Somewhere Special

he kicks his shoes off with a grunt, and leaves his suitcase by the door as he always does after a late flight back from an away game. his feet drag him towards the direction of the bedroom.

the sight that greets him wakes him up: you, sprawled on the bed, wearing one of his shirts that’s much too big for you, your white lace panties peeking out from underneath.

already half hard, he crawls into the bed and settles beside you, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. he presses light kisses into the crook of your neck and fights the urge to rut his hips against yours. however, guilt washes over him when your eyes flutter open slowly, sleepily assessing the situation.

“hi baby, i’m sorry for waking you, you can go back to sleep,” he mutters into your neck, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach.

you grumble sleepily back, “i’m so glad you’re home”, and back up into him slightly. he lets out a small whine involuntarily, and grips your hips a little tighter when he feels your ass press against his now fully hard erection. this makes you pause.

“mack?”

“hm?”

“you’re hard, baby.”

he whines again at your words, further burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide the blush that’s spreading up his neck and colouring his cheeks.

“i know,” he responds breathily, subtly starting to grind against you. “you too tired honey? or are you gonna be a good girl and let me get you off?”

his hands start to slide lower down your front until they find your folds, and he groans when his fingers find you slick. you didn’t even realise you were wet.

due to a lack of reply, he repeats his question: “baby? you gonna let me make you feel good?”

you whine, nodding your head eagerly.

“words baby, i need your words,” he coos, his fingers still stroking you over your panties, the damp patch spreading with each feathery touch.

“yes mack please touch me,” you manage to squeeze out, your voice so small it barely makes it out.

with your consent, his fingers slip into your panties and glide through your wet folds, his fingertips immediately circling your clit, making you writhe.

“there we go, so wet waiting for me to come home weren’t you? wearing just my shirt and panties, fuck baby,” he groans out, increasing his speed, then sliding a finger inside of you, curling it to hit your sweet spot.

you moan his name and he swears he could cum in his pants like a teenager just from the sound of your voice. another finger joins the other inside of you, and he pumps them in and out, whilst his other hand slides down and he starts to rub your clit with his middle finger.

you feel that familiar coil building tension inside of you almost embarrassingly fast, and you start whimpering. this indicates to mack that you’re close, and that you won’t need much more to push you over the edge.

“you close baby? you gonna come on my fingers?” he taunts, already knowing the answer.

with the combination of his fingers inside of you and him working on your clit, you can’t find it in you to respond coherently. you just whine, writhing a little bit in his grip.

“good girl, come for me.” he coaxes, and you do, hard, seeing stars. he continues to pump his fingers as you come down from your high, kissing your neck lightly.

“you did so good for me, so so good,” he whispers into your neck, slowly pulling his fingers out, making you whine at the loss.

“shh baby it’s okay, do you want my cock? yeah? you want me to fill you?” he asks softly, stroking your hips.

“please,” you whimper desperately, pressing your ass back against his now throbbing, still clothed cock.

neither having the patience nor the energy to deprive you of what you so desperately need any longer, he slips your panties to the side and pushes his shorts and boxers off hastily at once. he presses just the tip of his dick into your entrance, the stretch making you both groan.

mack starts shallowly thrusting until he bottoms out, and you both moan; the angle of your spooning position meaning that he is thrust so deep inside of you you swear you can feel it in your stomach.

you start rocking your hips, desperate for more friction, and he complies by thrusting his hips into yours, hitting that spot that makes you loudly whine each time.

“you’re so tight around me, baby, making me feel so so good i swear,” he almost whimpers in your ear, sounding as if he is barely keeping it together.

“i’m not gonna last long i’m sorry,” he whines into your neck, and one of his hands that was previously on your hip again slips down and he begins to stimulate your clit, making you both moan as you tighten around him due to the added pleasure.

barely able to function anymore, you’re lazily grinding your hips in tandem with his, trying to get you both there. his thrusts become sloppier and he abandons all rhythm as he approaches his high, his whines increasing in volume.

“i’m close,” you whine, the white hot pleasure close to erupting in your stomach as he continues to hit your sweet spot with each thrust.

“come on baby, come for me again, i know you have it in you,” he increases his speed on your clit, coaxing you to the edge.

pleasure explodes through your body, and you arch your back and moan loudly as you tumble over that edge. mack finishes at the same time, moaning loudly, letting you know just how much he enjoys being inside of you.

he holds you as you come down, slowly thrusting to guide you through.

“you okay baby, hm? you did so good,” he says breathlessly, slowly pulling out of you, making you hiss.

“mhm,” you mumble back sleepily, the energy now completely drained from your body. you lay there limp as mack gets up slowly, crossing to the dresser to get tissues. he returns, gently wiping you down.

after he’s positive you’re both all cleaned up, he climbs into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms, your cheek smushed against his now bare chest.

“sleep now baby, you did so good, i love you.” he whispers softly. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

The first thing everyone knew about you and Jack was that you were never not touching.

It wasn’t even in a dramatic, obnoxious way. It was just… natural.

His hand on the small of your back when you walked through a crowded room. Your fingers hooked through his belt loop while he talked to his friends. His chin resting on your shoulder when he was tired. Your legs thrown over his lap on the couch. His thumb brushing over your knuckles under tables like he was making sure you were still there.

So when Jack started pulling away, everyone noticed.

You noticed first.

At first, you thought maybe he was tired.

The party had been loud, the kind thrown after a stretch of home games where everyone wanted to pretend they weren’t exhausted. Music shook through the house, drinks were balanced on every surface, and half the team was crowded around the living room playing stupid drinking games that always got too personal.

You were sitting beside Jack on the floor, his arm lazily looped around your waist, your back tucked against his chest while Trevor explained the rules to Paranoia for the third time because Nico kept pretending he didn’t understand.

“Okay,” Trevor said, grinning like trouble. “You whisper a question to the person next to you. They answer out loud with someone’s name. Then you flip a coin. If it lands heads, everyone hears the question. If tails, nobody does.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” you said.

Jack’s lips brushed your ear. “That’s why we’re playing.”

You laughed and tilted your head back against him, and he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

For the first few rounds, it was harmless.

“Who would survive a zombie apocalypse?”

“Nico.”

“Who would accidentally marry someone in Vegas?”

“Trevor.”

“Who would cry during a dog movie?”

“Jack.”

“Babe,” Jack complained, while everyone laughed.

“You do cry during dog movies.”

“I get emotional.”

“You cried during Air Bud.”

“Because he was talented.”

Everything was easy. Warm. Familiar.

Then the question came to you.

One of the girls leaned in and whispered near your ear, low enough that only you could hear.

“Other than Jack, who here would you trust the most to take care of you if something bad happened?”

You barely thought about it. The answer was easy.

“Nico,” you said out loud.

Jack’s arms didn’t move from around you, but something in him went still.

The coin flipped.

Heads.

The room erupted before the question was even repeated. Someone slapped the floor. Someone else groaned, already anticipating chaos.

The girl laughed and said, “I asked: other than Jack, who here would she trust the most to take care of her if something bad happened?”

You laughed too, shaking your head. “It said other than Jack!”

But under you, Jack didn’t laugh.

You twisted slightly to look at him. “You good?”

He blinked once, then gave you a quick smile that didn’t look like his. “Yeah. Fine.”

The game moved on.

You believed him.

For about ten minutes.

Because after that, his arm slipped from your waist.

Then he stood up and said he was getting another drink.

Then he didn’t come back.

At first, you assumed he’d gotten caught in a conversation, but when you found him in the kitchen, he was leaning against the counter beside Dawson and Luke, laughing at something one of them said.

You came up beside him and slid your hand around his waist.

Usually, he’d pull you closer without thinking.

This time, he shifted just enough that your hand fell away.

Your stomach dipped.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Hey.” He looked down at you, expression neutral.

“You disappeared.”

“Just talking.”

“Okay.”

You waited for him to touch you. Kiss your forehead. Tug you into his side. Something.

He didn’t.

So you stood there for a few more seconds, suddenly feeling awkward around your own boyfriend.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked.

Jack frowned immediately. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m fine.”

The nickname made it worse somehow. It sounded normal, but he didn’t.

You nodded, swallowing the tight feeling in your throat. “Okay.”

The rest of the night was weird.

Not terrible. Not obvious enough for anyone to call it out directly. But every time you reached for him, he was suddenly busy. Every time you moved closer, he created space. Every time you looked at him for reassurance, he gave you that same quick smile.

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

Except he wasn’t.

And by the time you got back to his apartment, you were exhausted from pretending you didn’t feel it.

Jack went straight to the bedroom, pulling his hoodie over his head.

You stood near the door, watching him. “Jack.”

“Hm?”

“Can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You let out a small breath. “You’ve barely touched me all night.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re tired?”

“Yeah.”

“You pulled away from me in the kitchen.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

His jaw tightened, just slightly. “I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not trying to fight.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. “I’m trying to understand why you’re acting like I did something.”

Jack looked at you for a long second.

Then he looked away.

“You didn’t do anything,” he said.

And that was somehow worse.

Because he kissed your forehead before bed, but it was brief. Automatic. Like something he was checking off a list.

And when he turned over, he didn’t pull you into him.

You lay awake beside him, staring at the ceiling, feeling miles away from the person close enough to touch.

The next morning, it continued.

Jack was polite.

That was the thing that made you feel insane. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t mean. He made you coffee. He asked if you slept okay. He told you he had practice. He kissed your cheek before leaving.

But he didn’t linger.

He didn’t wrap his arms around you from behind while you made toast. He didn’t steal a bite of your food. He didn’t press his cold hands under your shirt just to make you shriek. He didn’t tug you back into bed and mumble, “Five more minutes.”

He was there.

But he wasn’t there.

By the third day, you were unraveling.

You tried giving him space. You tried acting normal. You tried being extra affectionate, thinking maybe he’d melt back into himself.

He didn’t.

At a small get-together at Nico’s apartment later that week, you finally reached your breaking point.

Everyone was scattered around the living room. Jack was on the couch, and you went to sit beside him like you always did. There was enough room. More than enough.

But as soon as you sat, Jack stood.

“I’m gonna grab water,” he said.

You stared at the empty spot beside you.

Your chest tightened so fast it almost hurt.

Across the room, Dawson glanced at you. You looked away before he could see your face.

You lasted maybe thirty seconds.

Then you stood up and walked down the hallway, away from the music, away from the laughter, away from Jack acting like touching you was suddenly something he had to avoid.

You found the guest bathroom and shut the door behind you.

For a moment, you just stood there with your hands gripping the edge of the sink.

Then your face crumpled.

You cried quietly at first, one hand pressed over your mouth because you hated crying at parties. You hated crying around people. You hated feeling like the dramatic girlfriend who couldn’t handle her boyfriend being in a mood.

But it wasn’t just a mood.

It was Jack.

Your Jack.

The person who used to reach for you in his sleep. The person who would pull you onto his lap in a room full of people without thinking twice. The person who once told you, half-asleep and completely serious, “I think I breathe better when you’re close.”

And now he wouldn’t even sit beside you.

A soft knock came at the door.

You froze.

“Occupied,” you called, but your voice betrayed you.

The door cracked open anyway, just a little.

It was Nicole, Nico’s girlfriend, her face immediately softening when she saw you.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered.

You wiped at your cheeks quickly. “I’m fine.”

She gave you a look.

You let out a wet laugh. “Okay. I’m not fine. But please don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t,” she said gently.

But apparently, her definition of “making it a thing” did not include keeping it from Jack.

Because less than two minutes later, the bathroom door flew open.

Jack stood there, pale and panicked.

“Baby?”

Your heart twisted painfully at the sound of his voice.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, eyes scanning your face like he was looking for an injury.

“What happened?” he asked quickly. “Are you hurt? Did someone say something to you?”

You turned away from him, embarrassed. “No.”

“Then what’s wrong?” His voice softened, but the panic stayed. “Talk to me. Please.”

You laughed once, bitterly, wiping your cheeks again. “Now you want to talk to me?”

Jack went still.

You regretted it instantly, but you were too hurt to take it back.

His brows pulled together. “What?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for days, Jack.”

“I haven’t—”

“Yes, you have.” Your voice broke. “You have, and every time I ask, you tell me you’re fine, but you’re not. You barely touch me. You leave when I sit next to you. You act like being near me bothers you.”

His face fell.

“That’s not—”

“It is.” Tears spilled over again, and you hated that you couldn’t stop them. “And I don’t even know what I did. I keep replaying everything in my head, trying to figure it out, and you won’t just tell me. You keep saying nothing’s wrong, but something is clearly wrong, and I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Jack’s lips parted, but no words came out.

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“I don’t cry like this,” you whispered. “You know I don’t. But you made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to touch my own boyfriend anymore.”

That broke him.

His expression cracked wide open.

“Baby,” he breathed.

He reached for you, then hesitated like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

That hurt too.

You looked at his hand, then back at his face. “See?”

His eyes shut briefly.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

You waited.

Jack dragged both hands through his hair, visibly fighting with himself.

“It was the game,” he finally said.

You blinked. “What?”

“The paranoia game. At the party.” His voice was quiet now, rough around the edges. “The question. You said Nico.”

You stared at him, confused. “Because the question was other than you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I know that now,” he said, looking ashamed. “I heard it. I did. But when you answered so fast, I just…” He swallowed. “It got in my head.”

Your hurt softened slightly, but not completely.

“Jack.”

“I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it hurt you,” you said quietly. “But you should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to sound insecure.”

“So instead you made me feel like you didn’t want me anymore?”

His face crumpled.

“No,” he said immediately. “No, baby, never. That’s not what I wanted. I was being an idiot.”

You leaned back against the sink, exhausted. “Why did it bother you so much?”

Jack looked down.

For a second, he looked younger. Less like the confident, cocky hockey player everyone saw and more like the boy who cared too much and didn’t always know what to do with it.

“Because I want to be that person for you,” he said. “The first person. The safest person. The one you trust when something bad happens.”

“You are,” you said.

His eyes flicked up.

“You are, Jack. That’s why I didn’t say your name. Because the question specifically said other than you. In my head, you weren’t even an option because you were already the answer.”

He stared at you.

Your voice softened. “I said Nico because he’s calm. Because if you were hurt too, or if you couldn’t get to me, I’d trust him to handle things. Not because I trust him more than you. Not because he means more. Not because I’d choose him over you.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, but this time it wasn’t anger. It was emotion.

“You’re my person,” you said. “I thought you knew that.”

“I do,” he whispered.

“Then why didn’t you act like it?”

He stepped closer. “Because I got jealous and embarrassed and then I doubled down because I didn’t know how to admit that a stupid drinking game hurt my feelings.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Then you said, “You really hurt mine.”

“I know.” His voice broke slightly. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He reached for you again, slower this time.

You let him.

The second his hands touched your waist, your body betrayed you. You melted into him like you’d been waiting days for it.

Jack pulled you in tightly, one arm around your back, the other hand cradling the back of your head. He tucked his face into your neck and held you like he was trying to apologize with every part of himself.

“I hated this,” you whispered against his shoulder.

“I know.”

“You were so cold.”

“I know, baby.”

“I kept thinking you were sick of me.”

Jack pulled back fast, his hands moving to your face.

“Never,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me? Never. I am so stupid in love with you it’s embarrassing.”

You sniffled, trying not to smile. “You have a terrible way of showing it.”

“I know.” He wiped under your eyes with his thumbs. “I’ll do better. I swear. Next time I’m upset, I’ll tell you.”

“Even if it’s embarrassing?”

“Especially if it’s embarrassing.”

“Even if Trevor makes fun of you?”

Jack grimaced. “Okay, maybe not in front of Trevor.”

You let out a small laugh, and relief washed over his face like sunlight.

“There she is,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes weakly. “Don’t be cute. I’m still mad.”

“That’s fair.”

“You have to make it up to me.”

“I will.”

“You have to be extra clingy.”

His mouth twitched. “That’s your punishment for me?”

“Yes.”

“Baby, that’s a reward.”

You huffed, but this time when he leaned in, you didn’t stop him.

His kiss was soft at first, apologetic and careful. Then his arms tightened around you, and he kissed you again, deeper, like he’d been missing you just as much as you’d been missing him.

When you both finally left the bathroom, Jack didn’t let go of your hand.

Not in the hallway.

Not in the living room.

Not when Trevor raised his eyebrows and said, “Everything good?”

Jack just pulled you into his side and kissed the top of your head.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re good.”

You leaned into him, still a little puffy-eyed, still a little hurt, but no longer scared.

A few minutes later, Jack sat back down on the couch and tugged you into his lap without hesitation.

You gave him a look. “Subtle.”

He wrapped both arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Don’t care.”

Nico glanced over, amused. “You two okay?”

Jack pointed at him. “You’re still on thin ice.”

Nico blinked. “What did I do?”

You laughed, covering your face.

Jack kissed your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your temple.

“Nothing,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “He’s just dramatic.”

Jack squeezed you tighter.

Sid:

Leaving with the guys, did your dinner come?

You:

Yes, it’s me, Chinese, and my show

Sid:

Maybe I’ll just come by you instead

You:

Go out with your team, captain

You smirk at the nickname, knowing it normally makes his face red when you call him that. And even in your crop top and shorts you feel hot at the thought, and you groan while trying to shove images of your best friend far from your mind.

It takes less than an hour for Sidney to text again, and you smirk when you read the messages.

Sid:

Not sure how well whiskey and the guys mix

You:

You sure it’s the guys it doesn’t mix well with? Or is it you

Sid:

Maybe a bit of both

Then, you’re just throwing away empty Chinese cartons when another text comes through.

Sid:

You’d tease Geno about his shirt tonight

You:

Why’s that?

You reply back, and laugh when you read his response.

Sid:

It’s got little penguins all over it

You smirk, laughing a bit as you type out your response.

You:

A bit on the nose, don’t you think?

Sid:

Maybe I’ll borrow it sometime

You:

That shirt is not allowed in my house

Sid:

So what happens if I come over wearing it?

You:

Who are you and what have you done with my stoic best friend?

Sid:

He’s me

You:

Well captain if you did, I’d make you take it off

Sid:

I’m going to borrow it

You bite your lip for a second, the flirting making your chest tighten in the best possibly way. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you guys to do this, actually, it was very much in the ordinary. And each time you both get a bit less nervous about the things you say.

By 10pm, you’ve missed a few texts.

Sid:

This place is so loud, I’d much rather be watching you fawn over that guy in your tv show

Sid:

They have those fruity drinks you love

Sid:

Geno’s being an ass

Sid:

I’m definitely not being needy

You:

You? Needy? Never!

Sid:

Don’t make me come over there

You shake your head, sending Sidney a picture of yourself looking very unamused by that threat.

Sid:

Fuck

You:

You okay?

This response took a second, the bubble appearing, disappearing and appearing again before he responds with,

Sid:

Not after that picture

You:

Sid?

But he didn’t respond, not for a long while anyway. And you stare at the picture you sent, looking over your makeup free face, your black crop top, your shorts, the shine of your belly button piercing evident under the kitchen lights.

And it’s not until almost midnight that your phone lights up from him.

Sid:

Okay. Leaving

You:

Heading home?

Sid:

Home, yeah

You laugh, able to tell he’s obviously drunk, but you set your phone down on the counter top as you go to make tea. You’re deep in your own head when the doorbell rings. 12:16am, your stove tells you, and you furrow your brows at who the hell is at your house at this hour. But then your phone once again lights up.

Kris:

It’s us. Please open the door he’s getting heavy

You set everything down immediately, rushing towards the door as you unlock it and swing it open.

In front of you, on your front step, is Geno, Sid, and Kris. Both Geno and Kris’s arms holding Sidney up.

“Oh my.” You say, eyes widening at your best friend.

“Hi.” Sidney says, his eyes latching onto yours as he gives you a very drunk smile.

“Hi, Sid.” You say with a laugh, immediately moving to the side so Geno and Kris could bring him in.

“We tried.” Geno says, grunting as they haul him in and set Sidney onto your couch. “I say, Sid, we take you home now. He says no. Kris says, come on, you need sleep. He says no. Then he gives your address.”

Your gaze turns to Sid, who’s looking very flushed and very sheepish on your couch.

“I know it.” He says, tapping his temple, and Geno and Kris both look down so they don’t outright laugh at their very drunk captain.

You roll your eyes, walking towards the kitchen to grab him a glass of water, as you return his eyes travel from your face, down to your stomach. And they stay there.

“Sidney.” You say, and he moves, but his eyes stay glued in place. “My eyes are up here.” You say, and that breaks his concentration. “Were you just staring at my belly button piercing?” You ask with a laugh, and Sidney opens his mouth to respond, but it takes a second for words to come out.

“Yeah.” He finally says, no embarrassment behind it.

“You’ve seen it before you know.” You joke, thinking back to all the times you’ve been in a swimsuit or in a crop top during blistering hot summer days.

“Yeah.” He says, very seriously. “But usually I notice it and then I have to pretend I didn’t.”

The truth slips out and the three sober people all freeze. You bite back a laugh before turning to the two penguins players.

“Thank you for getting him here safely.” You say, and you follow Geno and Kris to the door.

“Text if he become worse.” Geno says, and you just smile and nod, closing the door gently behind them and locking it once more.

You head back to Sidney whose head is thrown back on your couch, his eyes closed.

“Sid.” You say gently, and he opens his eyes, blinking slowly trying to focus his vision.

“Let’s get you to bed.” You say, and he nods, before you reach out to help him stand. He stumbles almost immediately, and you plant your hand across his chest as you help steady him.

“Sorry.” He whispers, and you smile lightly, motioning for him to lean into you as much as he needs as you both slowly make your way to the bedroom.

He stares into the room as you make it past the door, and he gives out a heavy sigh.

“What?” You ask him, and he gives you a drunk smile.

“Smells good in here.”

“Smells like what?” You ask, helping him sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Home.” He says, his eyes so drunk and sparkly as he stares up at you.

Your heart squeezes, and for a second you want to lean down, to kiss his lips. But then you remind yourself that he’s drunk, and he’s your best friend. So you bite back your smile, hoping he doesn’t see it.

“Alright, you.” You say, motioning to his outfit. “Jacket off let’s go.”

He groans with a smile, but slowly starts removing his arms, he gets them stuck for a moment, and you hold the jacket still so he can fully pull his arms out.

“Shirt next.” You say, happy that the lights are dim in your bedroom so he doesn’t see the blush on your cheeks at your words. But you know there’s bound to be some sort of alcohol on his shirt, so it’s next to go.

His fingers fumble over the buttons, and he grunts in frustration.

“Y/N.” He says, looking at you again.

“Alright superstar, let me.” You say, your fingers moving down his chest, unbuttoning it carefully. You try your hardest to keep your eyes off of his chest, off of his abs, off of the chain you fantasize about more than you’d like to admit.

But you can tell Sidney is fully aware of you. Aware of your breathing, aware of your tongue wetting your lips as you work, aware of how his legs bracket you. And Sidney is so painfully aware that the person he’s in love with is undressing him, the shine of your piercing that he longs to kiss on his way down between your thighs is right in front of him.

“Arms.” You say, motioning for him to unfurl his grip from the edge of your bed so you could take the shirt off.

He listens to you, and you’re careful as you slide it off.

“Think you can manage your jeans?” You ask him, grabbing a spare set of shorts he left here one day, and handing them over.

“What if I say I can’t?” Sidney says, drunk confidence radiating off of him.

“Then I guess Geno can turn that car around and come help you.” You say in a teasing tone, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

Sidney laughs deeply, swaying a bit as he stands, and you turn around. You hear the shuffling, the unzipping of his jeans and the sound of soft swears as he gets the shorts on.

“Decent.” He says, and you turn around and blush instantly. The black shorts are tilted on his body. The hem pulled up high on his left side, while the right side sits very .. very .. low on his hips. His abs move as you stare, and your eyes trace the v-line leading down into his shorts.

“Jesus.” You say, and before you can even tell him to fix it, you find yourself doing it for him. You pull up one side, while lowering the other just a touch so the shorts sit horizontally on his hips.

“Sweetheart.” He mumbles, and you flush even worse at the nickname.

“Bed.” You say, only able to say one word due to how distracted you are. You pull down the comforter and sheet, and watch as Sidney slides in like he’s done it a thousand times. His face pressing down into your pillow, and a silly smile covers his lips.

“Smells like you.”

“So you’ve said.”

He hums, and you sigh.

“You need anything else?” You ask, pulling the comforter up a bit more.

“Where are you going?” He asks, sounding sad and panicked.

“The couch?” You respond with a question.

“No you’re not.” He says, and you laugh in a teasing way.

“Oh yes I am.”

“Stay.” He says, and the softness makes your knees buckle.

“Sid-“

“Please. Please stay.” He begs softly, and finally let out a sigh as you nod. Turning off one of the lights and crawling into your bed on the other side.

The sheets are cold, but you can feel his body heat radiating from where he’s laying. Sidney lasts all of five seconds before he’s pulling you towards him. One arm around your waist, the other curling into you along with the rest of him. This head lands on your chest, his legs beside yours under the sheets. And like you’ve done this a thousand times, like it was second nature, your arms go around him. One hand planting itself in his dark curls, the other stroking up and down his back.

Sidney shifts, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of your crop top, his hair brushing your chin.

“Your heart is beating fast.” He mumbles.

“That’s because you’re heavy.”

“No.” He says, calling you on your lie immediately. “You’re nervous.”

“You’re drunk and shirtless in my bed, Sid. I think I’m allowed to be a little nervous.” You say, and he is quiet for a moment. Before his body relaxes as you run your fingers through his curls slowly, scratching gently at his scalp.

“There you go.” You whisper, and your best friend melts further into you. You keep going, your other hand moving to rub into the muscles of his bare shoulder. And Sidney groans deeply into your chest. “Feels good?” You question, and Sid nods against your chest.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, his grip tightening slightly on your waist.

“Of course, superstar.” You whisper, and his shoulders shake once lightly before his breathing gets deeper, his fingers still holding you but a bit more relaxed than a few moments prior.

The bottle of wine between you and Macklin on the couch is half-empty and the comfortable buzz in your veins has your tongue looser than usual.

"I have a date tonight," you announce, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass.

Macklin, who's been scrolling aimlessly on his phone, looks up with a raised eyebrow. "A date? With who? Do I know him?"

"Nope," you say, popping the p and taking a smug sip. "And that's the best part. It's completely, deliciously anonymous."

He sets his phone down, giving you his full attention. "Anonymous? What, did you find him on a street corner?"

"Better," you grin. "A chat room. A very… specific kind of chat room."

His expression shifts from mild curiosity to genuine intrigue. "Oh yeah? How specific?"

You lean in, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Let's just say the conversation topics weren't exactly about hockey stats or the weather. It was… dirty. And this guy, 'HockeyFan71'? His imagination is incredible. The things he says he wants to do…" You trail off, fanning yourself dramatically. "Let's just say I'm packing a bag for a hotel later."

Macklin's jaw is tight. He runs a hand through his messy hair, his easy-going smile completely gone. "You're meeting a stranger from the internet for sex? In a hotel? Are you insane?"

"I'm not insane, I'm horny," you correct him. "And it's safe. I told my sister the name of the hotel and the room number. I'm being smart about it. But god, Mack, the way he talks… It's been so long since I've been properly fucked and I have a feeling he's going to deliver."

He's silent for a long moment, just staring at you. His eyes are dark, unreadable. "And you have no idea who he is?"

"Not a clue," you say cheerfully. "And that's the thrill. Now, are you going to help me pick an outfit or are you just going to sit there judging me?"

The hotel room is nicer than you expected, all crisp white linens and muted gold accents. You've just lit the vanilla-scented candle you brought and are adjusting the strap on your black lace teddy when a firm knock echoes through the room.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, a cocktail of nerves and pure adrenaline. This is it. You take a deep breath and open the door.

And freeze.

Standing in the hallway is Macklin. He's wearing a black hoodie and jeans, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes, wide and fixed on your face.

"Macklin?" you breathe, the name a choked whisper.

"Hey," he says, his voice rough. He looks past you into the room, then back at you, his gaze dropping to your lace-clad body before snapping back to your eyes. "I, uh… I think you're my date for tonight."

A laugh, slightly hysterical, bubbles up from your chest. "What? Mack, you're HockeyFan71?"

He has the decency to look sheepish, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "In my defense, I didn't know it was you. Your username was just 'AnonGirl99'."

"And you didn't think to mention, 'Oh by the way, it's me, Macklin, your best friend who's currently sitting on your couch' when I told you about my date earlier?" you ask, your voice rising with disbelief.

"I was going to!" he insists, running a hand through his hair again. "But then the conversation got… intense. And by the time I realized I should say something, it felt too weird. I was just going to show up and figure it out."

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken words. All those late-night chats, all those filthy fantasies you'd shared with a faceless stranger, were with him. Your Macklin. The same guy who watched trashy reality shows with you and brought you soup when you were sick.

"So," you say, breaking the tension, your voice softer now. "All that stuff you said… about wanting to bend me over the bed and eat me out until I couldn't remember my own name?"

His eyes darken, the shock giving way to something else, something hungry and familiar. It's the same look he gets on the ice right before he scores. "I meant every word."

The admission hangs in the air between you, electric and charged. The line between friend and stranger has completely dissolved, leaving only the raw, undeniable attraction that's been simmering beneath the surface for months.

"Well," you say, stepping back and gesturing for him to come inside. "Are you going to stand in the hallway all night or are you going to show me?"

He doesn't need to be asked twice. The door clicks shut behind him, and then he's on you, his hands cupping your face as his mouth crashes down on yours. The kiss is nothing like the friendly pecks he's given you on your cheek before. It's hungry, demanding, his tongue delving into your mouth with an expertise that makes your knees weak.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he groans against your lips, his hands roaming down your body to grip your ass through the lace. "All those times you'd tell me about your dates, I wanted to kill those guys."

"They had nothing on you, HockeyFan71," you gasp as his mouth moves to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

He chuckles, a low, dirty sound that vibrates against your skin. "You have no idea." He picks you up as if you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bed, laying you down against the crisp white sheets.

He stands back for a moment, just looking at you, his eyes dark with lust. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined."

He sheds his hoodie and t-shirt in one fluid motion, revealing the toned, muscular chest you've seen a hundred times but never allowed yourself to truly appreciate. He's perfect. And he's looking at you like you're a five-course meal.

"Remember what I said I was going to do to you?" he asks, crawling onto the bed and settling between your thighs.

"Vividly," you breathe, your body already trembling with anticipation.

"Good," he smirks. "Because I'm a man of my word."

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your lace panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. His eyes never leave yours as he settles himself, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs apart. And then he leans down and the first touch of his tongue against your clit is so exquisite you cry out, your back arching off the bed.

He doesn't start slow, no gentle exploration. He devours you. His mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue flat against your clit, lapping at you with a hunger that borders on feral. One of his hands presses firmly on your lower stomach, holding you down, while the other grips your thigh, pushing your leg wider, opening you completely to his ministrations.

"Mack," you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the thick strands.

He groans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He uses the hand on your thigh to push your leg even higher, spreading you impossibly wide. He's holding you open, exposed and vulnerable and the raw possessiveness of the act sends a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.

"You taste so fucking good," he rasps, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. This time, his tongue is more pointed, tracing circles around your clit before flicking it rapidly. "Better than I ever imagined."

Your hips begin to move of their own accord, grinding against his face, seeking more of the friction, more of the pressure that's driving you insane. He meets your movements with enthusiasm, his tongue working you relentlessly, his nose pressing against your pubic bone as he eats you out like he's starving.

"Right there, oh god, right there," you pant, pulling his hair harder, guiding him to the spot that makes your toes curl. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

He slides two fingers inside you and the stretch is exquisite. He curls them immediately, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves on the first try. He pumps his fingers in time with his tongue, a perfect, devastating rhythm that has you hurtling toward the edge at a terrifying speed.

"That's it, baby," he growls against you, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Come for me. Let me feel you come on my face."

The command is your undoing. A white-hot heat builds low in your belly, a tightening, coiling sensation that steals your breath. Your entire body tenses, your back arching off the bed as you grind your hips against his mouth, desperate for that final push.

"Mack!" The name is torn from your throat, a ragged, desperate cry. "Mack, I'm..."

The world splinters. The tension snaps and pleasure so intense it borders on pain floods your senses. Your vision whites out, your ears ringing as your orgasm crashes over you, violent and all-consuming. Your muscles spasm, your thighs clamping around his head as wave after wave of ecstasy rolls through you. You're shaking, sobbing his name, completely at the mercy of the pleasure he's wringing from your body.

He doesn't stop. He works you through it, his tongue and fingers drawing out your release until you're a whimpering, boneless mess beneath him. Only when you collapse back against the sheets, completely spent, does he slow his movements, finally placing a gentle, lingering kiss on your oversensitive clit before pulling back.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, his chin glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with a primal satisfaction that makes your stomach clench all over again. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face.

------

LUKE

The first thing anyone noticed about the two of you was that Luke was always touching you.

A hand on your lower back, your fingers intertwined, his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting on your head. He wasn't particularly aware he was doing it anymore. It was simply where he felt most comfortable.

Close enough to know you were there, and most importantly, close enough to steal a kiss whenever he wanted.

Which... happened often.

Luke's favorite place to kiss you wasn't your lips.

He loved kissing you there, obviously, but that wasn't the place he sought out without thinking.

It was your forehead.

It had started before either of you were even dating, back when he was trying very hard not to admit how hopelessly in love with you he was.

You'd hug him goodbye after weekends in New Jersey. He'd hesitate, then lean down and press the quickest little kiss against your forehead before pretending he'd meant to do something else.

You noticed every single time. Eventually, it stopped being hesitant.

Now it happened dozens of times a day. If you walked into the room, forehead kiss. If he passed you in the hallway, forehead kiss. Leaving for practice, forehead kiss. Getting home, forehead kiss.

Before bed… Another one. Sometimes three.

He said it made him feel like he was making sure you were okay. Grounding himself. Making sure you were real. There was something about the way you always closed your eyes for half a second when he did it.

You trusted him completely, and you knew exactly what was coming.

He adored that.

----

"You know you don't have to kiss my forehead every twelve minutes."

Luke looked genuinely confused. "I don't?"

"No."

He thought about it. "I think I do."

You laughed. "Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I just like checking on you."

"You can check on me with words."

"I could." Another kiss. "But this is faster."

The forehead kisses changed depending on the moment. Quick little pecks while walking through grocery stores. Longer ones when you were anxious.

Lingering ones when he was leaving for road trips. Those were different; those lasted several seconds. 

He'd cradle your face in both hands, rest his forehead against yours first, then kiss the center of your forehead so softly it almost didn't feel real, it was like he was trying to memorize you.

"I'll be back before you know it."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

One more kiss. Always one more.

----

After the accident the forehead kisses became even more meaningful.

The first time he was finally allowed to lean over your hospital bed after you'd woken up enough to recognize him, he couldn't bring himself to kiss your lips. Not with all the tubes. Not with how fragile everything felt.

Instead, he rested one shaky hand against your hairline, closed his eyes, and kissed your forehead. The same place he'd kissed a thousand times before. Only this time, his shoulders started shaking halfway through. You couldn't say anything yet, couldn't move very much, but your fingers found his wrist and held on.

He cried into your hair for several minutes, and ever since then, the forehead kisses meant I'm here. You're safe. I still have you.

----

Your favorite thing was pretending to be busy just to see if he'd notice. You'd stand at the kitchen counter making coffee. He'd wander in, wrap his arms around your waist, and without missing a beat, kiss you on the forehead.

"Predictable." You giggled

"I know."

"You literally do it every day."

"I know."

"So why do I keep standing here?"

He smiled against your skin. "Cause you like it."

"Maybe."

Ironically, Luke's favorite place to be kissed wasn't his lips either.

It was his jaw.

Specifically, right below it, just behind the corner where it met his neck, and you discovered it completely by accident.

One night, you were curled up together watching a movie. Luke had you tucked against his side, completely invested in absolutely nothing happening on the television because he'd spent the last twenty minutes watching you instead.

You shifted, reached up, and absentmindedly pressed a kiss against his jaw while adjusting yourself.

Luke froze.

You blinked. "You okay?"

"Do that again."

"What?"

"You know what."

You smiled, slowly leaned up, and kissed the same spot again, this time lingering just a little longer.

Luke actually let out the tiniest sigh. Like every muscle in his body relaxed all at once.

After that you started noticing.

Whenever he was overwhelmed after a rough game, and you'd kiss his jaw, his shoulders would drop. 

Whenever he was stressed, jaw kiss. When he couldn't sleep, jaw kiss.

He melted every single time.

"You are ridiculous."

"I know."

"You act like I pressed a reset button."

"You kinda did."

Luke eventually admitted why. "When you kiss me there–” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. "I can't really explain it."

"Try."

"It–" He searched for the words. "It makes me feel–” He smiled sheepishly. "taken care of, I guess."

Your expression softened. "Really?"

He nodded. "I spend a lot of time trying to take care of you."

"I know."

"When you kiss me there," His ears turned pink. "it's one of the only moments where my brain completely shuts off."

"You don't have to think."

"You just," He smiled. "love me."

----

After that conversation, it became your favorite place to kiss him because you knew exactly what it meant to him.

Sometimes you'd be walking through the house, he'd pass by carrying laundry, you'd catch his wrist, pull him back just enough to place one quick kiss against his jaw.

Nothing more.

He'd stop walking every single time his eyes closed for the briefest second. Then he'd smile at you. "Thank you."

"For what?"

He'd shake his head. "You know."

And you did. It wasn't about the kiss itself. It was the feeling behind it.

The same way his forehead kisses always silently said, You're safe.

Your jaw kisses always answered back with something just as important. 

So are you.

----------------------

JACK

Jack had kissed you in plenty of places. Your forehead when he passed you in the kitchen. Your temple when you fell asleep on his shoulder during movie nights. The tip of your nose, because he thought it was funny when you scrunched it afterward. The top of your head whenever he hugged you. Your hand when you were nervous. Your cheek just to make you smile, but none of those ever compares to your lips.

It wasn't even close.

Jack loved kissing you, not dramatic, movie-style kisses every time. Just... your lips.

Soft little pecks while walking past each other, quick kisses before leaving the house, the absentminded ones while waiting for the microwave, the "I'm listening, keep talking" kisses where he'd interrupt your sentence for half a second before letting you continue.

Sometimes he'd cup your face with both hands like you were the most precious thing he'd ever held, smiling into the kiss before stealing another.

"You already kissed me."

"I know."

"Then why are you doing it again?"

"'Cause I wanted another one."

"You literally had one."

"And now I have two."

You'd laugh every single time. He'd grin like he'd won something.

Jack especially loved when you were distracted.

If you were reading on the couch, he'd lean over and kiss you. If you were cooking, he'd gently tilt your chin up for one quick peck before wandering away as if nothing had happened.

If you were brushing your teeth, he'd stand in the doorway waiting.

"You're staring."

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Wanna kiss you."

"I've got toothpaste in my mouth."

"I'll wait."

"You are unbelievable."

"I know."

The second you rinsed your mouth, he was already there.

He also had a habit of lingering. A quick kiss somehow became two, then three, then one where neither of you actually pulled away.

Your noses brushed together. His forehead rested against yours.

"You done?" you'd whisper.

"No."

"You've been kissing me for like five minutes."

"So?"

"So... breathe."

"I am breathing."

"Barely."

"Worth it."

----

His favorite moments weren't the planned romantic ones. They were the ordinary kisses.

The ones that happened because you happened to walk into the same room, because one of you looked at the other, because life felt a little better with your lips against his.

Those were his favorites because they never felt forced. They were simply home.

----

Ironically, Jack wasn't nearly as picky about where you kissed him.

He loved all of it.

His jaw. His cheeks. His forehead. His neck. His shoulder, but if he had to pick one place, it was his chest.

You discovered it by accident. Jack had come home exhausted after a long road trip. He'd showered, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and collapsed onto the couch shirtless with a tired sigh.

You climbed onto the cushions beside him without saying anything. He opened one arm automatically and you tucked yourself against him, resting your head over his heartbeat.

Neither of you spoke. After a few quiet minutes, you pressed one tiny kiss against the center of his chest.

Jack froze. "What?"

You looked up. "What?"

"You..." He blinked. "Do that again."

You laughed. "I kissed you."

"I know, do it again."

You leaned forward and placed another tiny kiss right over his heart.

Jack let out the softest sigh you'd ever heard from him. His hand found the back of your head, his fingers disappeared into your hair. "That's nice."

"Nice?"

"Really nice."

"You look like you're about to fall asleep."

"I might."

After that, it became a habit without either of you realizing it. Whenever you hugged him, you'd sneak in a quick kiss against his chest. Whenever he was lying on the couch, your lips would brush against his skin before settling down beside him.

Sometimes you'd rest your cheek there afterward, listening to the steady rhythm beneath your ear, but every single time, Jack melted.

Later that night, while you were getting ready for bed, you caught Jack watching you.

"What?"

He smiled softly. "Come here."

You walked over. He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his forehead against yours.

Before you could ask what he wanted he tipped your chin up and kissed your lips.

When he finally pulled back, he smiled that quiet smile reserved only for you.

"Favorite place," he murmured.

You smiled back. "My lips?"

He nodded. "The rest are pretty great..." Another quick kiss. "But nothing beats these."

You laughed, leaning into him. Without another word, you pressed one last kiss over his heart.

Jack closed his eyes with a contented smile. "See?"

You looked up. "See what?"

"You have a favorite place, too."

-------------------------------

FRASER

Fraser's favorite place to kiss you wasn't your lips. It surprised everyone when they found out. If someone asked, they'd assume he'd say your forehead because he adored how peaceful you looked, or your cheeks because they made you laugh every time he peppered them with quick little kisses.

No. It was your neck.

One night after practice, you were curled up against him on the couch, half asleep, while he watched some documentary you had absolutely no interest in. Your head had slowly drifted onto his shoulder, exposing the side of your neck.

Without thinking, he'd leaned over and pressed a soft kiss just beneath your ear. You'd sighed, content. The kind of quiet sigh someone lets out when they finally feel completely safe.

Fraser had frozen. "Was that okay?"

You'd smiled without opening your eyes. "Mhm."

So he'd done it again. Another gentle kiss. Then another. From that day on, it became second nature.

Whenever he hugged you from behind while you baked, his lips found your neck. When he picked you up after class and wrapped his arms around your waist, there'd be a kiss against the side of your neck before he'd even say hello.

When you were standing together waiting for the elevator, slow dancing in the kitchen, and when he whispered goodnight.

It wasn't possessive; it was simply where he felt closest to you. Sometimes he'd rest his forehead there afterward, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo while his arms stayed snug around your waist.

"You smell like vanilla."

"I've been baking all day."

"I know."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It isn't." He'd grin before sneaking in another kiss.

----

It became so automatic that eventually you started expecting it. If he walked past you without kissing your neck, you'd actually stop.

"Are you mad at me?"

He'd blink. "What?"

"You forgot."

"I forgot what?"

"My neck kiss."

He'd stare for a second before laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. "I forgot your neck kiss?"

"You did."

"My deepest apologies." Then he'd dramatically cup your face, lean down, and place three exaggerated kisses along your neck.

"There."

"You missed one."

"I missed one?"

"Mhm."

He'd sigh with the exaggerated exhaustion of a man burdened by impossible expectations before giving you one more. "There."

"Perfect."

"You are unbelievably spoiled."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Mine."

"Exactly."

----

Your favorite place to kiss Fraser, however, caught him completely off guard.

It wasn't his lips, cheek, or even the back of his neck. It was the little V-line just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

You discovered it on a lazy Sunday morning. Fraser was standing at the kitchen counter, making coffee in a pair of gray sweats that sat low on his hips, one of his old Bruins T-shirts pushed up slightly as he reached for a mug.

You wandered over, wrapped your arms around him from behind, and absentmindedly pressed a tiny kiss against the exposed skin there.

He stopped moving, coffee forgotten.

"Ducky."

"Hm?"

"What was that?"

"A kiss?"

His ears turned bright red. "Oh."

You blinked. "...Oh?"

He cleared his throat. "I... uh..."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Do that again."

You laughed. "Were you just politely asking for another kiss?"

"Maybe."

So you did, you leaned down and placed another soft kiss on his v-line. His shoulders visibly relaxed.

"You like that, Bear?"

"I... do."

"A lot?"

"A concerning amount."

It quickly became your secret weapon.

Whenever he was stressed before a game, you'd wrap your arms around him from behind while he got dressed and leave one quick kiss there. Whenever he'd been gone on a road trip. Whenever he'd had a rough practice. Whenever you simply walked by him at home.

Every single time, he'd glance back over his shoulder with the same bashful smile. One that looked entirely too sweet for a six-foot-three hockey player.

"You know," Charlie teased one afternoon after Fraser had wandered into the locker room looking suspiciously flustered, "for someone who gets hit by grown men for a living, you're incredibly easy to embarrass."

Fraser scratched the back of his neck. "Shut up."

Jeremy laughed. "What'd she do this time?"

Fraser shook his head. "I'm taking that to my grave."

Which, of course, only made everyone even more curious. You never told them. Neither did Fraser. Some things belonged to just the two of you, and honestly, the smile that always appeared on his face afterward was worth keeping that little secret.

------------

BONUS QUINN

Quinn wasn't especially dramatic about affection.

He wasn't the kind of guy who needed every moment to be a grand romantic gesture or an over-the-top display. Most of the time, his love showed up in quiet ways, his hand finding yours without thinking, brushing your hair out of your face, standing just a little closer than necessary whenever the two of you were out together, but there was one habit he'd developed that always made you smile.

Whenever you hugged him, his lips somehow ended up resting against the top of your chest, just above the neckline of whatever you were wearing.

You were both exhausted after a long road trip. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he buried his face against you before he pressed a quick kiss there. Neither of you thought much of it. Until he started doing it all the time.

If you were making coffee and he wandered into the kitchen still half asleep. If you greeted him after he'd been away for a road trip. Standing in the hallway before leaving for dinner. 

Sometimes it was barely more than his lips lingering for half a second. Other times he'd smile against your skin before resting his forehead there for a moment like he'd finally made it home.

"You know," you teased one afternoon, "most people kiss their girlfriend on the cheek."

Quinn looked up from where he'd been hugging you. "I do."

"You kiss my forehead too."

"Mhm."

"My nose."

"Yep."

"My hand."

"Correct."

You laughed. "So why here?"

He shrugged with that little smile he got whenever he couldn't quite explain something. "I don't know."

"You don't?"

"No." He looked genuinely thoughtful. "It's just... comfortable."

"Comfortable?"

"You hug me..." He rested his chin lightly against your shoulder. "...and that's where I end up."

You raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying gravity made you romantic?"

"I'm saying I got lucky."

"You are such a dork."

"I've been told."

The truth was, he loved how natural it felt. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't something he even realized he was doing anymore. It was simply the place that felt closest whenever you wrapped yourself around him. The place that reminded him he was loved.

As much as Quinn loved giving those absentminded little kisses, there was one place that absolutely unraveled him whenever you returned the favor.

His neck.

He'd been sitting beside you on the couch after practice, hair still damp from his shower, lazily scrolling through something on his phone while you leaned against his shoulder.

You wanted his attention, so instead of saying anything you leaned over and pressed a tiny kiss beneath his jaw.

Quinn froze. His thumb stopped moving across his screen. "What was that?"

"What?"

"You know exactly what."

You blinked innocently. "I kissed you."

"You..." He cleared his throat. "Could you maybe do it again?"

You tried not to laugh. "Seriously?"

His ears were turning pink. "Maybe."

So you did. Another soft kiss. Then another. His shoulders dropped as he let out the quietest sigh.

"You're impossible," you whispered.

"I'm aware."

"You melted."

"Yes, I did."

After that, it became your secret weapon. If Quinn was stressed after a rough game, a kiss against his neck. If he'd been buried in film sessions all day. If he was overthinking something, as he so often did, you'd wrap your arms around him from behind and brush your lips beneath his jaw.

Every single time, the tension seemed to disappear from his shoulders.

"You cheat," he'd mumble, trying, and failing, to sound annoyed.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do."

"I was just giving my boyfriend a kiss."

"That's dirty."

"It's a kiss."

"It's where you kiss me."

You grinned. "So I was right."

He looked away. "Maybe."

"You have a weak spot."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't announce that."

"Oh, I'm announcing that."

He groaned into your shoulder. "I'm never winning another argument."

"Nope."

"You'll just kiss my neck."

"Mhm."

"And I'll forget what we were talking about."

"Exactly."

Quinn laughed quietly before pulling you closer. "I really tell you too much."

"You do."

"Worst mistake of my life."

"Getting my boyfriend's brother to open my door instead."

Luke had absolutely no idea. That was the important part.

Jack, however, had agreed before you'd even finished explaining the trend. He'd been sitting on the couch eating pretzels when you asked.

His eyes lit up. "This is gonna be the funniest thing we've ever done."

"You have to commit."

Jack looked genuinely offended that you'd even question him. "I always commit."

-----

The three of you had just finished lunch and were making your way across the parking lot toward Luke's truck.

The afternoon sun was warm, a light breeze tugging at your hair as Luke absentmindedly reached over to tuck a loose strand behind your ear before continuing his conversation.

"...and then he tried to convince me it wasn't his fault even though I literally watched him do it."

You smiled. "Mhm."

"He broke the blender."

"Mhm."

Luke glanced over. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Not really."

He rolled his eyes with a fond smile. "I figured."

As you reached the truck, Luke automatically reached into his pocket for his keys.

He didn't even think about it anymore. Unlock the truck, walk to your side, open your door, wait until you are safely inside, then get in. It was muscle memory.

He was halfway through fishing his keys out when Jack caught your eye. You gave him the tiniest nod. Jack understood, and without saying a word, he casually sped up, slipping around the front of Luke.

The truck chirped as it unlocked.

You stopped beside the passenger door exactly where you always did. Luke started drifting toward you–

Then Jack stepped directly into his path. "I got it."

Luke frowned, still holding his keys. "...What?"

Jack ignored him as he reached for the passenger handle. "I said I got it." The door swung open. Jack stepped aside with an exaggerated flourish before giving you an overly dramatic bow. "M'lady."

You couldn't help smiling. "Why, thank you, kind sir."

"My pleasure."

You climbed into the truck as if this were the most normal interaction in the world.

Jack gently closed the door behind you. "There you go."

Luke stood there, keys dangling from one hand, his brain visibly trying to process what had just happened.

His eyes slowly traveled from the closed passenger door, to Jack to you through the window, and back to Jack.

He blinked, and his eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "What..." Another pause. "...was that?"

Jack shrugged. "I opened her door."

"I can see that."

"But?"

Luke stared. "...That's my job."

Jack nodded. "It was."

Luke looked personally attacked. "...Was?"

"You were taking too long."

"I was getting my keys!"

"I adapted."

Luke just stared at him. "You adapted?"

"Mhm."

Luke slowly turned toward you. "You let him?"

You smiled innocently through the open window. "He was just helping."

Luke let out one short, disbelieving laugh. "Helping?"

"Yeah."

"I don't need help opening my girlfriend's door."

Jack folded his arms across his chest. "Apparently you did."

Luke looked like his brain had completely short-circuited. "You stole my job."

"I borrowed it."

"You can't borrow it."

"Already did."

Luke pointed dramatically at the passenger door. "You opened my passenger door."

Jack nodded proudly. "I did."

Luke looked genuinely lost. "I don't even know what to do with this."

Jack grinned. "You could thank me."

Luke laughed again. A completely disbelieving laugh. "I'm not thanking you."

"You should."

"You interfered."

"You hesitated."

"I was unlocking the truck!"

"I was opening the door."

The parking lot suddenly felt very quiet. A couple walking by slowed down ever so slightly, clearly trying to figure out why two grown men were arguing over a passenger door.

Luke looked back at you like he needed reassurance. "Are you okay with this?"

You nodded. "It was very gentlemanly."

Luke's mouth actually fell open. "Oh, now it's gentlemanly?"

Jack gave you another ridiculous little bow. "Anything for Bug."

Luke threw both hands into the air. "No."

Jack blinked. "No?"

"No." Without another word, Luke marched over to the passenger side.

He opened the door even though you were already sitting comfortably in the seat. He looked at you, kissed your forehead, then carefully shut it again. "There."

Jack stared at him. "What was that?"

"I fixed it."

"You reopened the door while she was already inside the truck."

"I restored order."

Jack folded over laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the truck. "No, you didn't."

"I did."

"You reset the door?"

"I reset the door."

You were laughing so hard that tears had started collecting in the corners of your eyes.

Luke looked completely satisfied with himself. As though the universe had been thrown out of balance and he'd personally corrected it.

Jack wiped at his face. "You are unbelievable."

Luke ignored him. Instead, he opened your door one more time, leaned into the truck, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead.

"There." His voice was much gentler now. Then he looked directly at Jack. "Now you can open your own door."

Jack completely lost it. He bent over laughing so hard he had to grab the hood of the truck for support. "I've never seen someone so territorial over basic manners."

Luke shrugged. "I have one job."

"You play in the NHL."

"I have two jobs."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Hockey, and?"

Luke looked over at you without missing a beat. "Her." The answer came so naturally that it caught both of you off guard.

Your heart melted.

Jack, however, only laughed harder. "You are unbelievable."

Luke simply smiled, walked around to the driver's side, and climbed into the truck as though the entire exchange had been perfectly reasonable.

The video ended with Jack still doubled over outside the truck, Luke looking completely satisfied with himself, and you hiding your face behind your hand because your ridiculous boyfriend had still managed to make the whole thing unbelievably sweet.

----------

Comments:

yn_buggy: I created a monster

↳ lhughes_06: no you created jack

↳ jackhughes: and what a beautiful creation i am

↳ lhughes_06: debatable

↳ yn_buggy: I did NOT create jack.

----

jackhughes: i regret nothing

↳ lhughes_06: you will

↳ jackhughes: is that a threat

↳ lhughes_06: it's a promise

----

_quinnhughes: i knew exactly where this was going the second jack volunteered

↳ yn_buggy: he was WAY too excited

↳ _quinnhughes: that's how i knew

----

trevorzegras: "you stole my job" 😭😭😭 LUKE SHE'S NOT A PACKAGE DELIVERY

↳ lhughes_06: exactly she's my girlfriend

↳ trevorzegras: THAT DIDN'T HELP

↳ yn_buggy: parasite he loves me you just don’t understand smh

----

nicohischier: Luke what the hell?

↳ yn_buggy: CAP HE LOVES ME YOU RAISED HIM WELL🥹🥹🥹🥹

↳ nicohischier: he genuinely believed that solved the problem

↳ lhughes_06: because it did

----

gritsy_96: "i restored order" 😭😭😭😭

↳ yn_buggy: gritsy i couldn't breathe

↳ lhughes_06: someone had to

----

mackcelebrini: i've never seen someone reboot a passenger door before

↳ jackhughes: factory settings

↳ lhughes_06: exactly

↳ mackcelebrini: WHY ARE YOU AGREEING

----

ethanedwards: bro got his job stolen for six seconds and started buffering

----

aust_mw63: "her." okay that was actually adorable

↳ yn_buggy: i know 🥹

↳ lhughes_06: ❤️

↳ jackhughes: ew

----

alexrn: jack knew EXACTLY what he was doing

↳ jackhughes: absolutely

----

devilsfan27: Luke looking at Jack like he committed high treason 😭

----

hockeygirl88: not Jack saying "M'lady" 💀

----

redandblackfan: "Anything for Bug" Jack committed to the bit

----

lukesbiggestfan: Luke's brain literally blue screened

----

puckbunny98: "You adapted?" 😭😭😭

----

devilsnation: the pause before "that's my job" SENT ME

----

randomfan42: this man has claimed passenger door privileges for life

----

sportsgirlie: why did Luke look genuinely heartbroken 😭

----

trevorzegras: next video i'm opening her door

↳ lhughes_06: no

↳ trevorzegras: i'm already on my way

↳ lhughes_06: don't

↳ trevorzegras: too late

↳ jackhughes: i'll hold him back long enough for you to get there

↳ lhughes_06: JACK???

↳ yn_buggy: parasite you open my door and I’m walking home 🥰

----

_quinnhughes: everyone relax

↳ _quinnhughes: i'll open my own door

↳ jackhughes: congratulations?

----

randomfan71: "Now you can open your own door."

randomfan71: I'M CRYING

----

hockeyedits22: he kissed her forehead after resetting the door 😭

----

gritsy_96: i can't stop laughing at the fact Luke looked more offended at Jack than Y/N

↳ jackhughes: because betrayal hurts more

↳ lhughes_06: exactly

↳ jackhughes: WAIT I WAS JOKING

----

randomfan55: the funniest part is Jack accidentally proved Luke right by opening the door exactly like Luke does

----

devilsfan13: "I have two jobs. Hockey. Her." that's the smoothest thing he's ever said and i don't even think he meant for it to be

↳ yn_buggy: he absolutely didn't 😭❤️

↳ lhughes_06: i meant it

----

jackhughes: i still think i opened it better

↳ lhughes_06: wrong

↳ jackhughes: ask Bug

↳ yn_buggy: i'm pleading the fifth

↳ lhughes_06: smart girl

↳ jackhughes: BOOOOOOOO

--------

You'd somehow convinced every single one of them that this was a perfectly normal question. Which really said more about you than it did about them.

----

Jack

Practice had just ended.

The locker room was loud, half the team already showering while the other half wandered around in various stages of getting changed. Jack was sitting on the training table, unlacing his skates, when you wandered in with the unmistakable expression that always meant you had a question.

He looked up. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I have a hockey question."

He laughed. "You? A hockey question? This oughta be good."

You leaned against the wall. "So... if I got absolutely checked into the boards during a game..."

Jack froze with one skate halfway off. "By who?"

"No one."

"Bug."

"It didn't happen."

He narrowed his eyes. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He finally relaxed. "Okay."

You waited. "How long do you think it'd take me to get back up?"

Jack stared at you for a few seconds before letting out a laugh. "You?"

"Yeah."

He looked you up and down dramatically. "Like... a real NHL hit?"

"Yep."

Jack rubbed his chin as if he were genuinely analyzing game film. "Hmmm I think probably 5 minutes if I did it, or never if it were someone like McAvoy."

Your mouth fell open. "Five minutes or never?"

"You'd get the wind knocked completely out of you."

"I would not."

"You would." He pointed at you with the lace from his skate. "First, you'd just lay there trying to remember your own name."

"I have played hockey before."

"Yeah, but not against six-foot-four defensemen who think feelings are optional."

You rolled your eyes. "I still think I'd get up faster."

Jack grinned. "You probably would, but only out of pure stubbornness." He laughed. "But you'd definitely be making that face."

"What face?"

"The one where you're pretending you're fine while you're actually rethinking every life decision that got you there."

----

Luke

Luke was standing in the kitchen making coffee when you wandered in. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Morning, sweetheart."

You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. "Can I ask you something?"

"What’s up, baby?"

"If I got checked into the boards–"

The coffee machine beeped. Luke didn't move. "No."

You blinked. "You didn't even let me finish."

"I don't need to."

"It didn't actually happen."

He slowly turned around. His smile had completely disappeared. "Did someone hit you?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Luke."

"Were you skating?"

"No."

"Did somebody shove you?"

"No."

"Fall?"

"No."

He searched your face for another few seconds before finally believing you. "Fine, continue."

You smiled. "Hypothetically, if I got absolutely flattened into the boards, how long would it take me to get up?"

Luke sighed. "You're not getting up."

You laughed. "What?"

"I said you're not getting up."

"Luke."

"I'm already over the boards."

"You can't go over the boards."

"I don't care." He folded his arms. "The game's stopping."

"You don't have that authority."

"I'll make them stop. I'm serious."

You giggled. "I know you are."

"If somebody hits you hard enough that you're staying down," His jaw tightened. "I'm not waiting to see if you're okay."

"You know this isn't real, right?"

"I don't care if it's hypothetical." He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I watched you almost die once." His voice had gotten noticeably quieter. "I'm never taking chances with you again."

Your smile softened. "So... how long?"

Luke didn't even hesitate. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Because you wouldn't be getting up by yourself." He shrugged like it was obvious. "I'd be there before you even tried."

"You'd get kicked out."

"Fine. I'll get kicked out."

"You'd get fined."

"I'll pay it."

"You'd probably get suspended."

"Worth it."

You couldn't stop laughing. "Luke."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

He gently squeezed your hand. "You don't ever have to prove you're okay to me anymore. I'll carry you off the ice myself."

-----

Nico

Nico had just finished his workout and was refilling his water bottle when you caught him outside the gym.

"Cap."

He smiled. "Hi Schwöschterli."

"I have an important question."

"I don't like the way you said that."

"If I got checked into the boards..."

His eyebrows shot up. "Did you?"

"No."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He nodded once. "Okay."

"How long do you think it'd take me to get back up?"

Nico thought about it much longer than anyone else had. He looked at your height and build, then imagined you getting crushed by an NHL defenseman.

He sighed. "Honestly?"

"Mhm."

"I think... twenty-five seconds."

"Twenty-five?"

"You'd get the wind knocked out of you."

"So does everyone apparently."

"Because you're tiny."

"I'm not tiny."

"You are compared to us." He smiled. "And you'd probably try to stand before you actually could."

"I would."

"I know, you'd get halfway up, then realize your legs weren't listening."

You laughed. "Probably."

"And then you'd be embarrassed because everyone was looking at you."

"Definitely."

Nico chuckled. "But eventually, you'd get up, you always do."

-----

Gritsy

You found Arseny sitting on the floor against the wall of the Prudential center, eating a protein bar.

"Gritsy."

He looked up with a smile. "Bug."

"I have a question."

"Okay."

"If I got checked into the boards–"

The smile disappeared. "No."

"It didn't happen."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

He visibly relaxed. "Okay."

"How long do you think it'd take me to get up?"

He frowned. He looked genuinely concerned. "Mmm… Twenty minute."

You burst out laughing. "Twenty minutes?"

"Yes."

"Gritsy!"

"You stay."

"I do not."

"I call doctor."

"It isn't that bad."

"I bring stretcher."

"You are so dramatic."

He shook his head. "No." He pointed at you. "You little." Then pointed at himself. "They big."

You couldn't even argue with that logic. "So you're saying I'd just lie there for twenty minutes?"

He nodded seriously. "I carry."

"You'd carry me?"

"Yes."

"You weigh almost as much as I do."

"I strong." He flexed one arm proudly. "I can carry you."

"Like a princess?"

He thought for a second. "Like potato."

You started laughing so hard you had to grab the wall. "A potato?"

"Safe potato."

"I don't think potatoes are usually carried safely."

"They are if me."

-----

Cody

Cody was sitting in the players' lounge watching highlights when you dropped onto the couch beside him.

He barely looked away from the TV. "What's up?"

"If I got checked into the boards..."

He paused the video. "Should I be concerned?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He leaned back. "How hard?"

"Pretty hard."

He looked at you for a long moment. "Honestly? I'm giving you... two minutes."

Your jaw dropped. "Two minutes?!"

"You'd get absolutely folded."

"I would not get folded."

"You'd bounce."

"Cody."

"You'd hit the boards, slide down them, question everything, and then eventually stand up because you're too stubborn to stay down."

You laughed. "I hate that everyone keeps saying I'm stubborn."

"Because you are." He shrugged. "And then you'd spend the next week insisting it didn't hurt."

"It wouldn't." 

He just gave you a look. "You are talking to professional hockey players."

"...Fair."

------------------

That night, you flopped down beside Luke on the couch.

"So I asked everyone."

Luke glanced away from the game. "Everyone?"

"Jack said five minutes."

He nodded once. "Of course he did, he’s ridiculous."

"Nico said twenty-five seconds."

"More realistic."

"Gritsy said twenty minutes."

Luke blinked. "Twenty minutes?"

"He said he'd carry me like a potato."

Luke stared at you for a moment before groaning. "Now I've got competition."

You burst into laughter. "He called me a potato."

"He likes potatoes."

"He does."

Luke wrapped an arm tightly around your waist and pulled you against his chest. "You're not getting checked into the boards."

"I know."

"You're not even getting close enough to the boards."

You looked up at him. "Lukey."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"If you're on the ice with me?" He kissed the top of your head. "I'm between you and anyone who's even thinking about hitting you."

"You'd get a penalty."

"I'd get a lot worse than a penalty." His voice was calm, almost too calm. "I already know what it's like to almost lose you." His arm tightened just a little. "I'm not interested in finding out what it feels like a second time."

You melted against him, wrapping your own arms around his middle. "You're ridiculous."

"I am."

"But you're still my safe potato."

You snorted. "I cannot believe Gritsy started this."

"And I cannot believe he got to call you a potato before I did."

That earned him an eye roll, and a kiss anyway.

--------

Comments:

lukehughes_06: Why are we even entertaining this question??

↳ yn_buggy: Research. ❤️

↳ jackhughes: She told every single one of us it was hypothetical

↳ nicohischier: She made it sound very convincing

-----

user23891: Luke going "you're not getting up because I'M picking you up" 😭😭😭

-----

devilsfan97: Luke's trauma from her accident really shows in the way he answered 🥹

-----

hughesgirl: "I'll get suspended." "Worth it." THAT MAN WAS NOT JOKING

-----

njdevilsfan: Luke was ready to fight an imaginary person 😭

-----

hockeygirlie: "Who hit you?" "It didn't happen." "WHO HIT YOU?" 💀

-----

jackhughes: I knew it wasn't real and I STILL looked around for whoever hit her

↳ yn_buggy: You all failed the test

↳ jackhughes: THERE WAS A TEST???

-----

gritsyfan: Gritsy saying "I carry like potato" has me crying

↳ arsygritsy: Safe potato 👍🥔

↳ yn_buggy: Thank you for keeping me safe, apparently

-----

codyfan: Cody saying she'd "bounce" was FOUL 😭

↳ codglass: I stand by it

-----

hughesedits: Luke genuinely looked stressed before she even finished the sentence

-----

devilsdaily: The room got ten degrees colder when she said "checked into the boards"

-----

hockeymom22: As someone who watched the video of what she posted after what she went through after the accident... Luke's answer made me emotional.

-----

user88291: "I watched you almost die once." EXCUSE ME???

↳ yn_buggy: 🥺❤️

-----

jackattack: Jack saying she'd lay there dramatically is SO HER

↳ yn_buggy: LIES

↳ jackhughes: Truth hurts

-----

lukeswife: Luke would've climbed over the glass before the whistle even blew

↳ lhughes_06: Correct.

↳ yn_buggy: BABE THAT'S A PENALTY

↳ lhughes_06: Worth it.

-----

devilsfan445: Nico actually analyzed the physics of it 😭

↳ nicohischier: I was answering seriously.

-----

user0087: "Twenty-five seconds." Nico was calculating velocity and body mass in his head 😭

-----

arsenyfan: Gritsy looked genuinely horrified 😭😭

↳ arsygritsy: She little.

↳ yn_buggy: APPARENTLY I'M VERY LITTLE

↳ arsygritsy: Yes.

-----

hockeytok: Luke has absolutely zero chill when it comes to Bug and honestly I respect it

-----

user6363: The silence after "If I got checked into the boards..." from EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM 😭

-----

devilsedits: Nobody answered the question first. Every single one asked WHO HIT YOU 😭

-----

ynbuggyfan: Luke didn't even give a time 😭

↳ lhughes_06: Because she wouldn't be getting up alone.

↳ user33782: I'M SOBBING

-----

quinnhughes: I'm with Luke.

↳ yn_buggy: You weren't even in the video???

↳ quinnhughes: Doesn't matter.

-----

trevorzegras: You forgot to ask me.

↳ yn_buggy: parasite, why would I ask you for help?? You would've laughed first 😑😑

↳ trevorzegras: ...probably

↳ lhughes_06: definitely.

-----

user1717: "I'll pay the fine." Sir that's not how this works 😭

↳ lhughes_06: Sounds like it worked.

-----

hischierfan: Nico: thoughtful. Jack: sarcastic. Cody: brutally honest. Gritsy: potato. Luke: murder.

↳ yn_buggy: This is the best summary.

-----

devilsnation: Luke still hasn’t recovered from her accident and you can tell.

-----

user4481: The way Luke's voice got quieter when he said he'd already almost lost her...😭

-----

hockeyclips: "You're my safe potato." HELP

↳ arsygritsy: OUR potato.

↳ lhughes_06: No.

↳ arsygritsy: 😐

↳ yn_buggy: I'M NOT A COMMUNITY POTATO 😭

-----

#1

theres something so gentle yet irritatingly attractive about the way mack loves. the moment his girlfriend is near, the rest of the world simply fades away. she has him entirely wrapped around her finger, and hes content to spend every moment to be the best for her. its in the way he bends down to catch her voice over a loud crowd, or how he instinctively wipes a smudge of food from her lips and licks his own thumb without a second thought. the chaste kiss he plants just beneath her ear, breathing her in deeply because she complained once that a kiss anywhere else would ruin her makeup, or the way he unloops his belt after a long day, his eyes absentmindedly locked onto hers as he chuckles at her daily storytelling. all of those small things, a presence so caring and gentle towards her, yet just enough to unfortunately drive her mind into entirely perverted thoughts.

#2

his eyes crease with a smile every time his phone lights up with a picture of a new set of nails. ‘new set, do we likee?’ she texts, showing off dainty hands decorated in red and white polka dots. hes giddy, already craving the soft arm scratches waiting for him at home. frankly, if he were stranded on a desert island with directions to water in one direction or cuddling with his girlfriend while he feels light scratches on his arm that's laced around her waist in the other, consider him parched. replying back with a quick ‘love em baby,’ his mind wanders to their nightly routine; him laying flat on top of her, all his warmth harvested by her body and graciously repaid by soft back scratches while she scrolls through her phone. he shivers at the thought. oh how he cant wait to head home early today.

#3

mack studies her girlfriend with so much focus, learning every detail, need, and preference like he might run out of air the second he stops showing his adoration. he relishes her directness, hoarding her reassurance like treasure. so when he notices her zoning in on him, a massive, giddy smile threatens to break across his face. oh she likes this! wait, what did i do? she liked that! he thinks.

opting for a cheeky grin, he offers a playful, “what?” to mask the fact that his heart is thumping like a schoolboy.

“nothing. your adams apple like.. moves when you drink, i mean,” she mumbles, snapping out of her trance with a coy smile.

“yeah?” he teases, keeping the unblinking eye contact. he slowly drags the soda can back to his lips, taking a long, deliberate sip just to watch her eyes dart straight back down to his throat. so she likes that. 

“fuck off, mack,” she laughs softly, swatting at him as they both chuckle at the realization. of course her sweet boyfriend always makes it a personal mission to note down every little thing she finds attractive.

#4

captain on ice, all the weight of that title evaporates the second he hears the sweet nickname his girl saves just for him.

“hi puppy, i missed you so much.” she calls out, finally standing in front of him, arms spread wide for a long-awaited hug after his grueling trip to switzerland.

he buries his face into her shoulder, wrapping his arms tight around her as her hands roam up his back to trace soft, soothing patterns into his hair. theres just something so eccentric about how her delicate frame can completely dismantle a 6 foot tall hockey player. a silly nickname and the scent of fresh linen are all it takes to leave him embarrassingly weak and red, a side of him no player on ice would ever get out of him without a fight.

#5

his eyes constantly anchored to her, his mind is basically conditioned to prioritize her over everything else. right now, her legs are draped across his thighs on the sofa, the tv paused on a particularly frustrating episode of love island. his body angled completely towards her, he listens intently to her heated rant about one of the couples, her hands in full gestures while explaining the drama. mid sentence, her eyes drift to the cup of water on the table, giving a faint nod toward it without missing a beat. his brain instantly takes the hint, reaching over to hand her the cup, and watches fondly as she takes a small sip before handing it back with a mumbled, ‘thank you, baby.’ his gummy smile breaks across his face at the subtle praise, pride swelling in his chest over how good he is for her. he sinks back into the cushions, one hand resuming its soothing circles against her leg while the other holds the cup close to his chest, ready and waiting for whenever she needs it next.

#6

its embarrassing for him, really, how compliant he gets during sex, even if his girlfriend reminds him constantly that its exactly what she loves most about their nights together. so caring and attentive in their day to day activities; she loves how much he takes care of her, guiding her through a crowd with his hand against her back, yet she adores him the most when its her turn to guide him during their nights instead.

on one of their first nights, he had tried so hard to take the lead, stumbling over his own words as he whispered pathetic dirty talk to get her on. if anything, it only made him more anxious, spiraling over whether she was actually enjoying it. when he heard her hiss at his initial intrusion, his eyes darted up to her face.

“fuck, does that hurt? im so sorry baby, oh my god, im sorry wait, let me-” he blurted in a panic, moving to pull out, only to feel her clench down around him. he looked back up to find her staring down at him, lips parted as the gears turned in her head.

“its okay mack, go on” she whispered after a beat of silence.

it finally clicked to him the moment a silly nickname slipped past her lips while her hands worked over him.

“youre so good puppy,” she exhaled, thighs caging his hips on the couch. his eyes widened at the praise, grip tightening against her hips. his stomach clenching as he let out the sweetest, undone noise before spilling all over her hands. it was a shock to them both, but the revelation changed everything, like an angel just gained her wings.

The thermometer finally reads 98.6°F and you breathe a sigh of relief as you pull it from Macklin's mouth. After six days of nursing him through a nasty flu, your boyfriend is finally fever-free. Though he's still a bit weak, the worst has passed.

"Thank god," Macklin rasps, his voice still hoarse from coughing. "I thought I was going to die."

"You were dramatic," you tease, setting the thermometer aside and pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. "But definitely better."

His eyes, which have been half-closed with exhaustion all week, now spark with something else entirely. His hand shoots out to grab your wrist, pulling you closer. "I've been wanting to touch you for days," he admits, his voice thick with need. "You've been taking such good care of me and I couldn't even hold you properly without worrying about getting you sick."

You allow him to pull you onto the bed beside him, a small smile playing on your lips. "Is that so? And what exactly did you want to do to me?"

Macklin's cheeks flush, but he doesn't back down. "Everything," he says simply. "I've been going crazy watching you walk around in those little shorts, bending over to adjust my pillows…" He trails off, swallowing hard. "Please let me touch you."

"Someone's eager," you murmur, trailing your fingers down his chest. "You sure you have enough energy for that? You were practically dead yesterday."

"For you? Always," he insists, though his breathing hitches as your fingers dip below the waistband of his sweatpants. "Fuck, please don't tease me. I've been waiting all week."

"Patience is a virtue," you tease, but you oblige him, wrapping your hand around his already hard length. His hips buck immediately, a desperate sound escaping his throat.

"Jesus," he whines, his hands fisting in the sheets. "I've missed your hands so much."

"You've missed this?" you ask, giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. "Or have you missed something else?"

"Everything," he gasps. "Your hands, your mouth, the way you feel…" His eyes are dark with need as he watches you work him. "Can I… can I touch you too?"

You nod and his hands immediately move to your hips, gripping you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. His touch is desperate, needy and you can't help but feel a surge of affection mixed with amusement at how worked up he's gotten from just a few touches.

"Look at you," you murmur, increasing your pace slightly. "So desperate already. We've barely started."

"I can't help it," he whines, his hips thrusting to meet your strokes. "It's been so long. And watching you take care of me all week… you're so good to me."

"That's right," you praise, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw. "I take very good care of you, don't I?"

He nods frantically, his breathing growing ragged as you twist your wrist on the upstroke. "Gonna come already," he admits with embarrassment. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you whisper, releasing him from your grip. "Let me help with that."

Before he can protest, you're sliding down his body, taking him into your mouth. Macklin cries out, his hands tangling in your hair as you take him deeper, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his hips jerking erratically. "Not gonna last."

You hum around him, the vibrations sending him closer to the edge. His thighs tense beneath your hands and you can feel him pulsing against your tongue.

"Please," he begs, his voice breaking. "I need to come so bad."

With a final swirl of your tongue, he spills into your mouth with a guttural moan, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. You continue to work him through it, swallowing every drop until he's completely spent.

When you pull back, Macklin is staring at you with wide eyes, his chest heaving. "Fuck," he breathes out. "That was… embarrassingly fast."

You crawl back up to lie beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Don't worry about it," you assure him. "You were sick and desperate. We have all weekend to make up for lost time."

A slow grin spreads across his face as he pulls you close. "Is that a promise?"

"Absolutely," you laugh, settling against his chest. "But first, you need to rest. You're still recovering, remember?"

He groans but doesn't argue, too content to have you back in his arms properly. "Fine," he concedes. "But tomorrow, you're all mine."

you've been a new york rangers die-hard since you were a kid, jersey collection deeper than most, stats memorized like trivia night gold. that's how you and matt clicked so fast, he loved that you could trash-talk the isles or debate line changes without him explaining a thing. now, you're at almost every practice, perched on the bench or chatting in the lounge, and everyone's favorite unofficial team mascot. they all know you're matt's girl. everyone.

today's no different. practice wraps, and you're laughing with alexis lafrenière about that overtime winner against the habs last week.

"dude, your celly was insane,"

you say, bumping his shoulder playfully.

"i rewatched it like five times."

lafrenière grins, that easy french-canadian charm on full blast.

"you think? next one, i'll do it just for you."

he winks, leaning a bit closer, hand lingering on your arm as he gestures wildly recounting the play.

from across the room, matt watches. helmet already off, hair a sweaty mess, towel around his neck. he's trying not to care, *duh* he knows you. knows you'd never. knows laf is just being laf, friendly with everyone. but something twists in his chest anyway. not anger. but, maybe he doesn't love sharing. he skates over slowly, towering even off ice in his gear, and drops onto the bench beside you. without a word, his big hands find your waist, pulling you gently but firmly onto his lap. you yelp in surprise, settling against his chest as he wraps arms around you like it's the most natural thing.

"hey babe,"

his lips brushing your ear, voice all gravel and warmth. his chin rests on your shoulder, eyes flicking to lafrenière with that subtle rempe stare, not mean, just to be clear. she’s mine.

lafrenière catches it immediately, hands up in mock surrender.

"whoa, big guy. just talking hockey." he laughs, backing off with a nod.

"i'll catch you later, y/n. good chat."

you twist to look at matt, eyebrows raised, but you're smiling.

"jealous much?"

he huffs, but his grip tightens affectionately, thumb tracing circles on your hip.

"not jealous," he lies, nuzzling your neck.

"just... reminding him. and you." his voice drops.

"you're coming home with me, right?"

you lean back into him, hand sliding up to tangle in his damp hair.

"always, matt. you know that."

he relaxes then he presses a kiss to your jaw, then your lips. the kind that says i trust you, i just love you too much. around you, teammates chuckle, someone yells ‘get a room, rempe!’ but he doesn't care. ignores them all.

later, in the car, his hand on your thigh the whole drive.

"laf's cool," he admits finally. "but he touches your arm one more time..."

you laugh, lacing fingers with his.

"he won't. and even if he does, i'm still your girl."

matt glances over, eyes softly looking at you.

"yeah. my girl." he squeezes your hand.

"don't want anyone thinking otherwise."

you get home, his place, your place now too and he's all over you before the door even clicks shut. backing you against the wall, kisses deeper, hands everywhere. lifting you easily, carrying you to the couch where he pulls you onto his lap again, like earlier but private now.

"love when you talk hockey with them," he whispers between kisses.

"fuck, so damn hot. but love more when you come home with me."

you smile against his mouth. "only ever you, matt."

he likes having a routine to stick to, as basic as it may be. he wakes up, works out every other day, shows up for his shifts at the bar, and tends not to accept invitations for work gatherings after hours, regardless of how much shit his coworkers give him for it. matt couldn’t care less; enjoying your own company isn’t illegal, after all. what others may call lonely, matt calls peaceful.

late spring slips through his fingers like smoke, the heat steadily becoming thicker and more imposing as summer, and matt’s twenty-fourth birthday, looms heavily in the not-so-distant future. it’s a seemingly random milestone, not quite sweet sixteen or freshly twenty one. but this year feels like it carries a little more weight, some sort of marker that he really is getting older.

it’s odd, how out of nowhere, he’s hit with the reality of just how mundane his life really is.

his mom and sister are always grilling him, jabbing their elbows into his sides and ruffling his hair whilst constantly badgering him about when he’s going to settle down, find himself a pretty little wife and have a family. unfortunately, his grumbling and eyerolls never seem to be a successful deterrent, and so matt has resigned himself to a lifetime of interrogation over his life choices, career included. 

being a bartender isn’t a shameful job by any means, and if his arm were twisted enough, he would admit that he doesn’t exactly hate the whole thing. it had initially started as a summer job a few years back, something to keep him busy and make him a little bit of cash at the same time. a win-win situation in his eyes. months soon rolled into years, and still he can’t find it in himself to quit. 

at the very least, it’s something he’s good at, and that knowledge gives him a little bit of peace. for a man who has a tendency to get stuck in his head a lot, to overthink the little things until he spirals, it’s comforting to have a profession that he knows like the back of his hand. 

each shift differs slightly, obviously. it would be insane to expect each night to play out exactly the same as the last, but his job remains the same: read the tickets, make the drinks, engage in the occasional small talk with a few regulars who make a point of coming up to the bar themselves. piece of cake.

so yes, matt’s life is largely lacklustre, and that’s exactly how he likes it to be. then, late one thursday afternoon, as the sun just begins to dip below the horizon, you stumble, quite literally, into matt’s life for the first time. 

rusty’s is slower tonight, the weekend not having officially begun and thus explaining the absence of most of the usual crowd. it gives matt little else to focus on other than the ball of energy bounding over to the bar, smile wide and genuine. 

cade, another bartender with sandy blonde hair and an annoyingly charming personality, whistles lowly in amusement at the sight. matt scoffs at the sound and swats the brim of his coworker’s hat down over his eyes. unaffected, cade merely grins.

“hi.”

your voice is bright and sweet, matching the lopsided smile tugging at your lips, and though the little wave you give the two men should be awkward, it only serves to be endearing. matt hasn’t seen you around here before, he’s sure of it. he’d remember someone like you. 

to his surprise, you don’t begin ordering, or making some sort of pass at either of them like a few girls your age tend to do. instead, you settle against the bar, introduce yourself, and ask if the manager is in. their expressions must shift in confusion, as you’re quick to elaborate.

“oh, he hired me a few days ago,” you explain, soft but not unsure of yourself. “i’m supposed to pick up my apron and stuff? he said to swing by.”

“of course he did,” matt grumbles, rubbing a hand down his face.

it’s not that he’s frustrated at you, no. quite the opposite. he’s pissed at his boss, who made no move to tell anyone he was hiring new staff, nor any effort to actually show up to greet the poor girl on the day he said he would. 

before his gruff attitude can make you falter, his coworker chimes in quickly.

“don’t worry about him,” cade quips, pointedly shooting matt a shit-eating grin as he jabs his elbow into his ribs. “rempe here’s had a stick wedged up his ass since he started. ain’t nothing personal.”

figuring that he should at least try to make a good impression, matt gives you a small smile, only feeling a little awkward. he cracks his neck, scratches where his hair begins to curl at the nape — he must get it cut soon — and speaks up.

“boss isn’t in tonight,” he begins. “but i can probably hunt down a spare apron out back. i’ll try to get you one with the least amount of stains.”

by all means, it’s an awful joke, barely even scratching the surface of comedy. but you let out a small laugh, grin genuine and thankful, and for a moment, matt tunes into the sound of your laughter and your laughter alone.

“thanks. it’s awful kind of you.” you almost sound surprised by the small act of decency. 

matt must be exhausted, eyes growing tired and bleary, because he swears you start to glow a little in the dim bar lights. he rubs at them with one hand, trying to clear his vision. 

“yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it, sunshine.”

the words escape him before he can stop them, and he’s already turning away when you speak again, causing him to pause. 

“sunshine?” you echo, tone slightly puzzled.

“yeah. cause you’re, like, y’know…” matt trails off, lazily gesturing up and down your frame with one hand, as though that little flick of his wrist explains everything. “you. y’seem too happy to be working in this shithole.”

“huh.” you’re quiet for a moment, letting his words bounce around in your mind like a pinball, thoughts wild and giddy. “i ain’t never had a nickname before.”

“no?” matt raises one brow. “well. you got one now.”

and that you do.

from that day on, matt never calls you anything else. no, you’re always sunshine, in that same facetious tone that you can’t help but smile at. somehow, it doesn’t feel mocking or malicious. if anything, it feels like a way to include you, welcome you into the place’s bubble easily. 

three shifts deep, it becomes clear that you’re not entirely used to working in a place like this. 

there’s no denying that you have the personality for the job – hell, you’ve got half of the regulars wrapped around your little finger already – and your work ethic more than shines through in your enthusiasm to do a good job. you’re just a little uncoordinated sometimes, is all. 

darting around behind the narrow bar, the thought of making your presence known with something as simple as a ‘behind!’ completely slips your mind. you only realise your mistake when all two-hundred-and-something pounds of matt rempe crashes straight into you. 

you would have gone flying, had his reflexes not kicked in quickly and allowed him to catch you with one large hand, thumb barely brushing the small sliver of skin between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. 

“jesus, easy.” matt’s touch lingers long enough to stabilise you, and then the warmth of his skin on yours is gone as quickly as it came. “almost knocked you on your ass, sunshine. you alright?”

heart racing with what you presume to be adrenaline from your near fall, you nod with a breathless laugh, finding your own clumsiness more than a little amusing. with the confirmation that you’re okay, matt’s tone turns slightly chiding. 

“hell are you doing back here anyways?” he enquires, pulling a rag from his back pocket to thoughtlessly wipe at a small spillage on the bar top. “y’know, waitresses usually hang out on the other side of the bar.”

“oh, i know,” you assure easily, fixing a wayward strand of hair that’s fallen into your eyes. “i was just looking for another pen. i lost mine.”

in the short time you’ve been here, matt has come to learn that misplacing things seems to be your speciality. whether it’s the hair tie you had on your wrist literally moments prior to starting your shift, or your notepad, you seem to have a terrible time keeping track of the whereabouts of your possessions. lucky for you, matt always overprepares.

digging into his jean pocket, he huffs a little as he pulls out a black biro and holds it out to you, missing the way your eyes linger on the subtle swell of his bicep.

“here. i don’t use it anyways.”

the pen is quickly tucked behind your ear with a grateful smile and a promise to return it come the end of the night, and just as you’re about to return to the floor, matt speaks again, pulling you back into the conversation.

“we oughta get you a bell or somethin’. let everyone know when you’re coming.”

the idea is ridiculous, and the thought of you jingling with every step makes you roll your eyes playfully. unable to stop yourself, you swat at his toned arm, grinning.

“buy one for me, and then we’ll talk.”

matt’s laugh comes in the form of a short exhale through his nose, and then he nods, indicating the conversation has come to an end. then, he’s back to mindlessly wiping over the already clean counter. taking the hint, you wander back out to the floor, well aware of matt’s pen perched behind your ear. 

it’s only later that night, when you’re half asleep and getting ready for bed, that you realise you’ve forgotten to return it. you brush your thumb along the nib, watching black ink bloom on your fingertip, and smile softly before tucking it back into your bag.

even when he spots it back behind your ear the next day, matt never asks for it back.

a week or so later, another quirk of yours makes itself known. 

in your defence, the bar is packed tonight, crammed with regulars and other patrons alike, and you’re run ragged trying to keep on top of the various orders and requests being thrown your way.

when you rush up to the bar, ticket already outstretched, matt prepares himself to get through the order as quickly as possible in order to keep up with the never-ending demand for alcohol.

he makes a point of grabbing the very corner of the paper, leaving no room to accidentally graze your neatly manicured fingers as he takes the ticket from your hands, and jesus christ, your handwriting really is something else. a huff of laughter escapes him before he can stifle it.

“what the fuck is this?”

“a ticket,” you state simply, resting your hands on the slightly sticky bartop as you peer up at him, bouncing once on your toes. 

“it’s hieroglyphics, is what it is,” matt scoffs, though the sound, somehow, isn’t unkind. he makes a show of squinting at the loopy black ink, moving the crumpled paper closer to and farther from his face until he hears you giggle over the general cacophony of bar noise. “you seriously write like this?”

“he was talkin’ super fast. i was trying to keep up,” you shrug, holding your hand out in a silent request for your ticket back. “it’s not that bad.”

“it’s illegible, sunshine. whole point of these is for us bartenders to be able to read ‘em.”

still, he makes no effort to refuse your wordless request. you clearly don’t share his same concerns regarding personal space, as you accidentally grab the tip of his thumb in the process of taking your ticket back, not even blinking at the contact. 

matt hardly has time to dwell on the weird pang in his chest, though, because suddenly you’re reading the order back to him at a snail’s pace, playfully enunciating every syllable in every drink, eyes glinting with mischief. 

“oh, very funny,” matt croons dryly.

even so, he finds himself moving, beginning to prepare the drinks that fall from your lips. he doesn’t even roll his eyes when you make some stupid, cheesy comment about teamwork and dreamwork. 

had it been anyone else, matt probably would’ve found himself getting frustrated at the overly cheery and slightly scatter-brained demeanour. hell, he’s cursed cade out for far less, and has made a reputation out of grumbling under his breath any time someone so much as slightly inconveniences him.

but with you, it’s just… different. endearing, even.

maybe it’s the fact that you’re so earnest, so determined to do the best you can and get a smile out of every person you come into contact with. 

or maybe, it’s simply the proximity. working together for hours on end multiple times a week means that you always seem to be around, your presence comforting rather than annoying. you hang around, not so much like a buzzing fly, but more a puppy sidling up to his side and demanding attention. 

slowly, he becomes accustomed to your constant stream of chatter, learns to placate your endless rambling with well-timed ‘mhm’s and ‘oh yeah?’s that don’t give away how closely he’s actually listening to your every word. 

fond would most accurately describe matt’s feelings towards you, and suddenly your nickname seems more apt than ever; like sunshine, you shine brightly, lending your warmth to those around you and drawing them into your orbit. perhaps that makes matt the moon, but he’s not a poet.

worse, other people slowly start to notice the soft spot matt harbours for you. if cade isn’t shooting him smug looks every time that the two of you interact, a regular is making a snide joke about him being wrapped around your little finger. frustration bubbles up in him each time, because deep down, matt knows that it’s true.

it’s a humid friday night, around eleven pm, when the cracks in matt’s grumpy facade begin to appear more clearly. 

multitasking has never quite been one of his biggest talents, and yet matt still finds a way to keep an eye on you amidst the chaos of the weekend rush. you’re a blur of limbs, dashing from table to table, and the first drops of perspiration on your brow give you a subtle glow. 

how you make sweating look good, matt has no idea. beyond that, though, matt can see the small glint of panic in your eyes, the adrenaline that pairs well with keeping on top of a full house. with every trip back to the bar, he notices the growing shake to your hands, the more frantic pace of your words, and he has to do something about it before you explode.

another ticket is slammed onto the bar, and the lingering ring of condensation where a beer glass once sat begins to seep into the paper, bleeding the ink. matt hardly glances at it, eyes focused on you instead.

“you okay?” he enquires.

his tone isn’t harsh, but direct, and you find yourself unable to lie to him.

“fine. just–” you cut yourself off and shake your hands beside your head, a vague and chaotic gesture. “overwhelmed. place is busy tonight.”

and yeah, you’re right there.

not only is the bar near wall-to-wall with customers, you’re also most definitely understaffed, causing the few employees actually scheduled tonight to work twice as hard to keep up. you’ve all been go-go-go, and though watching you run around like a headless chicken all night has been pretty impressive, matt doesn’t want you to burn out before the end of your shift. 

the drinks for table whoever can wait one minute: matt’s priority right now is you, and ensuring that you’re hydrated. wordlessly, he moves to grab a glass, shovelling in some ice before filling it with water. 

not allowing himself to think twice about it, he grabs one of the ridiculous bendy straws that his boss insists on keeping around the place – purple, because he imagines you’ll like that – and sticks it unceremoniously into your glass, causing the ice to clink gently.

“there.” his voice is gruff as he nudges the water towards you. “now drink up before you pass out on me. i’m not scraping your ass up off of the floor.”

by all means, it’s a fairly standard gesture, basic decency between coworkers, but you beam up at him as though he’s handed you the moon and all of the sky’s stars with it, promptly gulping down around half the glass. 

even with a straw, you manage to cause a little bit of chaos. a few stray droplets of water escape your lips and trickle down your chin. matt’s eyes trace their path, and he hates himself for wishing his fingers could do the same. 

not noticing the way the man in front of you has fallen silent, you roughly swipe at the wetness with the back of your hand and shove the glass back towards him with a chirped ‘thanks!’. 

matt barely blinks, and you’re gone, mingling effortlessly back into the sea of patrons and swanning from table to table. with your back turned, he doesn’t see the giddiness sparkling between your eyes, but his gaze lingers on your retreating form. 

he curses to himself when he allows his eyes to dart briefly to the swell of your ass, not wanting to be like the very customers he’d gruffly called out for ogling you in the past, all unbeknownst to you. 

“you forgot your–” matt starts, but it’s too late. 

instead, he sighs, picking up the ticket, and begins to decipher your familiar squiggles. you’ll remember to come back for the order eventually. you always do.

everything comes to a head on an evening in early june. 

whose idea it was, matt doesn’t know, but it had been decided that after closing up, the staff would have a couple of drinks together, for ‘team bonding’ or whatever bullshit excuse had been spewed to their boss in order to gain permission to drink on the property after hours. 

usually, matt would decline the offer without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to head home, reheat the leftovers of whatever his mom had made for dinner that night, and after inhaling his food at an alarming speed, immediately crash.

this time, matt knows exactly why he accepts the offer, and he only hates himself a little bit for it.

having grown close to everyone in your short time at rusty’s, you spend the first portion of the night darting between friends, flitting from conversation to conversation and accepting each beer handed your way.

as you grow tipsier, absolutely no one is shocked by your decision to set up camp next to matt, who has spent the better portion of his evening hovering at the stools by the counter, slowly making his way through his second whiskey.

matt says nothing when you slump into the stool by his own, not even when your knee knocks against his. instead, he adjusts to grant you enough room to sit, and lets the comfortable silence linger for a few moments before sparking up conversation.

“having fun?”

“mhm,” you nod, eyes a touch glassy. “‘s nice, seeing everyone.”

you’re not drunk by any means, just tipsy enough that your words are a little looser, mind running a little slower. 

matt opens his mouth to speak, but you’re quicker, cutting him off.

“they said you weren’t gonna come tonight,” you hum, legs swinging ever so slightly as they dangle from the high stool. “said you never come to these things.”

matt snorts at that, lifting his drink in a half salute, as if cheers’ing to that idea.

“i don’t.”

you frown as though the idea upsets you, and though you’re clearly not actually hurt, matt’s stomach twists anyways.

“y’know,” you start up, voice a little softer than it had been previously. “everyone talks about you like, like you’re some stick in the mud. i mean– lucille actually warned me about you on my second shift. said not to take anything you say to heart.”

your cadence is almost like a lullaby, lilting and charming, and it’s apparent that you’re gearing up to start rambling.

“but i think you’re real nice. you’ve always been awful nice t’me,” you continue, taking a small sip of your warming beer. “even when i first started and i was an idiot.”

to your surprise, matt laughs at that, actually laughs, bright and amused, and your heart sings at the new sound. 

“you weren’t an idiot,” matt corrects. “just a little… inexperienced, ‘s all. and now lookit you. you buzz around like you own the place.”

sober you would be embarrassed at the way you preen under his praise, giving him a bashful swat to the arm in a playfully coy manner. you may as well have added an ‘aw, shucks’, with the way you’re acting.

“it’s true,” he continues, sharp grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re good at this, y’know? everyone loves you.”

something shifts at his words, a slight crackle in the air, and matt’s smile drops ever so slightly. brown eyes break their gaze with your own, and instead, he opts to swirl the amber liquid around his glass over making further conversation with you. 

in an effort to seem casual, matt hums, taking a large mouthful of his whiskey as his other hand moves, catching your attention. 

embarrassingly, the movement is largely insignificant. 

matt simply places his hand onto the counter, drumming his long, slender fingers absentmindedly to the rhythm of whatever song is playing over the jukebox, yet it’s more than enough to have you entranced.

drunken logic tells you that if you move slowly enough, matt won’t notice the way your fingers inch closer to his. you move little by little, fingertips shifting in tentative steps, until your pinky barely grazes his own. 

when he makes no effort to pull away, or even provides any indication that he’s caught onto you, your fingers creep closer. millimetre by millimetre, they nudge their way in until they’re partially underneath his much larger ones, sheltered.

indulging you, like he always does, matt pretends not to notice your less than subtle operation until your digits are practically interlaced, and he can’t ignore it any longer. your skin is a little cold from where you’ve been nursing your bottle of beer, but still soft, almost delicate compared to his own.

“you trying t’hold my hand or something, sunshine?” matt quirks an eyebrow, and the corner of his lip threatens to follow.

“no,” you defend quickly, snatching your hand back as though you’ve been burned. 

how you have the nerve to act wounded when being confronted by your own actions, you don’t know. strangely, matt doesn’t seem too disgruntled over the whole ordeal.

“shame.” hand now free, he lifts his glass and tips the remaining mouthful of whiskey down his throat. warmth blooms behind his ribs, and he speaks again. “wouldn’t have minded all too much.”

had his heart not been pounding behind his ribcage, matt would’ve burst into laughter at the sheer amount of shock your facial features are able to convey. he’s surprised your eyes haven’t popped right out of their sockets and onto the table top. 

“no?” you encourage, searching for any ounce of clarification. surely you were misreading this somehow, you had to be. 

“jesus.”

matt groans out a laugh, dragging a large palm over his face before scratching at his jaw. a slight tinge of pink dusts the top of his cheeks, paints his nosebridge dusty rose, and he shrugs.

“you’re real oblivious, huh sunshine?” 

you continue to blink dumbly at him, and matt exhales sharply, before reaching out to grasp your hand in his own. not quite used to such affection, his hold is a touch rough, a little too tight, but it’s not claustrophobic. instead, it’s as though he’s latching onto you, not wanting to risk losing you before he can even have you. 

“i don’t-” you stammer, and matt cuts you off with another gentle sigh.

his eyes lock onto yours, gaze intense, and it prompts you to listen closely to whatever he’s about to say.

“you ever notice how i treat you different to everyone else? i let you yap my ear off without complaining, i let you wear my hat that one time, i mean– i call you sunshine, for christ’s sake.”

seeing it all spelled out makes you realise how much of an idiot you are. you’d been pining for god knows how long, and had been too invested in your own little crush to realise your feelings had been reciprocated this whole time. they’d just been displayed in matt’s own little way. 

“you like me,” you assess, words feeling heavy in your mouth as you speak them clumsily.

matt feels awful for laughing, because he’s not laughing at you, but the situation itself. how he’s managed to make what should have been a simple confession of feelings into a whole ordeal is beyond him, but now he’s determined to see it through.

“look, you in tomorrow?” he asks, and when you nod, his smile softens further. “good. gives me time to get some flowers and ask you out proper. think you’ll get it through that pretty little head then?”

unless his ears deceive him, matt swears you let out an actual squeak of excitement, and he produces another fond huff as he squeezes your hand once before letting go. it’s strange, how he finds himself not wanting to cut the night short, but it’s getting late, and matt now has plans to hit the farmer’s market to purchase a bouquet of flowers before his five pm start tomorrow. 

“i’m heading out,” matt announces, voice low and smooth as he ducks to speak into your ear. “get home safe, okay? i’ll see you tomorrow, sunshine.”

all you can do is watch as he shoots you a crooked smile, grabs his jacket, and slips out of the bar without another word to anyone else. your eyes linger on the doorway long after he’s left, your mind replaying the past five minutes of your life over and over, each repeat leaving you dizzier than the last. 

beaming to yourself, you push out of your seat, and head back over to the rest of the group with a skip in your step. amused glances are exchanged amongst the group, yet no one mentions the elephant no longer in the room. it was only a matter of time, after all.

the next day rolls around and, as promised, you get your flowers, and matt gets his date. the town may be small but his feelings for you are anything but, and so, he plans the best date he can, a meal at a diner followed by star-gazing in an open field, his hand laced with yours.

one date turns into two, and then three, and soon, matt wonders how he ever functioned without knowing you. 

soon enough, it’s the end of june, and matt turns twenty four with you by his side. 

While you were going through one of the alleys, Arber stopped. You were looking at your shopping list so you haven’t even noticed that he’s not next to you. 

“Okay we need some sweets” You said but saw Arber far away from you. Your steps led you back to the stop he was standing. “What do you see?” 

“This” Arber pushed something in your hands. 

“Temporary tattoos?” You looked at him. “You know you have a tattoo right?” 

“Thanks Sherlock” Arber rolled your eyes. “We can do matching ones” 

“What?” You were surprised by his words. 

“Look, here’s a dragon, a lion, some weird motivational sentences. We can buy two packages and pranked the guys that we made matching tattoos” Arber looked excited at the idea. 

“I like the part with pranking” You told him. 

“Maybe this will finally make you go and do all the tattoos you dream about” Arber suggested. 

“Maybe” You giggled. 

Back home, Arber placed the bags on the kitchen island. You started to unpack them before he stopped you. 

“Tattoos first, then we can take care of everything” Arber grabbed your hand. 

“Let me at least put the drinks in the refrigerator” You laughed. 

“Fine” Arber sighed and waited for you to finish the task. When you put the last drink, Arber immediately stood up. “Okay, you’re done. Let’s go to the bathroom” 

You never saw Arber so excited like today. His eyes were shining like kids on a christmas day. 

“We need to pick one to have the same in the same place and the rest we can put anywhere we want” Arber told you. 

“How about the letters of our first name?” You proposed. 

“Genius” Arber kissed you. “They’re pretty small so how about putting them on our ring finger?” 

“Oh you’re evil” You said. “I like it” 

“Don’t worry, one day they’ll be real when I put a ring on that finger” Arber told you. 

You cut the letters from the sheets. You put A letter on your finger and Arber gently applied water on it. After a minute you took the paper and looked at the finished product. 

“It looks realistic” You said. 

“It does and I’m so obsessed with this view” Arber was staring at your finger, already imagining that this is what he’ll see in the near future. “Let’s do mine” 

You repeated the action with your initial letter on his finger. Arber was looking at this, already wanting to have this forever. He knew he needed to put the ring on your finger soon. 

“What else do you want?” Arber asked you. 

“I want that snake on my arm. The head on my hand and the rest on my arm” You told him with a smile. 

“Your wish is my command” Arber saluted. He cut the pattern from the sheet and applied water on a paper that was on your arm. He took off the paper after a minute and whistled. “Looks great” 

“It does. I think I really need to go and make a real one” You giggled. 

“Yes you do” Arber kissed you. “Let’s get the living room ready” 

The party started but no one noticed the tattoos on your or Arber finger. People were complimenting the fake tattoo of a snake on your body but no one seems to see the letter A. 

“You fucking did it dude” You heard Florian screaming. You looked around and saw him hugging Arber who was laughing. “Where’s mrs. soon to be Xhekaj?” He asked. 

“I’m here” You walked into the kitchen. 

“I’m so happy for you two” Florian hugged you. “Finally Arber grow the balls to propose, I can’t even tell you how long ago he bought the ring and waited for a right moment” 

“I… Thanks Flo” You were confused about what he was talking about. You looked at Arber who was visibly panicking. 

“Baby, can you go to the bedroom? I’ll be there soon, just need to talk with my brother” Arber gave you a well knowing look and you nodded. When you disappeared, he spoke to his brother. “It was a prank and now I need to propose” 

“Oh I’m sorry” Florian said. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all. You had the ring for six months now? Go and do the right thing. You can thank me later” 

“I’m gonna murder you” Arber told him. 

“I love you too big bro” Florian slapped his arm. 

Arber sighed. This is not how he imagined the proposal but it’s on him. He forgot that Florian knew about the ring and he’d assume that he proposed to you. Well it was now or never. He walked into the bedroom and you smiled at him. 

“What was Flo talking about?” You asked him. 

Arber hasn't said anything. He walked into the closet to grab his bag. He was searching for something. Finally, he pulled out a red velvet box from it and went on one knee. 

“No way” You gasped. 

“I didn’t plan to propose this way” Arber opened the box. “I love you Y/N. You’re my perfect girl and I can’t imagine my life without you. You were with me through everything. Thank you for giving me a chance in high school and thank you for loving me since then. I can’t imagine my life without you and I’m ready to take the next step. Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” Arber felt anxious. 

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you” You hugged him and you two fell on the floor. “I love you” You kissed him. 

Arber grabbed your hand and placed the ring on top of the temporary tattoo you did an hour ago. 

“Who knew something so silly might turn out to be the best thing ever?” Arber asked. 

“I guess you need to thank your brother” You giggled.