Hockey On Top 🏒

Kate. 18

[macklin-celebrini-71]

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[rinkmuse]

melting into you

pairings: fraser minten, macklin celebrini, will smith, connor bedard x reader summary: their reactions to the "seeing if he melts into my kiss" tiktok trend warnings: fluff, kissing

wc: 1.2k

FRASER MINTEN

for the past few days your feed has been filled with people asking their partners to put their hands up, kissing them to see how they react, and if they melt into the kiss after being overcome with the feelings of pure adoration and tenderness.

quickly becoming curious to see how fraser would react, you've been anticipating his return from the rink more than usual. stepping through the door and saying your hellos to each other, you let him change out of his clothes into something comfier, giving you the time to set up your phone to record his reaction without him noticing.

"hey fraser can you come here for a sec?"

"yeah baby hold on a sec...what'd you need?"

"can you put your arms up just like this while i do something real quick?" guiding his arms into position above his head.

trusting you completely, fraser doesn't question you and simply complies with whatever you're making him do. with one last quick and unnoticeable glance at the camera, you press your lips together in a lingering kiss.

with fraser always listening to your instructions, he leaves his arms up whilst he meets you halfway in the kiss, cherishing the moment and committing it to memory.

all the videos you saw of other couples doing this trend had their partners engulfing them into their arms. however, you felt an unexpected absence, the feeling of fraser's arms not being around you therefore, breaking the kiss to see what was happening.

"fraser baby why are your arms still up?" a slight chuckle leaving your lips.

"because...you said i needed to put my arms up" with a soft flush starting to colour his cheeks in embarrassment, thinking he had done something wrong.

you explain the trend to him, realising that your fraser will always listen to what you say.

MACKLIN CELEBRINI

for what feels like years but in reality has been a few hours, you've been trying to find the right moment with mack to do the couples trend that you've been seeing all over your for you page. you've either forgotten about it in the moment, being caught up with something else, or mack hasn't been around as soon as you remember to do it.

it's just you an him laying on the couch together, watching your comfort show when you finally find the time to do the trend on mack. the end credits roll on the episode you're watching and you ask mack to pause the show before it jumps to the following episode.

"what's up? do you want a snack or a quick break before the next episode?"

"that sounds good, but can you actually stand up for a second?"

with confusion written over his face as to why you asked him to stand up, wondering if you wanted him to get the snacks for you two.

"can you put your arms up like this for me?" demonstrating to him what position you wanted him to get into.

complying with your request with his arms tensed over his head, he's still confused "what? why?"

"just ugh you'll see in a sec" not wanting to ruin what you were about to do.

getting excited that you finally have your moment, you lean in for the kiss, wrapping your hands around his face.

mack hadn't seen this coming, but was enjoying every moment of it. immediately, his arms fell from above his head, wrapping them around you to embrace you better. all tension was released, and all that was left in his mind was sharing this moment with you.

finally breaking away from the kiss, mack asked why he had to put his arms up. you explained the trend to him through a series of all the videos you had liked leading up to the kiss you two shared.

"you melted like butter."

WILL SMITH

this whole evening, you've been seeing a new couples trend pop up on your fyp. video after video, you were watching all these people melt into their partner's kiss.

you've been waiting for will to come home from his game, you unfortunately not being able to make it tonight due to other responsibilities. constantly looking back and forth from the time to see if it was any closer to the eta will gave you, and the door waiting impatiently for the doorknob to turn and see him walk through.

with what feels like eternity, will finally arrives home and you rush over to greet him.

"babe! you're finally back! congrats on the game, i saw that goal you scored!!"

appreciating you and your support, will puts down his things and starts heading to your shared bedroom. quickly following him, you stop him in his tracks before he lays in bed.

"wait wait will can you quickly help film something for me?"

he hesitantly agrees, wanting to get ready and go to bed, but still puts you and whatever you want him to do as his number one priority.

you set your phone on a nearby table, propping it up against something to capture the memory.

"put your hands up like this for me."

following suit, he does so without further questions.

immediately, your lips meet his, engaging in a passionate kiss. will didn't see this coming, but he wasn't complaining one bit. he assumed this was just another form of praise and applause from the success of his game tonight, relaying his gratitude by closely holding you against him, completely forgetting about you asking him to put his arms up.

when you two finally let go of each other and are tucked into bed will clarifies what the kiss was for, still not understanding why his arms were up at first.

explaining the trend to him, you show him all the videos you've seen, and replay the video you took as well. will was beyond glad he agreed to help you.

CONNOR BEDARD

you're not too sure if connor has seen the new couples trend floating around tiktok recently, but you were still curious to see how he would react to your kiss.

you prop your phone up somewhere nearby the couch connor was currently sat on.

"hey connor can you get up real quick?"

complying to what you asked of him, he stood up and found your phone suspiciously stood up like it was recording him.

"can you put your arms up like this?" as you raise your arms to the side.

red flags are raised in connors mind -- the camera pointing at you two, you asking him to put his arms up, and a stick nearby that was completely unrelated to what you were about to do. he's seen this before on his own for you page.

"wait...i know what you're doing!"

"oh" feeling a bit defeated as you wanted to see his reaction.

"you're going to posture check me and then tickle me! absolutely not!"

it clicked to you that he assumed you were going to do the prank that was trending a few months ago.

"what? i wasn't going to do that! i promise you no tickles will happen. you have my word"

"you promise?"

"i never break my promises."

connor reluctantly puts his arms out, trusting that you would keep to your promise and not tickle him. keeping to your word, your lips meet his, and all his initial guards fell. his arms fall to wrap around you, realising that he could trust you entirely.

when your kiss finally breaks, his arms don't leave their position, still wrapped around you.

"i really thought i you were going to hit me with a tickle attack for a sec."

"i told you there would be no tickles."

"i know. i can always trust what you say."

a/n: ahh first little fic done!! this was super cute and fun to write, and i rlly hope this wasn't too bad!

[viennajoell]

overtime, still loud

summary: jack scores the golden goal and everything after is chaos, noise, and finding each other in the middle of it.

word count: 1.5k

You don’t remember the exact second the puck went in.

Not clearly, anyway.

It’s more like flashes. The shot. The way everyone froze for half a heartbeat. Then the net moving and the sound just… exploding.

Overtime.

Gold.

Jack.

The arena loses it. People are screaming, jumping, grabbing whoever’s closest. You get pulled into a hug by someone you don’t even know and you’re laughing, half in shock, half trying to keep up with what just happened.

Because it doesn’t feel real yet.

It was supposed to be tense. Careful. One mistake ends it.

Instead, it’s over in a second.

You push your way down as fast as you can, barely aware of anything except the fact that you need to get closer. Closer to the ice, to the tunnel, to him.

By the time you get there, it’s chaos.

Players are pouring off the ice in waves, yelling over each other, sticks clattering, equipment half off. Staff are trying to direct traffic and failing. Media is already packed in, cameras up, lights too bright for how overwhelming everything already feels.

You hang back just enough to not get shoved out of the way, eyes locked on the entrance.

Quinn comes through first, helmet gone, hair a mess, yelling something at a camera with a grin that looks almost identical to Jack’s.

You scan past him.

Still not there.

More players. More noise.

Then finally…

Jack.

He’s slower getting in, caught up in the aftermath, talking to someone over his shoulder, still half on the ice mentally. His helmet’s off, hair damp, face flushed from the cold and the adrenaline.

And yeah, there’s blood.

Not a ton. Just enough to notice. Split lip, a smear along his chin, two teeth definitely missing when he smiles at something someone says.

It looks bad in a normal setting.

Right now, he looks like he just won a war.

He turns his head, searching without really trying to make it obvious.

Then he finds you.

Everything about him shifts.

It’s small, but it’s there. His shoulders drop a little, the noise around him stops mattering as much.

He makes his way over, slipping past people, ignoring a couple attempts to grab his attention.

“Hey,” he says when he gets to you, like this isn’t insane, like he didn’t just win Olympic gold in overtime.

You stare at him for half a second. “Hey? Seriously?”

He huffs out a laugh, a little breathless. “I don’t know what else to say right now.”

“You just won the Olympics,” you say. “That seems like something you could start with.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding once, still looking at you like he’s grounding himself. “Yeah, that happened.”

Up close, you can see it better. The cut, the dried blood, the way his lip’s still a little swollen.

“You’re bleeding,” you point out.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m fine.”

“You’re missing teeth.”

“Temporary problem.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling anyway. “You’re so annoying.”

“Worked out though,” he says, grinning again, not even caring.

It’s a mess of a grin. A little bloody, a little uneven.

You think you might actually like it more like this.

There’s a second where neither of you says anything. Everything around you is still loud, still moving, but it feels a little quieter right here.

“You saw it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “You made it look easy.”

“It was not easy.”

“I know.”

He nods, like that’s enough explanation.

Then, without overthinking it, he leans in.

It’s quick, a little clumsy because he’s still in half his gear, gloves bumping awkwardly against your side, but it’s him. Warm, a little shaky, still running on adrenaline.

And yeah, there’s blood.

You feel it more than see it at first. A faint smear where his lip brushes yours, not enough to be gross, just real enough to remind you what this actually cost.

He pulls back just slightly, like he realizes it a second too late. “Sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, laughing a little. “I think I’ll survive.”

“You sure?” he asks, glancing at your mouth.

“Yeah, Hughes. I’m not dying because you scored a goal.”

“Best way to go though,” he says.

You shove his shoulder lightly. “Oh my god.”

He laughs, more relaxed now, like the moment finally caught up to him.

“I didn’t even see it go in,” he admits. “I just shot and then everyone jumped me.”

“I saw,” you say. “You disappeared.”

“Yeah, that checks out.”

Someone calls his name again from across the tunnel. Louder this time. More urgent.

He ignores it for a second longer, eyes still on you.

“You staying?” he asks.

“Obviously.”

“Okay,” he says, like that actually matters to him more than everything else happening right now. “Good.”

Another voice. Closer now.

He sighs, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you.

“I’ve gotta—”

“I know.”

He hesitates, then leans in again, quicker this time, like he doesn’t want to get pulled away mid-second.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says.

“I won’t.”

He nods, satisfied, then finally turns, getting dragged back into the chaos. Cameras, teammates, questions he probably won’t remember answering.

You watch him go, hand coming up to your mouth without thinking.

There’s a faint smear of red when you pull it back.

You shake your head a little, smiling to yourself.

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

did Jack Hughes going to the Olympics make me write something for the first time in almost 2 years…. Yes he did. I also typed this all my phone so sorry if the format is shit. and it’s also not good writing. So sorry.

You are such a Nerd

Jack FaceTiming you during the season when on roadies is always an automatic answer, but especially when he’s at the Olympics and 6 hours ahead of you.

“Hey baby.” you say as your phone finally connects. “How’s the village? How’s rooming with Quinn.”

“Eh whatever” he answers quickly before adding, “that’s not important can you believe what happens in this book?” he says as he holds up his copy of The Odyssey.

Suddenly looking at your phone as you sit up, your eyebrows frowning suddenly. “You called to complain about The Odyssey?”

“Not complain. Tell you” he defends himself as he flops on his twin size bed in his room.

“Jack. We’ve been over this, I read it in school I know what happens-“

“But, they ATE the lotus. They don’t care about returning home” he complains.

“Jack, if you’re still that early into it, I think you better buckle up.” you say fondly. “Why don’t you go hangout with Quinn? You guys should find the tiramisu everyone’s raging about. Tell me if it’s as good as people hype it up to be.”

“The what?” He asks confused.

You roll your eyes lovingly at your boyfriend, “you are ridiculous how do I know more about what’s happening in the village and I’m an entire continent away!”

“Because-“

“I love you, you know that, but please and I say this with love stop being a nerd. Go out and enjoy the village, meet up with other athletes, meet the QuadGod or hangout with Snoop!”

“Snoop is here?” He asks, and before you can answer you hear Quinn groaning the background. Jack turns his head quickly in the direction of his older brother.

“Jack! Even I know that!” Quinn groans. “Get off the fucking phone, and turn off the light before I throw something at you, I’m trying to take my pre-game nap.”

“I love you Jack but I’m going to hang up before your brother kills you.” you say with a smile on your face.

“He’s not going to do-“ but before he can finish the phone is slapped out his hand and you hear what sounds like the two boys fighting.

“Goodbye boys” you sing as you hang up the phone, laughing at yourself and how ridiculously nerdy and lovable your boyfriend can be.

[viennajoell]

Didn’t See That Coming

Summary: Trade rumors have been circling Quinn for weeks, but nobody expected Minnesota. And when the call finally comes, you’re the first person he goes to.

Word Count: 900

You could always tell when Quinn was scrolling through Twitter.

His eyebrows did this annoyed little twitch, and he muttered numbers under his breath that made no sense to anyone but him.

Tonight? He was doing all of that at once.

“More rumors?” you asked from the couch.

He didn’t look up. “It’s stupid.”

“Clearly not that stupid if you’ve been staring at your phone for two hours.”

He exhaled through his nose. “They’ve got me going to literally every team in the league. Detroit, Jersey, Anaheim someone said Nashville earlier. They’re just making shit up now.”

You raised a brow. “Well, maybe they get bored.”

“Of messing with me? Apparently not.”

Even he sounded tired of hearing about it.

You were about to tease him again when his phone vibrated. Screen lights up.

GM CALLING.

Quinn’s whole body went still.

Your stomach dropped. “…Q?”

He answered, voice low. “Yeah. I’m here.”

You watched his face closely.

At first, nothing.

Then something — a quick blink, a small breath in, that twitch in his jaw he gets when he’s trying not to react.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah. I understand. Thank you.”

He hung up.

Set the phone down.

Didn’t move.

You felt your pulse in your throat. “Just say it.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’m going to Minnesota.”

You stared. “…What?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands. “The Wild. Didn’t even know they were in the mix.”

Nobody did.

Not you, not the media, not even the group chats blowing up his phone at that very moment.

“Q,” you said gently, “come sit.”

He didn’t not right away. He paced once, twice, running both hands through his hair, trying to process.

“I thought if it happened, it’d be Detroit,” he admitted. “Or Jersey. Somewhere that made sense.”

He stopped, looking at you finally. “Minnesota? I didn’t see that coming.”

You nodded, because honestly, same.

He let out a long breath and dropped beside you at last. “I’m not… upset. Just surprised.”

“You don’t have to spin it for me,” you said. “You can react.”

He cracked a small, tired smile. “I am reacting. This is about as dramatic as I get.”

Fair point.

You shifted closer so your knee touched his. “You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know I will. Just—kind of wild.”

You smirked. “Literally.”

He groaned. “Please don’t start.”

But the corner of his mouth lifted, just barely.

After a moment, he leaned back, arm brushing yours. “I’m calling my parents after this.”

“Want me to stay?”

He looked at you and something in his expression softened.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

You nodded and rested your head on his shoulder. He let himself relax just a little, just enough to breathe.

“It wasn’t a bad call,” he said after a pause. “Just caught me off guard. They said good things. That they believe in me. That I’m gonna fit well.”

“Then maybe it’s a good thing.”

He nudged your knee. “You saying I look good in green?”

“You look good in everything.”

That earned you a real smile.

And for the first time since the rumors started, he didn’t check his phone.

He just sat there with you, taking it in the shock, the shift, the unknown and letting it settle

[viennajoell]

Room 14

Summary: When the Devils visit the children’s hospital for a charity event, Luke’s girlfriend happens to be the pediatric nurse on duty.

Word Count: 1,115

Luke had told her that the Devils were doing a charity visit at the children’s hospital where she worked, but she hadn’t expected his entire defensive unit plus Jack to be trotting through the pediatric wing like overly energetic golden retrievers.

She was at the nurses’ station, updating charts, when she heard it:

“LUKE! Look—STICKERS.”

Jack. Obviously.

She turned, trying not to laugh as Luke pried a sheet of dinosaur stickers out of his brother’s hands.

“Jack, those are for the kids,” she said, stepping toward them.

Jack blinked. “I’m a kid at heart.”

“Uh-huh,” she deadpanned.

Luke lit up the second he saw her. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning in just enough that only she could hear it. “Didn’t think we’d end up on your floor.”

“I work here, Luke,” she teased. “You had at least a 50/50 chance.”

Before he could respond, Timo Meier wandered over holding a teddy bear wearing an oversized mini-Devils jersey. “Where do you want us?” he asked her.

She led them room to room, watching Luke transform from NHL defenseman into the sweetest version of himself. He knelt beside beds, let little kids tug on his jersey, listened intently to their stories even the ones that made no sense and involved Pokémon, spaceships, and a unicorn with Quinn’s face.

But the highlight was the girl in room 14.

She was eight, shy, and so in love with hockey she almost vibrated. She clutched a mini Devils stick so tightly her knuckles were white.

Luke crouched in front of her bed. “You play?” he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Defense. Like you.”

He smiled, cheeks pink. “You’re probably better than me.”

The girl shook her head so hard her ponytail whipped her cheeks. “No! You’re the best!”

Her girlfriend watched Luke melt on the spot. He signed her stick, then the girl shyly asked, “Can I take a picture with you and your… your wife?”

She choked. Luke’s ears turned red. Jack, from across the room, yelled:

“NOT HIS WIFE. HIS BOSS.”

She slapped a hand over her face. Luke groaned. The parents laughed. Jack was absolutely thriving.

She stepped closer to the bed, offering a warm smile to the girl. “I’m not his wife,” she said gently. “Just his girlfriend.”

“Oh,” the little girl said thoughtfully. “Are you gonna marry him?”

Jack inhaled sharply like he’d been waiting his whole life for that question. “Let’s get a PICTURE.”

“Oh my god,” Luke muttered under his breath.

But he let her slide beside him, both of them leaning in for the photo with the little girl beaming between them. Luke’s hand brushed her lower back barely there, still respectful because she was working but familiar enough to make her stomach flip.

Then, as soon as the door closed behind them, Jack clapped his hands loudly.

“All right! Couple photo next!”

“No,” Luke said immediately.

“Yes,” Jack insisted, already grabbing her phone off the nurses’ station like he lived there.

She protested. “Jack, I’m on shift. No PDA.”

“Standing next to each other isn’t PDA,” Jack argued, shoving them shoulder-to-shoulder.

“It is for Luke,” Dougie chimed in, passing with an armful of goodie bags.

Luke glared at all of them. “I hate all of you.”

But he still slipped an arm around her waist—quick, subtle, instinctive as Jack took the photo. And despite his complaining, Luke smiled. Softly. The way he only did with her.

Jack checked the screen. “OHHHH okay this is adorable. I’m sending it to the group chat.”

“No—Jack, don’t—”

“Too late,” he singsonged, skipping down the hallway.

Luke groaned into her shoulder. “I swear he’s actually twelve.”

She laughed, brushing a hand down his arm. “You’re good with them, you know.”

“The kids?”

“No,” she joked. “Jack.”

Luke deadpanned. “I want that on record as the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

She grinned. “Fine yes, the kids. You’re amazing with them.”

His expression softened, the chaos fading from his features. “It was easier with you here,” he admitted quietly. “Makes everything feel… I don’t know. Right.”

Before she could respond, her pager beeped.

Duty called.

She squeezed his hand once fast and professional and he understood. That was them. Soft in quiet moments, strong in busy ones, always connected even when they weren’t touching.

“We’ll meet you downstairs before we go,” Luke promised.

She nodded, already shifting back into nurse mode.

But as he walked away to catch up with the team, he glanced back at her once more. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to feel it.

Even in a hospital filled with sick kids, bright lights, beeping machines, and loud players…

Luke Hughes looked at her like she was the calm in all the chaos.

[pucksandpower]

Princess Treatment

Quinn Hughes x Reader

Summary: the Canucks take on the “bare minimum or princess treatment” trend

The screen is black. Upbeat, trending indie pop music fades in. White text appears, styled like a video game font.

BARE MINIMUM OR PRINCESS TREATMENT? 👑

The video cuts to a wide shot of the Vancouver Canucks’ home ice. The arena is cavernous and quiet, the stands empty. The only sounds are the scrape of skates and the echo of laughter. A handful of players are still milling around near the benches, their practice jerseys dark with sweat. The lighting is low, functional, giving everything a soft glow.

Jessi, the team’s social media manager, is holding the phone, her voice bright and clear from behind the camera.

“Alright, boys, you ready?”

Conor Garland skates backward in a lazy circle, tapping his stick on the ice. “Born ready, Jessi. What’s the game?”

We asked the boys what they consider bare minimum vs. what’s princess treatment in a relationship 🤔

“It’s for TikTok,” she explains. “Super simple. I’m going to list a bunch of things, and you just tell me if you think it’s the bare minimum a guy should do for his girlfriend, or if it’s full-blown princess treatment.”

Brock Boeser, leaning against the boards, grins. “Oh, I’m gonna be great at this. I’m an expert in princess treatment.”

“Receiving it, maybe,” Nils Höglander chirps from a few feet away, earning a light shove from Boeser.

“Okay, first up!” Jessi’s voice projects. “Let’s start easy. Opening the car door for her.” She pans the camera to Jake DeBrusk, who’s taking a long drink from his water bottle. He lowers it, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove.

“Bare minimum,” Jake says, without a second of hesitation. “Easy. That’s just manners.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: BARE MINIMUM

The camera swings to Conor.

“I’m with Jake on that,” Conor says, nodding. “Bare minimum. If you don’t do that, you’re a heathen.”

CONOR GARLAND: BARE MINIMUM

“Okay, okay,” Jessi laughs. She finds Elias Pettersson, who’s quietly re-taping the blade of his stick on the bench. He looks up, his expression thoughtful.

“I think it depends,” Petey says, his voice softer than the others. “Like, if you are walking up to the car together, then yes, you open it. It is the polite thing to do. Bare minimum.” He pauses. “But if she gets to the car first, she can open her own door. It’s not a big deal.”

ELIAS PETTERSSON: BARE MINIMUM (with conditions)

Nils skates into the frame, grinning. “No, no, Petey. Always. You run ahead if you have to. Bare minimum.”

NILS HÖGLANDER: BARE MINIMUM

The camera finds Quinn. He’s been quiet, just watching his teammates with a small, easy smile, one glove off as he fiddles with the strap of his helmet. He looks completely at ease, his skates carving gentle lines in the freshly cut ice.

“Huggy? What do you think?” Jessi asks. “Opening the car door.”

Quinn looks right at the camera, and for a split second, it feels like he’s looking right through it. His smile widens just a little, a private, knowing thing.

“Bare minimum,” he says. His voice is calm, certain. There’s no debate in it. It’s just a fact.

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

“Next one!” Jessi announces. “Pumping her gas.”

Brock laughs out loud. “Oh, come on. She’s got arms, doesn’t she? Princess treatment. For sure.”

BROCK BOESER: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“No way!” Conor counters immediately, skating over. “Think about it. It’s cold out half the year. Your hands smell like gasoline after. You take one for the team. Bare minimum.”

CONOR GARLAND: BARE MINIMUM

“I agree with Garly,” Jake adds, nodding. “You just do it. It takes five minutes. Bare minimum.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: BARE MINIMUM

The camera pans over to Nils and Petey, who are now in a quiet, serious debate in Swedish.

Jessi zooms in on them. “English, boys! For the fans.”

Nils looks up. “He thinks it is princess treatment,” he says, pointing his stick at Petey. “I think it is bare minimum. It’s just nice.”

Petey sighs, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I just think it is … a normal task. It’s not a special treat. If you are there and she needs gas, of course you help. But if she is out by herself, she is capable. I don’t think it is the ‘bare minimum.’ It’s just … a nice thing to do sometimes.”

“So, princess treatment?” Jessi presses.

Petey considers this for a moment. “Leaning towards princess treatment, yes.”

ELIAS PETTERSSON: PRINCESS TREATMENT

NILS HÖGLANDER: BARE MINIMUM

The camera swings back to Quinn, who has now taken off his other glove and is tucking them both into his helmet. He’s watching the debate with an amused expression.

“Quinn?” Jessi asks. “Pumping her gas.”

He doesn’t even have to think about it. The answer is right there, settled and sure. “Bare minimum,” he says, his voice soft but clear in the echoing rink. “I don’t even think I’ve ever let Y/N pump her own gas.” A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, a secret just for him. “Definitely bare minimum.”

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

“And now,” Jessi claps her hands, “Tying her shoes.”

A collective groan and a few laughs ripple through the group.

“Seriously?” Brock scoffs, shaking his head. “If she’s not a toddler, she can tie her own shoes. That’s a hundred percent princess treatment. Like, what’s next? You gonna cut up her food for her?”

BROCK BOESER: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“Wait, wait,” Conor says, holding up a hand. “Context matters! Is it, like, her shoelace is untied and you point it out? Or are you, like, getting down on one knee in the middle of the street to do it for her?”

“Let’s say you’re on a walk, and her shoe comes untied,” Jessi clarifies.

“Ah, see, that’s different,” Conor muses. “I’d probably still just tell her. But if she, like, asked me to? I’d do it. I’m gonna call that princess treatment, though. It’s a bit extra.”

CONOR GARLAND: PRINCESS TREATMENT

Jake is shaking his head, laughing. “No way I’m doing that. Princess treatment.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: PRINCESS TREATMENT

The camera finds Petey again. He looks almost baffled by the question. “Why would you … why would she not tie her own shoe?” He asks, genuinely confused. “Is she carrying something very heavy? With both arms?”

“Nope, just a regular walk,” Jessi says.

“Then this is very strange,” Petey concludes. “Princess treatment. For sure.”

ELIAS PETTERSSON: PRINCESS TREATMENT

The camera lands on Quinn. He’s leaning against the boards now, arms crossed over his chest. He’s listening to everyone else, and the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile. He already knows his answer. He knew it the second Jessi asked the question. He thinks of that time you were walking through Gastown, your hands full with shopping bags, and your bootlace came undone on the cobblestone street. He didn’t even think twice.

“Bare minimum,” Quinn says. The words are so simple, so quiet, yet they land with more weight than anyone else’s.

Brock turns to him, incredulous. “Huggy, come on! Tying her shoes? For real?”

Quinn just shrugs, a small, effortless movement. He pushes off the boards and glides a little closer to the camera. “Yeah. Why not? Her hands might be cold. Or maybe she just doesn’t feel like bending over.” He looks directly into the lens, and that soft, private smile is back, the one that’s just for you. “It’s easy. So, yeah. Bare minimum.”

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

“Now, let’s talk about food.” Jessi moves on. “What about letting her have the last bite?”

“Oh, hell no,” Conor shouts immediately, and the group erupts in laughter. “Especially if it’s good. We’re splitting that last bite. We’re cutting it in half with a damn laser if we have to. That’s not bare minimum, that’s a sacrifice. A noble sacrifice. Princess treatment.”

CONOR GARLAND: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“I don’t know …” Jake says, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “If she’s looking at it with those, like, puppy-dog eyes? You gotta give it to her. I’m gonna say … it’s close … but it’s bare minimum.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: BARE MINIMUM

“Depends what it is!” Brock argues. “If it’s the last bite of a perfectly cooked steak? She can fight me for it. Princess treatment. If it’s, like, a piece of broccoli? She can have it all. But the good stuff? No way.”

BROCK BOESER: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“You should always offer,” Nils says simply. “It’s polite. So, bare minimum to offer.”

“But what if she takes it?” Jessi asks.

“Then you are sad,” Nils admits with a grin. “But it is still bare minimum.”

NILS HÖGLANDER: BARE MINIMUM

The camera finds Quinn. He’s watching the others, shaking his head slightly with a fond smile, as if he’s observing a foreign species.

“Hughes? Last bite of food,” Jessi prompts.

Quinn’s smile is instantaneous. He doesn’t even have to form the words. He thinks of the two of you curled up on the couch, sharing a pint of ice cream, and how he always, always maneuvers the spoon to make sure you get the final scoop with the most chocolate chunks. He thinks about how the best part of any meal is watching your face light up when you eat something you love.

“Bare minimum,” he says, and his voice is laced with so much affection it’s almost tangible. “It’s not even a question. If she wants it, it’s hers. I’d give her the whole damn plate.”

Conor groans dramatically. “You’re killing us, Quinn! You’re making us all look bad!”

Quinn just laughs, a light, happy sound that bounces off the empty seats of the arena. He skates a lazy figure-eight, his movements fluid and graceful.

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

Jessi keeps things going, “Okay, let’s get fancy. Getting her flowers every week.”

“Every WEEK?” Brock exclaims, his eyes wide. “Who has the time? Or the money? That’s not princess treatment, that’s ‘her dad owns the team’ treatment. That’s crazy.”

BROCK BOESER: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“Yeah, I gotta agree,” Jake says. “Every week is a lot. Like, for a special occasion? Absolutely. Bare minimum. But every single week? That’s definitely princess treatment. The house would be overflowing with flowers.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“It’s a nice gesture, but it is not practical,” Petey adds, always the voice of reason. “Flowers die. It seems … wasteful. Maybe a plant that lives for a long time? But new flowers every week? Princess treatment.”

ELIAS PETTERSSON: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“I think it’s romantic!” Nils argues. “But maybe too much. So, yes, princess treatment.”

NILS HÖGLANDER: PRINCESS TREATMENT

The camera slowly pans back to Quinn. He’s been silent during the debate, gliding along the blue line, his stick resting on his shoulders. He looks up as the camera settles on him, a thoughtful expression on his face. He thinks about the subscription service he set up months ago, the one that delivers a bouquet of your favorite flowers to the apartment every Friday morning like clockwork. He thinks about how you still act surprised every single time, how you immediately find the perfect vase and put them in the center of the kitchen island. It’s his favorite part of the week.

“Bare minimum,” he says quietly, but with unwavering certainty.

The other guys all turn to look at him.

“Every week, Huggy?” Conor asks, almost pleadingly. “Be honest.”

Quinn meets his gaze, his expression open and sincere. “Yeah. Why not? It takes ten seconds to order them online. And it makes her happy all week.” He shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Seeing her happy is the bare minimum for me.”

A collective, good-natured groan goes through the group. Brock throws his hands up in mock defeat.

“Alright, that’s it, I’m out,” he jokes. “I can’t compete with this guy.”

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

“We’re not done yet,” Jessi tries to restore some semblance of calm. “Carrying her when her feet hurt?”

“Princess treatment!” Jake, Brock, and Conor all shout in unison.

“Unless she, like, broke her ankle, she can walk,” Brock says, laughing. “I’m not giving her a piggyback ride home from the club.”

BROCK BOESER: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“Her feet hurt from the heels she chose to wear!” Conor adds. “That’s a self-inflicted injury! You gotta own that. I’ll let her walk barefoot and carry her shoes, but that’s as far as I go. Princess treatment.”

CONOR GARLAND: PRINCESS TREATMENT

Petey looks deeply contemplative. “This is a difficult one. It is very situational. If you are very far from home, and she is in real pain, maybe you call a taxi? Carrying seems … dramatic.” He pauses. “But if she asks, and you are strong enough … it is a very romantic gesture. I will say princess treatment, but I respect it.”

ELIAS PETTERSSON: PRINCESS TREATMENT

The camera finds its inevitable target. Quinn is smiling faintly, already anticipating the question. He thinks about that wedding you went to last summer, how you danced for hours in heels that were clearly designed by a sadist. He remembers scooping you up without a word when you finally admitted defeat, carrying you the four blocks back to the hotel while you rested your head on his shoulder, your laughter soft in the warm night air. It was one of his favorite memories.

“Bare minimum,” he says. The words are barely out of his mouth before Conor throws a towel in his direction.

“No! I refuse to accept that!” Conor yells playfully. “That is not the bare minimum! The bare minimum is calling an Uber!”

Quinn catches the towel effortlessly. “Her feet hurt,” he says, his voice patient, as if explaining a simple rule in a game. “So you carry her. It’s not complicated.” He looks at the camera, his eyes sparkling. “Plus, I mean … you get to hold her. It’s not exactly a chore.”

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

“And my personal favorite,” Jessi smiles. “Planning surprise dates!”

“Okay, now that’s a good one,” Brock says, nodding in approval. “That’s bare minimum. You gotta keep things exciting. You can’t just do dinner and a movie every time.”

BROCK BOESER: BARE MINIMUM

“Agreed,” Jake says. “You have to put in the effort. Plan something she wouldn’t expect. Bare minimum, for sure.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: BARE MINIMUM

“I think it should be both people planning,” Petey offers. “It is a partnership. But for one person to never plan anything? That is not good. So, yes, it is bare minimum to contribute and plan things. Surprises are a nice bonus.”

ELIAS PETTERSSON: BARE MINIMUM

The camera pans to Quinn. He’s got a faraway look in his eyes, and the smile on his face is soft and genuine. He’s clearly thinking of something specific. Maybe the time he set up a private projector on the rooftop to watch your favorite movie under the stars, or the weekend trip to that tiny cabin on the coast he booked without telling you.

“It’s the best part,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “Planning something you know she’ll love and then getting to see her face when she figures it out … that’s not the minimum. That’s the whole point.” He pauses, catching himself. “But yeah. Bare minimum. You should always be trying to surprise her.”

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

“Okay, what about what the people really want to know?” Jessi asks. “Like ALWAYS replying to her texts right away.”

“Nope. Can’t do it,” Conor says immediately, shaking his head. “We’re busy! We have practice, workouts, meetings. You can’t be glued to your phone 24/7. As long as you reply in a reasonable time, you’re good. Expecting an instant reply? Princess treatment.”

CONOR GARLAND: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“I’m with Garly,” Brock chimes in. “If it’s an emergency, she’ll call. A text can wait an hour or two. That’s princess treatment, for sure.”

BROCK BOESER: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“It depends on the conversation,” Jake counters. “If you’re in the middle of a back-and-forth, then yeah, you should reply quickly. Bare minimum. But if she just sends you a meme or something, you have a little more time. I’m torn. I’ll say it’s somewhere in the middle.”

Jessi laughs. “No middle ground! Pick one.”

Jake sighs. “Fine. Bare minimum. You should want to talk to her.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: BARE MINIMUM

The camera swings to Quinn. He’s already nodding. He thinks about how his phone is never on silent when it comes to you. How he’ll check it between drills, in the locker room, on the bus, just in case you’ve messaged. He hates the thought of you waiting for a reply, even for a few minutes.

“Bare minimum,” he says, and there’s no room for argument in his tone. “If she texts you, you text her back. Why would you wait? It takes two seconds.”

“What if you’re on the ice, Huggy?” Brock challenges.

Quinn looks at him. “Then I text her back the second I get off the ice.” His logic is simple, unshakeable. “She’s the most important thing. It’s not hard.”

QUINN HUGHES: BARE MINIMUM

“And for our final question. This is the big one …” Jessi continues. “Is it bare minimum or princess treatment to say “I love you” at the end of every single phone call?”

“Every single one?” Nils asks, thinking it over. “Yes. I think so. It is a good habit. Bare minimum.”

NILS HÖGLANDER: BARE MINIMUM

“Nah,” Conor says. “Sometimes you’re just calling to say ‘I’m on my way home.’ You don’t need to do the whole song and dance every time. It makes it less special when you do say it. I’m gonna say that’s princess treatment.”

CONOR GARLAND: PRINCESS TREATMENT

“I think it’s nice,” Jake says. “It doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s a good reminder. I’ll go with bare minimum.”

JAKE DEBRUSK: BARE MINIMUM

“I am with Conor,” Petey says. “I think if you say it too much, it becomes like saying ‘goodbye.’ The words should have weight. So, saying it when you truly feel it is the minimum. Saying it every time out of habit is … leaning toward princess treatment.”

ELIAS PETTERSSON: PRINCESS TREATMENT

The camera makes its final stop, zooming in on Quinn. He’s pushed his helmet back on his head, and his hair is a mess of sweat and effort, but his eyes are crystal clear. He looks softer, younger, in the dim arena light. He thinks about how the words are always on the tip of his tongue whenever he’s talking to you. How sometimes he says it multiple times in one conversation. He can’t help it. The feeling is just too big to keep inside.

He smiles, a full, unreserved smile that reaches his eyes. It’s the kind of smile that could light up the whole damn arena.

“Bare minimum,” he says, his voice so full of love and conviction that it seems to silence everything else. “Every call. Every text. When you wake up in the morning. When you go to sleep at night. A hundred times a day.”

He pushes off the ice, skating slowly toward the camera, toward Jessi, until he’s just a few feet away.

“Anything she wants, anything that makes her happy, anything that makes her feel safe and loved … it’s the bare minimum,” he says, his voice dropping a little, becoming more intimate, as if he’s forgetting the camera is even there. “Honestly, I don’t even know what ‘princess treatment’ is. When you love someone … you just do it. You do everything you can to make their life good.”

He gives one last, small smile, almost a little shyly, as if he’s just realized he’s said all this out loud.

“Yeah,” he finishes. “It’s all bare minimum.”

The screen cuts to black. The indie pop song swells.

We’re all looking for our Quinn Hughes 🥹

canucksofficial ✅ Okay, the boys had some thoughts 👀 Let us know what you think in the comments! Bare Minimum or Princess Treatment? 👇 #canucks #nhl #hockey #bareminimum #princesstreatment #quinnhughes #fyp

[andy-15-07]

Caught in the Morning

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Reader

Word Count: 1205

Request open!

24 days of Christmas | Hockey Masterlist

The first night you ever stayed over at Luke’s place wasn’t supposed to happen.

You had gone to watch a Devils home game, sitting in the seat Luke’s teammates joked was his “lucky charm.” He always played better when he knew exactly where you were, he just refused to admit it out loud. After the win, he texted you:

LUKE: Can you come to mine? Just for a bit? I don’t want this night to end yet.

You said yes.

You didn’t even bring a change of clothes, thinking you’d stay an hour, two at most. But two hours became three, and those turned into both of you lying on his bed, fully clothed, half-tangled together as you whispered things you had never told anyone else. It felt easy. Safe. New in the best way.

Somewhere around 2 a.m., Luke kissed your forehead and whispered, “Stay, okay?”

And you did.

When you woke up, sunlight was filtering through the blinds, warm and soft. You were tucked right into Luke’s chest, his arm wrapped around your waist like he’d been afraid you might disappear in the night. His hair was a messy halo, curls flattened on one side. His breath was warm against your neck, steady and slow, like he was still dreaming.

And then you heard voices.

“I think he’s still sleeping,”

“No chance. Luke wakes up at, like, noon.”

“Jack, it’s literally ten.”

“But that’s still morning, Quinn. What are you doing up?”

Your eyes flew open.

Luke’s eyes fluttered open a second later, confused and sleepy. “Mmm… what’s happening?”

Before you could answer, his bedroom door swung open.

Quinn walked in first, wearing a hoodie that was definitely Luke’s but stretched out like he’d stolen it years ago. Jack followed right behind, holding a box of cereal and eating it straight from the bag like a feral raccoon.

Both of them froze.

Then stared.

Then blinked.

You wanted to sink through the mattress and disappear into the floorboards.

Luke shot upright like he’d been electrocuted. His arm slipped from around you, his curls sticking up in eight different directions. “Quinn,Jack,what,what are you,why,who told you to come in?!”

Jack blinked again, slowly, still chewing.

“…Bro.”

Quinn’s expression was painfully neutral. “We didn’t think you’d have anyone in here.”

Jack, mouth full: “Yeah. We thought you were a virgin.”

“JACK!” Luke practically shrieked.

You made a strangled noise in your throat, torn between laughing and dying.

Quinn closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jack. Stop talking.”

“I’m just saying I didn’t think little Lukey here had it in him.”

Luke turned scarlet. “NOTHING HAPPENED!”

Quinn opened one eye. “You’re literally in bed together.”

“That doesn’t mean, Quinn! Oh my god,”

You tugged the blanket up to your shoulders, cheeks burning. “Hi,” you attempted, voice small and mortified.

Jack flashed you a grin, all chaotic younger-brother energy. “Hi. I’m Jack. I score goals sometimes.”

Quinn sighed. “She knows who you are.”

“Okay, but like, does she really know?”

Luke looked like he was about to combust. “GET. OUT.”

Jack held up the cereal box. “Do you guys want breakfast or,”

“OUT!”

Quinn placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder, steering him back toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s give Luke and his girlfriend some privacy.”

“She’s your girlfriend?” Jack blurted. “DUDE!”

Luke groaned into his hands. “Jack, please just leave.”

“Fine, fine,jeez. Congrats, though.”

Quinn turned at the door, expression softening just a little. “Sorry. Next time… lock the door?”

Then they were gone.

You and Luke stared at the closed door in stunned silence.

Then Luke let out a miserable whine and flopped backward onto the bed, covering his face with a pillow. “That was the worst moment of my life.”

You gently pulled the pillow away. His face was beet-red, ears included. “It wasn’t that bad,” you said.

“They were in here. While we were,while we were,”

“Sleeping?”

“Exactly!”

You burst out laughing. You couldn’t help it. His distress was real, but it was also… adorable.

Luke pressed both hands over his face. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never gonna let me live this down. Jack’s gonna tell the entire team. No,he’s gonna tell the entire league. Gary Bettman is gonna know.”

You sat up and ran your fingers through his messy hair. He peeked at you from between his fingers.

“You look cute when you’re panicking,” you said softly.

He made another small noise, halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Please don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I can’t be panicking properly.”

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Luke froze for a second,still shy, still new to the warmth of having someone close. Then he relaxed, leaning into your touch.

“I liked waking up with you,” you said, voice quiet.

He swallowed, cheeks pink again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Luke reached for your hand under the blanket, intertwining your fingers. His voice dropped lower, gentle but earnest. “I… really like having you here. More than I thought I would.”

Your heart fluttered.

You were about to reply when someone knocked,twice,and Jack yelled through the door:

“BREAKFAST IS READY! WE’RE MAKING PANCAKES. COME OUT IF YOU’RE DONE, YOU KNOW, WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING!”

Luke’s soul visibly left his body.

He collapsed sideways, burying his face into your shoulder. “I’m moving out. I swear to god, I’m finding a new family.”

You giggled, tracing small shapes on his arm. “You could just ignore them.”

“I can’t. They’ll break down the door.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Okay,” you said softly, nudging him. “Let’s get up. Face the chaos together.”

Luke looked at you like you’d just told him he’d won the Stanley Cup. A small smile tugged at his lips, warm and a little shy. “Together?”

“Together.”

He stood, stretching, still flustered but glowing in that early-relationship way. You borrowed one of his hoodies,he insisted, cheeks pink,and when he saw you wearing it, he actually stopped walking.

“You look…”

He scratched the back of his neck. “You look really, really good.”

You took his hand. “Come on, pretty boy. Time to face your brothers.”

Luke grinned nervously. “If Jack says one thing,just one thing,I’m jumping out the window.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’ll catch you.”

He laughed, the tension breaking. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

When you opened the door, you found Quinn sitting at the kitchen counter with coffee and Jack flipping pancakes with the confidence of someone who had never successfully made a pancake in his life.

Jack looked up, saw you wearing Luke’s hoodie, and immediately smirked.

“SO…” he began loudly.

“Jack,” Quinn warned.

“I’m just saying,”

Luke pointed a finger. “Don’t.”

Jack raised his hands innocently. “Fine. I won’t say anything.”

Beat.

“But if I did say something, it would be,”

Luke lunged at him.

Quinn sighed into his coffee as Jack screamed and Luke wrestled him away from the stove.

You stood in the doorway, watching the Hughes brothers’ chaos unfold, Luke laughing as he tried to headlock Jack, Quinn grabbing the spatula before it set the kitchen on fire.

And somehow, in the middle of the madness, Luke glanced back at you.

His smile softened.

And you knew,awkward morning or not,you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

[angelicizzed]

Mr and mrs. giggles ✶ L43

pairings. luke hughes x fem!reader

synopsis. you and your boyfriend went out with his friends— drinking maybe a little too much now they have to deal with you and him being drunk together.

warnings. dirty jokes, drunk babiesss! fluff, they literally love each other sm.

It was rare during the season for everyone to get together, but it was the off season and now everybody was together. Even some of your friends came out, groups of different teams crowded the bars as everyone arrived. That was a few hours ago— many drinks before now as you leaned onto your best friend watching as Luke played darts with his brothers, you giggled everytime he would talk shit to his brothers, them laughing it off because it wasn’t literal.

Your best friend laughed at them, eyeing Jack— looking around when he winked in her direction. “Ooo, la la la.” You mumbled, leaning your head on her shoulder, she just shook her head against yours, hoping the darkness in the bar hid her blush.

Luke finally hit the middle, he turned around as you squealed throwing your hands up, “Yeah!” You yelled, the group smiling sweetly at you as Luke pointed and winked at you.

Jack and Quinn shook their heads with small smiles on their faces, watching as you dug into your small purse with the help of your best friend because you were struggling to find whatever you were looking for, Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he watched with a smirk— what could you not find in that tiny bag?

Luke stumbled in his spot, waiting for whatever you were doing, Quinn shook his head as he watched his brother lean against the table for support.

“Jesus, women, what all do you need in here?” Your best friend muttered as she peered into the bag, you hummed when you finally pulled out your digital camera and walked towards Luke.

He smiled down at you as you approached him, maybe having to grab his arm for support since your best friend left you to stand by Jack— he pulled her wrist back but you didn’t notice that, too focused on reaching Luke. “Hey, baby.” He muttered, you smiled up at him as you pushed him backwards softly, Luke raised his eyebrows until he was standing beside where his dart just landed.

“Smile, pretty boy.” You said sweetly as you turned on your camera, your best friend shook her head from Jack’s side. Luke obeyed with a loppy sided smile as he pointed at the dart as you raised your camera up and took a moment to click on the button but soon the flash came, Luke hoped he didn’t blink.

Quinn came from behind you, slapping his hand against your shoulder startling you. “Hi, Jerome.”

Jack chuckled coming to stand beside you, your best friend on the other side of you who giggled. Quinn just shook his head as he wrapped his arm around his little brothers shoulder, Luke immediately leaning against him.

“Hey, wonderful wonderful girl.” He teased with a smile, he wasn’t as drunk as everybody else, especially not as much as you and Luke who had gone through too many drinks to count, acting like there was some sort of celebration to drink. Nobody said anything, they couldn’t when you two looked the happiest people on the planet— singing loudly to whatever song was playing in the background, not caring if you were interrupting a conversation, him spinning you around as he sung off key to your favorite song but quickly stopping when you stumbled out of his grip and into somebody’s table.

Quinn went to warn the two of you about slowing down when Jack stopped him, “They don’t get out a lot, at least together.” He said into his brothers ear, watching as the two of you giggled leaning into each other. So Quinn stayed beside Jack’s side, watching the two of you. Quinn’s heart warmed at the sight, you had become someone who was like a sister to him and Jack, you fit perfectly into the family and that’s how Luke knew you were his forever.

Luke grumbled slipping out of his brothers hold, Quinn raised his eyebrows before he pushed his way in between you and Jack, holding onto you like a koala. Jack chuckled, taking his old spot by Quinn.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” Luke muttered against your ear, you giggled, one because of the compliment but mostly because his whispering tickled against your skin, he slapped your butt as he leaned away making you giggle again.

To the rest, it look like you were giggling to yourself not hearing or seeing Luke say anything to you.

“Are you okay?” Your best friend asked trying to hide her smile, you looked up from your feet and to her. You nodded rapidly with a smile, she shook her head. “I’m gonna go get you some water.” She said, Jack followed muttering something about getting Luke something.

“My feet hurt.” You said, turning around to Luke who stared at you for a second, not a single thought behind his eyes which made you giggle again. Then his eyebrows raised, almost looking like a lightbulb would appear above his head before he squatted down and patted his thick thighs.

“I’ll be your seat.”

Quinn bent over in laughter, your group of friends turned from their spot in the bar, taking up the entire corner. They all tilted their heads at the sight of Luke squatting in front of you with you standing in front of him and Quinn standing beside the two of you, laughing loudly with his hands on his knees. Luke glared at him but it looked more like he was pooping, that made Quinn laugh more since he was squatting, you giggled— slapping your head against your mouth when Luke snapped his head towards you.

“Dude— are you trying to poop in the middle of the bar?” Jack appeared behind him, holding onto two waters. Luke’s lip parted at his brothers words, he didn’t know what was happening as he went to speak and then his legs gave out as he tried to straighten them and his back hit the floor.

He heard your loud gasp, the silence from his brothers as he groaned on the cold dirty floor of the bar and squeezed his eyes shut— then the laughter from his brothers.

“No fucking way.”

Then the laughter came from your group of friends.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter, holding onto your best friend for support who was doing the same looking down at your boyfriend who laid on the floor like it was his bed.

Jack eventually leaned down to help him up, Luke pouted as he stood up and rushed to your side to hold onto you, wishing you could put him in your pocket to hide him from his embarrassment. It kind of sobered him up— the entire bar laughing at him. Not totally though, he still felt the alcohol running through his veins as he stumbled into your arms.

He shook with your body as your laughter died down, more of you trying to suppress your laughs.

“I think it’s time to call it a night for the love birds.” Your best friend said as the two of you stumbled in your spots, the two brothers nodded in agreement.

You stood in your spot as they said goodbye to their friends, you and Luke waved after Jack pointed at you two to stay in your spots, teasing Luke for falling and the younger brother hid his face in your neck.

“Bye!” You called out as your best friend and boyfriends brother guided you out of the bar, she pulled out her phone to call an uber to your boyfriends apartment, Jack invited her to stay the night since she’d been drinking and didn’t want to take an uber alone.

You and Luke giggled to each other as Quinn sat the two of you down on the curb, you dropped your head down onto his shoulder. He hummed as your arm looped around his and he let his head fall onto yours.

“I think Jack wants to sex my best friend.” You whispered between giggles, Luke giggled too. He actually giggled. Quinn looked down at the sound in shock, as the two of you rocked back and forth.

Luke giggled and he couldn’t stop, yours had died down but when his got louder yours came back. “Not— not as much as I want to sex you.” He said into your ear and your jaw dropped, you tilted your head back to see Quinn looking down at his phone and then looked back to Luke.

“We can sex when we get home?” You said but it sounded more of a question, Luke nodded against your head. You smiled as you scooted closer to him, if you even could.

You tilted your head up again, at a very uncomfortable position. Quinn noticed, glancing above his phone, he shut it off and tucked it into his pocket. “I’m— ha! I’m drinker— no wait- I’m drunker than a skunker. Fuck. I’m drunker than a skunk!” You slurred, Quinn’s eyebrows raised as you struggled to get out your words, Luke had lifted his head and turned towards you as you did, rubbing your neck. His smile was lopsided as he listened to your words, letting out a breathy laugh when you giggled at your own words.

“Hell yeah, sunny.” Quinn laughed out, the nickname your family always called you, since you were a kid. Coming from you always having a smile on your face, being the light of the family. It kind of stuck as you grew up, everyone understanding the nickname. Your parents called you ‘sunshine’ and sometimes your friends did too but it was usually sunny.

You hummed loudly, your neck cramping at the angle. “I’m gonna look away now, my neck hurts— oo!”

Luke continued to rub your neck as you looked down again, mumbling the lyrics, “My neck, my back—“ his eyebrows furrowing at the words coming out of your mouth but said nothing as he leaned his head against your shoulder.

“Gosh, I’m so hungry.” You hiccuped, your best friend heard the sound and rubbed her head. When you started hiccuping— that’s when it got difficult. She looked down to see the uber was close, “We should start getting them up, the Ubers down the street.” She warned Jack and Quinn, the two nodded.

She appeared in front of you and you craned your neck to look up at her, “Ready to go home, my love—“

“Hey, that’s my love.” Luke cut her off with a glare, she put her hands up with a small smile, Jack shook his head as he grabbed his brothers arm to help him up. “Hey! You can separate me from my love! Hey, no.” He slurred as Jack tugged on his arm, he laughed looking to his older brother for help.

Quinn rubbed his chin with a smile, holding back his laughter. “We’re not, we’re helping you two to get home. C’mon, Lukey.” Quinn grabbed his other arm as your best friend easily helped you up, you stumbled into her open arms.

Luke stood up with all the help of his brothers, “Uhm, where’d she go? Oh my god where’d she go!?”

Jack said nothing as he grabbed his brother’s shoulder and turned him around, he smiled brightly as he stole you from your best friends hold and brought you into his. He whispered something into your ear, you giggled.

“Come on, Mr and Mrs. Giggles— rides here.” Jack said, Luke and you of course giggled as the three guided you into the uber, you fell onto Luke with a grunt, he quickly wrapped his arms around you, the bad idea was putting you two by each other because as the uber driver pulled away from the curb, you were snuggled into your boyfriends side.

Your best friend glanced at you to check on you, smiling softly at the sight before she looked towards the other two. “I hope you know there’s no getting them out of that.”

Jack nodded, looks like he was gonna carry you in tonight— again. He’d done in many times before, Luke being too drunk to carry you like he’d usually do when you fell asleep in the car ride home from the bar.

You tiredly tugged onto his hand, bringing you closer to him. “I’m not gonna sex you tonight, but I will tomorrow— I swear.” You mumbled into his neck, he only nodded as his eyes drooped.

Your best friend rolled her eyes as she heard your quiet words, “What?” Jack asked from her side, she shook her head,

“You don’t want to know,” She shook her head with a smirk, Jack raised his eyebrows but didn’t push, he believed him, he’d heard enough between the two of you— on accident, of course. It was hard when Luke lived with him and sometimes the two of you didn’t know he was home or coming into the kitchen while the two of you laid on the couch.

Once the uber parked in front of their apartment, everyone climbed out first, looking down into the car to see how to get the two of you out of the car. Luke let out a loud snore, you flinched in his hold and Quinn smiled.

“Kay,” Jack muttered leaning down and grabbing your arm that wrapped around Luke’s waist. He whispered your name softly, “Come on, sunny.” He said quietly as you nuzzled yourself into Luke with a groan, he shook his head as he got your arm away from his brother.

After a few minutes, and help with the other two finally helping. You were in Jack’s arms, deadweight, Luke basically being carried by Quinn into the apartment.

Your best friend just told Jack to put you in bed, she shuffled into your bathroom and grabbed some makeup wipes as Luke got thrown into the bed beside you.

Quinn let out a deep breath, “Jesus, can they drink.”

“It’s crazy. I don’t know how she does it.” Your best friend said quietly as sat beside your sleeping body and gently wiped the makeup off of your face, she knew you would be mad you didn’t get your skincare done but grateful she wiped the makeup off. Jack had left the room, saying he needed food.

You mumbled something in your sleep, turning onto your side and even in sleep— reached out for Luke. He immediately reached out, pulling you into his side and burying his face into your head.

“At least we got their shoes off.” Quinn said softly, your best friend nodded throwing the wipes in the trashcan by his bed. She stood up and left the room as Quinn tucked his brother and you into the bed more, something warmed his chest as he straightened, watching something so soft between the two of you even in the drunkest moments.

[lukemfhughes]

The Goal He Wanted Most

Summary: Luke Hughes returns from a road trip, confesses his feelings to his best friend, and they share their first kiss before falling asleep cuddled together. The next morning, he excitedly tells his brothers, who freak out with happiness, and Luke can’t believe he finally has the girl he’s always wanted.

WC: 2,2k

You and Luke have always had that kind of friendship people tease you about — the kind built on years of inside jokes, late-night FaceTimes, and the kind of quiet trust that comes from showing up for each other over and over again. You met when he first got drafted, when everything in his life suddenly started moving at hyper-speed, and he didn’t know where to anchor himself. Somehow, without planning it, that anchor became you.

He’d show up at your place after practice, exhausted and still buzzing from adrenaline, collapsing on your couch like it belonged to him. You’d watch film with him, listen to him break down plays, reassure him when he got stuck in his own head. He’d help you cook (badly), keep your freezer stocked with his favorite ice cream, and — without ever saying it — make your apartment feel like home for both of you.

Which is why this season has been hard. Luke’s been in a slump, working harder than anyone, but the goal just wouldn’t come. And you saw what that did to him — the frustration, the pressure, the way he’d mutter I should be better when he thought you weren’t listening. You kept telling him he wasn’t letting you down. That you believed in him. That he was enough.

So when he finally scored — finally got that weight off his shoulders — you felt the pride hit you so strong it made your chest ache. Not because he’s a star. Not because the whole arena went wild.

But because he’s Luke. Your Luke. And you knew how much it meant to him.

The apartment is quiet when you hear the familiar rattle of keys against the front door. It’s late — the kind of late where the city outside is just a hum — but you’re still awake, curled on the couch with a blanket, waiting for him like you always do.

The door swings open, and Luke steps in, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, hair messy from the travel and his cheeks a little pink from the cold. He looks tired… but the second he sees you, his whole face softens.

“Hey,” he breathes, shutting the door behind him, dropping the bag with a thud.

“Hi, Lu.” You stand up, smiling without meaning to. “Congratulations.”

He freezes halfway out of his jacket, eyebrows lifting. “You watched?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course I watched. You scored your first goal of the season. I’d be a terrible best friend if I didn’t.”

He laughs, the sound warm and familiar, shaking his head as if he still can’t believe the whole thing. “It took me long enough.”

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer, nudging his shoulder gently. “You’ve been working your ass off. I’m proud of you.”

The words come out soft, honest. And Luke goes still — really still — like he’s trying to replay them in his head. His eyes meet yours, and for a second, you swear he’s looking at you a little differently. Like maybe he heard something you didn’t say out loud.

“You’re proud of me?” he asks quietly.

You swallow, suddenly aware of how close you are. “Yeah. Always.”

He lets out a breath — one you didn’t realize he’d been holding — and then he steps into you, arms looping around your waist in a tired, heavy hug. The kind that says I missed you more than I should have.

His head drops to your shoulder. “I thought about calling you after the game,” he murmurs, voice a little muffled. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell.”

Your heart stutters. “You could have. You can. Anytime.”

Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your waist. His eyes are soft in a way that makes your stomach flip, like he’s seeing you in some new light that’s actually been there all along.

“I really missed you,” he says, and the honesty of it feels like a confession.

“You were gone for four days,” you tease, even though your chest feels too full.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling crookedly, “and that’s too long.”

The room feels warmer suddenly, quieter. His thumb brushes your side, absentminded and gentle, and your breath catches. You’re best friends. You’ve always been best friends. But right now… something is shifting.

“Luke…” you start, unsure of what comes next.

He shakes his head softly, like he already knows. Like he’s been waiting for the right moment.

“Can I—?” he begins, voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t answer with words — you just lean in, letting your forehead touch his, the smallest nod giving him everything he needs.

And in the dim light of your living room, after a long road trip, after a goal he’s been chasing for weeks, Luke Hughes kisses you for the first time — slow, warm, a little nervous — like he’s finally scoring something he’s been trying for a whole lot longer.

The kiss ends slowly, both of you pulling back like you’re afraid to move too fast, like the moment is something fragile you don’t want to break. His eyes open first, soft and a little dazed, and he lets out a breathless laugh.

“I… really wanted to do that,” he admits quietly, cheeks pink in a way that has nothing to do with the cold outside.

Your heart does a ridiculous flip. “Yeah?” you whisper.

He nods, brushing his thumb lightly across your cheek. “For a long time.”

And suddenly you’re laughing too, this quiet, relieved sound you didn’t know was stuck in your chest. He grins at that — really grins — the tiredness from the road fading into something warm and bright.

“Come here,” he says gently, tugging you closer, guiding you toward the couch like being away from you for four days was four days too long.

He falls back onto the cushions, pulling you with him, your body settling naturally against his. It isn’t awkward. It isn’t rushed. It’s… right. His arms wrap around you, one under your shoulders, the other tracing slow circles on your hip like he still can’t believe this is real.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs sleepily into your hair.

“You’re exhausted,” you laugh, shifting so your head rests on his chest. His hoodie smells like travel, cologne, and Luke.

“Not too exhausted,” he mumbles. “Just… comfortable. Finally.”

You can feel his heartbeat — steady, strong, a little faster than usual. He’s quiet for a moment, then:

“I can’t wait to tell my brothers.”

You lift your head, eyebrows raised. “Tell them what?”

He gives you a look like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That I finally got the girl.”

Your cheeks burn. “Luke—”

“I’m serious,” he says, tugging you even closer, his voice softening. “They’re gonna lose it. Quinn’s gonna pretend he knew the whole time. Jack’s gonna scream. Like, actual screaming.”

You laugh into his chest, because yeah, that sounds exactly right.

“And Luke,” you say gently, “you didn’t ‘get’ the girl. We just… found each other.”

He smiles — that shy, happy, oh-I’m-so-gone-for-you smile — and presses a small kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I found the girl.”

Your hands curl into his hoodie. His heartbeat slows. His breathing evens out. The room feels safe, warm, like this has always been home but neither of you realized it until now.

“Stay with me?” he asks quietly, almost shyly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise.

He exhales like that’s all he needed to hear.

The two of you stay wrapped up together on the couch, his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his hold. Eventually, you shift so you’re lying tangled under a blanket, legs intertwined, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

And just before he drifts off, he whispers —

“I’m really glad it’s you.”

You fall asleep like that — with his fingers laced gently through yours, his breath warm on your shoulder, and the softest smile on his lips.

Tomorrow, he’ll call his brothers. Tomorrow, he’ll tell them the news he’s been waiting years to share. Tomorrow, the world will look a little different.

But tonight? Tonight it’s just Luke. Warm, sleepy, yours.

You wake up to sunlight leaking through the curtains — soft, pale morning light — and the weight of an arm draped securely across your waist. Luke is pressed against your back, still half-asleep, his breath slow and warm on your shoulder. He tightens his hold when you shift slightly, nuzzling deeper into you like he’s been cuddling you his whole life.

“Mm… don’t move,” he mumbles, voice raspy with sleep.

You smile. “Good morning.”

He hums, eyes still closed. “Best morning ever.”

You turn in his arms, and he opens one eye to look at you — hair messy, cheeks pink, smile sleepy and soft. He leans in and kisses you, slow and lazy, like he’s been waiting all night to do it again.

And then, suddenly, his eyes widen.

“Oh my god,” he says, sitting up a little too fast. “I have to call my brothers.”

You laugh, pulling the blanket up to your chest. “Right now?”

“Yes right now,” he says, reaching blindly for his phone on the coffee table. “I promised myself I’d tell them first thing. They’re gonna freak out.”

He looks so excited — boyish, glowing, practically bouncing on the couch — that you can’t even tease him. His fingers are trembling a little as he hits FaceTime.

“Who first?” you ask.

“Quinn,” he decides confidently. “I need to ease into the chaos.”

You snort. “Jack’s going to be the chaos.”

He shoots you a grin. “Exactly.”

The call rings once… twice… and then Quinn appears on the screen, hair messy, wearing a hoodie, clearly just woke up.

“What,” Quinn grumbles, squinting. “It’s like—” he checks nothing in particular, “—morning.”

Luke beams. “Hi! Guess what!”

Quinn blinks at him. Blinks again. “You either scored another goal or… something is weird. You’re smiling too much.”

Luke glances at you, cheeks going a little pink.

Quinn notices instantly. His eyes sharpen. “Oh my god. No way. Did something happen? Did you finally do it?”

Luke tries — and fails — to look casual. “Do what?”

Quinn laughs, a full, disbelieving laugh. “Don’t play with me. Tell me.”

Luke’s smile gets shy and proud all at once. He leans closer to the screen. “I kissed her.”

Quinn freezes.

Then points at Luke dramatically. “I knew it! I knew you liked her! You’ve been in love with her for, like, three years, dude!”

Luke tries to cover the camera with his hand. “Okay, relax.”

Quinn ignores him. “Is she there? Oh my god, is she literally next to you right now?”

You wave awkwardly. “Um… hi, Quinn.”

Quinn gasps like it’s the greatest plot twist of his life. “OH MY GOD SHE’S THERE.”

Luke groans. “Can you keep your voice down?”

“No,” Quinn says immediately. “Also, I’m calling Jack as soon as we hang up. He’s gonna lose it.”

“Wait—Quinn, no—” Luke tries, but Quinn has already hung up.

Luke stares at his phone in horror. “I’m scared.”

You burst out laughing. “You should be.”

Before Luke can process, his phone starts buzzing again — a group FaceTime call. Of course. Of. Course.

He swallows. “Brace yourself.”

He answers.

Jack explodes onto the screen — hair sticking up, eyes wide, yelling before the call even connects fully.

“YOU’RE DATING? YOU’RE DATING? OH MY GOD YOU’RE DATING—QUINN TOLD ME—LUKE HUGHES FINALLY DID SOMETHING—”

“Jack,” Luke says, mortified, “chill—”

Jack is not chilling.

“DID YOU KISS HER? DID YOU FINALLY SAY IT? DID YOU PASS OUT? DID SHE SAY YES? WAIT—ARE YOU IN BED TOGETHER RIGHT NOW—”

Luke covers the camera with his hand. “I’m blocking you.”

“NO—DON’T—LUKE—LET ME SEE HER—”

You’re laughing so hard you’re shaking, and Luke groans, burying his face in your shoulder.

Quinn joins the call again, smirking like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.

“Well,” Quinn says, “welcome to the family chaos.”

Jack nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, seriously. Also I’m calling Mom.”

“JACK—DON’T CALL MOM—” Luke panics.

But it’s too late. Jack has hung up again.

Luke flops backward dramatically, covering his face with a pillow.

“This is the worst day of my life,” he declares. “I hate them.”

You crawl closer, lifting the pillow off him. “You love them.”

He sighs, glaring at the ceiling. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

You kiss his cheek. “And they’re happy for you.”

He turns his head, looking at you, the embarrassment fading into something warm and full. His hand finds yours.

“I’m happy too,” he says quietly.

Your chest softens. “Yeah?”

He nods, leaning his forehead against yours. “Yeah. Happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

The phone buzzes again — probably Jack, probably chaos — but Luke ignores it this time.

Instead, he whispers, “Come back here,” pulling you into his arms again, cuddling you into his chest like it’s where you belong.

[pucksandpower]

Language Barrier

Trevor Zegras x Michkov!Reader

Summary: when he discovers that his new teammate’s beautiful sister doesn’t speak any English, Trevor does what any rational person would do … download Duolingo and start butchering her native language, one robotic phrase at a time

The air in the Flyers training facility still smells foreign. It’s a specific cocktail of cold, recycled air, Zamboni exhaust, and the sharp, clean scent of freshly shaved ice that’s universal to every rink in the league, yet this one feels alien.

Trevor, still not quite used to the jarring orange and black replacing the familiar colors he’d worn his whole career, skates a lazy circle around the center logo. The trade was a shock, a seismic shift in the foundation of his world. One day he’s in Anaheim, the next he’s here, in Philadelphia, the new guy on a team with a history so dense you can practically feel it weighing down the rafters.

He’s trying. He’s putting in the work, staying late, being the first one on the ice. He’s making the right noises with the media and trying to find a rhythm with his new linemates. His locker is situated next to the kid, Matvei Michkov. The much-hyped, ridiculously skilled young Russian who plays with a kind of joyful ferocity that’s both intimidating and infectious.

Matvei is quiet at first, watching Trevor with shrewd, dark eyes. But the universal language of a perfect saucer pass bridges the gap, and soon enough, they’re talking. Stilted at first, then more naturally. About systems, about cities, about the best place to get a damn good cheesesteak.

And that’s how Trevor first sees you.

You’re standing by the glass where the players walk out, leaning against the boards with a casual grace that seems entirely out of place in the aggressive, masculine energy of a hockey rink. You’re talking to Matvei in rapid, fluid Russian, a language that sounds like rushing water to Trevor’s ears

 A smile plays on your lips as Matvei gestures wildly, probably recounting a botched play from practice. You laugh, a sound that, even from fifty feet away, feels warm.

Trevor stops, his skates kicking up a spray of ice.

“Yo, Matty,” he calls out, coasting over. “Who’s that?”

Matvei turns, a grin splitting his face. “Ah, Trevor. This is my sister.”

He gestures to you, and you turn your gaze on Trevor. It’s a heavy gaze, intelligent and assessing. He feels pinned by it for a half-second. He gives his most charming, easygoing smile, the one that usually works wonders.

“Hey, I’m Trevor Zegras,” he says, holding out a gloved hand, which is dumb, because you’re on the other side of the glass. He drops it, feeling a flush of heat creep up his neck. “Nice to meet you.”

You just look at him. Then you offer a small, polite smile and nod, turning back to your brother to say something in Russian.

Matvei chuckles. “She does not speak English.”

“Oh.” Trevor deflates slightly. “Oh, right. Cool.” He watches you for a moment longer. The way you hold yourself, the quiet confidence that radiates from you. It’s captivating. “Well, tell her it was nice to meet her.”

“I will,” Matvei says, his eyes twinkling with something Trevor can’t quite decipher.

***

This becomes a pattern. You’re there a few times a week, a silent, beautiful fixture at the edge of his new world. You bring Matvei food in Tupperware containers, or sometimes just a coffee. You watch the last few drills of practice, your arms crossed, your expression unreadable. You never talk to anyone but Matvei. And every time, Trevor tries.

“Hey,” he’ll say, pulling off his helmet as he passes, his hair damp with sweat.

You’ll meet his eyes and give that same small, polite smile. And nothing else.

He starts asking Jamie Drysdale about it, his one familiar face from Anaheim, his anchor in this new city. They’re grabbing lunch at a place in Fishtown that’s trying way too hard to be rustic.

“Dude, it’s driving me insane,” Trevor says, stabbing a piece of avocado toast. “She’s … I don’t know. There’s something about her.”

“Matty’s sister?” Jamie asks, scrolling through his phone. “Yeah, she’s around a lot. She’s hot.”

“It’s not just that,” Trevor insists. “She’s, like, cool. You know? She just seems smart. And she only talks to him. It’s like I don’t even exist.”

“Bro, he told you. She doesn’t speak English,” Jamie says, not looking up. “What do you want her to do? Mime a conversation with you?”

“I don’t know, man. Something. A wave? A slightly bigger smile?” Trevor sighs, leaning back in his chair. “The language thing is a killer.”

Jamie finally looks up from his phone, a smirk on his face. “So learn Russian.”

Trevor scoffs. “Yeah, right. I’m just gonna pick up Russian in my spare time.”

But the seed is planted. It’s a stupid idea. A ridiculous, certifiably insane idea.

He downloads Duolingo that night.

***

A week later, he’s ready. He’s been practicing. In his car. In the shower. He sounds like a malfunctioning robot, but he has one phrase down. Privet. Kak dela? Hello. How are you?

He sees you by the Zamboni entrance, waiting for Matvei. His heart does a stupid little tap dance against his ribs. It’s now or never. He skates over, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

“Uh …” he starts, his confidence suddenly evaporating.

You turn your head, your expression patient, expectant. You’re waiting for the usual awkward greeting and subsequent retreat.

Trevor takes a breath. “Pree-vyet,” he says, the syllables feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth. “Kak dee-la?”

For the first time, your expression changes. The polite mask slips. Your eyebrows raise in genuine surprise, and the corner of your mouth twitches, threatening to break into a full smile. You look at Matvei, who has just skated up, a look of pure, unadulterated shock on his face.

Then, you look back at Trevor. And you answer. A long, melodic string of Russian sentences pours from your lips. It’s fast and effortless and sounds impossibly elegant. You finish and look at him expectantly, a tiny, amused glint in your eyes.

Trevor stands there, completely, utterly lost. He used his one and only bullet.

He turns to Matvei, desperate. “What did she say? What was that?”

Matvei is biting his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. He clears his throat. “She says she is good. She thanks you for asking. And she hopes your practice was … productive.”

It was way too many words for that translation. Trevor knows it. But what can he do?

“Oh. Uh, cool.” He gives you a thumbs-up, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. “Tell her yes. Productive. Very.”

You smile, a real, genuine smile this time. It transforms your face, and Trevor feels it like a punch to the gut. It’s dazzling. You say something else to Matvei, tap your brother’s arm, and walk away.

Trevor watches you go, a dazed grin spreading across his face.

“Dude,” he says to Matvei, who is now openly snickering. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Matvei says, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “Your accent is just … very American.”

“Shut up,” Trevor says, but he’s beaming. He made you smile. A real smile. It feels like he just scored in overtime.

***

From your perspective, this is the most entertaining thing that has happened since you moved to Philadelphia. You’re in your shared apartment with Matvei, sprawled on the couch with a behemoth of a textbook on corporate finance balanced on your stomach.

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell him,” Matvei says, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge. He’s still laughing about the incident at the rink.

“And ruin the fun?” You reply in perfect English, not looking up from your book. “Absolutely not. This is a scientific experiment now. We’re observing the North American hockey player in his unnatural habitat: attempting sincerity.”

“He is going to be so mad when he finds out.”

“Or,” you counter, finally looking up at him, “he’ll think it’s funny. And if he gets mad, then he’s not worth it, is he?”

Matvei shrugs, spooning yogurt into his mouth. “He is a good guy, Y/N. A little loud. But a good guy.”

“His pronunciation was an international crime,” you say, a grin spreading across your face. “I almost broke. You were no help. I saw you shaking.”

“It was like watching a baby deer try to speak Russian. It was painful. And hilarious,” he says. “What did you even say to him?”

You smirk. “I told him that I was doing well, and that his attempt at Russian was both brave and deeply flawed, and that I was impressed he’d risk such public humiliation just to speak to me.”

Matvei chokes on his yogurt, laughing. “And I told him you said you had a productive practice.”

“You’re a good brother,” you say, turning back to your textbook. “Now be quiet. I have a midterm on valuation models tomorrow.”

The truth is, it’s not just for fun. Not entirely. Since Matvei got drafted, your life has been subsumed by his. You’re “Matvei Michkov’s sister.” The novelty, the exoticism of being Russian, it makes people, especially hockey players, act a certain way. They’re either weirdly fetishistic about it or they treat you like some fragile doll who needs protecting. Pretending not to speak the language is a shield. It’s an impenetrable wall that lets you observe people as they truly are. It lets you see who’s willing to put in the effort, who gets frustrated, who dismisses you.

And Trevor Zegras, the flashy, cocky American superstar, is putting in the effort. The comically misguided, Google-Translate-fueled effort. And against your better judgment, you find it … charming.

***

The efforts escalate. Trevor abandons Duolingo for Google Translate’s voice feature. He’ll corner you and Matvei, phone held out like a holy relic.

“Okay, okay, I got a new one,” he’ll say, his eyes bright with excitement. He taps his screen.

A robotic female voice emanates from his phone: “Tvoi glaza kak dve zvezdy na nochnom nebe.” Your eyes are like two stars in the night sky.

You stare at him, deadpan. You look at Matvei. Matvei looks at the ceiling, praying for deliverance.

“What’s it say, Matty? Tell her what it says,” Trevor urges, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Matvei sighs. The long-suffering sigh of a younger brother forced into being a wingman. “Trevor, she can understand Russian.”

Travis Konecny and Scott Laughton, who are stretching nearby, burst into derisive laughter.

“No shot, Z!” Konecny yells. “Did you really just use a phone to hit on her? That is the weakest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Trevor’s face turns crimson. “Shut up, TK. It’s romantic.”

He looks at you, his expression pleading. You keep your face a perfect, serene blank, but inside, you’re trying desperately not to smile. It’s the cheesiest, most ridiculous line you’ve ever heard. And he’s saying it with the earnestness of a poet.

You respond in Russian. “Tell him that if my eyes are stars, his pickup lines are a black hole from which no charm can escape. But the effort is noted.”

Matvei, ever the dutiful translator, edits heavily. “She says … thank you. It is a very nice compliment.”

“Yes! See?” Trevor says, pointing a triumphant finger at Konecny. “She liked it.” He turns back to you, a hopeful smile on his face. “One more. One more.” He fumbles with his phone.

The robot voice speaks again. “Ty khochesh' poyti poest' syrnyy steyk so mnoy?” Do you want to go eat a cheesesteak with me?

This time, you do let a small smile show. It’s absurd. The entire situation is a farce. Here is this incredibly famous, sought-after athlete, stumbling over a language he doesn’t understand, using cheesy lines from the internet, all to ask you out on a date he knows you can’t even verbally accept.

You give a small shake of your head and a regretful-looking shrug.

Trevor’s face falls. “Oh. Right. Well, ask her if maybe some other time?”

You say to Matvei in Russian, “Tell him that perhaps when he can ask me without the aid of a soulless automaton, I will consider it.”

Matvei turns to Trevor. “She says … maybe. She is very busy.”

“Busy,” Trevor repeats, his hope flickering. “Right. Of course.”

He looks so genuinely disappointed that you feel a pang of guilt. This game was fun at first, but now it feels complicated. He isn’t just some guy trying a lazy pickup line at a bar. He’s showing up, day after day, making a fool of himself in front of his entire team, just for the chance of a real smile from you.

***

The breaking point comes on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. You’re ducking into a coffee shop near the UPenn campus, trying to get out of the downpour. Your finance textbook is clutched to your chest like a shield, and your mind is a whirlwind of discounted cash flow analysis. You order your latte and find a small table in the corner to wait.

You pull out your phone and call your study partner.

“Audrey, hey,” you say, switching to the easy, colloquial English you use every day. “I’m looking at the problem set for Thursday. Question three is an absolute nightmare. I swear, Professor Davies just invents formulas to torture us. Did you get anywhere with the WACC calculation? Because my numbers are looking completely insane.”

You’re so engrossed in your conversation, so deep in your world of MBA jargon, that you don’t notice them at first.

Trevor and Jamie are sitting at a table not ten feet away.

Trevor is mid-sentence, complaining about a drill from practice, when he hears a voice. A familiar voice, but speaking a language he’s never heard it speak before. It’s a smooth, confident voice, with only the faintest, almost unnoticeable trace of an accent. It’s talking about … WACC? Whatever that is.

He turns his head, following the sound.

And he sees you.

You’re on your phone, gesturing with one hand as you talk, a look of intense concentration on your face. You’re speaking flawless, effortless English.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. Every interaction from the past month flashes through his mind. The polite smiles. The silent nods. Matvei’s barely suppressed laughter. His own pathetic attempts with Google Translate. Tvoi glaza kak dve zvezdy. Oh, God.

“No way,” he breathes, his coffee forgotten.

Jamie follows his gaze. “What?” Then his eyes land on you. “Oh, shit. Is that-”

Trevor doesn’t answer. He’s already standing up. He moves like he’s in a trance, walking slowly toward your table. The coffee shop buzz fades into a dull roar in his ears.

You’re still on the phone. “… no, because if you don’t factor in the market risk premium correctly, the whole valuation is garbage. Just text me what you got for the terminal value, okay? I’ll see you in class. Bye.”

You hang up the phone and take a sip of your latte. When you look up, Trevor is standing over your table, and the look on his face is one of utter, bewildered betrayal.

“You speak English,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A flat, hollow accusation.

The game is up. Your heart sinks into your stomach. You look into his eyes, and the playful cockiness you’re used to seeing is gone. In its place is a raw, genuine hurt.

“Trevor,” you start, your voice quiet.

“All of it?” he asks, his voice low, shaking his head in disbelief. “The whole time? The head nods, the little smiles? Letting me stand there with my stupid phone like a complete idiot?”

The people at the tables nearby are starting to look. You feel a flush of shame creep up your neck. “Can we … can we maybe not do this here?”

“Why?” he asks, his voice rising slightly. “Are you worried I’ll embarrass you? Because I think we passed that point about three weeks ago when I asked you about your eyes being stars in front of my entire team.”

His words are a punch to the gut. He’s not just angry; he’s humiliated.

“Look, I …” You don’t know what to say. Every excuse sounds flimsy and cruel. It was a joke. I was amusing myself.

“Was it funny?” He presses, his eyes searching yours for an answer. “Was it hilarious watching me make a fool of myself day after day? Was that the big joke for you and your brother?”

“No,” you say, and it’s the truth. “Well, at first, maybe a little. But it wasn’t … it wasn’t supposed to be malicious.”

“What was it supposed to be, then?”

You stand up, so you’re at his level. You owe him an explanation. A real one. “It was a defense mechanism, okay? Do you have any idea what it’s like being the random foreign sister in an NHL locker room? It’s a thing. It’s a whole category. I just … I wanted to sidestep all of that. The game started, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”

You gesture to the textbook on the table. “This is my life. I’m getting my MBA here. I’m not just an accessory who hangs around the rink. I have a whole life you know nothing about, and for once, it was easier to just be silent.”

He looks from your face to the book, the words ‘Corporate Finance: Core Principles & Applications’ glaring up at him. He seems to process this, the anger in his expression softening just a fraction, replaced by confusion.

“You’re a student? At Penn?”

“Yes,” you say. “Fluent in English, Russian, and apparently, pretending to be a mute.” The attempt at a joke falls completely flat.

He just stares at you for a long moment. The hurt is still there, swimming in his eyes. He’s looking at you like he’s never seen you before. And, in a way, he hasn’t.

“I gotta go,” he says finally, his voice clipped. He turns without another word and walks out of the coffee shop, leaving you standing there, the scent of rain and roasted coffee beans thick in the air, your heart feeling like a lead weight in your chest. Jamie gives you a wide-eyed, apologetic look before hurrying after him.

The experiment was over. And all you felt was regret.

***

The next few days are brutal. The air in the rink is thick with a new, excruciating tension. You still go to drop things off for Matvei, but you time your visits for when the players are in meetings or already gone. You can’t bear to see Trevor.

Matvei is caught in the middle.

“He is not talking to me,” he tells you one evening, slumping onto the sofa. “Not unless he has to. On the ice, fine. In the room? Silence. He just looks at me, and I know he is thinking I am a liar.”

“You kind of were,” you point out gently, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. “You were my co-conspirator.”

“It was funny at first,” he mumbles, defending himself. “I did not think he would, you know, actually try so hard.”

“Me neither,” you whisper. That was the problem. You’d expected him to be like all the others. To try once, get shot down by the language barrier, and move on. You hadn’t expected the relentless, dorky, surprisingly sweet effort. You hadn’t expected him to care that much.

“I messed up, Matty,” you say, burying your face in a cushion. “I really messed up.”

Meanwhile, Trevor is stewing. He’s replaying every single interaction in his head. The humiliation is still fresh, a hot coal in his stomach. He’d been a joke. The whole team probably knew. Konecny and Laughton’s laughter suddenly seems much more pointed in retrospect.

But as the anger begins to cool, something else settles in. The memory of your face in the coffee shop. The explanation. It was a defense mechanism. He thinks about it. The constant travel, the pressure, being a foreigner in a new country. And you weren’t even the one playing. You were just adjacent to it, trying to build your own life. Getting an MBA at Wharton, no less. That wasn’t some trivial thing. It was serious.

He realizes with a jolt that in all his efforts to talk to you, he never once wondered what you were actually like. He had built a whole person in his head — the quiet, mysterious Russian girl — and had become infatuated with that idea. He hadn’t been trying to get to know you. He had been trying to conquer a challenge.

The realization doesn’t make him feel better. It makes him feel worse. Because he’d been so focused on the language barrier, he’d created a much bigger one himself. He’d made you into an object, a prize to be won. He hadn’t seen the smart, funny, defensive person who was just trying to navigate a complicated life.

The person who, despite everything, he still desperately wants to know.

***

He knows he has to fix it. But he can’t just walk up and say sorry. Not after how he reacted. He needs a gesture. And he knows, with dawning clarity, exactly what it has to be.

It takes him four days. Four days of phone calls, of pulling a favor with a Russian reporter who covers the league, and hours of painstaking practice with a tutor who is probably questioning his life choices.

He finds out from Matvei (who has finally started talking to him again after a tense, on-ice apology from Trevor) which library on campus you study at. He feels like a stalker, but the cause feels just.

He walks into the vast, cathedral-like silence of the Fisher Fine Arts Library at the University of Pennsylvania. It’s all soaring ceilings and intricate ironwork, and he feels about as out of place as a guy in a tracksuit and a backwards hat can feel. Students are hunched over books at long wooden tables, the only sounds the rustle of pages and the soft tapping of keyboards.

He spots you in a carrel near a large stained-glass window. You’re staring intently at your laptop, your brow furrowed in concentration. You look brilliant and serious and completely out of his league. His heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of his chest.

He walks over, his sneakers silent on the old wooden floor. He stands by your table, waiting. After a moment, you sense someone there and look up, your eyes going wide with surprise when you see him. You immediately start to gather your things, a guarded expression falling over your face.

“Wait,” he says, his voice a low plea. “Please. Just … one minute.”

You hesitate, your hand hovering over your textbook.

This is it. He takes a deep breath, channeling all the practice, all the coaching from his long-suffering tutor. He looks you directly in the eye, and he speaks. In Russian.

“Ya dumal, chto problema byla v yazyke,” he says, the words slow, deliberate, and carefully pronounced. He can feel the unnatural shape of them in his mouth. “No ya ponyal, chto problema byla vo mne.”

You just stare at him. Your mouth is slightly open, your books forgotten. Your mind translates the words automatically.

I thought the problem was the language. But I realized the problem was me.

He continues, his gaze unwavering. “Ya ne videl tebya. Ya videl tol'ko ideyu. Prosti menya.”

I didn’t see you. I only saw an idea. Forgive me.

The silence in the library is absolute, but for you, it’s roaring. That he would do this. That he would go and learn not just a phrase, but this phrase. That he would understand, on such a deep level, what he had done wrong. It’s more than you ever expected.

A slow, genuine smile spreads across your face, and you feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. You blink them back.

“Your accent is still terrible,” you say, your voice soft. In English.

A huge grin of relief breaks across his face. “Yeah? I practiced that for, like, eight hours.”

“I can tell,” you tease gently. “But the grammar was perfect.”

“Thank God,” he breathes. “I, uh, I really am sorry. For how I reacted. And for … you know. Being a dumb jock about everything.”

“And I’m sorry,” you say, your voice sincere. “For the game. It was stupid, and it went on way too long. And it hurt you, which was never the point.”

An older librarian gives them a stern “Shhh!” from across the room.

Trevor looks around, then back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So … that cheesesteak offer? I promise to ask in English this time. No phones involved.”

You laugh, a real, bright laugh that echoes slightly in the cavernous room, earning you another dirty look from the librarian.

“Yes, Trevor,” you say, your smile reaching your eyes. “We can get cheesesteak.”

“Cool.” He beams, rocking back on his heels, suddenly looking like the cocky, charming kid you saw on the ice. “Because I have another line I was working on, but my tutor said it was way too cheesy.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, leaning forward, a challenge in your eyes. “Let’s hear it.”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Okay, but don’t laugh.” He takes a breath. “Are you a discounted cash flow model? Because my projected future with you looks incredibly valuable.”

You stare at him for a beat, completely stunned. And then you throw your head back and laugh, a loud, unrestrained sound of pure delight. It’s the furthest thing from the quiet, polite smiles you’d been giving him for weeks. It’s you. And it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

[viennajoell]

Free Agent, Full-Time Golfer

Summary: Luke Hughes hasn’t signed his contract yet, but instead of dwelling on it, he’s spending every free moment on the golf course. His girlfriend tags along for a day of “support”

Word Count: 1,600

Warnings: talks about j*bs

The sun was already beating down by the time Luke tugged his golf bag out of the trunk. He looked far too excited for someone who still didn’t technically have a contract.

His girlfriend leaned against the car, sipping an iced coffee. “So this is how we’re spending your free agency? Pretending you’re Tiger Woods?”

Luke grinned, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Think of it as training. Precision. Patience. Focus.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You swore so loud last week when you missed a putt, three geese flew away.”

“Okay, but I made the next one.”

She snorted, following him toward the first tee. “What are you even going to do if this hockey thing doesn’t work out? Join the PGA?”

He set down a tee, lining up his first shot. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea. Less hitting, more sunshine.”

“And plaid pants,” she said. “Don’t forget the plaid pants.”

Luke ignored her, taking his swing—solid contact, straight down the fairway. He straightened, proud. “See that? I’m basically Rory McIlroy.”

She gave him a slow clap. “Wow. One good shot. Somebody call ESPN.”

He rolled his eyes, handing her the scorecard. “You’re in charge of keeping score.”

“Oh, this’ll be fun,” she muttered, scribbling “LUKE: 1, GIRLFRIEND: 0” just to mess with him.

By the third hole, Luke was locked in, adjusting his grip, squinting at the green like it was Game 7 overtime. She, meanwhile, had found far more enjoyment in the cart.

“Do you even know how good I am at driving this thing?” she shouted over the hum of the golf cart, swerving slightly just to see him glare. “I’m like the Lewis Hamilton of golf courses.”

Luke nearly dropped his wedge. “Can you not get us kicked out before the back nine?”

“Relax,” she said, slowing down. “You’re the one unemployed, not me. I can pay the fine.”

“Technically unemployed,” he corrected, taking another swing. The ball hooked hard left into the trees.

“Nice shot, Tiger,” she called, stifling a laugh. “Maybe the squirrels will sign you.”

Luke groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re evil.”

“And yet, you invited me,” she said, smirking as she wrote a very dramatic “+2” on his scorecard.

By the seventh hole, the banter had reached full speed.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat of the cart, “if you keep this up, you could actually put ‘golfer’ in your Instagram bio. Real professional vibes.”

Luke lined up his putt. “You’re hilarious.”

“I’m serious. ‘Luke Hughes: defenseman, golfer, professional contract avoider.’”

He sank the putt and fist-pumped like he’d just won the Masters. “Boom. Birdie.”

She gave him a slow once-over. “Congrats. Want me to knit you a green jacket?”

Luke shot her a look but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his mouth. “You’re never coming golfing again.”

“Too late. I’m your caddy now.” She picked up his 7-iron dramatically. “This one’s great for, you know, when you want to slice the ball into the parking lot.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she said sweetly, looping her arm through his as they walked back to the cart, “I’m still your ride home.”

By the eighteenth hole, Luke’s hair was sticking up from his cap, his shirt was damp with sweat, and he was muttering numbers under his breath as she pretended to double-check the scorecard.

“Final tally,” she announced. “Luke Hughes: 87. Girlfriend, who didn’t even play: still 0. So I win.”

He blinked at her. “That’s not how this works.”

“Sure it is,” she said, grinning. “I didn’t lose any balls in the woods. I didn’t three-putt. I didn’t throw my driver into the grass. Therefore, I win.”

Luke groaned. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not until you sign a contract,” she teased, kissing his cheek. “Then maybe I’ll let you win something.”

He rolled his eyes but slipped an arm around her waist as they walked back toward the parking lot, golf bag slung over his shoulder.

“Fine,” he said. “But if the Devils call while I’m on the course, you’re the one answering the phone.”

“Perfect,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll just tell them you’re busy negotiating with the PGA.”

Luke laughed so hard he nearly dropped his clubs.

[star2fishmeg]

I just saw a tiktok of this newly wed couple doing a cake cutting and the groom fed himself the cake instead of his wife. no one can convince me this isn’t something Luke Hughes would accidentally do😭

[Suggestive themes]

The cake in front of you and Luke stands beautifully; large with three layers decorated with intricate patterns of roses and ribbon-like trimmings, strawberries lined around the edges of each layer and two Snoopy figurines pulling the cake together on the top - one in a suit and the other in a dress and veil. The figurines weren’t anything to do with you and Luke. That was the thing, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t giggled upon seeing Luke’s eyebrows raise and lips part in surprise. 

His hand on your hip settles firm, tucking you into his side while you share a knife, his hand engulfing on top of yours as you wait for the photographer to be ready, the grin on your face aching your cheeks in the nice way, and heart melting at his hand giving your hip a small rub, following the curve as if reassuring you. It’s that excruciating anticipation killing you, you want to cut this cake and devour, and you can tell Luke’s growing impatient, feeling him dip down to your ear level.

“I’m starving.” He mutters, voice husky and nose brushing the shell of your ear, your cheeks heating up and stomach flipping. 

It’s a given reaction, you’re wrapped in Luke’s body, and he’s dressed so handsome in his suit, his hands holding yours and he’s now your husband. 

You turn your head and whisper back. “When aren’t you? You're about to eat cake, Lu.”

“Yeah but…I like the way you taste better.” His lips meet your cheek, pressing himself closer to you, squeezing your hip and chuckling playfully.

The vibration of his laughter meets your back, a jubilant pleasure blooming through your body hearing the photographer give you the cue. The tip of the blade pokes the base of the cake first, but you’re sure Luke’s doing all the work when the rest of the knife slices through. You both reposition the blade to make a triangle slice, repeating the cutting before pulling the slice out. Placing the knife to the side, Luke takes a fork, sticking it through the corner of the cake slice and hovering it in front of your mouth with a grin plastered across his lips, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Open, baby.”

You part your lips, watching the sugary goodness approach your mouth but also seeing the glint in his eyes. He brings the fork to your lips, your stomach rumbling just smelling the flavour, before pulling it away quickly, shoving the fork into his mouth, stifling a chuckle, and thriving in the way your jaw drops. You knew something was running through his head, you just hadn’t expected his mischief to be food related.

“Luke! Don’t be an ass!” You laugh at him, slapping his chest as he swallows, as if he barely chewed. His arms wind around your waist tightly, holding you to his chest to stop your gentle slapping and his victorious giggles compensate, reminding you that no matter how old you get or where you are in life, he’ll never change his personality. “How does it taste?”

“Find out for yourself, angel face.” He teases, hand cupping your face and pulling you into a - in a literal sense - sweet and slow kiss, letting the cheers and applauding around you fade out into a muffle as your hands lay flat over his chest, lips moving with his and his chest hammers with excitement and so does yours just thinking about that hotel room door locking after this.

He pulls back in no rush, noses brushing and his thumb caresses over your cheekbone. His eyes lock in hard on your features, admiring your beauty with soft eyes and his smile because to him, you’re stunning. Luke thinks you look beautiful every day, but in the wedding attire and ring on your finger that matches his.

“I still think you taste better.” He mumbles low, his smile morphing into his cheeky lop-sided smile that screams that mischief is on his mind despite being surrounded by friends and family.

[toonice113]

By your side ⋆ ★ L. Hughes

Pairings:  Luke Hughes x fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: On your last night at the lake house Luke just can’t seem to leave your side for more than a few minutes, before bed he lets you know the reason why.

Warnings: not proofread and written on my phone but other than that nothing I think.

Word count: 1.2k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ i hate everything i’ve written lately but here’s Luke being clingy, please leave requests because i want to write more but don’t have much inspiration

Every end of summer the Hughes lake house gets filled with friends, family, neighbors and family friends and this year was no different. You could hear the buzz of people and soft music coming from the backyard all the way from Luke’s room where you’d been staying all summer while on the phone with your parents. You had been at the party for the beginning of it but excused yourself briefly to answer the call that had come through your phone since it was your dad’s birthday, 15 minutes later you were saying goodbye and hanging up to rejoin the party.

It took all of one minute for Luke to find you in the backyard filled with people “Hi gorgeous” He mutters into your ear as he holds you close. “How was the call?”

He’d joined you to say hello to your parents and wish your dad a happy birthday before letting you enjoy the chat with your family “Yeah, Marissa and Liam got him a part for the Camaro he’s been looking for for forever” You tell him

Over the course of the night Luke stays next to you, when his old Michigan teammates call him over for a round of beer pong he grabs you by the hand and takes you with him, he offers for you to join his team but you deny and cheer on him from the sidelines, when one of the neighbors daughter’s who you befriended at the country club comes and gets you to join a few other girls into a conversation Luke lasts 3 minutes away before he joins you, hugging you from behind and keeping quiet as he swings you both lightly while you talk with the girls.

Later during the night Quinn and Jack have dragged Luke inside to do something, probably play sticks in the garage since most of their friends have disappeared as well and you find yourself deep in conversation with Ellen and one of Luke’s Aunts, Lisa. “I do think there’s a way to make it tasteful, just not the way they did it”

“Yes, I agree, maybe we can find a way to work it into these two’s wedding” Aunt Lisa motions to you and you chuckle blushing.

“Oh no, I think we have too much taste to use blue roses in their wedding” Ellen says making your blush grow deeper. “I think my girl is more of a wildflowers kind of girl anyways, right? What was the name of those flowers you introduced me to? They’ve become a staple on the bouquets we keep around the house”

“Oh ranunculus!” You say. “They are kind of like roses but with lots of layers I guess a mix between roses and peonies”

“Yea, those!” Ellen nods. “Luke’s always bringing her bouquets of them, in the most gorgeous peach color, there were a lot of them so she donated them to the rest of the house” She jokes.

“Speaking of him, it’s a miracle he’s not here right now, he’s been glued to you all night” Aunt Lisa says noting your boyfriend’s absence.

“Yeah, Jack dragged him away a while ago” You tell her. “Probably to play mini sticks”

“They better not break anything in there, the replacement jar is almost 600 dollars in” She references the punishment she has for the boys, this summer alone they managed to break a vintage clock, two picture frames, a vase and a tv. “And speak of the devil”

You feel Luke snake his arms around your waist and press a kiss to your temple. “Hi ma, Hi aunt Lisa” He smiles at them. “Talking smack about me?”

“Your mom was telling me about the things you boys have been breaking around the house” Lisa teases

“That was mainly Jack” Luke points out before turning to the group having a conversation next to us, nodding along when he’s included but always keeping his arm around you as you retake your conversation with his mom and aunt.

The rest of the night remains the same, when you go get a refill of your drink Luke excuses himself from the conversation and follows you, when you get cold he takes you inside to the closet besides the front door and puts a sweatshirt on you before pulling you back with him, when people start to leave and it only a few of you are left sitting around a campfire Luke pulls you into his lap and holds you tight as conversation flows. m

And when the night ends you walk up the stairs and into your room, Luke closely behind, holding your waist all the way and following you into the bathroom to take your makeup off.

“Lukey I need to pee” You whine.

“Okay? I’m not using the toilet” He states.

“I can’t pee with you in here” You say.

“But-“ you don’t let him finish.

“Okay what’s going on?” You finally ask. “You’ve been practically glued to me all night” His eyes flash with hurt. “Not that I minded, I love you and I love having you close, but it was our last night here with your friends before your schedule is packed again”

“Yeah, and my last full night with you before we have to coordinate a shared google calendar just to figure out when we can have a date” He sighs. “Between hockey and your job and school and your practices, it just gets all hectic and we don’t get to see each other a lot, and I miss you” He takes a few steps to be closer to you, encasing you to the sink with his arms. “I just miss you so much”

“Oh Lukey” You jump a little to sit in the sink, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I miss you too” You pull him into a kiss. “I promise I’ll try to make more time when you have free days, I can move around my practices and I was already considering moving a few classes to online so I’ll do that, we’ll have more time together this season I promise”

“I don’t want you to have to move your life around for me, that’s just not fair for me to ask you to do that” He says.

“You’re not asking me to do anything, I want to do this for us” You kiss him once more.

“If you’re sure” He says between kisses. “But this is not setting a precedent, if you want a winter wedding you’re getting it” He kisses you. “One of our kids’ birthday falls on a roadie, I’m flying you out and the whole team’s singing happy birthday and dressing up as their favorite characters and putting on a show for them”

“Wedding and kids huh?” You smile teasing him.

“Yup, three at least” He says with a cheeky smile

“Three at most” You say. “And I think I’d prefer a summer wedding”

“Summer wedding it is” He nods kissing you again.

“I still need you to leave so I can pee” You whisper into his lips as you separate making him whine. “I’ll be in there to be the big spoon in a minute, why don’t you get the bed warm for me”

“On it” He lets go and walks out.

“Take those clothes off before you get in bed Luke, they’re dirty!” You call out and hear something crash after. “And there goes more money into the replacement jar”

[defuse-myheart-deactivated20251]

JEALOUS IN THE STANDS-LUKE HUGHES

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 During a game, the camera catches Luke glancing into the stands between plays, straight at you. What the crowd doesn’t see is that he’s glaring at the guy who’s been talking to you all night.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Hockey games with Luke usually mean two things: freezing fingers from holding your drink too long, and your boyfriend sneaking glances at you between plays like he’s got some kind of sixth sense for where you are in the arena.

Tonight feels no different, at least at first. You’re bundled in your oversized Devils hoodie (Luke’s, of course), halfway through a bucket of popcorn, when the guy next to you laughs again, leaning just a little too close. You can smell his cologne, sharp and expensive and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the camera sweeping past your section.

"Isn’t that your boyfriend down there?" the guy asks, nodding toward the ice. "Number 43?"

You bite back a smile, keeping your eyes on the game. "Yeah. He’s mine."

The guy grins, like he’s uncovered some fun fact. “Cool. Didn’t think I’d be sitting next to a player’s girlfriend.”

You hum quietly, eyes flicking back to the rink. You don’t want to be rude, but you also don’t want to give him the wrong idea. You think maybe that’s the end of it until the Jumbotron camera sweeps past your section and you catch a familiar stare.

Luke’s eyes are locked on you. Not just glancing, locked.

From the bench, Luke spots Y/N before the puck even drops. Her hair catching in the arena lights, laughing at something the guy next to her just said. The sound doesn’t reach him, but it doesn’t have to. He can picture it perfectly.

He tells himself it’s fine. You’re here for him. You’re wearing his number. But when that guy leans in again, Luke’s jaw tightens beneath his mouthguard. His stick taps restlessly against the ice, impatience radiating in every movement.

"Focus, brother," Jack mutters, smirking. "Or at least try to hide the death glare."

Luke rolls his eyes, mutters something about shutting up, and pushes off toward the faceoff circle. Still, his gaze flickers back, once, twice before he forces himself into position.

This is stupid. You’re not his property. You can talk to whoever you want. But does the guy have to stand so close?

Luke can’t read lips perfectly, but he sees the way you tilt your head, the soft crease of your smile. It’s the real one. The one he’s spent months trying to earn every single day.

The ref drops the puck and Luke’s instincts take over, skating hard, intercepting a pass, charging toward the offensive zone. It’s a clean play, muscle memory more than thought, but there’s an extra edge to it tonight.

You’re midsentence with the guy when the arena erupts. Luke’s stick has just met the puck, sending it rocketing past the goalie into the back of the net. Your section jumps to its feet, voices echoing in cheers, and you’re swept up in the noise.

You barely notice the guy clapping beside you, you’re too focused on Luke. He’s grinning now, breathless, gliding toward the bench. And then, right before the camera cuts away, he looks straight at you.

It’s a look that says, That one was for you.

The guy next to you chuckles. “You’re smiling again.”

“Yeah,” you say simply, still watching Luke. “I am.”

You don’t explain that it’s not because of the conversation, it’s because Luke Hughes just scored like a man on a mission, and made sure you knew exactly why.

Post game, Luke’s hair is damp and curling, his cheeks still flushed from the cold. He shrugs out of his gear with practiced movements, ignoring Jack’s chirping about how he’s “never seen someone skate like that over a girl.”

When you appear in the hallway, that knowing little smile on your face, Luke moves toward you instantly.

“You cold?” he asks, already shrugging his jacket over your shoulders before you can answer.

“A little,” you admit. “Nice goal, by the way.”

He smirks faintly. “Guess I just needed some motivation.”

The car is warm, the city lights blurring past the window. You glance at Luke’s hands on the wheel, knuckles pale from gripping it a little tighter than usual.

“You gonna tell me what that look was for?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He glances at you, feigning confusion. “What look?”

“The one you gave me after you scored. The ‘I just proved a point’ look.”

Luke exhales, eyes back on the road. “That guy next to you, he was leaning in. A lot.”

You bite back a smile. “You jealous, Hughes?”

His ears go pink. “No. I just..didn’t like it.” A pause. “And maybe I wanted to remind him why you’re wearing my hoodie.”

You laugh softly, leaning over to press a kiss to his shoulder. “Message received.”

Luke leans back just enough to meet your eyes, a faint flush on his cheeks. “Good. Because I plan on making sure you remember it all night long.”

[toasttt11]

almosts

summary: five times macklin almost caught the secret relationship between his best friend and older sister and the one time he did find out

thank you @wyattjohnston for making the entire exchange and my fic is for @lam-ila, i hope you like your fic !!

wk: 3.5k

will smith x celebrini!reader

zero 

“Hurry up!” Macklin chirped as he walked quickly down the hallway of his apartment building or rather his sister’s apartment building they he bugged her till she say yes that he can live with her in San Jose now that he would be living in San Jose again.

His sister is the oldest of out of five Celebrini siblings and she is current attending Stanford University in her junior year as Macklin was about to start his rookie year in the NHL.

She followed her Mom’s path and has been playing soccer since she could walk, she has been the starting goalie at Stanford since she joined as a Freshmen.

“I’m coming.” Will sighed exasperated as his new friend and teammate rushed him to the apartment.

“Hellooo?” Macklin called out as he opened the front door and walked into their shared apartment with Will right behind him

“Yeah?” A softer voice called back and Will just followed Macklin helplessly into the kitchen seeing a girl with darkand longer hair wearing a emerald green hoodie and black shorts while standing at the kitchen making a coffee.

Will immediately raised an eyebrow seeing how much caramel she was putting into the coffee and he slowly smiled.

“Smitty this is my sister.” Macklin gave Will a proud grin as he tossed an arm over his sister’s shoulders making her look at him and fondly roll her eyes, “And this is Will.”

Will watched her glance at him, immediately his breath got caught in his throat looking at her being completely captivated by her but especially by her bright shining eyes.

Her eyes slowly looked across Will’s face and she gave him a tiny smile holding out his hand, “So you’re the blonde my brother doesn’t shut about.” She sounded amused as she spoke. Macklin hasn’t stopped talking about Will since they became friends during the summer.

Will set his hand in her hand ignoring how much he liked the touch with a stranger, “Oh he talks about you constantly.” Will felt like he knew her already with how much Macklin talks about his favorite sibling.

She gave him a sweet smile not realizing they were still holding hands looking at each other, Macklin didn’t realize either as he was more focused on stealing his sister’s coffee.

“Mack!” Macklin laughed as she shot around realizing what he was doing.

Two months later it had become common for Will to spend most of his free time at the Celebrini’s apartment and most of the time he ends up staying over in the guest room.

Will and her have had quite a lot of quiet moments where Will thinks she might feel the same for him.

Will’s been completely whipped her since the day he met her in the end of August. Will knows he likes his best friend’s older sister.

She was the more hesitant one, she knew she felt something for Will that much was obvious but he’s a year younger and her little brother’s best friend, there is lines there she doesn’t want to cross or rather she is trying to not cross but she could only ignore the pull to Will for so long.

She was currently standing in the Toffoli’s house for a Sharks party after finishing the first month of the hockey season. Macklin dragged her to the party on one of her rare free nights.

She excused herself my the conversation feeling a familiar pair of eyes on her and needed a second. She let out a tiny sigh of relief finding one of the quieter patios that currently was unoccupied.

The sliding door opened behind her making her nose twitch smelling the extremely familiar cologne, the same cologne that is now glued all over her apartment.

“Hey.” Will’s tone was soft while he slowly walked over to her. His eyes glued to her side profile.

“Hi.” She let out quieter and softly and then she glanced over making eye contact with Will, who was already looking at her.

Will took a small step closer making her slowly swallow glancing up through her lashes.

“This is a bad idea.” She muttered once she saw Will’s hand reach out to touch her waist.

“Maybe.” Will lowly agreed before flashing her a sunny smile, “But i don’t want anything else.”

She softened just slightly as his words making him set his hand on her waist for the first time.

“Mack will hate it.” She mumbled trying to not focus on how close Will has gotten and stare at his lips.

“Is that a yes?” Will whispered in a hopeful tone his eyes glued on her lips.

She barely started to nod before Will cupped her cheek and finally kissing the girl he’s been waiting to kiss.

Her fingers went into Will’s blonde curls pulling him closer as she kissed right back.

Will kept his forehead rested on hers watching her eyes open back up and look at him.

“We should keep it to ourselves.” She barely got out her words before Will was kissing her again.

“Whatever you want.” Will muttered against her lips happily.

She just smiled fondly, she could worry about the secret later for now she was going to enjoy kissing the boy she has wanted.

That night was the start of a relationship that they would desperately try to hide.

one

She was sitting at the small circle dinning room table with her headphones on playing her favorite twenty one pilots playlist as she worked on her school assignments.

She didn’t even look up feeling Macklin plopping down heavily next to her in the other chair until he put a bowl under her face making her glance up from her books after she paused her music and slidding her headphones down onto her neck.

“What’s this?” She asked her brother as he handed her a bowl of food.

“Dinner.” Macklin shrugged easily before starting to stuff his mouth with the same dinner.

“You didn’t cook.” She stated raising an eyebrow knowing he had just gotten home and Macklin can’t cook.

“Of course not dearest sister.” Macklin scoffed playfully, “I brought food home from the rink.” He causally explained knowing she will spend the whole night here at the table and wanted to make sure she got a good meal.

Her face softened making her reach over ruffling his hair, “Thanks Mackie.” She gave him an appreciative look.

“Yeah yeah just remember i’m your favorite sibling.” Macklin gave her an innocent grin making her laugh shaking her head fondly before starting to eat her dinner he got her.

“Oh by the way is that Smitts hoodie?” Macklin asked curiously noticing the hoodie she had on.

She choked harshly on her food coughing, “Is it?” She croaked out after she stopped coughing.

“Yeah.” Macklin nodded easily, “I must have taken it by accident.” Macklin assumed he just got Will’s hoodie on a road trip and that his sister had assumed she was wearing Macklin’s hoodie as she steals his hoodies often.

He didn’t even think of the possibility that Will might have given her the hoodie because they are together.

“Must of.” Her voice went a bit high but shoved the spoon in her mouth looking away from her brother.

two

Will and Macklin were sitting in Stanford stands watching her play.

It was currently November but in San Jose it was still nice and comfortable outside not feeling like winter at all.

Will had a Stanford hoodie on that she gave him, a hoodie that Macklin didn’t even blink when seeing Will wearing it.

The buzzer rang making Will and Macklin both shoot up cheering loudly as Stanford won 4-0 and the shut out win was her record breaking game for the most shutouts at Stanford as a Goalie.

She glanced over to the stands after getting out of her team dog pile and beamed seeing her brother and boyfriend giving them a wave.

She quickly rushed over to the two boys the second she could and laughed as Macklin tackled her first hugging her so tightly.

“That was really cool!” Macklin whispered to her sounding proud of his eldest sibling.

“Thanks Mackie.” She softly mumbled back fixing his beanie as they pulled back before she glanced over seeing Will waiting patiently with a calm but proud smile holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers.

“For me?” She asked softly giving him a loving grin as Will stepped closer to her.

“Course.” His voice just as soft, he might of convinced Macklin that they needed to get her flowers purely for her big game so he could her flowers without Macklin asking questions.

She gently took the flowers before Will wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her into a tight comforting hug.

“Congrats Love.” Will mumbled against the side of her head.

She squeezed him softly back both not fully realizing how long they were hugging but Macklin didn’t realize either.

She shared a look with Will looking amused as Macklin was immediately rambling to them about dinner plans once they stopped hugging.

three

Macklin rubbed his face sleepily walking into the living room seeing his sister curled up on the couch with her favorite green blanket watching a formula one race. He will never understand her love for F1 especially she is always getting up earlier to watch race weekends.

Macklin plopped down on the couch next to her stealing some of her blanket.

“Morning Mack.” She mumbled half focusing on her brother as she watched intently as Alex Albon was working on overtaking another car.

Macklin mumbled something unrecognizable back before asking, “Is Smitty up?”

Will has spent the night at the siblings apartment, Macklin thought Will was in the guest room but Will spent the entire night in her bed.

“Getting breakfast.” She muttered back cheering softly to herself as one of the William’s car went up a position and was now in the points.

Macklin made a sound in return half falling back to asleep.

Will walked back through the front door sliding his jacket and shoes off holding a bag and tray of drinks as he walked into the living room.

She took her eyes off the screen to give him a sweet smile. Her eyes widen quickly after Will leaned down kissing her cheek.

They both looked over at Macklin seeing him just sitting up rubbing his eyes while looking at the two, he obviously saw Will kiss her cheek but didn’t say anything or didn’t even realize why Will was kissing her cheek, “Food.” Macklin reached for the bag.

Will shared a relived look with her before rolling his eyes fondly and helping Macklin get the food Will picked out for him.

“Thank you.” She spoke softly giving Will a smile as he handed her an iced coffee that she loves and a box with her breakfast.

Will sat down pretty close to her on other side of her as Macklin was still sitting next to her on her other side. Will ended up having a hand on her thigh under the blanket as her head ended up leaning on his shoulder as a pillow while Will and Macklin both sat with her watching the rest of the race.

She is starting to realize that Macklin is never going to realize about her relationship till he literally sees them kissing or she tells him.

four

Macklin looked across the locker room looking heavily amused seeing Will rushing through getting has suit back on.

Macklin had realized Will had been talking to a girl frequently with how much Will is texting and always smiling at his phone.

But that is all Macklin knows as Will is being incredibly tight lipped.

“He so had a girlfriend.” Macklin commented once Will rushed out of the locker room. Macklin failed to see the amused looks sent at him for not realizing just who is Will’s girlfriend.

“That goal was incredible.” Was the first words Will heard once he saw his girlfriend waiting for him in the hallway wearing a Sharks bomber jacket, unfortunately she has nothing with his number on.

Will walked right to her cupping her face kissing her quickly making her stop talking with wide eyes before she kissed him back.

“Hi.” She gave him a raised brow after their kiss looking around the hallway warily knowing Macklin only a couple feet down the hall.

“Sorry.” Will shrugged not fully sorry because he’s been wanting to kiss her since warmups and he saw her wearing Sharks merch and finally attending a game. It’s rare for her to have the time to come out to a Sharks game which Will understands it just makes him love it more when she is there.

“Mhm.” She hummed fully not believing him but gave him a smile not mad as she reached up fixing his tie.

Macklin walked out the locker room and his brows furrowed seeing his sister and Will talking. Macklin thought he would finally see Will’s girlfriend today, he wondered where she went.

five

Will leaned over her shoulder from behind setting the plate and glass in front of her before kissing her cheek softly feeling her smile grow.

Will quickly say down next to her tangling their legs together as she started breaking up the muffin for them to eat and held a piece for him.

They don’t get nearly as much alone time together as they would like but today they did as they both managed to give Macklin excuses so they could have a coffee date today.

“Thank you my love.” Will kissed the tip of her nose after she gave him another piece of the blueberry muffin.

She hummed softly in reply wiping the crumbs of his lips with her thumb.

Will kissed the side of her head talking fully of advantage of not having to hide their relationship.

The couple talked about random things and upcoming off season plans, plans that they were making together and both knew they would tell Macklin by the end of the hockey season.

Will whispered a joke to her making her start laughing her forehead hitting his shoulder as her shoulders shook with laughter and Will watched with the most dreamy smile seeing her laugh because of him.

“What are you two doing here?” A very familiar voice spoke making her head quickly shoot up and they saw Macklin standing there before he plopped down at the empty seat at their table and immediately stole a piece of the muffin.

“Isn’t it funny we all ended up meeting here?” Macklin gave them a grin, he didn’t even think that maybe they were both there together on purpose.

“So funny.” Will muttered trying to not glare at Macklin for interrupting their date.

“Oo that guy looks like he has a house full of cats.” Macklin commented looking at a guy across the coffee shop.

She closed her eyes letting out at a sigh as her brother was third wheeling again and Will let his forehead hit the table groaning softly.

+one

Macklin and Will were sitting together again on the Stanford stands during one of her last soccer games of the season.

Will shot up first the second she hit the ground and didn’t get back up, Macklin not far behind him.

It seemed like she got a cleat to the face and was on her knees on the ground covering her face as medical rushed over to her and her teammates surrounded her while simultaneously protecting her from the people and cameras watching.

Macklin and Will could barely see as she was helped up but they saw how she swayed a bit standing up.

“She swayed, she doesn’t sway.” Macklin muttered looking so worried, his sister is always fine but right now she wasn’t.

She got helped off the field with her glove covering her face the entire time.

Macklin didn’t waste a second and rushed out do the stands with Will quickly following him as they rushed to the medical room together.

Will stopped at the door not sure if he is allowed in and Macklin didn’t even pay attention heading right to his sister.

She was sitting on the end with a doctor looking at her eyes with a light and her face was gushing blood from above her eyebrow.


Macklin walked right to the open side of her bed grabbing her hand softly making her squint and realize it was her brother.

She had a pretty mild concussion and would need a good amount of stitches for face.

She was left almost with Macklin for a few minutes as one of the nurses went to get the supplies for stitches.

“Where’s Will?” Was the first she croaked out with her eyes squeezed shut.

Macklin titled his head at her question, “Uh outside the door i think?”

“Can you get him?” She asked quietly wanting her boyfriend.

Macklin looked at her slowly and nodded even if she wasn’t looking at him. He let go of her hand walking to the door and seeing Will pacing outside in the hallway.

Will’s head snapped up at the door opening and sighed in relief seeing, “How is she?”

Macklin blinked hearing the desperation in his best friend’s voice, “Not horribly, she’s asking for you.” Macklin barely stepped out of the way before Will was rushing in right to her.

Macklin watched Will immediately grab her hand and gently cup her face with his other hand and Macklin watched how his sister fully relax at his best friend’s touch.

He saw Will gently kiss the top of her head, “Oh.” Macklin muttered a tiny bit upset realizing there is obviously something going on between his sister and best friend and he had no idea.

“So when were you guys going to tell me?” Macklin asked crossing his arms.

She immediately opened her eyes wincing looking at her little brother desperately, desperate to explain and for him to understand, “Mack I swear-”


The door opened and the nurse walked back in stopping her from being able to explain to Macklin.

Will looked at Macklin and Macklin looked away with a clenched jaw.

Macklin didn’t say anything just stood at the end of the bed and watched his sister hold onto Will’s hand tightly as she got stitches. Macklin knows how much she hates getting stitches and Will managed to get his sister to keep her calm the entire time.

She didn’t get a chance to explain to Macklin after her stitches as she had to go take a shower and get changed.

She wasn’t allowed to drive so she walked with the boys back to Will’s car. Macklin still not saying anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Macklin spoke up very quietly in the already quiet car. He was looking at his sister in the passenger seat.

She had her eyes closed but knew who his question was for and she let out a small sigh, “I didn’t know if you would be okay with it.”

Macklin blinked looking a bit hurt and said looked away at the window not saying anything else.

Will and Macklin helped her back up to the apartment and got her settled in silence on the couch so they both could watch over her.

Macklin watched Will tuck her in and gently push back her hair, “I’m not mad you guys are dating.” He spoke up looking honest, he loves the idea of his sister and best friend.

“I’m hurt that you guys thought you had to hide it from me.” Macklin sat down looking at the two.

“I’m sorry Mackie.” She apologized honestly grabbing her brother’s hand. She could have given her brother more credit and thought that he could have been accepting.

“I’m sorry too.” Will apologized to his best friend as he sat down on the couch too.

“It’s okay.” Macklin gave them both a soft smile.

Will shared a look with her, all of those times they hid and all of times it made their relationship tense and they just could have told Macklin instead.

“So when did you get together?” Macklin leaned closer to them with a grin making Will laugh softly and she had a small smile happy everything worked out.

[viennajoell]

Throttle Problems

Summary: Luke Hughes convinces you to ride a jet ski with him, but you quickly realize his definition of "casual ride" is borderline psychotic.

Word Count: 1,150

Warnings: none :)

“This is such a bad idea,” you muttered, squinting at the bright sun bouncing off the lake water.

Luke, standing shirtless and smug, waved you over like he was presenting a brand-new car on a game show. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, fun for you. I’m not trying to end up in a TikTok compilation titled ‘Couples Failing On Watercraft.’”

“You’ll be fine,” he grinned. “You’re with a professional.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Luke, you couldn’t even figure out the coffee machine this morning.”

“That’s unrelated!” he protested, already climbing onto the jet ski.

You sighed dramatically, stepping forward. “If I die, tell my mom I loved her but this was all your fault.”

“Noted. I’ll add it to your gravestone.”

You climbed on behind him, awkwardly wrapping your arms around his waist. “If I fall off, I’m dragging you with me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Luke said, revving the engine ominously. “Hold on!”

Before you could reply, the jet ski *launched* forward like a rocket. Your scream was immediate and involuntary.

“LUKE!” you yelled, water spraying into your face. “I SWEAR TO GOD—”

But he just laughed, cutting sharp turns like he was auditioning for some waterborne Fast & Furious spin-off. Every time the jet ski tilted, you screamed, convinced that this was the moment you’d get yeeted into the lake

“Why are you like this?!” you shrieked as he whipped around another turn, your arms practically throttling his midsection.

“Adrenaline is healthy!” he shouted back, completely unbothered.

“This isn’t adrenaline, it’s pure panic!”

He slowed slightly, your heart still jackhammering in your chest. He looked back, grinning way too wide for someone who had just nearly drowned you both via velocity.

“You’re fine,” he teased. “Didn’t even fall off.”

“Yet,” you snapped. “I’m one sharp turn away from haunting your ass.”

“I’d make a pretty good ghost boyfriend, to be fair.”

“I’ll make sure to make your life miserable from the afterlife.”

He chuckled, coasting the jet ski to a more leisurely pace. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You squinted, knowing you were soaking wet, hair probably looking like a damp mop. “If this is your idea of foreplay, we’re gonna need to redefine some terms.”

Luke barked a laugh. “No, foreplay is letting you drive.”

You blinked. “You want me to drive this death trap?”

“Yeah. You gotta experience the power.”

You raised a suspicious brow. “If I crash us, that’s on you.”

“I like living on the edge,” he said, cutting the engine so you could switch spots.

As you awkwardly swapped places — nearly tipping both of you over, prompting you to shriek, “IF WE GO DOWN, I’M HAUNTING YOU TWICE!” — Luke just laughed, settling behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist.

“You’re supposed to hold on,” you pointed out.

“I trust you,” he said smugly. “Also, I wanna see you panic when you go full throttle.”

“Oh, I’m panicking already, don’t worry.”

Still, you grabbed the handlebars and cautiously twisted the throttle. The jet ski stuttered forward and Luke immediately let out a fake scream.

“OH GOD WE’RE GONNA DIE,” he cried dramatically into your ear.

“Stop it!” you yelled, but started laughing, especially when he kept up the act, clutching you and shouting, “TELL MY FAMILY I LOVE THEM.”

“I hate you,” you muttered through laughter, but you picked up speed anyway, testing a few turns.

Luke whooped behind you, egging you on. “Faster! C’mon, show me the chaos!”

“Oh, you wanna see chaos?” you said.

You revved the throttle harder, the jet ski picking up serious speed, and you started turning sharper, sending waves flying and Luke screaming for real now.

“OKAY OKAY SLOW DOWN—”

“I THOUGHT YOU WANTED CHAOS!” you yelled back, cackling.

Luke’s arms tightened, his laughter now laced with *actual concern*. “I take it back! YOU’RE INSANE.”

Eventually, the jet ski caught a little too much air off a wake, sending you both airborne for a split second before crashing back down. The landing sent a huge wave over both of you.

You both erupted into shrieks yours a triumphant one, his somewhere between fear and hysterics.

You finally eased off the throttle, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. Luke was catching his breath behind you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re a menace.”

“You literally taught me.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d out-menace me!”

You glanced back at him, grinning. “Tell me you’re impressed.”

Luke shook his head, chuckling. “I am. Terrified, but impressed.”

You drifted to a stop in the middle of the lake, the sky starting to blush orange as the sun dipped lower. Luke rested his chin on your shoulder, still catching his breath.

“I think we just traumatized some fish,” he muttered.

“Probably some birds too,” you said, snorting.

There was a pause, the water gently rocking beneath you.

“You know what this means though,” Luke said, voice playful

“What?”

“We’re definitely racing next time.”

You turned to look at him, incredulous. “You’re already plotting a rematch?”

“Obviously. I can’t have my girlfriend being the bigger menace on water.”

You smiled wide. “Luke, you didn’t even survive round one.”

“Exactly. I need redemption.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Fine. But only after ice cream. Three scoops. Minimum.”

“Deal. And a milkshake if I win the next race.”

You grinned, twisting the handlebars to head back. “You’re not winning.”

Luke tightened his grip, his smile pressed into your neck. “Oh babe, we’ll see.”

You glanced at the water and then at the jet ski beneath you, a mischievous thought forming. “If you talk shit one more time, I will hit a wave on purpose.”

Luke groaned, but you could hear the laughter in his voice. “I’m literally dating chaos.”

“Yeah. And don’t forget it.

And with that, you sped up again — just enough to keep him guessing, but not quite enough to throw you both in. Maybe next time.