could’ve fucked you stupid in under thirty seconds if he wanted. The way you were already whimpering under him, writhing in his hands, he knew it wouldn’t take much.

But tonight — tonight he wanted to be slow. He wanted to wreck you proper. Melt every bone in your goddamn body.

He slipped his fingers out of you with a slow, slick sound that made you whimper again. He fucking loved that sound. Loved everything about you like this — messy and needy and all his.

"You gotta relax, baby," Sid murmured, dropping kisses along the flushed line of your throat, working his way lower. "Can't be tense on me. Gotta stay nice and easy for me."

Sid pulled back from your body just enough to catch you breathless— just enough to see you, all flushed and desperate, lips swollen, hair a wild halo against the pillows. His heart punched hard against his ribs.

"Fuckin' hell, Y/N," he muttered, staring at you like he couldn’t decide whether to devour you whole or build a shrine at your feet. "Look at you."

You whimpered and tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently, begging him wordlessly to keep going.

Sid huffed a soft, broken laugh, dragging your panties slowly — so slowly — down your thighs, baring you completely to him. He didn’t just toss them. No. He pocketed them. Smirked while he was doing it. Like the absolute sex demon he was.

And he was hard. So hard it was actually starting to hurt. He was damn near grinding in his pants for some kind of friction.

He pressed a kiss right between your breasts, trailing down your belly. You shivered so hard it made the mattress creak.

Sid grinned against your skin. "You already taste so fuckin' sweet," he muttered, nosing at your core, not even touching you properly yet, just letting the heat of his breath drive you crazy. "Bet you could get me drunk off your pussy right now, baby. All thick and fuckin' sweet just for me."

"Oh my god, Sidney," You gasped, tossing your head back. "You're fucking filthy."

"Yeah, well," he said, voice low and smug. "You like it, baby. You like havin' me mouth off about how sweet your pussy is when you’re desperate."

You made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, and Sid finally gave you what you needed — flattening his tongue and dragging it up through your folds, slow and deep.

Your entire body jerked.

"Jesus fuck, Sid," you gasped, arching off the bed, thighs trembling.

He groaned into you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt you up even closer to his mouth. "You’re fuckin’ drippin', babe," he muttered, voice vibrating against your soaked skin. "Beggin' for it. Haven’t even touched my cock yet and you’re already so fuckin' close, huh?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, trying to close your thighs around his head — he loved when you did that, so desperate you wanted to trap him there.

Sid laughed low, all smug satisfaction, and stiffened his tongue to shove into your leaky entrance, bobbing in and out like he was starving. Every little whimper, every twitch of your hips, just made him harder, his cock aching in his dress pants.

He shifted one hand, dragging two fingers back inside you, pumping slow, gentle strokes in and out while he circled your clit with his tongue, slow and deliberate. His fingers moved slow between your legs, curling deep, working that perfect rhythm only he knew. Your thighs quivered, trying to clamp shut, but he squared his shoulder and pushed them open lazily. "None a' that," he said, smirking. "You’re taking it, baby. Not hidin’ from me now. Not after all that shit you talked on my phone."

You clawed at the dress shirt he was still wearing, trying to yank him back up. "You’re such a fucking dick," you gasped. "Coulda just got me some flowers and left me the fuck alone—"

Sid grinned, slow and greedy, dragging the how tongue down your slick folds, circling your clit just hard enough to make your hips jerk. "And miss this?" he murmured. "Babe, you’re better than Christmas. Better than a fuckin’ playoff win."

He pushed your shirt up higher until your breasts were exposed, beautiful and tender. He palmed one carefully, thumb brushing across your hardening nipple, and you gasped, your legs falling further open for him.

"Sensitive, huh, baby?" he whispered, watching you squirm. "Bet you could come just from my mouth on you right now, no hands, nothing."

"You’re fucking killing me," you moaned, lifting your hips helplessly, trying to get more friction.

He laughed again — slow, dangerous — and dipped his head to take your clit back into his mouth, sucking softly, then harder, pulling a desperate, broken sound from your throat.

You fisted his hair, hips rocking mindlessly against his face, your whole body tightening.

"Sid, fuck," you gasped, "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He lifted his head, grinning at your flushed, wrecked face. "You gonna come for me already, baby? Just from my fuckin' fingers?" he teased, pumping them harder now, twisting his wrist so his palm rubbed against your clit perfectly. "Fuck, that's hot. Goddamn, you're perfect. So fuckin' good for me,Y/N."

"Jesus–Fuck–Sidney." you cried out, arching hard off the bed as you came, gripping his wrist as if to tell him not to stop, body shuddering, your pussy clenched down so hard around his fingers it almost hurt, soaking his hand and mouth with a gush that made Sid groan into you.

He kept working you through it, slow and patient, until you were trembling, whimpering, utterly wrecked.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, until you went boneless against the sheets, gasping for air.

He pulled his fingers out finally, dragging them slow between your thighs, teasing your slit just to hear you whimper again. Then he sucked his fingers into his mouth, groaning low like you were the best fucking thing he'd ever tasted.

You slapped his chest weakly. "You're disgusting," you muttered, still breathless, half-dazed.

Sid grinned and grabbed your hand, pressing it to the bulge straining against the front of his now wrinkled pants. "Yeah? Feel how bad you got me, baby?" he rasped. "’M about two seconds away from blowin' my load like a fuckin' teenager over here."

You laughed, exhausted and glowing and a little feral around the edges. "Good," you whispered, hooking your legs around his waist. "Now fucking do something about it, Crosby."

He stripped his shirt off one-handed, tossing it somewhere behind him, before finally, finally undoing his jeans.

His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and you made a broken, desperate sound that made Sid’s heart squeeze. Your mouth actually watered.

“Baby… fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he guided your hands above your head, he tapped his tip against your slick folds, nudging your clit teasing the both of you, you instinctively moved forward, preparing for more stimulation, “You ready for me, huh?”

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the warmth of the head pressing against your entrance, so close yet so far. You could barely form words, the need building inside you too overwhelming, and all you could do was let out a shaky breath, your hips shifting slightly against him. “Mhmmm,” you murmured, your voice trembling with anticipation. “need you.”

With a groan, Sidney shifted above you, his hands holding your hips as he slowly pushed his length into you, slowly, inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—your heat, your tightness, the way you stretched around him as he filled you. He couldn’t hold back the curse that slipped from his lips as he bottomed out inside you, his breath ragged as he held you close.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your neck, "tightest fuckin' thing, swear to god...made for me."

Sid stayed still for a moment, just breathing, letting you adjust, feeling your soft, fluttering muscles pulsing around him.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back further into the pillow as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. The stretch was delicious, filling you completely, and the slow, steady throb of him buried deep inside made your pulse race. You could feel every inch of him, the way he fit perfectly against that gummy spot inside you, and it made you dizzy with need.

It took every ounce of control he had not to just start pounding into you like a goddamn animal.

Instead, he pulled out slow, almost all the way, and slid back in with one long, careful thrust that made you whimper and dig your heels into the mattress.

"That’s it," he murmured against your temple. "Just like that, princess. Let me take care of you."

He fucked you slowly—long, hard, deep strokes,  savoring every twitch and gasp and curse. You arched under him, hips pushing up, body moving with his like you’d been built just for this.

The sound of his hips hitting the back of your thighs filled the room. He kept a first grip on your hips as he continued a consistent pace. At some point your brain just melted. Your eyes could no longer focus on him above you and your mouth hung open, moans no longer falling from your lips. The only thing you could do was tighten around him.

Sid could feel you getting close. He dropped down, his chest pressing right up to yours stopping his thrusts. But in your cockdrunk you started to grind upwards when Sidney wouldn’t move. Caught between needing the break but also wanting him to continue.He wanted this to last though. 

And just like that, he was sitting back, pulling you up with him. Chest to chest, you were now on top. His lips catching yours in something deeper now—hotter, messier. You gasped as he lifted you slightly, maneuvering with muscle memory and intention, letting you sink down completely onto his cock.

“I got you,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back, the other moving down to stroke your thigh. “Just move how you want. I’ll follow your lead.”

You couldn’t answer — too full, too overwhelmed, too in love — so you just sat on your knees and began rocking your hips in desperation. He knew you were getting impatient. It was in the way your hips started moving impatiently against his aching cock. He knew you needed to come and that you were close. It was in the way you took everything he gave you, every rough upward thrust, every whispered praise.

You leaned forward, one hand braced on his broad shoulder, the other tangled in his hair as you rode him slowly — hips rolling in little waves, the angle hitting all the right places, making your whole body quake.

“‘M close Sid,” you whispered, gasping when his thumb found your swollen clit again.

“Good,” he said hoarsely, “You need it. Look at you. All needy and swollen. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You know that?”

“Don’t stop ohmygodohgodfuck-” you whined, burying your face in his neck.

Sidney couldn’t stop even if he tried to. You’re too damn addicting.

He starts to thrust upward, matching the pace in which you're riding him. He desperate to watch you fall apart on top of him. He pushes two fingers into your mouth, you instinctively start sucking on them as if they’re his cock.

“There she is,” he whispers, rough and low.

You clamp down around his cock, coming hard and fast. It rolled through you in heavy, pulsing waves–warm and all consuming–pulling a wrecked cry from your lips.

“Fucking–Jesus–I’m–Goddammit Sid–”

Sidney came with a deep, desperate groan, burning his face in your neck as his cock twitched inside of your pussy. He emptied himself inside, thrusting up lazily a few times, fucking his come deep inside of you, even as you writhe above him in overstimulation. He watches as his cock drags in and out of you, a circle of your cream circling the base as his come leaks down his length and down to his balls. 

Sid pressed you back onto the mattress, unintentionally thrusting his softened cock into you. You whine softly, already spent and tired and ready for bed. He presses gentle kisses to the side of your face.

“You okay?”

“Mm.” You mumble softly, already drifting off.

You had all the time in the world now. Sid had made damn sure of that.

--

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they absolutely tore each other to pieces during karting days

@pewpewshooter @heartsforjh @autonoae @laundrytalks

they'll show a close up of matthew knies and my fucking internal organs start clenching. my uterus is doing somersaults out here

your da coolest lets be real this is so fire

Him and I - Quinn Hughes

Mob Boss Nico Hischier, Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: angst, blood, violence, guns

Previous chapter

A/n: I apologize in advance for the amount of lore dropped in this chapter xx

~~~~

What do we do?

Thanksgiving comes and the question doesn’t get answered. Jack and Luke remain almost the same, albeit a little more observant. You can feel them always looking to you and Nico when no one’s paying attention, mentally willing you into having an answer.

But you don’t.

Then Christmas comes, the house filling with lights and Christmas trees, snow building up outside and you and Nico still can’t answer it. Not when you’re driving around town looking at the lights on houses, not when your sifting through hoards of gifts, matching wrapping paper and bows together, and not when your laying out gifts Christmas night, tucking candy into Luke and Jack’s stocking. You both share an uncertain look, knowing the best gift you could be putting in there for them would be an answer.

And yet it’s not there. And it’s not there when you’re drinking champagne on New Year, kissing Nico at midnight with the spoken promise that you can’t wait to spend another year loving him.

The answer isn’t there on Nico’s birthday either, when you tease him for reaching the downward end of his twenties, tell him to start investing in his retirement. When he laughs and kisses you, jokes that you’re a grave robber but the prettiest one he’s ever seen.

A week later though, the holidays and birthdays are over, the rush winding down and you’re lying in bed, tracing your finger over the embroidered logo on Nico’s t-shirt. The sleep timer on the tv had gone off a while ago, leaving the two of you in the faint glow of the night light across the room.

“We have to go,” you whisper, and Nico shifts, the pillows rustling as he looks down at you curled up against his chest. He’s not startled, not surprised by your decision. You’ve both known it was the only possible answer.

Even if the last trip out of the country is still fresh on your mind, if your head still aches after a particularly hard workout with Timo, if sometimes you wake up in the middle night scratching at Nico’s arm too hard, your brain still stuck in that moment right before he got there to save you.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his hand moving to hold the back of your head. There’s not much else to say. You both have to go. For Luke and for Jack. Both boys who have and still would do anything for you and Nico. For the two boys that walk into your house like they own the place, sit at the dinner table and call Nico papa to annoy him, even if he secretly likes it.

Your boys. That’s what they are. Yours and Nico’s boys.

“I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” he says, tenderly massaging his thumb into the crown of your head. “Schedule the flights and everything.”

You’re not sure if you should ask for the request on the tip of your tongue. Nico will understand, will know what it means. He’ll know why you’re asking him to do this. And you don’t want him to worry, don’t want him thinking you’re not ready.

But it’s Nico, who you’re always safe with. If Switzerland taught you one thing, it’s that you have to tell Nico everything, even if you think it’ll put him on edge. Because it might be worth the little bit of anxiety in the long run.

“Will you tell them?” You implore, “The boys? Will you tell them without me?”

Nico sucks in a breath, his fingers flexing in your hair and you hear the way his heart jumps. “Yeah,” he says though, his words certain. “Of course I will.”

You curl up further into his chest, force him to wrap his arm around your head even tighter and shut your eyes. Finding the hand resting on his stomach, you wrap your fingers around his thumb, squeezing tightly.

“We’ll be ok,” you murmur, and Nico tucks his chin into the top of your head. You’re not sure what to worry about, if you should be concerned about the intention of the invite, of what this will all mean to Jack and Luke, what you and Nico will do if something goes wrong.

“Yeah,” Nico whispers, “we’ll be fine baby.”

~~~~

“I might be dying.”

Groaning as she reaches for her banana smoothie, Nola’s face scrunches in discomfort as she lifts her the straw to her lips, and it worsens as she leans back in her chair.

“Yeah that’ll last for a bit,” you say sympathetically, stirring around the pistachio syrup in your matcha. A week and half into her joining you and Timo for pilates and yoga and the occasional five mile run, and it’s clear this newfound regimen Nola’s put herself on is starting to hit her. Hard.

“It’s been two weeks,” Nola exclaims, holding up two fingers at you and Timo. She narrows her eyes at him. “I blame you. This is your workout plan isn’t it?”

Your best friend laughs, holding up his hands in innocence. “I do what I’m paid to do.” He nudges you with his elbow. “You should’ve seen her when she first started. Crying to Nico almost everyday when he got home. I’ve never seen someone get so many leg massages.”

“Hey!” You cry, offended. Maybe you were a bit dramatic for the first few weeks of training with Timo, but in your defense, he’s crazy. For days on end you were walking funny because your thighs and butt were so sore. Lifting your arms to wash your hair was like torture. So yeah, you complained to Nico. After all, he was the one asking you how it was going, how you were feeling.

“Weren’t you already training with Nico for months before that?” Nola questions, wincing as she reaches for her drink again.

“Well yeah,” you shrug, “but that was different.”

Timo looks all too amused when he adds, “Nico took it easy on her. He caved every time she whined.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed but you can’t argue with him there. You know Nico took it easy on you, knew he was still worried about unhealed injuries from Philly, both physically and mentally. That was the whole reason you’d switched over to Timo being your trainer.

“I’m really starting to see how this relationship works,” Nola smirks, pointing a knowing finger at you. “You call all the shots and Nico pretends he does, huh?”

“No,” you laugh, but she’s not far off if you’re being honest. “He’s the head of the house of course. I just-am the neck. And the neck can turn the head any way it wants.”

Both Nola and Timo snicker, you giggling to yourself as you fiddle with the wrapper of your straw. Nola calls something to him in Swiss German and your head shoots up, frowning as you flick some of the wrapper at her.

“Hey that’s not fair! No Swiss with me.”

Her and Timo both share a look, Nola pursing her lips in apology before she flicks the wrapper away from her, it sliding across the table. “Sorry, sorry, I just said that you and Nico go good together.”

Your cheeks go warm at the compliment, the sincerity of her words making you beam with pride. You’re definitely not perfect and Nico isn’t either, but somehow the wrongs in both of you do make a right.

“Anyway,” you say, changing the subject back to Nola “Give it like another week and you’ll stop being sore. It’s just the beginning that’s brutal.”

Almost nervous, Nola taps her finger against the plastic lid of her drink, making the bubbled plastic crack as she pops it in and out.

“Yeah I hope so,” she says casually, “especially since I’ll have to keep my routine pretty steady with the baby and all.”

It takes a moment for you to hear the words, for them to actually ring in your brain. In the weeks following your engagement party, you’ve grown close with Nola. Jonas’s schedule is often the exact same as Nico’s so the two of you slowly started turning those hours without your men into hours of getting together, with Timo of course.

It was a slow process at first, you nervous to really tell her anything. You hadn’t made friends in a while and it seems the practice of it is not like riding a bike. Having Timo there to break the ice definitely helped though you’ll never admit out loud that you needed a crutch. Today though, you think you could fully say Nola is a real friend. Your friend.

Even so, her just blurting out the news of a baby like that has you astounded, jaw dropped open as you stare at her. Timo chokes on his iced coffee, hiding his face in his elbow and Nola laughs as you pat at his back.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, “with the what now?”

“The baby,” she says, moving her hand to hold it over her stomach, and even though there’s no physical evidence of a baby being in there, she smiles almost giddy, something tender settling in her gaze.

“You’re having a baby,” you finally say, a huge smile breaking out across your face. “Oh my god you’re having a baby!”

You jump out of your seat, rounding the table and she laughs as you awkwardly crouch down to wrap your arms around her from behind. Her hands hold onto your arms, curling in like she’s hugging the limb back.

“Congrats, oh my god,” you breathe, and Timo smiles at the two of you, his voice still a little raw when he repeats the sentiment. Giving her one last squeeze, you return back to your seat, heart still racing from the excitement.

“So,” Timo sighs, a teasing look on his face. “Out of wedlock huh?”

Nola scoffs. “Oh shut up you.”

The cafe worker at the counter starts calling out order numbers, and you shove Timo off to collect the tray with all of your lunches.

“This is so crazy,” you say in disbelief, shaking your head. “I’ll get to say I have a friend with a baby. I don’t feel like I’m old enough to be saying that.”

Timo returns with your food, distributing your dishes before stacking the tray off to the side. Nola gives you an unimpressed look.

“Oh come on,” she waves you off, “as if a wedding and kids aren’t coming at you and Nico like a freight train.”

The thought makes you pause, fingers digging into the bread of your BLT as you stare at her in horror.

“Oh no,” Timo mumbles, “you’ve done the forbidden.”

Nola frowns, looking between the two of you. “What is the forbidden?”

“Mentioning any kind of plan with Nico and family to her.”

Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you glare at Timo, forcing yourself to take a bite of food. You need some time before having to answer him anyway. The forbidden. Any kind of plan. Sure you and Nico don’t have any crazy plans, no timelines for anything really but that’s ok.

You both know that if the day comes and you want kids it’ll be decided then. You had the conversation, the one where you asked him if that was a hard no for him and for this life. And he told you it wasn’t, that if it was right and something you both really wanted, you’d make a plan together. Make sure you could provide a safe and secure life for a child.

And that was it. No timeline. No urge to marry and have kids as soon as possible.

“We like to be spontaneous,” you defend. It’s worked for you and Nico so far. You started sleeping with him having no idea where it’d go and look how that turned out.

“You do,” Timo says, “everyone knows Nico always has a plan. Sometimes he doesn’t even mean to have a plan but he does.”

Maybe Timo is right you think. You’re the one that just decides things, will just jump in when you feel it. Or more likely, when Nico suggests it.

“I have a plan for us, in every universe I have a plan for us.”

Nico’s words all those weeks ago, spoken to you in the privacy of the bedroom, when you asked if he’d give you up. If it was what you wanted, would he let you go. He’d answered immediately, no hesitance, no second thought. As if he’d already been thinking about it, about what it’d take to keep you if the Devils were no longer safe for you. He already has a plan for something you’d never considered until then.

“S’not like I’m scared of having a plan,” you finally say, “I’ve just never needed one.”

Timo raises an eyebrow. “Because Nico always has one.”

“Yeah I guess,” you shrug.

“Mmm,” Nola hums, “so the head does do his own thinking.”

You give her an unamused look. “Yeah but I seriously doubt that head is thinking about kids right now.”

She stabs at a piece of fruit from her parfait, wiggling the piece of pineapple at you. “Are you sure? Because he seems like a 5 year plan guy.”

You take another bite of your sandwich, glaring at her as you eat. It’s not that you don’t think you’ll never want children, it’s just that as of right now you don’t. You like sleeping in on the weekend, like waking up to lazy kisses from Nico with no plans for the day. Him and Moose are your world, everything you could ever need right now.

And what about work? Nico just made the Devils legal and signed it all over to you. Between getting that running and him still managing the rest of the boys, there’s no time for kids.

“He’s not,” you say, “we’re a little preoccupied anyway with Jack and Luke right now.”

Nola perks up. “So you’re actually going? To Vancouver?”

“Mhm,” you nod, feeling Timo watching you. You will yourself to look fine, nonchalant even. He doesn’t need to know that you’re worried about this trip. Nico already knows anyway and that’s all that matters. “We leave this weekend.”

Timo’s hand finds your knee, squeezing reassuringly. “You ok?”

You take a deep breath, shrugging. You’re definitely not happy about Quinn’s sudden interest with his little brothers but you’re ok going out there, ok doing this for Jack and Luke.

After all, Jack was one of the boys to go get you in Philly, when you were still new, still just a girl hanging off Nico’s arm.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you promise, “I just don’t want this to go wrong for Luke and Jack.”

Both Nola and Timo give you sympathetic sounds of agreement, her head tilting sadly as she watches you pick at the rest of your food. You don’t even know what else to say.

All you know is that you’re so tired of the people you love being hurt.

~~~~

Jack is the chatterbox on the flight into Vancouver. Any and everything he can think to say comes out of his mouth, even if most of the time the conversation is with himself. It’s obvious he’s excited, not closing his eyes once on the nearly 6 hour flight.

You spend almost the whole trip curled up in Nico’s seat with him, head laying on his shoulder as you lazily hum and nod at Jack as if you’re actually listening. Most of what he says is lost on you though.

Nico doesn’t even bother pretending, eyes glued to the movie you put on half way through the flight after he decided he just couldn’t sleep.

Luke doesn’t really have any reactions. He sits in his seat, naps, picks through the snack bag you packed. He sleeps for a bit, plays his switch for a bit too. You don’t push him to say anything knowing it’d be futile. He shuts down when he doesn’t know what to do with himself, will just go blank. So there’s no point.

But when the jet lands and the crew pops open the door, he perches on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees and you watch, worriedly, as he sucks in deep breaths.

He’s gone pale too, the purple bags under his eyes looking a shade deeper than they did earlier.

He’s gone be sick you think, shooting up from your seat. You perch on the arm rest of his seat, running your fingers through his flat curls, pushing them off his damp forehead.

“I’m ok,” he pants, voice rattled.

“You’re ok,” you repeat soothingly, pressing the palm of your hand to his forehead. His skin is cold and clammy.

“It was the snacks, maybe.”

Unconvinced, you hum. “Maybe.” You both know it’s not the snacks, it’s the fact that standing just outside this jet is the oldest brother he barely knows.

“Moose?” Jack questions in that protective tone only an older brother could have. “S’ok. You’re with us, remember?”

He ducks his head down to try and meet Luke’s eyes but the younger boy curls in on himself even more.

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs, the words coming out rattled. You don’t know if it’ll work, if Luke is spiraling in that way you often do when feelings become too much. Even so you move your hand to the back of his elongated neck, stroking your thumb over the knobs of his spine and then you press your fingers down, applying pressure to the side of his neck.

Your hands aren’t as heavy as Nico’s or as big, but it must be enough because his back rises with a deep inhale, the huff he lets out after steadier.

He doesn’t move to get up though and you can feel Jack watching him, unsure of what to do with himself, how to help his baby brother. Helpless, you shift to Nico, find him already on his feet. He’s looking at where your hand is holding onto Luke, trying to ground him in that same way Nico does to you.

You reach a hand out towards him and he moves forward, you ducking around him so he can take your place next to Luke.

“Luke,” he says firmly, squeezing his fingers around the boy’s shoulders. Loyal to his core, Luke lifts his head to meet Nico’s gaze, eyes a little dazed. “I told you all those years ago that I’ve got you, remember?”

As if on autopilot, he bobs his head.

“You and Jack, I’d always have your backs. And I still do. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen, you know that right?”

“Yes,” Luke croaks.

“You trust me?”

Luke nods again. “I trust you.”

“Then we’ve got this, yeah?”

He sucks in another breath, blinking a few times as he comes back to himself. The color still hasn’t returned to his face but he no longer looks like he’s going to puke as he gets up from his seat, grabbing his carryon and the snack bag from by his feet.

“Got this,” Luke affirms, and Nico claps him on the back. Jack rises to his feet too, both of them looking to you and Nico expectantly.

Nico links his fingers through yours, squishing around you in the aisle to lead you to the front of the cabin. Dutifully, Luke and Jack follow behind you, the three of you hidden behind Nico’s towering shoulders.

Descending the steps with your hand still locked in Nico’s, you follow his lead as you cross the tarmac to what awaits ahead. And even though both Hughes boys clear your height easily, you walk side by side with Nico, the two of you shielding the boys as much as possible.

Quinn Hughes looks exactly like a Hughes boy, though you weren’t expecting much else. Luke and Jack could pass for twins if they wanted, and you mentally line up Quinn alongside them, picture three boys with the same pale eyes and long faces, hair unruly.

His gaze falls on you first, the sun catching his eyes just right that they look almost clear as they look you up and down. Funnily, he doesn’t look at Nico as you come to a stop a few feet from him, refusing to concede in this unspoken staring contest.

Finally, he meets Nico’s gaze instead and you take in the man standing before you. Even from here it’s obvious he’s shorter than Nico, just as he most likely is his brothers, but his build is stockier than them, full where Jack and Luke are lanky.

It’s petty, you looking for a reason to dislike him more than you already do, but you’d imagine it has a little something to do with their lifestyle growing up. Quinn here in Vancouver, being trained and well fed while Luke and Jack fended for themselves.

“Hischier,” Quinn greets, friendly as he reaches out a hand and Nico engulfs it in his, veins in his forearm flexing as he shakes it.

“Hughes,” your fiancé greets, not as friendly and you can’t help but smirk with at least a little satisfaction. Nico’s never been known for being warm and fuzzy, at least not by anyone but you, and you’d imagine he’s definitely not aiming to fix that for the sake of Quinn Hughes.

The eldest Hughes, offering a crooked smile, offers his hand to you. “Quinn,” he introduces and because you can, because he’s not your brother, not a fellow mob boss to you, you ignore it.

“I thought it was Quintin?” You say overly polite, locking your free hand around Nico’s bicep, as if it weren’t already obvious that you have no interest in touching him.

“Oh uh yeah,” he clears his throat, awkwardly dropping his hand and his whole face seems to droop sadly. “It is but I’ve just always gone by Quinn.”

You hum, pursing your lips as you look him up and down. Subtly, Nico’s hand flexes around yours, not warningly but not lovingly either. If you weren’t so determined to make Quinn uncomfortable you’d spare a glance at Nico, see what’s he’s trying to tell you but you don’t.

“Jack and Luke tell you that?” He ask, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “The Quintin thing?”

“No,” you shrug, because they didn’t. The files in Nico’s office, the ones on every boss in North America, did. You’ve never actually sifted through it but you figured the name thing would be off putting enough.

Quinn nods at you. “You gonna let me see ‘em or what?”

Unimpressed, you narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe if you were taller you’d be able to see them yourself.”

His jaw ticks in that same way Jack’s does, the expression almost a perfect mirror and it makes your heart clench. It’s hard, hating a man that looks so much like the boys you love.

Good thing you’re determined and stubborn and known for being bratty.

An amused huff comes out of Nico, the arm holding your hand maneuvering until it’s over your shoulder, your hand still hanging from his and he pulls you to the side.

Quinn’s face immediately lights up at the sight of his brothers, lips curling the same way Luke’s do when he’s trying not to smile too wide, holding back how excited he is. It annoys you, that he’s allowed to look like them, be anything like them.

That’s probably not a detail he even noticed in himself, a similarity he shared with Luke.

“Look at you two,” Quinn jests, “private jets and your own personal body guards huh?”

Jack’s face breaks into a smile, that giddy energy he had on the flight launching him at his brother and they embrace tightly, smacking each others back and sharing similar teasing remarks about their hair, their stubble, Jack’s height.

Luke stares at Quinn like a deer in headlights when he finally pulls away from Jack, knuckles going white where he’s holding the bags from the plane.

“Moose,” Quinn laughs, “I guess the name fits well. What are you, 7 feet tall?”

He makes a move to hug Luke and he flinches back, dragging his heels back a few inches and you jolt forward to grab Quinn, ready to yank him back. You’re held still by Nico’s arm restraining you.

If Quinn is offended by the action, he doesn’t show it, smiling just as effortlessly as he slips his hands back in his pockets.

“6’2,” Luke replies, eyeing Quinn with unfamiliarity. “What are you, like 5’2?”

Nico’s hand releases yours, clamping over your mouth just in time to stifle your snort and you grab at his forearm in protest. His fingers squeeze your jaw in warning before shifting back to hang by your shoulder, and you link your fingers with his again.

“Yeah alright,” Quinn laughs lightheartedly. “Gonna have to teach ya about the Canadian Charm. They don’t lie when they call us overly nice.”

Almost bored, Luke blinks. “I’m from Jersey. They call us assholes there.”

This time Nico is the one to stifle a laugh, hiding his smile in your hair and Luke meets your gaze over his brother’s shoulder, a little smile rising on his lips when he sees your amusement.

“I’d agree but I think that one back there would pull a knife on me,” Quinn jokes, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at you and Luke laughs a little at that, knowing that that’s very plausible.

“I’m more of a gun person,” you deadpan, “but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to learn that.”

Jack shoots you a petulant look, shaking his head and you sigh, giving him a nod of concession. Luke is the one to move on from this stalemate.

“Can we head to the hotel? I’m tired.”

For just the second time since arriving, Nico speaks up. “Yeah we can,” he nods towards the signature black SUV he always rents for trips, your suitcases already loaded into the back by the jet crew.

The slick silver sports car parked next to it chirps to life, Quinn motioning to his own vehicle. “Your hotel is pretty close to Rogers Place so you can follow me. Got some work to do while you all rest but I’d made dinner reservations downtown for later if that’s ok?”

“That’s perfect!” Jack says, chipper. “We can all walk over together.”

Nico walks you to the car while the boys say their brief goodbyes to Quinn, Jack’s far more enthusiastic than Luke’s. You slip into the front seat, lifting your arms when Nico tugs out the seatbelt and reaches over to click it for you. The belt tightens, sitting snug on your chest and Nico takes the chance to catch your lips in a kiss, his hand squeezing your thigh.

He pulls back, nose still brushing yours and his eyes shift over your face with admiration. “You’re so sexy, ya know that?”

A sly smirk lifts your lips, eyelashes fluttering as you glance down at his mouth. He chuckles, pecking your lips once more before leaning away from you.

“Jack, Luke,” he calls sternly, “car. Now.”

Giving you a wink, he shuts your car door as Luke and Jack make their way to the backseat. Quinn pauses in the open door of his own vehicle, meeting your gaze through the windshield and something heavy settles on his features, morphs them in to this pathetically sad expression.

Lifting your chin and straightening your shoulders, you stare back at him until Nico is slipping into the drivers seat, Quinn sifts a hand through his dark hair as he too climbs into his vehicle.

Nico shifts the car into gear and Jack pokes his head into the front seat, eyes zeroing in on you in annoyance.

“Are you serious?” He says “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Grumbling, Nico shoulders him back into the backseat as he starts driving and you turn to look at him and Luke, take in the way the younger boy is slumped against the door with that far away look on his face.

“It wasn’t a joke,” you reply, shifting to look out the windshield again. Nico’s hand falls to your thigh, his thumb rubbing circles through the fabric of your pants.

Jack huffs but doesn’t say anything and then ever so gently, a pair of fingers are poking at your elbow through the crack between your seat and the car. Silently, you slip your hand back, the angle a little awkward but you ignore it when Luke threads his fingers through yours, squeezing twice as if he were saying thank you.

~~~~

“So how’s Vancouver?” Jack asks, hunched over his plate of appetizers at dinner. “You gotta tell us everything.”

Quinn, stabbing at his dinner salad, swipes his napkin across his mouth before he does in fact tell them everything.

That he loves Vancouver, loves the city. The people and the culture are amazing. That the old Canucks leader, Horvat taught him a lot. He leaned on him a lot when he first got here, when things were still really hard, when he missed home. Horvat taught him everything, helped him grow into a man.

It’s an odd way of telling that story, too vague to actually mean anything and it puts you on edge. Quinn is proud as he tells it and it’s wrong, this whole thing is wrong. He’s acting like they’re fine. Like they’re all normal brothers.

Oblivious to the fact that while Horvat was turning him into his great man, his own flesh and blood was forced to turn to strangers for help, Jack forced to beg on his knees for anything Nico could offer him, Luke forced to live in that house alone until he was legally allowed to join his brother under Nico’s protection.

His plan for them. Because he always has one. He always cares enough to have one.

You look around at the three brothers, how Jack is almost too eagerly listening to Quinn, crowding his space and chattering on and on. Luke, quiet and somber as he silently devours two main entrees and then finishes off your truffle fries. Not speaking, not asking follow up questions for Quinn, never offering more than a couple words when Jack tries to drag him into the conversation.

It’s almost like he’s not even here at the table with you all. Exactly how he retreats into his head when emotions overwhelm him, when something from his past won’t for the life of him come to mind, when he watches overly sad movies and instead of crying, his gaze just goes hazy.

Checking out, unable and unwilling to address that he can’t feel things right.

Maybe Quinn is the same. Maybe he acts like this so the boys won’t notice, won’t know if he thinks he messed up leaving them. Maybe he does feel guilty and this facade is the cover up.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s got every resource in Vancouver available to him and Jack and Luke couldn’t even count on a birthday card from him.

It also doesn’t change the fact that he invited them out here with no explanation and instead of offering anything substantial or significant to them, he’s sharing impersonal tidbits of his training and life here.

“What about you guys, huh?” Quinn nudges Jack. “Tell me about Jersey!”

As if looking for permission, Jack looks to you and Nico questioningly. Next to you, Nico shifts, his knee pressing into your thigh as the spreads he legs out. You wonder what he told Jack and Luke when he told them you’d come with them. Things they couldn’t say, things Quinn has no right to know.

“Jersey is awesome,” Jack finally says after Nico gives him an encouraging nod. “We live in this sick loft with some of the other guys, and it’s huge. You’d love it. We all just get to hang out and chill, go to work together. And it’s really close to Y/n and Nico’s house so we go there a lot.”

“Y/n huh?” Quinn says, giving you a pleased smirk. “Good to finally put a name to the face.”

For the sake of Jack you don’t say anything, unaffectedly taking a sip of your wine as you hold his stare. Nico, knowing you’re biting your tongue, slips his arm over the back of the booth, dipping his fingers into your hair soothingly.

Not that it matters really.

“Hischier,” Luke corrects, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re not in the Devils. So you call her Hischier, not y/n.”

Not so subtly, Jack kicks at Luke under the table, making him wince before he kicks back. Quinn clears his throat, that smirk falling from his lips and he nods.

“Yeah, course. My bad Lukey.” He waves a hand between you and Nico. “I didn’t realize you too were…”

You’re not married, not yet but the low lights of the restaurant catch the diamond of your ring, glinting prettily as if proving Quinn wrong.

“She’s a Hischier,” Nico confirms, catching your left hand in his and tracing his thumb over the back of your hand, showing off the band on your ring finger.

Jack jumps back into the conversation. “Yeah sorry we call her that so I didn’t think to-“

“All good Rowdy,” Quinn assures, taking a sip of his beer. “Now come on, there’s gotta be more than just a sick loft. How’d you end up in Jersey?”

Under the table, Luke nudges his foot against yours. He doesn’t look at you as he stretches his leg over yours as if trying to lock your shoes together. Unsure of what to do with the action, you flex your foot up into his but don’t make him move. Then you lean into Nico’s side, resting your intertwined hands on his thigh and listen to Jack tell the story you’ve never fully heard.

They had a neighbor in Michigan that had been in a mob business once. A pretty big name, Jack says. When he was just seventeen and working a job of tearing tickets at the movie theater after school, Jack had decided it wouldn’t be enough. Their mom was still working to pay off hospital bills and even when she wasn’t, she wasn’t right. All she did was lay in bed. A sickness you were familiar with, one that still fills with you dread when you think about how lifeless you felt then.

You want to blame their mother, at least a little bit, but you can’t. You think about how you felt then, how Nico was the one to keep you going, keep you breathing. You can’t imagine going through that without him, not having the support of someone who loves you. And on top of that, having three little boys relying on you, needing you for things you can’t provide.

Jack couldn’t provide them either, not entirely. So he’d gone to the neighbor that had been out of the game for almost 20 years and was still set for life, him and his family.

Jack needed names, a phone number, a connection. Anything. It goes unsaid, but you all know the connection he should’ve had through Quinn was severed. The neighbor told him he’d reach out to someone in Toronto, ask if he knows if anyone is recruiting some younger guys.

The only catch was that Jack had Luke, and he wouldn’t go anywhere without him. Over the next year Jack talked to four other bosses, all of which were either hesitant to take an almost 18 year old jack and downright refused to take 16 year old Luke. He was too young. He needed to finish school. He needed a parent. None of them seemed to understand that Jack was that parent.

Two months before his 18th birthday, the boss of Detroit told him about Nico and the Devils. A fresh group, not inherited by Nico but built. They were small and probably needed guys, could maybe make some deal with Jack about Luke since they needed as much man power as possible.

He gave Jack Nico’s full name and the address of the Rock. Him and Luke, on summer break paid for a trip to Newark. Between buses and trains it wasn’t too bad and they showed up at the Rock, unable to even get in without an ID. But they waited outside all night until the bar closed and Nico came out to the two kids sitting on the curb in the back alley.

It was late and they were all tired, but he heard them out for five minutes. They told him they came all the way from Michigan, that they wanted to be a part of the business. Nico took them to their hotel, made sure they got checked in and put his card on file for them. Told them to sleep and order room service and he’d come back in the morning.

Which he did. He sat in the cafe attached to the lobby with Jack, Luke still asleep in their room, and Jack plead their case. He doesn’t go into details, but he does say that he told Nico all he wanted was to be able to stay together with his brother.

That was the kicker. Nico would take Jack but until Luke was 18 he couldn’t bring him to Jersey. He couldn’t put a child in danger like that and even Jack’s young age was pushing it. But he could make a deal with him. They both home for the summer, Luke will go back to school in the fall and Jack will come to Jersey. Jack will get his earnings and benefits of being a Devil, and Luke will graduate high school. All the while, Nico can offer Luke smaller wages, sent to him monthly so that he can feed and take care of himself. It’s a loop in mob law, Nico doing this, but he can make it work if he claims it as recruitment funding.

So that was it. The two boys went home the next day with Nico’s phone number in their phones and two plane tickets back to Michigan, courtesy of the Devils. And they spent the summer together just being teenage boys until Jack packed a suitcase in September and moved out to Hoboken. Luke finished high school, spent his last summer in Michigan with his mom who was starting to get better. And then in the fall he moved out to Jersey too, only a little delayed because the Devils were still recovering from Philly.

“Now we’re with each other all the time,” Jack finishes up, “and we send mom money and stuff sometimes, talk to her. We haven’t really gone to see her but she writes letters so that’s cool.”

Quinn’s eyes go wide, looking at them in disbelief. “You guys talk to mom?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding his head towards you. “She talks to mom too. That way she knows we’re ok and all that.”

“Thank god,” Jack huffs, “She threatened to come out to Jersey and see if we were actually ok a few times. She trusts her and Nico though. I think all that keeps her at bay is know we have…”

“A real mom watching out for us,” Luke finishes, knocking his shoulder into yours. Heat crawls up your neck and ears, a loving smile taking over your face as him and Jack both give you those signature Hughes smirks.

“She just likes me because I can talk about you two for hours,” you admit “which is a big deal compared to the monthly texts Nico used to send that just said ‘Jack and Luke are alive’.”

You and the boys all laugh at Nico, your fiancé rolling his eyes but he’s fighting back a smile of his own. “Seems like a good enough update to me.” He defends.

“You guys are close,” Quinn mumbles, a little sadly and you’re unsure if he’s talking about the four of you or the boys with their mother. “I haven’t spoken to mom in years. Not since…”

“Since you left,” Luke fills in, “once you got in here and stopped talking to all of us.”

Quinn sighs. “Come on Lukey-“

“Luke,” he interrupts gruffly “it’s just Luke. Not Moose, not Lukey.”

The whole table looks taken aback by his tone, the hardness of it. Because Luke is never like that, never angry or mean or hateful. He’s always been sweet, always been nothing but appreciative for the things everyone has done for him.

You’ve heard him like that before. Nico and Jack had gone on a weekend work trip and Luke stayed home with you. He was off almost the whole time, not as chipper, not as easy going, and worst of all, not hungry. Nico was the one to tell you about it when you called him that morning for your daily FaceTime.

“It’s the anniversary,” he explained when you expressed your worry about Luke “of their dad’s death. It’s today. Jack is acting a little off too.”

You’d remembered then about how Luke told you he never remembered it. What happened, if they saw their father before he was taken from the hospital, if they saw him at the funeral. He doesn’t even remember who was there, what car they took, if his mom drove.

So you’d taken Luke to the only place you could think would help. A rage room, under the guise that you had always wanted to try it. But Luke exploded the moment you started egging him on, smashing dishes and furniture with a bat like a man gone mad, screaming things you couldn’t even understand.

That was the first and only time you’d ever heard him sound like that.

Hearing it again has you sitting up straighter, pulling away from Nico in preparation to reach out for Luke, to push Quinn away.

“I’ve never called you that, Moose,” Quinn argues, “it’s not that big of a deal-“

“Luke,” you correct him, stretching your arm out over him protectively. “The last time you called him Moose to his face he was still wearing Darth Vader pajamas-“ you don’t tell him that Luke and Jack still wear Star Wars pajamas to this day. “So if he says it’s Luke, you’re gonna call him Luke, capisce?”

The table has gone silent, and you can feel the eyes of your three boys cautiously looking between you and Quinn. But the two of you glare at each other, unwavering in the clear disdain you both hold for each other.

Though he really has no right to feel that way about you.

“Alright Hischier,” Quinn mutters, “I get that you’re their new mom or whatever, but I’m their real brother so-“

“Real brother?” You laugh coldly, “As if you were ever there for them. Tucked up here in Vancouver with all the money and protection in the world, never once bothering to make sure that they had food and a house and safety of their own. That they were even still alive. I don’t see a real brother sitting across from me, I see a stronzo that abandoned his family when they needed him. All you ever did was fend for yourself.”

Quinn scoffs. “Whether you like it or not I’m real family, me. Not you. You’re not their real-“

“Enough,” Nico barks, silencing the words you already know were coming out of Quinn’s mouth. You’re not blood, not a Hughes. You’re not their actual mother, not on paper at least.

His hand locks around your bicep, tugging you out of the rounded booth with him. Towering over Quinn, Nico jabs a finger into Quinn’s shoulder, pressing him back into the pleather seats.

“I didn’t come here to fight you Hughes, but talk to her or any of them like that again and it won’t be her gun you’re worrying about.”

Luke follows you up from the booth, pressing his shoulder into yours and Jack gives his older brother one last fleeting glance before following.

“Dinner is on you.” Nico spits, then he’s taking your hand and pushing you in front of him, away from Quinn, away from the restaurant. The four of you walk in silence back to the hotel, Nico’s arm over your shoulder, Luke’s hand in yours, and Jack’s elbow brushing his brothers.

~~~~

Everyone is still on edge when you get back to the hotel, lingering around the living room of the suite because no one really knows what to do now. You know you’ve upset Jack, probably even more than you had at the airport. And he’s probably upset with Nico too for threatening Quinn far more clearly than you had. Most shockingly though, he’s upset with Luke.

“Luke, really?” He asks tiredly, slumping into the couch. “We’ve called you Moose since you were a baby. That’s what he knows.”

“That’s all he knows,” Luke argues, falling into the recliner across from his brother, crossing his arms over his chest. “The only thing he knows about me is my name and he’s acting like that’s all he needs to know.”

“And you two!” Jack huffs, pointing his finger at you and then at Nico. “You said you had our backs! And all you’ve done is fight with Quinn and all you’ve done is ignore him and then threaten him.”

You can feel Nico go tense, the bicep brushing your arm going rigid. He’ll do a lot for Jack, has done a lot for Jack. And he’ll let a lot slide with him that he wouldn’t the other boys. When it comes to you though, standing up for you, it’s a different story.

“Shut it Jack,” Nico snaps, “I do have your back, but I also have to have Luke’s and I really have to have hers. And you don’t get a say in how I go about that. End of discussion.”

Jack shoots Nico a mean look, lips curling into an angry snarl but Luke cuts him off.

“What’s wrong with you?” He shakes his head in disgust, “Did you not hear the way Quinn spoke to us? To her? You told him all about how shitty are lives were after he left and he didn’t even react. He didn’t care that we still talk to mom, didn’t ask if she was better or anything. He doesn’t care about us!”

Fuming, Jack rises to the edge of his seat, face going red and splotchy. “Oh shut up Luke, you think he would invite us out here if he didn’t care? You’re not even giving him a chance to show it, to say anything. And you made it worse by forcing him to let us bring them, surrounding him with people he doesn’t know.”

“It’s us!” Luke screams, “he doesn’t know us! We’re the strangers too! All he’s done since he saw me is poke fun, is tease. And then he disrespected her. Did you hear him? He was trying to say that this isn’t real, that our family isn’t real! It was real to me when Nico was picking us up off the curb and into his car. And it was real to me when y/n was tucking us into bed and fixing every cut and holding us together!”

It’s that same yell, that same edge he’d used when speaking to Quinn, when he was wailing in the rage room. And now, in the freedom of the overly large hotel room Nico rented and amongst his actual family, he doesn’t cut back. Not even with Jack slack jawed in front of him, stunned by his brother’s words.

“I get to be angry. I don’t care if you’re not but I get to be. Because I wasn’t allowed to be angry when dad got sick. And I wasn’t allowed to be angry when he died. And I wasn’t allowed to be angry when Quinn left. Or when I had to live in that house by myself for two years! I was never allowed to be angry because then I would be difficult and ungrateful, undeserving.

“But I get to be angry now! Because we finally have a family Jack! An actual one, one that loves us more than he ever did. So I’ll be fucking angry when he tries to tell y/n that she’s not our family because she is and you know it!”

Luke’s gotten to his feet now, pacing back and forth wildly in front of his chair and tangling his hands in his messy curls. Nico makes a move to step towards him, knowing how you explained Luke’s rage as explosive once, but you stop him, locking your hand on his wrist.

Because Luke won’t make a move towards hurting anyone, you know that. These are words you know he’s been holding for years, ones that have weighed heavier on him than anyone could’ve thought.

“Of course she’s family Luke,” Jack murmurs weakly, terrified. You’re not sure if it’s directed at his brother or for him. “The Devils are a family, but especially us-“

“Then why are you on his side?” Luke’s demands, his voice cracking. “How could you sit there and let him say those things?”

“Because it’s Quinn,” Jack says lifelessly, a look of pure desperation taking over his face. “It’s still Huggy and I know you don’t remember but before dad, he was the best. He did love us and he wanted us. And if he did it once before he can do it again.”

Luke takes a raspy inhale, his pacing slowing enough that he starts to resemble a sane person again. “You don’t know that Jack. We fixed things with mom and she still doesn’t want us, not really. She never asked us to come home. She may care that we’re safe and alive, but she doesn’t want us. Why would Quinn?”

A lump has formed in your throat, so big it threatens to choke you when Jack’s watery blue eyes find Nico, pathetic and pleading. “He could want us again. Tell him Nico, you did it. You got your family back-“

“Jack,” Nico sighs sadly, his shoulder slumping. He wishes he could tell Jack what he wants to hear, but he can’t. Because he doesn’t have his family back. Things are better, but they’ll never be the same. And Nico never got any part of his father back.

It’s devastating to watch the way Jack’s whole face crumples, eyes filling with tears and he shakes his head, hooks his fingers into the collar of his hoodie like it’s choking him.

Finally, move towards Luke, press your hand between his shoulders blades in a calming way and he turns to you, nose scrunched in pain.

“It’s ok,” you whisper and he collapses forward, his forehead falling to your shoulder as he clings to you. “It’s ok, Luke,” you promise, “and you’re right, you get to be angry. Because none of this is fair to either of you.”

Rubbing his back, you give him a moment to just breathe, watching over his hunched shoulders as Nico moves towards Jack. Pressing his hand to the top of Jack’s head, he ruffles his hair a bit before perching on the arm of the couch, throwing his arm around his shoulders.

“Come on babe,” you murmur, “let’s sit down, yeah?”

Luke lets you guide him back into the chair, shoulders hunched in on himself as he stares sadly at the coffee table. You run your hand through his hair, careful to not yank on any knots as you do.

“It’s ok for Luke to be angry,” you say firmly, to both him and Jack this time. “And it’s ok for you to forgive Quinn, Jack. But at the end of the day, you two are more than brothers. You’re both family inside and outside of the Devs. So you have to be on the same side.”

Jack sniffles, eyeing Luke sadly. You can’t imagine what he’s thinking, what the revelation of this whole new side of his brother has done to him.

“It’s always been you two together. Jack you’ve always refused to leave Luke’s side, don’t start doing it now. Not when you two need each other the most. Nico and I can hug you and promise it’ll be ok but only you two know what you’re going through. So stick together, even if you want different things.”

Luke tilts his head up, meeting Jack’s gaze and they share this silent look, this silent conversation of agreement.

“We don’t know him,” Jack mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re right Luke, we don’t know him anymore. So even if he doesn’t really want to talk about it, let’s just spend the rest of the weekend getting to know him again, ok?”

Petulantly, Luke counters, “I won’t call him Huggy.”

Jack laughs a bit, flashing those pearly white teeth at his brother. “You don’t have to. And I’ll stop him if he calls you Moose or Lukey.”

It’s Luke’s turn to laugh, chuckling as he mumbles a thanks and you tuck your nose into the top of his head, squeezing him in a tight hug.

“It’s late and you two barely slept on the plane,” Nico says, clapping his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Go get ready for bed, yeah?”

You let them go, Jack easily tugging Luke down into a headlock as they squeeze through the doorway into their room and kick the door shut. Then you wait a moment, listen for the sounds of suitcases unzipping and the bathroom sink turning on.

Letting out a huge breath, you lean all your weight into Nico as he engulfs you in a hug, pressing a smattering of sweet kisses to your hairline. You cling to his arm, eyes slipping shut as you let tension of the night seep from your body.

Nico pecks a kiss under your ear, his breath hot on your skin when he whispers, “I would do ungodly things for you, ya know that?”

His beard tickles at your neck when he ducks down to kiss you more nipping kisses and you scrunch up at the feeling, giggling.

“Haven’t you already?”

His mouth finds yours. “I could do worse,” he promises. “And I would’ve tonight, if we were anywhere else but the middle Canucks territory.”

You know that, know if for some reason Quinn had spoken to you like that in Jersey, Nico would’ve done actual damage. Hell, he probably would’ve stopped Quinn as soon as the man looked at you the wrong way.

“You did enough,” you assure, cupping his face but he’s already shaking his head in disagreement.

“I didn’t. Not when he said that you’re not their mom.”

You flinch, eyes squeezing shut as the words hit you. It’s obvious all of you know the truth, that Luke and Jack don’t agree with what Quinn was trying to say but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“He was a little right,” you murmur, “I’m not their blood mother, no matter how much I try to be.”

Nico shushes you, running a hand through your hair and tucking your head into his shoulder. “That doesn’t matter,” he insists, “blood doesn’t matter. Biologically they may not be your sons, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re still yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? Did you not see Luke today? There’s only one person that could’ve made him that sassy. And Jack? Who do you think taught him to have such an open heart? To care so much?”

It’s funny, you think, that Nico sees you in Jack and Luke so much, especially within the traits they exhibited today. Because all you saw was Nico. Protective, biting, and somehow so loving.

He presses another kiss to the top of your head before pulling back, cupping your face softly. “Come on, let’s go get changed.”

~~~~

The next morning is grey, thick clouds pressing down on the city through the window of your top floor hotel room. You lay, sprawled out across the rumpled white sheets, hand laying in the dip of the mattress that is still warm from Nico slept all night.

The door to the room clicks as it opens, Nico toeing off his shoes at the entryway as he balances a tray with two drinks in his hand. You don’t make a sound, burrowing into the blankets and just admiring him.

Still in the athletic shorts he wore to bed last night, a wrinkled t-shirt on his chest that reads I Raised Hell in Newark, NJ with the logo of the Rock underneath it. It’s one those stupid ones the boys would give out as prizes on trivia and karaoke nights.

His feet drag on the carpet floor as he places the tray down on the TV stand, a cup of bright green matcha in one holder and a small hot coffee in the other. Yours and his favorite order.

Lifting his head, his eyes fall on yours and a lazy smile takes over his face. “Hey,” he greets quietly, coming back to his side of the bed and sitting down “You’re up early.” You lay your head on his thigh, yawning as he dips in his fingers into your messy hair.

“My body pillow had gone missing,” you tease, slipping your arm over his legs, the fuzz of his leg hair tickling your fingertips.

“The body pillow brought drinks though,” he sings, tucking your hair behind your ear. You smile, pressing a kiss to his thigh in thanks before returning to gazing out the window, taking in the new city.

After a moment, Nico gently tugs on your hair. “What are you thinking about?”

He knows the real reason why you’re up so early. Not because you felt him slip out of the bed this morning or heard the door clicking shut as he left. But because you couldn’t stop thinking.

“I didn’t know you did all that for Jack and Luke,” you admit, that they actually went out to Jersey to meet you.”

Nico hums, his fingers coming to a halt on your temple and you peer up to find him also looking out the window. “You should’ve seen them,” he begins softly, gaze unfocused on the view. Like he’s elsewhere in his mind.

“I thought Jack was like 16, he was so small. And Luke, oh my god you wouldn’t believe me. He was just as tall then as he is now, his knees practically in his face while he sat there. I could tell right away they needed help. Luke looked like he hadn’t eaten in days which he probably hadn’t. And Jack just started babbling at me, throwing Larkin’s name out and saying he would do anything just to talk to me.”

It’s an easy thing to picture, the two of them pressed together outside the Rock. You bet Luke didn’t even get a chance to stand up before Jack was talking, tripping over himself to get a totally clueless Nico.

“I couldn’t just leave them out there. All they had with them were backpacks. And in the car,” he lets out a soft laugh, a dimple slowly sinking into his cheek “Jack was pressing every fucking button he could reach. The seat warmers, turning the air temp up and then back down, checking all the lights. And Luke ordered about a week’s worth of room service in two nights.”

He sounds so fond as he recalls it, like Jack and Luke were the best thing to happen to him. You can’t help but smile seeing that look on his face, the way he lights up.

“So he’s always eaten a lot, huh?” You laugh and Nico snorts.

“He’s just always hungry, never had enough growing up I guess,” he murmurs, and his fingers resume they’re fiddling with your hair. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to keep them there, both of them. I didn’t have a lot of details on their mom or their home but I could see it on Jack, when I said Luke was too young. He panicked, he almost freaked on me.

“But I was already pushing it with letting Jack after he turned 18 and I knew if I broke any rules for Luke and someone found out, I’d have every eastern mob org at my doorstep.”

“You protected them,” you whisper, “even if it hurt them at the time.”

Silently, he nods and you realize that while Jack and Luke are your boys now, they’ve been Nico’s for far longer. Even before Luke could actually be a Devil, Nico loved him. He was barely an adult himself and a part of you wonders if Nico saw them outside the Rock, trapped in circumstance, and thought of himself.

He had the money to change his situation. Luke and Jack had only each other.

As if on autopilot, the same question that’s been on your mind for years spills out. “How could Quinn ever leave them behind?”

There’s no answer, at least not one that will make the situation feel any better. So you press another kiss to Nico’s thigh, nuzzle into the cool fabric of his shorts and wait for Jack and Luke to get up for the day.

~~~~

“You run everything out of a hockey arena?”

There’s an awe to Jack’s tone as he says it, peering up out of the tunnel with wide eyes, him and Luke both spinning in a wide circle.

“The sport of Canada,” Quinn says proudly, leaning against the bleachers, watching his brothers with a closed smile.

You’ll admit, it is impressive. You’ve been to your fair share of sports arenas around Jersey and New York, sat court-side at a Knicks game with Nico, propped up your feet in his suite as the Jets played, sat in overly stuffed seats behind home plate at Citi Field. They were all fun, all incredible things to see.

But Rogers Place, with its thousand of seats and its banners, packed tightly around the sheet of ice, well it’s a whole new sight in itself. You don’t ooh and ahh over it like Jack and Luke, and neither does Nico.

For the both of you, it’s got nothing compared to the ice Nico taught you skate on, your laughter hanging in white clouds in the night air, bundled in winter clothes as he kept you steady and smooth.

“You’d be surprised by how easy it is to do business out of here,” Quinn says, nodding to Nico. “Big enough we don’t need to run money through anywhere else. The league security on top of our own is perfect. The games are good covers for deals.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect, you think. How nice it is that Quinn Hughes life turned out to great, so easy. Him in his big arena that provides everything he could ever need to be successful.

“I bet,” Nico replies casually, not all that interested. Luke and Jack have wondered up close to the ice, crowding against the doors and then they’re clanking open the locks, a gust of cool air breezing through as they tug open the panes.

Jack toes at the ice, staring out at it in childlike wonder. Luke takes a full step out into it, let himself slide a bit in his shoes and chuckling happily.

“You guys wanna skate?” Quinn offers, his brother’s heads snapping to look at him. “We’ve got skates down here you can borrow. Some sticks and stuff too if you really want.”

Which is how you end up in a back room with one of Quinn’s men, a tall and lanky blonde guy, his hair close cropped and eyes even bluer than the Hughes boys. He’s sifting through rubber made boxes of hockey skates, swiping the nail of his thumb across the blades questioningly before handing them off to Jack and Luke.

“Thanks man,” Jack tells him, and the man smiles before turning to you and Nico expectantly.

“The Hischier’s,” he says in greeting, voice thick with a familiar accent. He holds out a hand to Nico, “Elias but the boys all call me-“

“Petey,” your fiancé supplies, shaking his hand. “Good to see ya man.”

Elias or Petey or whatever, nods politely. “You too, Jesp tells me things have been good out there?”

Jesper, you think and you’re finally able to place the accent, the easy smile and energy of him. He’s Swedish, obviously a friend of Jesper’s, enough so that he’s somewhat familiar with Nico and the Devils.

“Yeah we’re all doing good,” Nico nods towards you, “this is my wife, y/n.”

A friend then, you decide if Nico is letting him call you by name. Or at least someone trustworthy to Nico, whose judgment has always been pretty impeccable.

“Ahh the Mrs. Devil,” he says lightheartedly, glancing to the door behind you before leaning in. “Holtzy’s favorite gal, huh?”

You startle, not only caught off guard by the mention of the boy not with you, but also by the secretive body language of Petey, the way he keeps glancing at the door.

“You know Alex?”

A fond expression settles on his face. “Yes I do. We were friends when we’re younger. When everything happened Jesper called, was hoping I could help but that’s not how things work here. I was going to just take him in until he turned 18 but then you and Nico got him.”

You don’t know what to say, what to think about this odd man before you but you know you like him. Probably the only other person in the world that was willing to accept 17 year old Alex, to go against the rules the same way you and Nico did even though he didn’t have the same pull and influence you and Nico did.

“He’s doing ok, right?” Petey whispers, “he’s safe.”

“Yes,” you promise, “he’s perfect. I didn’t know or I would’ve brought him or-“

“It’s ok,” he interrupts, holding out a hand to you. On his bicep, a traditional Chinese tattoo is inked into the skin, the perfect shape of the letter C but the top end morphs into a whale. You gently wrap your fingers around his, squeezing tightly. “Just let him know Petey says hi, ok?”

“I will,” you smile, letting his hand go and he returns to his full height, sharing an easy grin with Nico before motioning back to the box of skates.

“What size Hischier’s?”

Jack and Luke are already zipping around the ice when you and Nico get back to the open tunnel. You pause, shoes hanging from your fingertips and just watch them. They skate like it’s easier than walking, shifting this way and that, switching edges and leaning around corners.

They’re passing a puck back and forth, the rubber clacking against their sticks and echoing throughout the silent arena. The only other noise accompanying it is their laughter, happy and full of life.

“You think in another life you all played hockey instead or something?” You ask Nico, recalling the trophies in his childhood bedroom, the synthetic ice in one of the shacks on his parents estate, the way he lead you around the rink that night with grace.

Nico hums, smiling a bit as he piles his shoes with Jack and Luke’s. “Maybe,” he says, adding yours to the pile. Then he’s taking your hand, walking you to the edge of the ice and stepping out. “You’re definitely on the team with us though.”

You laugh, the toe of your blade barely grazing the ice and he waits patiently, a little amused as you simply hold his hand and stand there.

“Not on the team, I run the team,” you correct and he lights up as if that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, as if you could ever tell them what to do in a hockey game. You, still stranded just off to the ice.

“You hitting the ice or what boss?”

It’s Jack, that taunting lilt to his voice as he juggles a puck on his stick, slowly skating towards you guys. Childishly, you stick your tongue out at him before reaching for Nico’s other hand and letting him help you out into the ice.

The first step is a little wobbly, the fresh sheet of ice slick under your skates but Nico is just as solid as he always is, hands holding yours with a comfortable strength.

“Don’t play damsel this time,” he tells you, “I know better now.”

“I really didn’t know last time!” You defend, letting go of one hand now that you have your bearings. Nico does a slow loop around you, his finger rotating in your fist as he goes until he’s at your side, offering the crook of his elbow to you.

“Quick learner then.” He says, effortlessly moving forward with you, just as he did the first time he took you skating.

“Good teacher maybe,” you counter and he makes a happy noise, glancing down at his skates shyly.

Feeling more comfortable, trusting the bend of your knees and adjusted balance, you push off your left foot, pulling Nico forward, and then your right.

He laughs under his breath, easily catching up to match your stride. Jack and Luke come zipping by you, each parting to either side until the meet in the middle in front of you, swiftly turning until they’re skating backwards.

“You got pretty good form,” Luke compliments, watching your feet stay in perfect time with Nico’s.

“I’ve had some practice,” you admit, squeezing your fingers around Nico’s elbow as you glance at him.

Jack scoffs, “You and Nico went skating without us?”

You’ve all slowed to a lazy pace, more caught up in each other than the fun of whipping around the ice. Even so, Jack and Luke still glow with happiness, cheeks red from the cold air.

“We do a lot of things without you,” Nico replies, making them both pout dramatically. You shush him.

“It was after Philly,” you admit, “just me and him. The Met deal had gone through and he had access to the stadium now so when they put the ice in…”

Luke and Jack both go a little somber at your words, those dramatic pouts straightening into a look of sympathy.

“You never talk about then,” Jack murmurs quietly, and suddenly you can’t look at them, too overwhelmed by they’re imploring eyes. Trusting Nico to keep you from hitting the boards, you drop your gaze to your feet, watch the white ice pass under the blades.

“I know,” you nod, “to be honest I don’t remember a lot of it. But I remember skating on the field, with those big lights on. And it was so quiet, just us out there. Nico practically carried the first flew laps around because I was so scared of falling.”

More of falling and not being able to get back up, if you’re honest. Nico knew it too, had seen the way you came out of therapy earlier that morning, like everything in your body was just too heavy, too hard to carry. It all felt lighter when you were skating in the dark with him, under thousands of unseen stars. You still worried though, not wanting to slip up and have everything hit you at once, end up in tears in the middle of MetLife with him.

“I think she was faking,” Nico says, cutting through the heaviness that had settled between you two and you can’t help but snort, looking up to find him grinning. “You should’ve seen her wobbling like Bambi.”

It had been his joke that night, when you clearly weren’t having fun at first, plastered to his body for safety. He’d teased that if you wanted to touch him so badly you didn’t have to pretend to be scared. He was all yours to grab at.

A lame joke maybe but it made you laugh for the first time all day, unlocked your knees and eased your tensed shoulders. And yeah you kept a hold on him all night still, but the skating was smoother, the fear gone.

“Didn’t help that it was so cold I was shaking like a leaf,” you defend and he hums, unconvinced still. Jack and Luke are watching you in silence, a soft look on their faces but you and feel the lingering of Luke’s eyes and know immediately what he’s latched onto.

The same response to fear he has. The forgetting. It was something he only ever admitted to you, the knowledge only passed onto Nico when you couldn’t keep it to yourself.

You don’t even know if Jack has realized it.

“We’re not kids anymore ya know?” Luke says, “you could talk about it if you wanted. If anyone kinda understood, it’d be us.”

Because of their mom, who went through the same thing as you just different circumstances. They were just kids for that, unable to understand what was happening but it’s different now. They know the truth, know that’s it an almost unstoppable illness. They get it now.

“I’m fine now,” you swear, though the sentiment is sweet. They’ve got your back the same way you have theirs. But in your eyes, they are still kids, they’re yours and Nico’s kids and everything that drug you down after Philly doesn’t need to be brought to light.

Not just because it’s them but because it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re all better. You haven’t needed meds in over a year, you stopped going to weekly therapy, you stopped feeling like everything was slowly trying to suffocate you. And you don’t want to drudge up that mess, relive it for the boys.

They both give you a hard stare.

“I swear I’m good, I don’t need to talk about anything. It was a long time ago.”

Jack looks you up and down through narrowed eyes, “Well if you ever need a pretty face to share all your troubles with, M’here.”

“I have Nico’s pretty face.”

He scrunched his nose, sharing a mischievous look with Luke. “A prettier face then,”

Nico slips his elbow from your hold, taking a few quick strides until he’s practically nose to nose with Jack, bumping him with his chest.

“Stop hitting on my wife,” he grumbles, no real heat to his words and him and Jack begin lightly scuffling with each other, shoving and jabbing playfully.

You skate slowly behind them, smiling softly as Luke jumps in and starts wrestling with them. How they manage to stay up right while grabbing at each others necks and hair, you don’t know.

Together they manage to pull Nico to center ice where they’d abandoned their sticks and a bucket of pucks early. You decide to stop by the benches, perching yourself up on the boards, skates hitting the plastic as your legs sway.

You watch as Nico swipes at Jack with his a stick, smacking him in the thigh so hard he yelps. Then they’re off to the races, Nico flying down the ice with his stick in one hand, cradling the puck and the other holding Jack at arms length as he tries to poke at it with his stick.

Last minute, Nico gets a better grip, manages to slap the puck in the top corner of the net with a loud ding off the post, even with Jack jabbing at his shot.

“Ooo silky Schao,” Luke calls out teasingly as they loop back to center ice, Nico’s dimpled cheeks blooming with color at their jesting.

The sound of skates hitting the boards pulls your attention away, looking over your shoulder to find none other than Quinn Hughes there. You two stare at each other for a moment before you turn back to the ice, choosing to enjoy the view of your family horsing around rather than fight with Quinn.

He comes to stand next to you, far enough away that you couldn’t hit him if you tried but you can easily hear when he speaks in a soft tone.

“I can see you love them, so is there a reason you don’t want them around me?”

You don’t look at him, instead letting your gaze roam around the empty seats, up at the rafters. “I don’t want to fight you Quinn. And I don’t want to keep them from you either. But it’s been two days now and we still don’t know why you bothered to hit them up in the first place.”

That’s when you see the first flash of bright blue fabric, directly above center ice.

You can feel him still watching you, studying your body language as if that would give away something, a weakness maybe. He forgets you’ve been trained by the best, taught to not show anything. The same detached, cold personality that Nico pulls off so well is also engrained in you.

“You ever think that maybe I didn’t have a real reason? Maybe I just missed them and decided to do something about it?”

You look back at the seats, spotting the dark shadows sitting all the way in the top where the stadium lights don’t reach. Now that you’re looking for them, it’s easy to see.

Quinn Hughes is smart, you think. He had to be to get himself here, to survive. He somehow got himself to the top rung of the Canucks ladder, is leading a Canadian based mob when he himself isn’t even Canadian.

Which means he has tactics and plans, ways of bullying himself into places he shouldn’t be.

“No,” you answer truthfully, because you don’t think Quinn did this out of the kindness of his heart. He wants or needs something from Jack and Luke. “I know there’s always a reason, but I have no intention of getting in the way of that. I’m just here to make sure that intention doesn’t get my boys hurt.”

He raps his knuckles on the boards. “That’s that then. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Luke and Jack are juggling pucks on the blades of their sticks, laughing and hollering as Nico flips more and more of them into the air, trying to see how many they can keep in the air.

Behind them, the shadow of someone lingers in the dark tunnel of the stands.

“Deal,” you tell Quinn, “but if your way involves stepping on them to get where you’re going, then you’re tenure here in Vancouver is going to be a lot shorter then you wanted.”

He lets out a low scoff, almost a laugh and you can feel him lean in closer, dropping his tone to a whisper. “You’d be the one hurting them then,” he says, amused. “Like I said, at the end of the day, they’re my brothers.”

You think of the way Luke and Jack had screamed at each other last night, how they fought over being loyal to their family in Jersey or the family they grew up with. The sweet way they looked at you earlier, the way they’re the happiest you’ve ever seen them with Nico around.

And there’s no rattle to your voice when you finally turn to Quinn with a confident smirk. “Maybe you should go bond with your brothers,” you sneer, “after all that’s what we’re here for, right?”

He doesn’t say anything before stepping out of the bench and onto the ice, skating just as gracefully as the others to center ice.

Unsurprisingly, Nico is the one to break from the group, handing his stick off to Jack and nodding towards you. Then he’s crossing back to you, thighs straining in his already tight jeans with his each stride and you unashamedly stare at him, a sly grin on your face by the time he comes to a stop in front of you.

Parting your legs for him, he runs his hands up your thighs and to your hips until he’s standing flush against you, your arms slinking around his neck.

“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” He murmurs, leaning in to leave a tickle of a kiss to your temple.

“Watching,” you reply, “watching Jack and Luke look like they’re finally having fun. Watching the way my super hot fiancé really fills out those jeans,”

He lets out a snicker, eyes crinkling sweetly.

“And watching the way every Canuck in the building is watching us.”

Almost immediately his smile drops, eyebrows pinching together in confusion but you stop him, reaching up to cup his face and pressing your thumbs to the wrinkles, smoothing them out.

“Unguarded,” you remind him, not wanting his expression to raise any alarms. He softens, squeezing your hip gratefully and you watch as he subtly looks into the stands behind, eyes alway moving as if he were just trying to take in the arena.

“Two behind you,” he mumbles, on the second level.

“More up top,” you say, “in the walkways around the Jumbotron.”

Nico hums, letting his gaze fall back to your face, watching you search the side of the arena behind him. Not that you need to. There’s only one figure there, the same shadow in the tunnel, his only distinguishable features being his bright blue eyes, the ones that have been watching Nico.

“Someone directly across,” you say, looking to Nico before the pair of eyes can notice you. “Watching just you, this whole time. Can’t see his face but he’s got blue eyes. They like reflect the light of the ice.”

“Petey?” He asks, though he sounds unsure. And you are too. That’s not Petey, there’s something different about the gaze. It’s doesn’t hold the same friendly nature Petey seemed to have.

“No,” you say, certain. “Someone else.”

“How long have they been there?”

They could’ve been there longer, while you were all skating. Coincidentally Quinn only came out once you were alone. Meaning he either has impeccable timing or he was waiting for that moment.

You trail your thumb down the bridge of his nose, unalarmed when you say, “I don’t know. Noticed them when Quinn came out.”

Nico sighs through his nose, looking nothing but sweet and curious as he grumbles, “what did he want?”

It’s cute how can he manage to keep his face so adoring like that even when his tone is the exact opposite. You know he has to do it, has to act like whatever threatening behavior you’ve picked up on is still unknown but it endears you every time.

“For us to stay out of his way.”

Like you, Nico doesn’t have any visible reaction. The comment from Quinn definitely didn’t make you hate him any less but you’re not scared of him. Even before him the Canucks have never been any serious threat, somehow always in a rebuild. You doubt in his first year as boss that Quinn has made them the heavy hitters they need to be to get through Nico.

Something like amusement shines in Nico’s gaze. “If that’s what he really wants,” he agrees and you can’t help but smile in relief, grateful for the beautiful, overthink brain in his head that always has a plan, always knows what to do.

~~~~

“Ew did you two shower together?”

Mouth full of French fries, you freeze at the sight of Jack and Luke in the doorway, their hair messy and eyes still swollen from their naps.

They look almost amused watching you and Nico sprawled out on the bed, snuggled in your matching white hotel robes and towels twisted over your wet hair. You look to Nico, take in the way a strand of damp hair has fallen out of his towel and across his forehead, and you decide yeah this is funny.

Nico, still watching the movie you rented off the tv guide, answers them. “Do you want the real answer or the acceptable one?”

You have to choke down your bite of fries around the giggle that bubbles up from your chest. Both Jack and Luke make a face of disgust, looking to each other in horror at the implied activities that you and Nico partook in while they were resting.

“I don’t want an answer,” Jack finally mumbles, crossing the room to sit on the desk chair, the wheels of it creaking under his weight. Luke stays in the doorway, looking almost sad as Nico digs his hand into the takeout bag of fries in your lap.

“There’s more in the microwave out there,” you say, realizing that he thought you and Nico had the audacity to order food and not think about him. Not that that has ever happened before. If Luke is around, you always know to have extras waiting for him.

“Rented cartoons, bath robes, and takeout on a Saturday night,” Jack says conversationally. “You sure you two aren’t married yet?”

“Didn’t you just wake up from a nap?” Nico says dryly. “Who naps on a Saturday night? What are you, five?”

Smiling with amusement, you nudge Nico’s calf with your sock clad toes, your mirth only growing when he looks to you, the towel on his head tilting sideways at the abrupt movement.

“No,” Jack says moodily, “I was actually coming to ask you two spa princess if we could go out.”

Nico frowns, sitting up on the pillows to look around you and at Jack. “Out? Where?”

Jack shrugs. “Quinn said the Nucks have this bar they go too. I guess most of the guys are on a job tonight but him. Thought maybe we could all hang out?”

“Alone?” Nico presses.

“No with you two of course,” Jack says, kicking his feet up onto the mattress by your legs. “We know to stick with you guys.”

You press your toes harder into Nico’s leg, eyebrows pinching together questioningly. “And Luke wants to go?”

A proud smile takes over Jack’s face, sitting up straighter and with an air of superiority he says, “yes we talked all about it. United front and all that.”

Quinn’s last minute invite isn’t your favorite thing in the world, especially after everything you saw at the rink today. To be honest, it feels more like bait, wanting all of you to show up at a bar, defenses down and ready to drink. And he included the detail that the Canucks men wouldn’t be there.

Why would you car if they’re there or not? You wouldn’t, as long as they were no threat to you. Which means Quinn has a plan for his guys tonight and whether or not that includes you all is unknown.

But likely. Apparently you’re not the only one thinking that too because Nico grabs your hand, squeezing your fingers to get you to look at him. When you do, he tilts his head just a bit, brown eyes boring into yours with a stormy look.

The same look he gets before a deal.

A look that says be ready, be on your toes, be a Devil.

“Yeah,” you call back to Jack, “yeah we can go.”

~~~~

The Canucks bar for some odd reason is no where near Rogers Place.

You suppose they keep the distance for alibi reasons. If anything about a deal going down at the arena gets out, the bar tenders can cover for them, claim they were here. And with the distance between this place and their actual place of business, the time stamp would be enough to clear their names.

They also have more room here, the western territories not bleeding into each other as closely as they do on the East Coast. Nico’s said that California’s does, the three families they’re pressing in on each other like they do in New York and Jersey. It’s different though. There’s no old school rivalries out here, not like they are at home.

Even so you don’t like having this much space between the bar and the hotel, between you and safety. You’re not worried about rival gangs attacking, you’re worried about the man leaning against his sports car, smiling all too welcoming.

Jack and Luke jump out of the car as soon as Nico has shut the engine off, slamming the doors shut behind them. Taking advantage of the last moment of privacy you have, Nico reaches for your thigh, pushing your skirt up just enough Tom for him to slip his fingers under the straps of your holster, tugging on the taut fabric.

“It’s good,” you say, knowing if he tightens it anymore your leg might turn purple. Which it already might with how fucking cold it is tonight. A skirt in Vancouver in the winter isn’t ideal, but it was the safest way for you to get a weapon in without being caught. And in the event that Nico can’t reach the one in the back of his waistband quick enough, yours is handy for him and you.

“I know,” he says, giving your thigh a light swat and you wince at the sting, shooing his hand away. “Eyes peeled, ok?” He reminds you, laughing to himself as you pout and yank your skirt back down, concealing the pistol.

“I know,” you mock his tone, unbuckling your seat belt and reaching for the door. He squeezes your knee to stop you, gaze serious when you look to him.

“Be safe baby.”

You swallow, nodding. “You too,” and then because you have to be sure you add, “and keep them safe Nico, ok? Even if it means them over me-“

“No,” he shakes his head, “no I’m not going to be tracking you down from some abandoned house again. We’re all getting out of here safely.”

“We are,” you promise, “but in the off chance we can’t, you pick them.”

Annoyed, he huffs through his nose. “Even if I did, you know they’d pick you. Then what?”

That’s the point though isn’t it? You and him know Jack and Luke’s gut reaction would be to get you to safety. That’s what they were trained to do. Even if it was at the expense of themselves. So they pick you, and you pick Nico, and he picks them, everyone should get out fine.

“Then we’ll all be covered, right?”

Nico shakes his head in disbelief but time is running out and you two have to get out of the car now, before it becomes suspicious.

“Fine,” he agrees, “but only because they’re unarmed you got it? Every other time it’s you.”

Heart warming, you lean over the console to kiss him. “I know Schao.”

The air is biting when you slip out of the car, raising goosebumps on your exposed legs and stinging at your eyes and cheeks. You quickly round the front of the car, Nico awaiting you with his arm outstretched. You tuck into the warmth of his wool coat, looking to the Hughes boys.

“Alright,” Quinn says, “let’s go.”

The Canuck’s bar goes by the name of Fin’s, a large red and yellow neon sign boasting the name alongside a depiction of a whale standing on two legs.

It’s smaller than the Rock, no big open space for dancing or live music. Just the bar in the far side when you enter, booths and dark wood tables filling the rest of the space. And like Luca’s bar in Switzerland, two pool tables sit dead center.

“Are bars like the first investment every business makes?” You mutter to Nico as Quinn leads you all to a large table near the back, near the restrooms and back hallway.

He chuckles, moving to slip off your jacket for you. “Yeah,” he says, taking the chance to lean in close and whisper in your ear. “Think about what we do at the Rock. Why everyone has one.”

Then he’s ducking back, draping your jacket over the back of your chair before removing his own. You sit at the round table, Luke to your right and Nico to your left, leaving you in sight of the back entryway while he gets perfect sight of the front door.

A round of drinks gets ordered, yours and Nico’s going mostly untouched though no one comments on it. The same empty conversations from that first dinner fill in the space, the three boys sharing vague mob tales with the occasional chiming in from Nico.

You spend the night observing, playing the quiet and docile girl Quinn told you to be. Staying out of his way. And he does the same with you, no passive aggressive comments or taunting looks. He’s the perfect host, waving over more drinks when one runs low, a bowl of pretzels is offered for you and Nico to snack on but you decline that too.

Instead you smile, lay your head on Nico’s shoulder and pretend you’re simply listening the boys talk, fondly admiring them bonding with each other. Nico, broodingly sits and listens too, looking almost bored when you glance up at him. Like always though, he softens at the sight of you, his eyes going all moony and eyebrows drooping in that same sweet way a puppy’s would.

A couple hours into your bar night is when you notice a shift. The man that had been bartending when you arrived is swapped out, the newcomer immediate going about laying out clean glasses. That’s when you spot the tattoo on his arm, in the exact same area as Petey’s had been. You can’t make out the details from here but the shape is clear.

A letter C.

You want to turn to Quinn, grab his right arm and yank the sleeve of his Henley up. If you were a betting girl, you’d guess that Quinn also has the same tattoo.

It’s their mark, their pendant. More permanent and more serious than the necklace and ring you all wear in New Jersey. Higher stakes to get in and even higher ones to get out. Which means getting entry into the Canucks requires a lot more sacrifice.

A sacrifice as big as flesh and blood.

Your hand on Nico’s thigh, you squish just once to get his attention. Instantly he’s leaning forward, stretching his other arm across your lap and you grab at his forearm. Under the guise of simply petting at your fiancé, you trace your fingers over the soft hair on his arm, giving him a tender smile as you draw out the letter C.

After a few times, he seems to get it, ducking down to press a kiss to the side of your head and relaxing back into his seat.

The bar steadily fills up, the Saturday night crowd filtering in for rounds of pool and beer pitchers. Jack tells Quinn about his rookie year in Jersey, animatedly telling a story about getting into a scuffle in the Rock, one that left him with a separated shoulder and he spent most of the time on bouncer duty at the bar after that.

In with the crowd comes a couple more men with the same C tattoo on their arms. It’s ironic too because even with such a big indicator of who these men are, you maybe wouldn’t have noticed them. Except for the fact that they all keeping looking at your table. And not in the way people stare and look at Nico and the boys when they realize who they are. This is like they’re waiting for something.

A sign.

Nico is the one to realize it. You don’t know what it is, if it’s the way Quinn begins to fiddle with his ear lobe, if it’s the sound of broken glass coming from behind the bar, or something else.

Suddenly, Nico is shoving his chair back, his hand locking on the back of yours and he yanks you back. You get just enough time to catch the sight of reflective blue eyes, the same pair that watched him from the stands early today, and then you’re lunging for Luke, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and yanking him down.

“Down!” Nico yells as you cover Luke, flinching when the table gets flipped over to its side, the thick wood acting as a shield as the first couple bullets sink into it.

Nico has one hand on the back of your head, his body crouched over Jack’s but you can see him reaching for his own gun.

You’d spent enough time staring down the back hall tonight to know where to go. “Second door, move!” You demand, and Quinn being the closest takes off. Nico rises next, still guarding Jack with his body as he moves and you follow behind, doing the same with Luke.

The bar has turned into chaos, drunken Canadians stumbling for the front doors, shrieking and panicking and while it’s a little pathetic, it provides a cover.

The Canucks are unwilling to shoot their own.

Nico however holds no reservation, pausing at the intersection of the bar and hall to fire a shot straight down the hall. It meets the target with a grunt and the wet sound of wounded flesh.

Eyes still watching the patrons scramble to the front doors as the Canucks attempt to push in the opposite direction to you, Nico fires a few warning shots at the flooring, waving you and the boys to the back door.

“Y/n, come on!” Luke exclaims, rising to his full height and taking a hold of your wrist. His legs move quick, strides bigger as he yanks you down the hall.

Quinn goes crashing through the door first, an ear chattering horn noise erupting throughout the bar. Jack follows behind him and then you and Luke, stumbling into a gravel lot. Trusting Nico to be close behind, you take a moment to look around.

There’s no way of getting to the cars you arrived in. It’s a whole new lot, blocked by a large wall of hedges and the bar, a few oldie cars in the lot. You spot an old black one, still slick and well cared for, windows tinted.

“That on, go!” You shove Luke towards it and he scrambles forward with the others. You get to the passenger door, yanking the hoop out of your ear and shoving the long end into the lock.

The lock releases with a click and you yank open the door, unlocking all the doors for the boys. The three Hughes pile into the backseat as Nico bursts through the back door of the bar.

You’ve already thrown yourself over the bench seat of the car, clawing at the compartment under the wheel to get to the wires. They spring free and you strip them with your nails, unable to feel the sting on the bed of your nails even though blood blooms from underneath them.

Something metal crashes to the ground as you twist the wires, manipulating the ignition wire to the battery wire.

“What are you doing?” Jack calls frantically from the back seat, “we have to move!”

You don’t bother shushing him as you hold the bare copper of the starter wire to the others, flinching when the sparks burn at your hands.

The car sputters and you try again, holding the wires tightly in one hand and stretching the other out to press the gas. The car rumbles to life, headlights and radio flickering on and you scramble up from the seat.

Nico is in the doorway, looking down at you with wild eyes and panting. You slide back, making room for him to get in but he pauses.

“I can’t drive stick,” he says, glancing over his shoulder and letting out a “fuck, we gotta go.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, “passenger seat, go.” You shove him away, slamming the driver door shut. Everything feels like it’s moving too fast, your hands shaking and breaths coming out too quick as you shift the car into reverse.

Nico fires a few shots as he scrambles around the front of the car, aiming for the last few in the lot. The tires you realize, that way you can’t be followed.

He’s barely flung himself into the seat before you backing out of the spot. “Seatbelts, all of you!” You bark, and through the windshield you notice that Nico’s has thrown something in front of the door, a large hunk of metal that had been in the back alley and it’s enough to delay the men trying to get out.

Arms peek out, clawing and shoving at whatever it is he found to show them down. Nico reaches over your head, getting a hold of your seatbelt and yanking it across your chest as you peel out of the lot, sending him flying back into the leather seats.

“Who were those guys?” Luke asks from the backseat, breathless and frantic. You don’t get a chance to answer him, flinging the car out of the alley and down the road, pressing the clutch in to quickly shift up to second gear, then third.

Behind you, headlights shine into the rear windshield, flickering as the car recklessly bounds over the road and you know immediately it’s unwanted company.

“Nico,” you warn, getting cut off by the dinging of bullets hitting the back of the vehicle. In the backseat Luke and Jack duck down, hiding their heads behind the seat and covering each other.

You can’t see Quinn not that you even care too. He wasn’t in your protection plan tonight, not that he’d need it with his own men being the perpetrators. Yet here he is, perfectly safe in the backseat of your getaway vehicle.

After offering no help, no assistance to his brothers. His supposed family.

Nico cranks his window open, shoving the top half of his body out and you want to reach out, to grab at his leg to offer some sort of safety but you can’t.

All you can do is drive. The single lane road turns into the four lane drive you came down when you drove out to the bar. Faintly, you can hear Nico firing shots of his own back towards the vehicle but you’ve joined Saturday traffic now, cutting between cars to weave your way through traffic.

Nico wobbles where he’s perched on the window, slipping back into the seat when it becomes clear he can no longer fire into cars full of citizens.

“How many of them?” You ask as he anxiously looks through the mirrors for the car trying to match your driving, following you through red lights and scraping by cars you pass on the shoulder.

But they’re slower and bulkier, unable to keep up enough.

“Just the one,” he pants, “I think your losing them-“

A bullet hits the front hood of the car, ricocheting into the windshield and splintering it. Nico flinches, makes a move to dive in front of you but stops, knowing he can’t block your view.

Just ahead, coming at you straight on from the other side of the overpass is a silver SUV, the barrel of a gun sticking out the passenger window.

Gripping the wheel, you hit the gas harder, yanking on the gear shift. Barreling at the oncoming car, Nico braces himself on the dash, glancing at you worriedly.

“Baby you can’t win a game of chicken when they have a gun,” he exclaims but you’re not trying to. You just have to beat them to the overpass of the highway.

You don’t know if they’re stupid or caught off guard by you heading straight for them, but the shots have ceased, at least for the moment and by the time they have their bearings back, your yanking the wheel to the left, just barely scraping past the SUV as more bullets ping into the side of the trunk.

Nico slides into the side of the door with a thump, the boys in the back letting out exclamations you can’t even understand as you ramp the car across the median and up the ramp.

“Holy fuck,” Nico gasps, and you weave through traffic, ignoring the blaring horns as you try to put as much space as possible between you and the two vehicles before they can get flipped around and join you on the highway.

You glance in the review mirror, find Jack and Luke both turned around and peering out the back windshield. Nico, chest heaving is watching his side mirror, knuckles white on his gun.

“Do you see anyone?” You ask Nico, still barreling down the left lane of the highway at 120.

“No I think you lost them at the highway. At least for now.”

You shifts down, slipping over into the next lane, steadily making your way until you’re cruising in the right lane. Then you take the next exit, running the yellow light as you direct the car down a commercial street, the buildings compact and streets narrow now that you’re nearing downtown.

Finding a public parking sign, you yank the car into a parking garage, tire squealing on the cement. You stay on the first level, navigating to the back far corner where you pull in between two cars, hoping they’ll hide your damaged one if they somehow manage to track you down.

Throwing the car in the park, you cling to the steering wheel, fingers numb and arms jittery. The boys don’t move either but you can hear them all taking deep breathes, no doubt trying to calm their racing hearts the way you are.

You slump forward, the horn letting out a hunk when you rest your head on the steering wheel. The sound makes Nico jump, his knee hitting the dash and he winces but it seems to shake him out of his stupor.

His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers digging into the tense muscle and you’re thankful your hair is hiding your face when tears sting at your eyes.

You force back the lump in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut. “Are you ok?” You ask, your voice just a croak but he hears it.

“M’fine, he swears, massaging at the lower spot on your neck. “A little turned on I’m not gonna lie.”

“Same.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah me too.”

You can’t see him, but you can feel Nico turning to the back seat, glaring at three boys back there and you could laugh if it were for the way something is bubbling in your chest, expanding into a terrible pain.

Suddenly you remember Quinn, feel his presence in the car like rotten leftovers forgotten in the fridge. You bolt up right, shoving open the door and it bangs into the car next to you with a crunch but you don’t care.

It’s like something else is moving your body, jittery as you rip open Quinn’s door and grab at him, catching the collar of his shirt.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!” He yelps but you’re yanking him out, his legs stumbling and hitting the door as you drag him out and onto the concrete. By now the other boys are clambering out of the car, coming around the trunk to find Quinn on his knees, your skirt hitched up as you grab your gun.

“What are you doing?” Jack asks, reaching for your arm but Nico wraps his arms around him, pinning him to his chest. “Stop! Let me go!” He demands but he won’t fight Nico. You both know that.

Clicking the safety, Quinn looks up into the barrel of your pistol.

“Talk,” you spit, watching him shift into his haunches, his arms hanging pathetically at his sides. Even so, he looks up at you with wide, terrified eyes.

“W-what did I do?” He whines, lip wobbling, “they were shooting at me too ya know?”

“Bullshit!” You kick at his knee, pressing the gun in closer. “I saw them today. All of them at the rink, watching us.”

Quinn trembles, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He looks to his brothers. “Luke, Jack come on. You know I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t!”

You don’t take your eyes off Quinn and it’s Luke that steps closer, reaching a tentative hand out to you. “Y/n,” he whispers, “you don’t know it was him, let’s at least talk-“

“Pull his sleeve back,” you demand, “the right sleeve pull it back.”

The color drains from Quinn’s face, his fingers shaking as Luke crouches down and grabs his wrist, pushing the sleeve up to his elbow. Sure enough, inked proudly into his skin, in the Canuck C.

“The bartender had one too,” you say, Luke backing away from his brother “and the one playing pool.”

“And the one Nico shot,” Jack says weakly, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “I-I didn’t see what it was but it was that same spot.”

Finally, a look of defeat washes over Quinn and he slumps down into a pathetic mess at your feet, yanking his sleeve back down and squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

“No one was actually going to get hurt,” he says through a sigh and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

“We were shot at!” Jack exclaims with a hysterical lilt.

“I know, I know,” Quinn concedes, hanging his head as he spills the rest. “It was part of the plan.”

The story tumbles from his lips in a low tone, heavy as they hit the two boys beside you. Quinn swears to them that he did want them to visit, did want to see them now that he was no longer under the boot of Horvat. Now that he could make decisions.

But the mob here is different, he claims. It’s religion, it’s life, it’s everything. He can’t have any hint of disloyalty or they’re kill him. He had to prove he was a Canuck through and through. The only real way he could do that is by offering up the only thing away from the Canucks that he cares about: His brothers.

He set the plan, promised he’d get them out here and in the bar tonight so the other men could take their best shots. If they missed tonight, that was it. Quinn had done his part and they fumbled theirs. He was all clear.

Which is why he let you and Nico come along. The safety of Jack and Luke was supposed to come down to you two, exactly how it had. He knew he couldn’t do anything to throw off the plan, but he could ensure you and Nico were suspicious enough to read it all. So he pushed your buttons, put you on edge, threatened you until you hated him. Until you were angry enough to analyze everything about him. And he knew Nico would follow you, could tell from the minute you stepped off the jet that while Nico led all the boys, you led him.

“I wanted you guys to be safe,” he croaks, eyes red and teary as he looks to his brothers. “But you wouldn’t be safe with me, I couldn’t do it. I swear I did it all to protect you.”

The story hangs in the air, a pathetic excuse for the selfish actions of an older brother. All of this, the hope he gave the boys when he invited them, playing into their past with the nicknames and jokes, putting them at ease at the rink was all for his own benefit.

All to save his own skin.

A hand locks around the front of your gun, thin fingers wrapping around the barrel and nudging it down. You slowly drop it, watching on edge as Luke comes to stand in front of his brother.

Wiggling out of Nico’s hold, Jack joins him.

“Say something,” Quinn sniffles, “say you believe me, please.”

“We believe you,” Luke nods, voice sounding detached. You glance at Nico, find his gun held readily in front of him as he analyzes Quinn, just in case. “But we don’t care.”

Quinn’s mouth drops open, lip quivering as he blinks up at Jack. “Rowdy, I had no choice. I made sure you wouldn’t get hurt.”

Shaking his head, Jack croaks, “You were right Moose, he’s not our family.”

Quinn scrambles forward, shaking his head desperately. “You don’t mean that,” he insists, “you don’t mean that. It’s us guys, it’s always been us.”

“No,” Jack spits, “it’s always been me and Luke. And now it’s us,” he waves an arm out towards you and Nico. “Us, no you.”

“What’s the difference Jack?” Quinn asks, “what’s the difference between me rigging a deal and what Nico throws you into everyday?

“I know about Philly, how you all shot up Fargo, how it burned. Did they think about you Jack, about your safety when you ran in there?”

“I did it to save my family,” Jack scoffs, “not to prove myself. And Nico wouldn’t even let me in the building anyway. Because it was too dangerous. He’s never put us in something like this. Especially not without us knowing.”

Throwing an arm around his brother, Luke stands taller. “We choose to go into fights with them. We choose them every time. Because they chose us when no one else did.”

Just like that, the door for any more begging is closed. Jack steps back, guiding Luke with him as they move to huddle behind Nico. In sync, you and Nico surround him, guns still armed and ready.

Quinn wipes at his wet cheeks, face tormented and pitiful. “Hischier,” he murmurs, “you gotta know I didn’t want them to get hurt. I trusted you and you did exactly what I thought you would. Tell them please.”

You don’t know what to do if you’re being honest. Quinn used them, he walked all over them exactly how you thought he would. They were a stepping stone to his legacy here. Even if he seems genuine in his belief that you and Nico would keep the boys safe, even if he were certain that they’d be ok, he still used them. He still broke that trust.

“You told me to stay out of your way,” you remind him, clicking the safety on your gun and letting it drop to your side “so I am.”

All that stands before him now is Nico. The devil himself, the last person you want hovering over you. Skillfully, Nico lifts the gun to Quinn’s forehead, finger on the trigger. For the first time, you notice the trail of crimson red blood smeared down his right arm, not enough to be concerning, but your throat goes dry realizing that somewhere along the way, he got caught.

“Nico…” Quinn trembles.

“I’ll kill him,” your fiancé calls over his shoulder, muscles tense under his black shirt, strained with anger. “They’ll come after us eventually, but I’ll do it.”

Jack and Luke duck their heads together, clinging to each other the way they did in the car, protecting each other. You think of Nico’s story about them, huddled together on the curb outside the Rock. Did they look just like this? Faces shrunken from hunger and exhaustion, the smaller frames of teenagers?

“No,” Jack says after he’s lifted his head. “We just want to go home.”

It takes Nico a moment to drop the gun, to fully accept the decision Jack has made and you know it’s because he doesn’t agree. He wants to kill Quinn, he wants to keep him away from Jack and Luke forever. His boys, you recall, from the moment he first met them.

He does listen though, dropping the gun to his side and backing away from Quinn. You stop him with a hand on his lower back, half hiding behind his large frame. Without looking away from Quinn, he nods towards the parking garage exit.

“Let’s go, I’ll call a car.”

You let the boys go first, arms still wrapped around each other as they lifelessly trudge towards the street. Nico nudges you to follow, but you can’t. Because no matter what he did, no matter how much Quinn hurt Jack and Luke, you know it’s not enough.

They’ll always love him. They’ll always ache for him.

“You can fix it,” you say and his head snaps up to look at you. “Not anytime soon but you’re right about one thing. You’re their brother. If you decide that means something though, it’ll be them or the Canucks. You can’t have both.”

With that you and Nico turn, following after your boys and leaving Quinn Hughes behind.

~~~~

The room is dark, only the yellow glow of the city lights coming through the window acting as a guide for you to round the bed on the far side of the room. The one closest to the door lay empty, the sheets pristine and untouched after housekeeping refreshed the room earlier.

It’s Jack’s bed, his clothes thrown in a ball on top and his half open suitcase on top. Silently, you pick up the inside socks littering the floor, tossing them onto the bed with the rest of his clothes.

Jack and Luke are tucked into the bed, soft snores coming from the younger boys mouth. He’s curled up small, a pillow mashed and folded to his chest. Despite the events of the night, he sleeps like the dead.

And Jack, as usual is star-fished across most of the bed, his arm thrown over Luke and mouth hanging open.

With careful fingers, you ease the blankets out from under Jack’s limbs, pulling them up and over his chest. Gently, you tuck them in around his neck, leaning down to press a kiss to forehead, cautious to not ruffle the hair fallen into his eyes or wake him.

Then you tiptoe to Luke’s side, tucking him in the same and leaving a kiss on top of his head. For a moment, you just watch them, reminding yourself that they’re okay, that they’re safe. You already checked the locks on their door, made sure the deadbolt was turned and chain in place. You’re about to go check again, just in case when Nico stops you.

You can’t make out his face in the shadow of the doorway, the silhouette of him taking up the whole frame. He’s propped up against it, arms crossed over his torso and still as a statue. But when you don’t move, just look at him and feel that same bubble of rage from earlier still pressing on your heart, he reaches an arm out to you.

His palm is rough and warm in yours, strong as you pulls you into his chest. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he grabs the back of your neck in gentle fingers, urging you out of the room.

You stop, reaching back to close the door until it’s just cracked open. Enough so that if the boys need you, if they call out you can still hear them.

Clinging to Nico’s arm, cheek against the bicep that had flexed as he toyed with the trigger of his gun, as he protected you and the boys, you walk in silence back to your room. You heart pounds in your chest, painful and all consuming.

By the time you’ve crossed the threshold, Nico leaving your door open just a hair too, your breathing is ragged and panicked. Not a panic attack though, not something heavy and sinking.

No this is rage. Hot and burning, rising in your gut and chest, up your throat until you feel like you’re going to explode. Faintly you can hear Nico shushing you, walking you back into the elegant bathroom until your back hits the cool tile of the sink.

Two hands catch under your arms, heaving you up onto the counter and you bite at the inside of your cheek, feel tears rolling down your cheeks, hot and fat.

“Talk to me baby,” Nico says, cupping your face and you blink, the hazy blobs of color you were looking through focusing into him, into his dark eyes, his handsome face.

“ I shouldn’t have said that,” you mutter angrily, “I shouldn’t have told Quinn he could fix it, that he could be better. I should’ve let Jack and Luke walk away and then put a bullet through his head.”

If he’s taken aback by your anger, he doesn’t show it, not really. His eyebrows simply knit together in concern, lips parting. “No you couldn’t have, they never would’ve forgiven you. The same way you did with Rino, you made the right decision, the one a boss makes. You didn’t listen to your emotions, didn’t let it get personal-“

“It was personal!” You shout, furious at him for disagreeing, at yourself for even coming out here in the first place, at Quinn for every decision he’s made since getting to Vancouver. “It’s more personal than Rino and Lena, Nico because they’re kids!”

You feel hysterical, out of your body and you cry and yell at him as if any of this is his fault at all. Later, when your same again hopefully, you’ll apologize but right now you can’t stop.

“They were just kids and he left them,” you wail, spewing out more hurtful words about how Quinn abandoned them. How he left them in Michigan with just an ill mother, knowing they wouldn’t be able to survive alone. He never checked on them, never visited. Lied about coming back for them. All before Luke was even old enough to have hair on his chest and before Jack could even call himself a teenager.

“He put them in danger,” you hiccup, furiously wiping at your cheeks “Kids, Nico, our kids!”

He helplessly shushing you, grabbing at your wrists and pulling them down from your face. Two strong arms wrap around you, pinning you into his shoulder and you bury your woeful sobs into his shirt.

“He was supposed to protect them. Why did no one protect them? Why did-“

Nico strokes through your hair, his lips pressed in tight by your ear when he starts pleading with you, voice tight and certain.

“We did,” he interrupts, “we protected them baby. You did, did you see yourself tonight? You were smarter and quicker than all of us, you spotted everything before it happened and had a plan for it. You protected them, you saved them.”

“I was too late,” you argue pathetically, squeezing your eyes shut. “It’s too late Nico. They’ll never get over being left like that, being unwanted by your family, it doesn’t go away Nico and I couldn’t keep them from that, I couldn’t-“

“That’s not on you,” Nico insist harshly, his hand tightening on your neck. “You can’t go back and fix things that happened before you knew them, can’t wrap them in bubble wrap. But you can do it now, you can help them heal now and you have.

“They know they have a family, that they’re ours and they’re ok. They picked us today, did you see that? They trusted you when you lead them to that car, when you threw yourself in front of them. Because that’s what family does, is protect.”

Hiccuping, you sniffle sadly. “I can’t do it anymore,” you whimper, “I can’t take how much it hurts to do this. I can’t live knowing that their family didn’t save them, Alex’s didn’t save him, even yours Nico..how am I supposed to just accept that? To fix that?”

He pulls back, eyes wet and pained as they trail over your face. “You don’t have to fix it, you just need to shoulder it for a bit. Until they can carry it themselves.”

You shake your head, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. His grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“You can do it, you’ve been doing it. There’s a reason they come to you, a reason Jack loved you from the first night he met you. A reason Alex comes to your side of the bed when he can’t sleep, when something goes wrong your his first call. And Luke, almost everything about him is you. His strength, his sense of humor, his protectiveness was drawn in by yours.

“Because you see them, you see these kids that have been left behind and instead of turning them away, you love them. You make them accept love.”

His palm dries your cheeks, thumb tracing a soothing line over your trembling lip. “And you did it for me first baby. I was a stupid kid when we met, not ready for any of this and you saw right through it. You picked me. And you carried things you never should’ve had to until I could deal with it.

“Yours the strongest person I’ve ever met, baby. So you can do this and you will because that’s who you are. That’s what makes you, you.”

He’s panting by the end of his speech, chest heaving and eyes wild, begging you to see, to understand. And he’s right. You’ve never looked at the boys and ever thought of turning them away. Everything about them pulled you in, tugged at your heartstrings, made you love them.

You saw yourself in them, with no family to love or want you. You saw Nico, used and tossed to the side by his family. No one saved him, but you could save these ones.

“Drag racing,” you cough out and his whole face twists in confusing.

“What?”

“The car,” you explain, taking in a ragged breath. “The driving and hot wiring. I learned it in high school. With a friend that used to drag race.”

A devastatingly beautiful smile takes over his face, eyes glossy and so full of love as they look at you. He presses his thumb into the dip of your chin, laughing softly.

“It was smart,” he says, “you were smart. And I mean it, you saved us.”

Slowly, you lift your hand to show him the finger’s you used to claw at the wires in the car, the cracks under your nails stained with blood from where they broke back.

“It’s easier with a knife,” you murmur, and he leans in, pressed a gentle kiss to the pads of them. You’ve never done that before, stripped a wire with your hands like that. You didn’t even know if it was possible, how you did it.

“I should’ve given you mine,” he murmurs, and he’s leaning back, hands falling to your waist. With the newfound space you take in a deep breath, look over his figure. “You would’ve been better off with it.”

“I lost the earring you gave me,” you say, eyes falling onto his bandaged arm. It ended up being just a nick, not even deep enough for stitches. A bullet had just barely caught him, popped off the taillight and up at his arm while he was hanging out the window.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he promises, grabbing at your chin again, tilting your head to look at him instead of the covered wound. “You saved us all tonight,” he repeats, “more than once. And that’s how I know you can do this.”

You take another deep breath, let his words sink in, let them press down on that bubble of rage until it deflates back into nothing. Nico’s never been wrong about you before, even when he was keeping you away for protection. He’s always known what you could do, what you could carry.

“Will you help me?” You whisper, fisting the hem of his shirt in your hand. He strokes through your hair, nodding.

“Of course I will,” he promises, “they’re our kids right? So we’ll do it together.”

Whatever comes tomorrow, whatever Jack and Luke you wake up to, if they’re angry, if they’re sad, if you have to drag them back to life the way Nico once did for you, you’ll handle it. You and him will carry it always.

women in motorsport + text posts (3/?)

I heard you guys wanted the line brawl but with romantic music