Luckybitch

Smut - *

———————————————————

Will smith

Off the ice

Summer golf sessions

We’re celebrating

Macklin Celebrini

First time *

Quinn Hughes

Off the record

William Eklund

Over the blue line - series

Luke Hughes

First line

Call it ours

Jack Hughes

Golden Ghost

You’re the only exception

Sidney Crosby

Timeless

Reactions

Christmas calendar

Pairing - Sidney Crosby x F!Reader

Warnings! - light angst, soulmate / past-life themes, emotional themes, light PDA (non-explicit)

Summary - A photograph from 1946 leads you to Sidney Crosby — and a love that feels like it’s existed far longer than this lifetime.

A/N - Heyy this has been in the works for a while because I really wanted to take my time with this one and do it justice. I hope you guys enjoy 💛 send in more requests and I’ll get to them as soon as I can!

Song lyric - “time breaks down your mind and body, don’t you let it touch your soul” — Timeless, Taylor Swift

———————————————————

There’s a photo tucked into the back of your grandmother’s jewelry box.

You weren’t supposed to find it.

You’d only been looking for something simple — a necklace to wear to dinner, something small and silver, something that didn’t mean anything. But the box had been heavier than it looked, old wood creaking softly as you opened it, the scent of something aged and familiar curling into the air.

And then it fell out.

A photograph.

Black and white, edges worn, a crease running straight down the middle like it had been folded and unfolded a thousand times.

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

A couple standing side by side. A woman in a dress that looked like it belonged decades ago, her hair pinned neatly, a soft smile barely there. A man beside her — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in something formal but slightly rumpled, like he wasn’t used to standing still long enough for a picture.

But then—

You looked closer.

Your breath caught.

Because you knew that face.

You knew it.

It didn’t make sense — it couldn’t — but you knew it in the same way you recognize a voice in a crowd, the same way your body reacts before your brain catches up.

Familiar.

Safe.

Yours.

You flipped the photo over.

A date was written in faded ink.

1946.

And beneath it—

“Still feels like I’ve known you forever.”

Your chest tightened.

“Did you find something interesting?”

You startled, nearly dropping the photo as your grandmother’s voice filled the room.

You turned. “I—this fell out.”

She walked closer slowly, her eyes landing on the photograph in your hand. And something in her expression shifted — softened, like a memory had just brushed against her.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I wondered where that went.”

“Who is it?” you asked.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she took the photo gently from your fingers, her thumb brushing over the image like she was remembering something she hadn’t thought about in years.

“That,” she said after a moment, “is a story.”

You frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

She smiled faintly. “No. It’s better than one.”

You crossed your arms. “Try me.”

She studied you for a long second, like she was deciding something.

Then she handed the photo back.

“Keep it,” she said. “I think… you’re meant to have it.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Why?”

She only smiled.

“Because some things,” she said softly, “don’t stay in just one lifetime.”

⸻

You tried to forget about it.

Really, you did.

You tucked the photo into your bag, told yourself it was just a weird coincidence, just a face that looked familiar because human brains are wired that way. You googled nothing. You asked no more questions.

You moved on.

At least — you tried to.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

It followed you.

In quiet moments. In the space between thoughts. In the way your chest would tighten for no reason, like you were missing something you couldn’t name.

And then—

A week later—

You saw him.

⸻

It wasn’t dramatic.

No music swelling, no cinematic slow motion, no universe-altering moment.

Just—

A coffee shop.

A line too long. Your phone nearly dead. Your patience already gone.

You were staring down at the menu, not really reading it, when the door opened behind you.

And everything in your body went still.

You didn’t turn right away.

You didn’t need to.

You felt it.

That same pull.

That same impossible, aching familiarity.

Slowly, you looked over your shoulder.

And there he was.

Sidney Crosby.

Except—he wasn’t Sidney Crosby in that moment.

He was just… a man.

A man standing in a doorway, scanning the room, his expression neutral but his eyes—his eyes—

They found yours.

And something shifted.

Not just in you.

In him.

You saw it.

The exact second it happened.

His brows pulled together slightly, like he was trying to place something, like your face had just unlocked a memory he didn’t know he had.

You turned fully now, heart pounding.

This was ridiculous.

You didn’t know him.

He didn’t know you.

But the way he was looking at you—

Like he did.

You broke eye contact first, turning back toward the counter, your hands suddenly unsteady.

This was insane.

It had to be.

And yet—

You could feel him step closer.

Hear his quiet “hey” to the person behind him.

Feel the space between you shrink.

You told yourself not to look again.

You lasted three seconds.

When you turned back, he was already watching you.

Up close now, the resemblance hit even harder.

Not just the features — though those were unmistakable — but something deeper. Something in the way he held himself. The quiet steadiness. The sense of familiarity that didn’t make sense and yet felt more real than anything else.

He spoke first.

“Sorry,” he said, like he didn’t even know why he was saying it. “This is gonna sound weird, but—do I know you?”

Your breath caught.

You let out a small, disbelieving laugh.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

⸻

You ended up sitting together.

Because of course you did.

Because somehow, it felt more natural than walking away.

Because neither of you wanted to ignore whatever this was.

“Okay,” you said, wrapping your hands around your coffee. “This is insane, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“You don’t… feel that?” you asked quietly.

He met your eyes.

“I do.”

There was no hesitation.

No confusion.

Just certainty.

And that scared you more than anything.

“Like I’ve seen you before,” he added. “Or—no. Not seen. Known.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Exactly.”

A silence settled between you.

Not awkward.

Just… heavy.

Full.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” you said after a moment.

“Try me.”

You hesitated.

Then reached into your bag.

And pulled out the photo.

His reaction was instant.

His breath hitched.

“What is that?”

“I found it,” you said. “In my grandmother’s things.”

You slid it across the table.

He picked it up slowly.

And the second he looked at it—

Everything changed.

You watched it happen.

The confusion.

The recognition.

The disbelief.

“This…” he started, his voice quieter now. “This is—”

“I know,” you said.

Because you did.

You didn’t have proof.

You didn’t have logic.

But you knew.

He looked back up at you, something raw in his expression.

“That’s me.”

“And her,” you said softly, “that looks like me.”

Silence.

“But that’s impossible,” he added.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “It is.”

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you looked away.

“1946,” he murmured, reading the back.

“And yet,” you said, “here we are.”

⸻

You tried to explain it.

You both did.

Coincidence. Doppelgängers. Some strange trick of the mind.

But nothing felt right.

Nothing fit.

Because it wasn’t just how you looked.

It was how you felt.

Around each other.

From the very first second.

Like you were stepping back into something that had already existed.

Like you were remembering, not discovering.

And the more time you spent together—

The stronger it got.

⸻

Weeks passed.

Then months.

And it never faded.

If anything, it deepened.

You learned the small things first.

How he liked his coffee.

The way he always checked doors twice.

How quiet he got when he was thinking.

He learned yours too.

The way you tucked your hands into your sleeves when you were nervous.

How you hummed absentmindedly when you were focused.

The exact look you got when you were about to argue — which was often.

It was easy.

Too easy.

Like you were falling into a rhythm that had always been there.

⸻

One night, you brought the photo back out.

You were sitting on his couch, the room dim, the world outside quiet.

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked.

“All the time,” he admitted.

“Do you think it’s real?”

He looked at you.

“I think… whatever it is, it’s not nothing.”

You nodded.

“Me too.”

A pause.

“Do you think we knew each other?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached for your hand.

Held it gently.

Like it was something fragile.

Something important.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that I’ve been looking for you without realizing it.”

Your chest tightened.

“Even before this?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He smiled faintly.

“Because when I met you, it didn’t feel new.”

Your eyes stung.

“It felt like coming back to something.”

⸻

You started noticing things after that.

Little moments that didn’t make sense.

Dreams that felt too real.

Places you’d never been that somehow felt familiar when you saw them in pictures.

And always—

Him.

Always him.

In different ways.

Different times.

But always there.

⸻

“Maybe it’s just… timing,” you said one day.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

“Like… if we hadn’t met now, we would’ve met later.”

“Or earlier.”

You smiled. “Or earlier.”

He looked at you.

“Or maybe we already did.”

⸻

The idea settled into you slowly.

Not as something shocking.

But as something… right.

Like it had been waiting for you to understand it.

Not one lifetime.

Not one chance.

But something that kept finding its way back.

Over and over again.

⸻

One evening, you went back to your grandmother’s house.

You brought him with you.

She took one look at him and smiled like she’d been expecting it.

“So,” she said. “You found him.”

You blinked. “You knew?”

“I had a feeling.”

Sidney glanced at you, then back at her. “About what?”

She gestured for you both to sit.

“Some people,” she said, “don’t belong to just one story.”

You held your breath.

“They meet,” she continued, “and something sticks. Something strong enough that it doesn’t just disappear when time moves on.”

Sidney’s hand found yours.

“And then?” you asked.

“They find each other again,” she said simply.

⸻

Later, as you walked back outside, the world felt different.

Not bigger.

Not smaller.

Just… clearer.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

You looked at him.

Really looked.

And for a second—

You swore you could see it.

Not just him.

But all the versions of him that had come before.

And somehow—

They all felt the same.

You squeezed his hand.

“I think we’ve done this before.”

He smiled softly.

“I think so too.”

⸻

That night, you lay awake beside him, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

“If this is… real—if we really have met before—”

He turned toward you.

“Then I don’t want to waste it this time.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“We won’t.”

“How do you know?”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face.

“Because we didn’t lose each other,” he said. “We just… found our way back.”

Your heart ached in the best way.

“Again,” you whispered.

“Again,” he agreed.

⸻

Somewhere, in another time, a photograph was being taken.

Two people standing side by side.

Not knowing how many times they’d already done this.

Not knowing how many times they would again.

Just knowing—

It felt like forever.

⸻

And here, now—

In this life—

It still did.

Heart-to-Heart

Pairing - William Eklund x F!Reader

Warnings - Unexpected pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, doubts about parenthood, hospital scenes, birth scene, emotional vulnerability, relationship, mild swearing, and sports lifestyle pressures.

Summary - The media and social media scrutiny overwhelm you, but William reminds you that you and the baby come first.

A/N - sorry it’s been so long I had writers block for this and couldn’t think of anything to finish the chapter so I hope you guys enjoy

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The morning after his game, my phone was chaos.

Mentions, tags, screenshots of the broadcast — all showing William’s goal celebration and that heart he’d made toward the glass.

The sports blogs were already running with it. “Eklund expecting?”

Some posts were sweet, full of congratulations. Others… not so much.

By the time I got to his condo, he was already on the couch in sweats, scrolling his own phone. “It’s everywhere,” he said without looking up. “Guess there’s no putting it back in the box now.”

He’d done interviews that morning — three of them. “They all asked,” he admitted, glancing over. “I told them yes, we’re expecting, and yes, I’m excited.”

“That’s it?”

“Well… and that you’re amazing.” He grinned, but I could see the careful way he was studying my face.

Because the truth was, it was a lot.

Every time I opened social media, there was another opinion. Strangers dissecting our relationship. Fans debating whether he was ready for fatherhood. People I didn’t even know suddenly thought they had the right to pick apart my life.

At lunch, my phone buzzed again — a notification from some hockey gossip account posting a candid of me at last night’s game, zoomed in and captioned: The future Mrs. Eklund?

My stomach twisted. I set the phone face-down. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”

William didn’t say anything at first. He just reached over, taking my phone and setting it far enough away that I couldn’t reach it without moving. “Then don’t. You don’t owe them anything. Not your time, not your energy.”

I met his eyes, the seriousness there cutting through my anxiety. “But what if it gets worse? What if—”

“—Then we deal with it together.” His voice was steady, firm. “Look, I can’t stop the noise. But I can make sure you never have to face it alone. You and the baby come first. Always.”

I exhaled slowly, leaning into him. His arm slid around my shoulders, pulling me in until my head rested against his chest.

Pairing - WillMack x F!Reader

Warnings - none that I know off

Summary - messages if u were besties with will and Macklin also a mention of Fraser minten

A/N - some requested this so thank you to whoever did I appreciate it and I hope you all enjoy 💛

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I would love more like this if you made more

A/N - These will just be people either requested or people I wanted to do so let me know if u have any specific people or ideas and I’ll get them done

Pairing - WillMack X F!Reader

Warnings - none maybe just bullying will 🤣

Summary - messages if you were besties with Will and Macklin.

A/N - I haven’t done anything like this before so I hope you guys enjoy and let me know if you want more like this! 🩵

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Pairing - Will Smith x F!reader

Warnings! - Real person fiction, mild language, alcohol mention (drinks at a bar), light PDA (non-explicit), loud environments / mild overstimulation

Summary - It’s Will’s birthday — a win on the ice, a night out with the team, and somehow, you end up being his favorite part of it all.

A/N - Writing birthday fics will always have my heart so I really hope you enjoy this one!! 💛 feel free to send in some requests because I’m down to write them :)

———————————————————

As if you could forget

It was Will’s birthday.

And not just any birthday — the kind his teammates had been talking about for a week straight, dropping hints, planning things loudly and badly like they wanted him to find out but somehow hadn’t yet.

You rolled over in bed, staring at your phone before opening his message last.

Will: u better be at the game tonight btw

Will: non negotiable

Will: birthday rules

You snorted, typing back without thinking.

You: I was already going

You: don’t act special

The typing bubble popped up instantly.

Will: wow

Will: on MY birthday???

Will: this is how u treat me???

You smiled despite yourself.

You: you’ll survive

A pause.

Then—

Will: only if u wear my jersey

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed.

You: we’ll see

⸻

By the time you got to the arena that evening, it was already buzzing — fans pouring in, jerseys everywhere, the sharp cold of the rink air hitting your skin the second you stepped inside.

And yes — you were wearing his jersey.

You told yourself it was because it was easier than picking an outfit.

You were lying.

From your seat, you could see the players warming up. Skates cutting across the ice, pucks snapping against sticks, the low echo of the arena filling up around you.

And then you spotted him.

Will.

He was laughing at something one of his teammates said, helmet off, hair slightly damp already, cheeks flushed from the cold. There was something different about him tonight — lighter, brighter, like the day actually meant something.

Like he felt it.

Your chest did something annoying.

As if he could sense you, he glanced up.

And immediately found you.

His whole face changed.

That grin — the one that was just for you — spread slowly, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. He tapped his stick lightly against the ice, subtle but not really.

You shook your head, smiling.

Show-off.

He skated closer to the glass, pretending to adjust his gloves before looking up again.

“Nice jersey,” he mouthed.

You flipped him off.

He laughed.

⸻

The game itself was fast — loud and electric, the kind where every shift felt like it mattered. You weren’t always the biggest hockey expert, but when Will played like this, it was impossible not to get pulled in.

He was everywhere.

Fast, sharp, focused.

And when he scored in the second period—

The arena exploded.

You were on your feet before you even realized it, shouting with everyone else as he celebrated, teammates piling onto him.

But then — just for a second — he broke away.

And looked up.

At you.

Like he needed you to see it.

Your heart slammed.

You shook your head at him, trying to play it off, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

Later, when he got an assist too, one of the guys pointed at him on the bench, clearly yelling something about it being his birthday.

Of course they were.

Of course.

You buried your face in your hands.

⸻

They won.

Which somehow made everything ten times worse.

Because now there was even more energy, more noise, more reason to celebrate.

And more reason for his teammates to be completely insufferable.

You waited near the players’ exit, leaning against the wall, scrolling your phone like you weren’t waiting for anyone in particular.

You definitely weren’t nervous.

Not at all.

The door burst open.

Voices spilled out first — loud, overlapping, chaotic — and then the players followed.

Someone spotted you immediately.

“Well, look who it is,” one of them grinned.

You sighed.

“Hi.”

“Came for the birthday boy, huh?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “I just love standing in hallways.”

They laughed.

You heard him before you saw him.

“Move.”

There was a shuffle, a few exaggerated complaints, and then Will appeared — still half in his gear, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes immediately locking onto you like nothing else existed.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

For a second, everything else faded.

Then someone behind him wolf-whistled.

“BRO, at least pretend we’re here!”

Will didn’t even look back. “You are. I just don’t care.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“Subtle.”

“Not trying to be,” he shot back.

He stepped closer, stopping just in front of you, close enough that you could still feel the cold from the rink clinging to him.

“You came.”

“You told me to.”

“Yeah, but you actually listened.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

He grinned. “Too late.”

There was a beat.

Then—

“Did you see the goal?”

You stared at him.

“Wow. Subtle again.”

“I’m serious!”

“I saw it,” you said. “You were… decent.”

He gasped. “Decent?? On my birthday??”

“Don’t push it.”

He leaned in slightly. “You liked it.”

You didn’t answer.

Which was answer enough.

⸻

The locker room after was chaos.

Music blasting, people shouting, someone definitely spraying something they shouldn’t be spraying. You hovered near the entrance, already questioning your life choices.

“C’mon,” Will said, grabbing your wrist gently.

“I don’t want to be in there.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone.”

“They’ll talk to me.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

You hesitated.

Then let him pull you in.

It was loud. Too loud. Your shoulders tensed immediately, senses overwhelmed by the mix of noise and movement.

But then—

Will’s hand slid into yours.

Grounding.

You exhaled slowly.

“Stay by me,” he said quietly.

“I was planning on it.”

⸻

“BIRTHDAY BOY!”

Someone shoved a bottle into Will’s hand.

Another arm slung around his shoulders.

“You’re buying tonight!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed.

Then someone noticed you.

“Oh—hey!”

You gave a small nod.

“Guys, be normal,” Will warned.

“WE ARE NORMAL,” someone yelled.

You leaned toward him. “They’re not normal.”

“I know.”

“Why are you friends with them?”

“Because they make me look better.”

You snorted.

⸻

Eventually, you all left — piling into cars, heading toward a bar the team clearly frequented.

You sat in the passenger seat while Will drove, the quiet a sharp contrast to everything before.

He glanced over at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Just… a lot.”

He reached over, squeezing your hand. “You’re doing good.”

You looked at him.

“Why do you care so much?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Because it’s you.”

Your stomach flipped.

You looked away. “It’s your birthday. You should be focused on yourself.”

“I am.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

He smiled a little. “You’re part of that.”

⸻

The bar was dim, warm, loud in a different way — music low, conversations blending together. The team took over a section almost immediately, dragging tables together.

You slipped into a seat at the edge.

Will sat next to you.

Of course he did.

Drinks were ordered, laughter picked up again, stories from the game getting more exaggerated by the second.

You mostly stayed quiet, listening, occasionally rolling your eyes.

At some point, someone raised a glass.

“To Will — for being old now!”

“I’m not old,” he protested.

“Ancient.”

You leaned in slightly. “You are kind of old.”

He looked at you, betrayed. “You too??”

“Especially me.”

He shook his head, laughing.

Glasses clinked.

⸻

A little later, the group split into smaller conversations. The noise softened into something manageable.

Will turned toward you.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but this is like… extra quiet.”

You shrugged.

He studied you for a second.

Then—

“Walk with me?”

You frowned. “Where?”

“Outside. It’s loud.”

You paused.

Then nodded.

⸻

The air outside was cool, fresh, a relief after everything inside. The city hummed around you, but it was distant — manageable.

You leaned against the wall, exhaling.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

He stood beside you, close but not crowding.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Best birthday I’ve had in a while,” he said.

You glanced at him. “Because you won?”

He shook his head. “Because you came.”

You rolled your eyes, but softer this time. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest.”

Your chest tightened.

“You had your team, your friends—”

“I always have them.”

“And that’s not enough?”

He looked at you then.

“It is. But you’re different.”

You swallowed.

“How?”

“You don’t… need anything from me,” he said. “You’re just there. And I don’t have to be anything other than what I am.”

Your voice came out quieter. “You don’t have to do that with me either.”

“I know.”

A pause.

“That’s why I like you.”

Your heart stuttered.

“That’s a weird reason.”

He smiled slightly. “It’s a real one.”

⸻

You looked down at your hands.

“You’re… a lot, you know.”

“I’ve been told.”

“You’re loud. And annoying.”

“Also been told.”

“And you don’t stop talking.”

“Okay, that one’s a little harsh—”

“But,” you interrupted, “I don’t mind it.”

He went quiet.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Even when I’m being annoying?”

“You’re always being annoying.”

“Wow.”

You nudged him lightly. “But I like it.”

He blinked.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

There was a moment — soft, fragile — where everything felt like it could tip into something else.

And then—

“WAIT—are you two having a moment??”

You both froze.

One of his teammates had stuck his head out the door, grinning like an idiot.

Will groaned. “Go away.”

“Not until I know if I’m interrupting something important.”

“You are.”

“GOOD.”

You buried your face in your hands.

“I hate them,” you muttered.

“I know,” Will said. “I’m so sorry.”

⸻

Back inside, the energy had shifted — people more relaxed now, laughter easier, conversations slower.

You sat closer to Will this time.

Not on purpose.

It just… happened.

At some point, your knee brushed his.

Neither of you moved.

Later, his hand found yours under the table.

You didn’t pull away.

⸻

By the time the night started winding down, you were tired — the good kind, not the overwhelmed kind.

Will walked you back to the car.

“You’re staying?” you asked.

“For a bit.”

You nodded.

A pause.

“Thank you for today.”

“You already said that.”

“I’m saying it again.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re welcome.”

He hesitated.

Then—

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

“Do you… only like me?”

You blinked.

“That’s a weird question.”

“Just answer it.”

You sighed. “I don’t like people much.”

“I know.”

“But you…”

You trailed off.

He waited.

“I like you,” you finished.

His smile was softer this time. Not teasing. Not cocky.

Just… real.

“Good.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling.

⸻

As you got into the car, he leaned down slightly.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Best part of my birthday?”

You raised a brow. “Your goal?”

“No.”

“The win?”

“No.”

You paused.

“What then?”

He smiled.

“You.”

Your heart did that annoying thing again.

“Drive safe,” he added.

You closed the door before he could see your face properly.

But as you pulled away, you caught him in the mirror — still standing there, still watching.

Still smiling.

⸻

And yeah.

Maybe you didn’t like people.

Maybe you avoided crowds and noise and everything that came with it.

But him?

You’d show up every time.

Even on his birthday.

Quinn Hughes, Jack Hughes, Luke Hughes, Clayton Keller, Will Smith, Macklin Celebrini, Sidney Crosby, William Eklund, Juraj Slafkovský, Cole Caufield, Connor bedard, Trevor Zegras, Adam Fantilli, Kent Johnson x F!Reader

Warnings - Jealousy / possessiveness, Mild emotional tension, Brief mentions of flirting, Light physical touch (hand on back, arm around shoulders, etc.), Soft angst but overall fluff

A/N - first reaction fic in a hot minute and of the new year so apologies if it’s not amazing but I hope you all enjoy 💕💕

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Quinn Hughes

Quinn notices before you do. He’s leaning against the counter, half-listening, when someone steps a little too close to you. Too familiar. His jaw tightens—not angry, just… aware. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t glare. He waits. And when you finally turn back toward him, he steps closer, shoulder brushing yours like it’s accidental. His hand rests at the small of your back, grounding. “You ready?” he asks calmly. But his thumb presses in, just enough to say mine without ever saying it out loud.

Jack Hughes

Jack clocks it instantly and hates how casual the flirting feels. The laugh. The lean-in. He slides in beside you like it’s nothing, arm draped loosely over your shoulders. “What’re we talking about?” he asks, grin sharp but playful. The other guy backs off immediately. Jack looks down at you, smirking. “You okay?” It’s teasing, but his fingers tap against your arm like he’s checking you’re still there. Later, quieter, he admits he didn’t love seeing someone else make you smile like that.

Luke Hughes

Luke freezes a little when he sees it. He’s not great at jealousy yet—it hits him all at once. He watches you laugh at something someone else says, and his chest tightens. He doesn’t interrupt right away, just waits, fidgeting. When you come back to him, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “Were they bothering you?” he asks softly. When you say no, just flirting, he nods… then reaches for your hand anyway, like reassurance for both of you.

Clayton Keller

Clayton stays polite. Too polite. He smiles, chats with someone else nearby, but his eyes keep drifting back to you. When the flirting gets obvious, he finally steps in, wrapping an arm around your waist with practiced ease. “There you are,” he says warmly. His grip tightens just slightly. Later, when you tease him about it, he admits it bothered him more than he expected. “I trust you,” he says. “I just don’t love sharing your attention.”

Will Smith

Will’s reaction is quiet but intense. He watches from across the room, unreadable, jaw set. He doesn’t rush in. Doesn’t interrupt. When you finally meet his eyes, there’s something heavy there—hurt mixed with restraint. He pulls you aside gently. “Were you okay?” When you say yes, he nods, but his voice drops. “I don’t get jealous easily,” he admits. “But seeing someone else look at you like that? Yeah. Didn’t love that.” His hand lingers in yours longer than usual.

Macklin Celebrini

Macklin tries to be mature about it. He tells himself it’s nothing. Still, he drifts closer, listening in, inserting himself into the conversation just enough to shift the dynamic. When the flirting fades, he relaxes. Later, he laughs it off—until he doesn’t. “I didn’t think it’d bug me,” he admits, quieter now. “But I didn’t like feeling like I could lose you.” He looks embarrassed, honest. “Guess that means I care more than I thought.”

Sidney Crosby

Sidney notices instantly—and handles it smoothly. He joins the conversation with calm confidence, redirecting without confrontation. The flirting stops almost immediately. He keeps things light, respectful. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he admits it did register. “I don’t mind people noticing you,” he says evenly. “I just like being the one you come back to.” His hand squeezes yours, steady and sure, like he never doubted it—but still wanted to say it out loud.

William Eklund

William’s reaction is more emotional than he expects. He tries to joke about it, but there’s a flicker of insecurity he can’t hide. When you rejoin him, he leans into you, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says softly. “I just…” He shrugs. “Didn’t like how easy it was for someone else to imagine themselves with you.” His smile returns after—but it’s gentler now, more protective.

Juraj Slafkovský

Juraj’s jealousy shows in his body language. He straightens, crosses the room in a few long steps, and stands beside you—tall, solid, unmistakable. He doesn’t say much, just places a hand on your lower back and meets the other person’s eyes calmly. The message lands. Later, he grins when you tease him about it. “What?” he says. “I wasn’t mad.” He leans closer. “Just reminding them you’re not available.”

Cole Caufield

Cole’s reaction is half teasing, half sulky. He pouts exaggeratedly when you come back, earning a laugh from you. “Oh, so that’s your type now?” he jokes. But later, when it’s quiet, he admits it bothered him. “I know it’s dumb,” he says. “I just don’t like feeling like I have competition.” He relaxes when you kiss his cheek. “Okay,” he smiles. “Worth it.”

Connor Bedard

Connor doesn’t know what to do at first. He watches, heart racing, feeling something sharp and unfamiliar. When you return, he’s quieter than usual. You notice immediately. When you ask, he hesitates, then admits, “I didn’t like that.” It’s simple. Honest. He looks almost embarrassed. “Not because of you. Just… because I care.” He relaxes when you reassure him, shoulders finally dropping like he’d been holding tension the whole time.

Trevor Zegras

Trevor reacts instantly—dramatically. He slides in with a grin, arm around you, charisma turned all the way up. “Sorry,” he says to the other person, smiling sweetly. “They’re taken.” Later, he laughs it off, but there’s an edge beneath the humor. “I trust you,” he says. “I just don’t trust anyone who looks at you like they’re already planning a future.” He kisses your temple, playful but sincere.

Adam Fantilli

Adam’s reaction is subtle but heavy. He watches the interaction, jaw clenched, hands shoved into his pockets. When it ends, he exhales slowly. “That guy was flirting with you,” he says, not accusing—just stating a fact. When you agree, he nods. “Yeah. Didn’t love that.” He steps closer, voice quieter. “Not because I don’t trust you. Just because I don’t like the idea of someone else wanting what I have.”

Kent Johnson

Pairing - Jack Hughes x F!reader

Warnings! - Social anxiety / overstimulation themes, Mild language & sarcasm, Light PDA (non-explicit)

Summary - Grumpy, antisocial, and allergic to small talk — except when it’s Jack.

A/N - It’s been a hot minute so I hope you enjoy lovely person who requested this and I hope it’s met your expectations and please everyone send in some requests my inbox is dry atm 💕💕

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You don’t hate people. That would require more energy than you’re willing to spend on them. You just… don’t see the point. Small talk makes your skin itch. Forced smiles make your jaw tense. And somehow, the universe decided to pair you — a professional introvert — with Jack Hughes, who has never met a silence he didn’t try to fill.

He swears that you’re “just quiet,” not mean. You insist you’re “just realistic,” not grumpy.

Everyone else thinks you’re terrifying.

You stand in the hallway outside the Devils locker room, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, pretending to scroll your phone so no one tries to talk to you. You’re already regretting saying you’d come. But Jack had asked — soft eyes, stupid little grin, messy hair sticking out beneath a hat he didn’t even wear properly — and you always say yes to him.

The door opens and voices spill out — loud, echoing, overlapping. You wince.

Jack spots you immediately.

“There she is,” he says, like he’s been waiting all day. Like you’re not the one hovering nervously outside the locker room door.

He walks over, grin wide, arms opening like you’re gravity and he’s giving in.

You melt a little — but only for him.

“You didn’t tell me it would be loud,” you mutter into his chest.

“It’s a hockey locker room,” he laughs. “When is it not loud?”

You glare up at him. “You could’ve warned me.”

He pretends to think. “But then you wouldn’t have come.”

“Exactly.”

He kisses your forehead like that settles it. “You’ll be fine. They love you.”

You snort. “They fear me.”

Jack looks far too pleased. “Same thing.”

He takes your hand and pulls you inside before you can run. The noise hits first. The smell — sweat, tape, cologne, something fried someone definitely shouldn’t be eating — hits second.

A few players look over.

“Ohhh,” Dawson sings, smirking. “Jack brought his ray of sunshine.”

Your eye twitches.

“Hi,” you say flatly, because you can be polite. Sort of.

“Hey,” Dawson grins, clearly amused.

Luke passes by, patting your shoulder gently — the only one who’s realized sudden touch makes you tense. “Hey. You good?”

You nod. Luke is tolerable. Mostly because he knows when to shut up.

Jack squeezes your hand like a silent thanks for trying. You don’t have to say much. Just be here. With him.

He drags you to his stall and you sit on the little bench like it might swallow you whole.

“So,” Jack says, leaning close. “Scale of one to ten, how much do you hate this?”

“Eleven.”

He grins like you just told him you love him. “You’re doing great.”

Someone drops onto the bench beside you. You stiffen.

Trevor Zegras — visiting, loud, chaotic — beams at you. “You look thrilled to be here.”

“I am,” you deadpan. “This is my dream.”

He laughs. “I get why he likes you.”

You blink. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Zegras nods. “You scare people. It’s awesome.”

You resist the urge to hide behind Jack.

Jack wraps an arm around you, sensing your internal meltdown. “Okay. You’re done talking to her.”

Trevor holds up his hands in surrender and leaves you alone — thankfully.

Nico walks by next. He nods politely — always respectful, always calm — and you don’t hate him for it.

“Good to see you,” he says, gentle.

“You too,” you reply, actually meaning it.

Jack stares at you. “You like him?”

You shrug. “He doesn’t talk at me. He talks to me.”

Jack pretends to pout. “I talk to you.”

“You,” you say, poking his chest, “are the exception.”

And you mean it.

You don’t like noise or chaos or people constantly wanting something from you. But Jack? Jack wants you to just… exist next to him. Be quiet beside him. Be soft in ways you refuse to be around anyone else.

A little later, you’re sitting in the lounge area while they play cards. You don’t join — obviously — but you sit on the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling your phone while occasionally glancing at Jack. He keeps looking back at you like he needs to check you’re still there. Like your presence steadies him.

At some point, someone (probably Michael) loses and complains loudly. You sigh through your nose.

Jack walks over, dropping beside you. He rests his head on your shoulder.

“You bored?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “Overstimulated.”

He hums. “Want me to take you home?”

You pause. “You… still want to stay, right?”

He nods.

“Then I’ll stay.”

His head lifts. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“You don’t have to do that.”

You swallow. Vulnerability tastes like glass. “I know.”

He kisses you. It’s soft, gentle, grounding.

Someone wolf whistles.

You flip them off without looking. The room erupts in laughter.

“See?” Jack grins. “They love you.”

“They tolerate me because you do.”

He shakes his head. “No. They tolerate me because you do.”

You don’t respond. You just curl a little closer.

Later, when it’s quieter — when the echo of voices fades and the room feels less like a storm — you relax enough to actually breathe. Dawson plops onto the chair nearby but keeps his voice soft.

“You really don’t like us, huh?”

You think for a second. “I don’t… dislike you. I just… don’t have the energy most days.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Fair.”

There’s no teasing. No pushing. Just acceptance.

You blink.

Huh.

Jack nudges you. “See? Not so bad.”

You sigh. “Don’t get cocky.”

He grins. “Never.”

That’s a lie. He always does.

By the time you finally leave, your social battery is beyond dead. You slump into the passenger seat of Jack’s car like a corpse.

He reaches over, lacing your fingers together on the console.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

“For trying.”

You shrug. “You’re my favorite person. You get special treatment.”

He smiles like he’s never heard anything better in his life.

“I’m your favorite person?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

He squeezes your hand. “Too late.”

You roll your eyes, but lean your head against the window, exhaustion settling into your bones — the heavy, soft kind that only comes after pushing yourself.

“But Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“I only like you.”

He laughs.

“I know.”

And honestly?

Thank you for the request lovely sorry if it took ages I’ve been so busy and I really hope you enjoy it