Welcome !

Hello and welcome ❤️🧡

[postgamevibes]

MASTERLIST

NHL 🏒

Formula 1

AU’S

Genres:

-Fluff💕

-Angst😔

-Hurt/Comfort🤕

-Smut🔥

[postgamevibes]

First Time

Summary: It’s your first time and his, too. What should be awkward and nerve-wracking turns into something slow, sweet, and deeply intimate because with Connor, love makes even the most vulnerable moments feel safe.

*********************************************************

The room is quiet.

Not awkward quiet. Just soft and safe.

You’re both under the covers, legs tangled, facing each other. The bedside lamp casts a buttery glow across the sheets. His fingers trace gentle shapes on your arm.

Connor’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ve never done this before.”

Your heart flutters not in surprise, but because it’s him, he trusts you enough to say it.

“Me neither,” you say.

His eyes meet yours, wide with relief, and something more tender.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”

There’s no rush.

He leans in to kiss you slow, careful. You can feel the nervous tension in his shoulders. You cup his face with both hands, grounding him.

The kiss deepens, his lips part yours as he pulls you closer. You sigh into him, letting the warmth bloom.

“You sure?” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw.

“With you? Always.”

That earns you a smile the shy, boyish one that makes your stomach flutter.

“You make this feel less scary.”

“You make it feel right.”

His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming along your ribs. His touch is cautious, reverent, and it only makes you crave more. You help him pull it over your head, your breath hitching as his eyes scan over your newly exposed skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, like it physically stuns him.

You reach for his shirt in return, lifting it over his head. You run your hands down his chest, mapping his skin slowly. He shivers.

When you're both bare, there's a moment of stillness. Eyes meeting, hearts racing.

“You okay?”

He nods, voice shaky. “I’ve never wanted something more.”

He kisses his way down your neck, pausing between your breasts as his hands cup them for the first time. You arch into him, gasping softly as his thumbs brush over your nipples.

“You like that?” he asks, voice deeper, more unsure.

You nod, reaching for his hand and guiding it to keep going.

It’s gentle, warm, and exploring. Your back arches again as he kisses lower, his lips brushing the dip of your stomach.

When his fingers slip between your thighs, you gasp and he stills.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not. Please, Connor”

That’s all he needs. He moves carefully, learning your body with delicate strokes, watching your face for every reaction. When you start to come undone against his hand, your body trembling, he whispers your name like it’s sacred.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, breathless. “Come here.”

You roll the condom onto him together fumbling, giggling, kissing through your nerves. When he finally settles between your thighs, your hands tangle in his hair.

“Slow,” you whisper.

He nods, forehead pressed to yours as he slowly pushes inside. You both gasp, holding still when he’s fully seated.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, you?”

His voice breaks. “So okay.”

He starts to move, slow and uncertain at first, but your soft moans and whispered encouragement guide him, and soon it’s smoother. Deeper. More connected.

His hips roll into yours, your legs wrapping around him as the room fills with soft gasps, the creak of the bed, and the quiet murmurs of your names.

You kiss between every movement his shoulder, cheek, lips.

“You feel so good,” you whisper.

“You’re everything,” he breathes, almost like a confession.

Your climax builds slowly, his hand slipping between you to touch you just right, and when you fall over the edge, your body clenches around him. He follows quickly, gasping your name as he spills into the condom, body trembling in your arms.

After, he stays inside you for a moment, head buried in your neck. You stroke his back, soothing him as you both come down.

Eventually, he slips out gently and discards the condom before pulling you into his chest.

You curl up together, limbs tangled and skin flushed. Connor kisses your forehead, his voice still breathless.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” you whisper with a sleepy smile. “It really was.”

“Thanks for doing that with me.”

“Thanks for doing it with me.”

You both laugh, tired and happy.

Wrapped in each other, you fall asleep with full hearts and the knowledge that the first time didn’t have to be perfect to be unforgettable.

Because with Connor, it was real.

And that’s what mattered most.

[postgamevibes]

Can I request the “current boyfriend ” TikTok trend with Luke Hughes please

“Current Boyfriend”

(Hope you enjoy it) Summary: You and Luke are eating takeout in your apartment when you secretly record a TikTok trend: “I’m here with my current boyfriend…….” His reaction? Confused. Flustered. And totally viral. Turns out the internet loves a golden retriever in love just as much as you do.

Rain pattered softly against the windows, the kind of steady drizzle that made everything feel still and cozy. The apartment smelled like soy sauce and dumplings, the remnants of a rainy-day takeout order from your favorite little place down the block.

Luke sat across from you at the kitchen table, bent over a container of lo mein, chopsticks clumsily navigating noodles to his mouth. His hair was damp from his post-practice shower, curls extra fluffy and sticking up in different directions. His hoodie sleeves were pushed to his elbows, revealing the lightest smudges of soy sauce on his wrist, and he was mumbling to himself about how the shrimp in this batch was “actually elite today.”

You reached for your phone slowly.

You hadn’t planned on filming anything. But then again, the trend had been everywhere lately girls recording their unsuspecting partners with the same casual, almost bored tone: “I’m here with my current boyfriend…” And then watching the chaos unfold in real time.

Luke had no idea what was coming, that was the point.

You discreetly swiped open the TikTok camera and angled it low by your glass of water, propping your phone up against the salt shaker.

It was perfect, framed just right. You pressed record.

“I’m here with my current boyfriend,” you said smoothly, not looking up, “eating takeout on a Thursday night.”

Luke paused mid-bite. Slowly, his head tilted. He blinked once, twice.

“Your current boyfriend?” he repeated, lips quirking upward. “What do you mean current?”

You held in a laugh, keeping your face straight.

“I said what I said.”

Luke leaned forward, pointing his chopsticks at you like a weapon. “Excuse me are there interviews happening I don’t know about? Tryouts? Applications? Am I being replaced?”

“Luke, please,” you said with a dismissive wave. “Eat your noodles.”

He gawked at you. “Current? Babe—”

“Don’t make this weird.”

“Oh, I’m making it weird? You’re the one soft-launching your next boyfriend while I’m sitting here eating sesame chicken like an idiot.”

You snorted.

Luke dropped his chopsticks in mock betrayal. “I swear to God, if some dude named Daniel shows up in your comments, asking if the position is open—”

You lost it, wheezing with laughter.

Luke’s eyes finally caught on to the phone. His expression froze.

“Are you recording me?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned, burying his face in his hoodie sleeve. “This is gonna be another TikTok, isn’t it?”

“It’s already a TikTok,” you grinned. “And you absolutely nailed your part.”

He peeked at you with wide, betrayed eyes. “I can’t believe I just got pranked mid-dinner.”

“You got pranked beautifully.”

Luke slumped in his chair. “I should’ve known. The camera angle, the way you said it so calmly”

“I’ve been practicing.”

He pointed dramatically. “This is emotional warfare.”

You ended the video and leaned back smugly. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna break the internet with this one.”

And you did.

Within hours, the TikTok racked up thousands of views. Then hundreds of thousands. You hadn’t even added hashtags beyond a casual #currentboyfriend and #takeoutvibes, but the algorithm had picked it up and run wild.

The comments were exactly what you expected:

“LUKE’S FACE I’M HOWLING” “he said ‘current???’ like his life flashed before his eyes” “this man is in his golden retriever boyfriend era and it shows” “i need my own Luke Hughes IMMEDIATELY”

Luke groaned every time you showed him a new one.

He flopped dramatically onto the couch, pulling a throw pillow over his face. “I’ll never live this down.”

“You’ll live it down by embracing it.”

He peeked at you from under the pillow. “You’re loving this.”

“Obviously.”

You climbed onto the couch beside him, throwing a leg over his as you pulled him in.

“I’m also loving you, current boyfriend or not.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Still with that?”

You grinned. “I mean… ‘current’ just means you haven’t been upgraded to fiancé yet.”

Luke went quiet.

You blinked. “I’m joking”

“No,” he said, sitting up, eyebrows raised. “You just said ‘yet.’”

“Luke.”

His whole face lit up, dimples and all. “You want me to upgrade?”

“I want you to finish your dumplings.”

Luke smirked, standing up and heading back toward the kitchen. “Okay, future fiancée. I’ll get us both dessert.”

You paused.

“Wait, what kind of dessert?”

“Current boyfriend privileges,” he called over his shoulder. “You’ll see.”

That night, he cuddled into you under the blanket, hand absentmindedly tracing shapes on your thigh as your phone continued to buzz from TikTok notifications.

He leaned over and kissed your cheek.

“Next time you do one of those trend things,” he murmured, “at least give me time to put on a cooler hoodie.”

You snorted. “You wore my college crewneck. They loved it.”

“They’re gonna think I only own, like, three sweatshirts.”

“You do.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Fine. Just make sure I look cute next time.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying you want to be in another one?”

Luke shrugged, but his smile gave him away. “I mean… if I have to keep proving I’m not just the current boyfriend.”

You kissed him softly, laughing into his lips.

“Oh, Luke,” you whispered. “You’ve never been just anything.”

[postgamevibes]

Practice Wife

Summary: Luke’s teammates tease him about how often he talks about you, joking that you’re basically his “practice wife.” At first, Luke plays along, calling you “Mrs. Hughes” for laughs, but when the teasing starts to feel real, he realizes just how much you mean to him, and isn’t afraid to show it. A lighthearted, swoony one-shot full of warmth, laughter, and the quiet comfort of being someone’s forever teammate.

*********************************************************

You weren’t sure when the nickname had started, but one thing was clear: Luke Hughes was utterly, completely smitten, and apparently, his teammates had picked up on it faster than he did.

It was the little things at first. The way Luke’s phone buzzed constantly with texts from you, even when practice was starting. The way his face lit up whenever you came to games, sitting just a few rows behind the bench. The way he talked about you all the time, really in casual conversations with his friends.

His teammates noticed.

Jesper was the first to make the joke, one afternoon in the locker room, lacing up his skates with a smirk. “Dude, you talk about your girl so much, it’s like you’ve got a practice wife or something.”

Luke had laughed, brushing it off, but the nickname stuck like glue.

Soon, the teasing became a steady drumbeat. “Mrs. Hughes” echoed around the arena during warmups and team dinners. Luke’s friends called him “hubby” when he wasn’t looking, and every now and then, a teammate would slip a playful, “Better get home to Mrs. Hughes,” right as he left practice.

You heard the nickname before Luke did. The first time it really hit was when you joined a group video chat with some of the team and heard a chorus of “Hey, Mrs. Hughes!” directed at you.

You raised your eyebrows at Luke, who just grinned sheepishly.

“Seriously? Practice wife?” you teased later over coffee, eyes sparkling.

Luke shrugged, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. “Why not? It’s kinda fun.”

And it was. Somehow, that silly phrase had become a badge of honor proof of the quiet, comfortable bond you and Luke shared amidst the chaos of hockey life.

One Friday night, you sat curled up on the couch in Luke’s apartment, a pizza box open on the coffee table and a documentary playing on mute. Luke was scrolling through his phone when a message popped up from Jesper: “Hey man, you really gonna make us wait until the offseason for the big Mrs. Hughes announcement?”

Luke showed it to you, laughter bubbling from his chest. “Apparently, they’re all waiting on me.”

You nudged him playfully. “Maybe you should give them a little something to chew on.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

You smiled, slipping your hand into his. “I don’t know a little less ‘practice wife’ and a little more ‘officially Mrs. Hughes.’”

Luke squeezed your hand gently, eyes soft. “We’ll get there.”

The next week, the nickname took on new life.

During practice, you arrived early to watch the team warm up. Jesper caught sight of you and jogged over. “Hey Mrs. Hughes, you here to cheer your hubby on?”

You laughed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Luke appeared moments later, catching Jesper’s teasing grin.

“Careful,” Luke warned with a smile. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Jesper just smirked. “I’m just saying, you two are a package deal.”

Luke looked over at you, his gaze full of warmth and quiet pride. “Yeah, we are.”

Later, you and Luke took a walk through the city, hand in hand, the evening air crisp and refreshing.

“I kinda like this whole ‘practice wife’ thing,” Luke admitted, squeezing your hand. “It means I get to brag about you in front of everyone.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Good. Because I’m proud to be your Mrs. Hughes practice or not.”

Luke laughed, pulling you closer. “Best title I’ve ever had.”

As the days passed, the teasing faded into a comfortable rhythm, the nickname transforming from a joke into a symbol of your life together steady, playful, and filled with love.

And every time Luke called you “Mrs. Hughes,” whether for laughs or something softer, you knew you were exactly where you belonged.

[postgamevibes]

TikTok soft launch

Summary: When a casual TikTok study break video accidentally features Luke Hughes in the background, the internet goes wild trying to guess the identity of the mystery girl. As fan attention grows, Luke and the reader navigate the challenges of keeping their relationship low-key while savoring quiet moments together. A soft, sweet reveal that proves some love stories are worth sharing slowly and on their own terms.

*********************************************************

You never meant for it to happen like this.

It started innocently enough: a late-night study break, your phone balanced on a stack of textbooks, lighting just soft enough to make your cramped college dorm room look like a cozy little sanctuary. You were filming a TikTok, the kind you’d seen blown up lately the chill “study break routine,” the quiet moments between exams when all you wanted was a little peace. Your hands showed, arranging a steaming cup of coffee, pulling on a chunky sweater, flicking open a book. Your voice hummed softly narrating a few tips to stay sane during finals week.

Luke was there too, he was never far away anymore.

Tonight, he was leaning against the doorframe, wearing his Devils hoodie, scrolling on his phone, occasionally humming along to some song you couldn’t quite hear. You didn’t think much of it until he popped into the background of one clip, his deep voice answering a question you posed aloud: “Hey, Luke, think I should cram or sleep?”

“Sleep,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Trust me.”

You laughed quietly and glanced at him. “See? He agrees. Sleep wins.”

The video was nothing special to you. Just a quiet night. When you woke up the next morning, your phone was buzzing non-stop. Your TikTok notifications had exploded. Comments poured in from people tagging each other: “Is that Luke Hughes?!”, “OMG, girl, you’re dating Luke Hughes!!”, “Where’s the @???”.

You stared, blinking at the flood of messages. Somehow, your casual video had turned into a viral mystery: who was the voice behind the soft chuckle, the Devils hoodie? Fans were piecing it all together, piecing together your low-key “soft launch” into the public eye.

You hadn’t planned for this.

Luke, meanwhile, found it hilarious. The next day when you facetimed, his grin was impossibly wide. “So, apparently I’m the new TikTok star,” he teased, flicking his hair back.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Yeah, thanks for crashing my chill video.”

“It’s not my fault the guys kept asking if I was dating ‘TikTok girl’ or whatever.” He winked. “You’ve got a fan club.”

You groaned. “I’m a college student.”

He laughed.

Despite the teasing, you felt the familiar flutter of nerves. School, hockey, and suddenly the unwanted internet fame. You didn’t want the attention, not like this. You wanted privacy, a bubble where Luke was just Luke, not the Devils’ rising star.

That night, you curled up in your hoodie, scrolling through the comments. Some were sweet, some nosy, others downright creepy, you felt exposed.

Luke sensed it.

A few days later, after a long practice, he sent you a text: Come over? I wanna see you.

You arrived at his apartment, the familiar scent of pine and leather greeting you. He was sprawled on the couch, earbuds in, watching game footage. When he saw you, he pulled them out.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the seat beside him.

You sat close, careful to avoid the lingering soreness in your legs from a long day of classes. Luke reached over and took your hand, his thumb tracing light circles on your skin.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Honestly?” You sighed. “I’m scared. Not of you, or us, but all this,” you gestured vaguely at your phone and the endless notifications, “the attention. I’m not ready for everyone to see this side of me.”

Luke nodded, his eyes gentle. “I get it, but you don’t have to be ready all at once. We can take this slow, however you want.”

His hand tightened around yours. “I’m proud to be with you. Doesn’t matter what anyone says or thinks.”

You smiled, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

That night, Luke did something small but meaningful. He posted a blurry Polaroid on his Instagram story two coffee mugs, one with “His” written in shaky black marker, the other “Hers.” The background showed your backpack and textbooks stacked neatly.

It was subtle. The perfect “soft launch.”

You laughed when you saw it. “Really?”

He shrugged, grinning. “I’m terrible at subtle.”

You posted a TikTok the next evening, a study vlog with Luke’s hand resting lightly on your knee as you flipped through a notebook. No faces, just quiet closeness.

The comments exploded again, but this time you weren’t afraid. Luke was with you. You were together in this, online and off.

Later, curled up on his couch, watching fan edits and reaction videos with Luke dozing beside you, you felt a quiet peace settle over your heart.

“Soft launch complete,” you whispered, uploading one last video of Luke asleep, face turned away, your caption: Please be nice 🫶🏼

Luke stirred, mumbling sleepily, “Already nice. Especially to you.”

You smiled into the glow of your phone screen, knowing no matter what, you had him, and that was everything.

[postgamevibes]

Sleepy Boyfriend

Couch Cuddles

The evening had been long, but at least it ended with something sweet: a movie night with Luke, tucked in on your couch with a blanket thrown over you both. He’d been absolutely wiped after a tough practice, and as the opening credits rolled on your favorite rom-com, you could feel his exhaustion in the weight of his body next to you.

Luke’s head tilted slightly to the side, and you could hear his soft breathing as you snuggled into the warmth of his chest. The movie started off slow, but the sound of his gentle breaths began to lull you, too, despite your best intentions to stay awake.

A few moments passed, and you glanced over to see Luke’s eyes fluttering. “Luke,” you whispered, nudging him. “Stay awake for the movie.”

But he just muttered a soft, almost unintelligible response, and before you knew it, he was out cold. His head slid down your shoulder, and a gentle snore escaped his lips. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, feeling his body completely relax against you.

With a smirk, you reached for your phone. This was one of those moments you had to document. You took a quick selfie of the two of you Luke, dead asleep, his hair a mess, his lips parted in that cute way he had when he dozed off. You sent the photo to Jack with the caption: “Guess what time it is.”

It only took a few seconds before Jack replied: “Lol, I knew it. He’s like a teddy bear, isn’t he?”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Sighing contentedly, you let him sleep, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be the last time tonight. The movie played on, but you barely paid attention, wrapped up in the warmth of your boyfriend and the comfortable rhythm of his breathing.

***

Locker Room Snooze

The post-game rush had settled, and you found yourself making your way to the locker room to meet Luke. The Devils had pulled off a tight win that night, and you’d been there cheering him on from the stands. Your heart still raced a little from the adrenaline of the game, but you were eager to see him.

When you opened the locker room door, you were greeted with the usual chaos: teammates laughing, shouting, and throwing towels at each other. But among all of them, there was Luke, sitting by his locker with his gear half off and his head propped against the wall.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you approached him. “Luke, you okay?” you asked gently, your voice amused.

He blinked, then gave you a sleepy smile, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Yeah,” he mumbled, but then his head tipped forward, and he was out again.

His body slumped forward slightly, and you caught him before he could fall face-first onto the floor. The boys around him snickered.

“Classic Hughes,” one of the guys said with a grin. “You know, you should get him a pillow for after every game.”

You shot them all a look. “I’ve been telling him that for weeks.”

One of the guys, who had a mischievous glint in his eye, took a towel and draped it over Luke like a blanket. “There, perfect. He’s good now.”

“Thanks,” you said dryly, sitting down beside Luke as you brushed his messy hair back. “I don’t know how you do this every game. You’d think after being a pro, you’d at least stay awake long enough to shower.”

But he didn’t stir. Instead, he let out a tiny snore, and you chuckled. His hand instinctively reached for yours, giving it a light squeeze even in his sleep.

“I’ll let you get away with it this time,” you whispered. “But don’t make a habit of it.”

***

Family Dinner Snooze

You’d been dreading this moment all week. Dinner with your family was always a bit chaotic, but tonight, with Luke tagging along, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous. Your parents were excited to meet him of course, they were but you knew that they’d also be keeping an eye on him, checking for how well he meshed with your family dynamic.

Luke, ever the trooper, agreed to join you without complaint. Yet, by the time the main course was being served, he was already starting to show signs of fading.

At first, you didn’t notice. Your aunt was telling an exaggerated story about her gardening mishap, and you were laughing along with the rest of your family when you glanced over at Luke. To your surprise, he was sitting up straight but barely awake, his eyes blinking in slow motion, then closing entirely.

“Luke?” you whispered, nudging him under the table. “Hey, you good?”

His eyes fluttered open briefly. “I’m good…” he mumbled, but before you could stop him, his head tipped to the side and came to rest on your shoulder.

The table fell silent for a moment, all eyes on Luke. Your little cousin giggled and poked Luke’s arm. “He’s sleeping!”

Your mom, ever the understanding one, gave you a knowing smile. “I see why you like him,” she teased, then returned to her conversation as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Well, I guess that answers the question of whether he fits in with the family,” you muttered under your breath.

Luke didn’t even stir, and your aunt, ever the sweet one, placed a napkin over his lap like a blanket. “Aw, poor guy,” she cooed, “he’s just tired from the game, let him rest.”

By the time dessert was served, Luke was practically curled up next to you, the picture of serenity. You just shook your head, smiling.

***

Bedtime Rest

Later that night, after your family had all said their goodbyes and you were finally back in your apartment, you sat together in your room. Luke had somehow stayed awake through most of the car ride home, but now that you were both in bed, he was starting to fade again.

He tossed and turned for a few moments, his body slowly relaxing against you. You laughed softly as his head came to rest on your pillow, and he mumbled in his sleep.

“Don’t let me fall asleep on you,” he whispered hoarsely.

You smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead gently. “No promises, Sleepy.”

He hummed contentedly in response, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion of the day. You lay there beside him, listening to his steady breathing, your heart full.

It was just another night with your sleepy boyfriend, and honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[postgamevibes]

Luke Hughes

Sleepy boyfriend

TikTok soft launch

Practice wife

“Current boyfriend”

[postgamevibes]

Morning Stretch

(Soft smut more suggestive nothing too explicit)

Summary: Will has a strict game-day routine. You're not usually part of it until one morning, curiosity gets the better of you. Once you're on the mat with him, well things bend in more ways than one.

*********************************************************

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet.

You could tell by the soft gray light filtering through the bedroom blinds, gentle and quiet, like the world was still holding its breath.

You were wrapped in warm blankets, eyes barely open, the smell of eucalyptus faint in the air. Will your boyfriend, your human furnace wasn’t in bed.

Again.

It was game day.

You groaned softly and rolled over, expecting to find the bed empty. But instead, you heard it:

A soft exhale, the creak of a floorboard, a low grunt.

Will was on the floor, stretching.

Again.

He had this whole routine early wake-up times, light snack, stretching in the living room before morning skate. You normally slept through it, only catching glimpses when he’d come back in, freshly showered, hair still damp.

But not today.

Today, for some reason, you couldn’t fall back asleep. Maybe it was the soft sounds of him in the other room, maybe it was the chill in the air. Maybe it was the fact that Will Smith was currently shirtless and very bendy on the yoga mat you bought for yourself and rarely used.

Whatever the reason, you were curious.

So you pulled on one of his sweatshirts, padded barefoot down the hall, and leaned on the doorframe like a sleepy cat.

Will was mid-stretch, one leg tucked under the other, arms raised overhead in a slow inhale. The sweatshirt you’d stolen had San Jose across the chest in faint letters, and the sleeves swallowed your hands.

He looked up, caught you watching, and smirked.

“Well, well look who’s awake.”

You grumbled. “How long have you been out here?”

“Hour or so.”

“On purpose?”

He nodded. “Game day.”

“You know it’s weird that you enjoy this, right?”

“Necessary,” he said, reaching for his toes. “Keeps me from feeling like I’m eighty by third period.”

You crossed the room, collapsing onto the floor beside him. “Teach me.”

Will arched a brow. “What, you’re joining me?”

You flopped dramatically onto your back. “I want to understand your pain. Also, I can’t touch my toes anymore and that feels like a personal failure.”

He chuckled, scooting over to give you space on the mat. “Alright. You asked for it.”

Ten minutes in, you were already regretting your life choices.

Will was sitting like a pretzel, somehow both relaxed and perfectly upright. Meanwhile, you were hunched like a gremlin, trying to copy him and failing miserably.

“Okay, now pull your foot up toward your hip,” he said, gently guiding your ankle. “Yeah, like that.”

You winced. “My body wasn’t made to bend this way.”

“You’re doing great,” he said, voice low and encouraging. “Breathe into it.”

You did.

He reached around, lightly pressing on your lower back to help you lean forward.

The touch wasn’t inappropriate just supportive.

But the way his palm settled there, warm and steady.

Yeah, okay. Maybe this wasn’t just about stretching anymore.

You peeked up at him.

He was close, really close.

“Is this how you always start your mornings?” you asked.

Will smirked. “Only on game days.”

“That explains the mood. You’re, like, centered and annoyingly calm.”

“Routine helps.” His voice was softer now, more thoughtful. “Wakes my body up, clears my head. Focuses me.”

“And what if I mess it up?”

He looked at you then, really looked, eyes dark and half-lidded in the low light.

“You couldn’t mess me up if you tried.”

The tension shifted.

Not sharp, not overwhelming.

But warm, pulling.

Like something small and electric moving beneath your skin.

He helped you into another stretch legs extended, chest leaning forward and this time, when he guided your posture, his hand lingered.

“Still good?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” you said, breath catching.

“Sure?”

You nodded.

His fingers traced a line up your spine, with a featherlight touch.

Your body tilted forward more from instinct than form and when you looked back at him, his expression had changed.

Less instructor.

More something else.

You ended up lying side by side on the mat, legs tangled, facing each other.

The stretching was long forgotten.

Will propped himself up on one elbow, hand brushing a piece of hair from your face.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Me?”

“You come out here looking like that stealing my hoodie, acting all innocent then spend twenty minutes groaning on a yoga mat and expect me to keep it together.”

You snorted. “Groaning? I was struggling.”

“You were making sounds,” he said, inching closer. “And I have an active imagination.”

You laughed softly. “So what, this is my fault now?”

“Always has been.”

He kissed you then.

Slow.

Easy.

The kind of kiss that fit perfectly in the softness of morning no rush, no pressure, just heat and quiet.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced the curve of your cheek.

“I usually finish with a cooldown stretch,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Want to help me with that?”

You grinned. “Depends, does it involve lying flat on my back?”

“Among other things.”

You pulled him down by the collar.

“Stretch me, Smith.”

You were definitely not walking straight by the time he left for morning skate.

He looked smug.

You looked ruined.

But happy.

And when he came home hours later, still glowing from a win, he kissed your temple and said, “Best. Game day. Ever.”

You had no complaints.

[postgamevibes]

Part II:

4:25 PM — Locker Room

The chirps started before Jack even stepped inside the locker room.

“Hey, Hughes, how’s it feel to be the internet’s softest boyfriend?” Nico called from across the room, not even looking up from his phone.

Jack froze in the doorway, his face going pale. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Daws waved his phone in Jack’s direction. “Look at this, bro. You’re trending on TikTok and Twitter. #SoftestBoyfriend in the NHL, It’s everywhere.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Jack snatched the phone out of Daws’s hand, watching the clip. He cringed as his words played back clear as day.

“She was in my hoodie, hair up, no makeup, and still looked like a damn movie. Like what am I supposed to do? Not fall in love?”

It was framed perfectly a behind-the-scenes shot of Jack skating across the rink, followed by the unexpected confession. It was sweet, it was honest, and it was now plastered across every corner of social media.

“Bro, I told you they were gonna keep it in,” Nico said, snickering.

“Thanks, Nico,” Jack muttered, glaring at his phone as the comments flooded in. “I’m never living this down.”

“Don’t worry, you’re just about to be the NHL’s favorite boyfriend,” Luke called, throwing a towel over his shoulder as he came out of the shower.

Jack scrolled through his mentions, cheeks burning as the comments piled up.

“Anyone else melting or just me?” “Jack Hughes? More like Jack Softies.” “Imagine having a boyfriend who says stuff like this.” “He just called her a movie, I’m in love.” “I want what he’s got.”

Jack dropped the phone with a groan, slumping into his locker. “I swear to God, I’ll never live this down.”

Daws just laughed. “You’ve made it, man, You’re famous.”

Luke popped his head into the locker room, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Just saw the clip on Twitter, you’re adorable, bro. I love it.”

“Please don’t start,” Jack groaned.

“I’m sorry, but ‘hair up, no makeup, still looks like a movie’?” Luke smirked. “This is legendary. You’re soft as hell, and I’m living for it.”

7:18 PM — Team Group Chat

The group chat exploded, of course.

Nico:

Jack just became the internet’s boyfriend 💀

Luke:

Bro, you’re soft as hell, I can’t even.

Daws:

I’m crying, This is what we call content.

Jack:

Can someone delete that video before it’s too late?

Dawson:

Too late bro, it’s everywhere.

Timo:

Bro, I’m sorry, but you’re trending, just embrace it.

Jack:

Everyone shut up. Please.

Dawson:

I’m loving the hashtag #SoftestBoyfriend, though. It’s catchy.

Luke:

100% going to bring this up every time I see you two together now, prepare yourself.

Jack stared at his phone, frustration bubbling under the surface. He was embarrassed, sure but there was also a little part of him that was kind of enjoying the attention. There was something undeniably sweet about the fact that he hadn’t tried to hide how much he cared.

Even if it made him the butt of every locker room joke.

8:10 PM — Your Texts

You’d been quiet all day. Jack wasn’t sure whether you’d seen the clip or not, but he suspected you had. You’d always been supportive of him, but you weren’t one for gushing on social media.

His phone buzzed with a new notification.

You:

Saw the clip. You’re an idiot.

Jack’s heart dropped. He wasn’t sure if you were mad or just amused. He immediately texted back.

Jack:

You saw it, huh?

You:

Only the part where you said I looked like a movie. You’re way too soft.

He exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He quickly typed back:

Jack:

I meant it though, you do look like a movie. But now I’m gonna get roasted for it forever, so thanks for that.

You:

You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. Don’t worry, I’m not mad  just surprised. I didn’t realize you were that soft. 😘

Jack’s face softened as he read your reply, the tension in his shoulders easing. He couldn’t help but smile.

Jack:

I’m proud of it, honestly. Just wish I didn’t get caught saying it on a mic.

You:

You can’t hide from the internet. Also, I’m not going anywhere no matter how many times the team roasts you.

Jack sat back, staring at his phone. He felt a little stupid, but he couldn’t help it. He was in love with you. And if the entire NHL and now the world knew it, well maybe that was a price worth paying.

Jack:

So, when’s the next date night? I’m still waiting for that playlist you promised me.

You:

I’ll send it over soon. But only if you promise to stop being so adorable.

Jack:

Impossible.

9:45 PM — Home Together

Jack got home later that night, his head still spinning from the constant chirps. The team had kept it up, of course Nico wouldn’t let him forget it. Luke kept sending him memes of “soft boy” Jack Hughes.

But when he stepped through the door and saw you, curled up on the couch in his hoodie, everything melted away.

You looked up and smiled. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, you,” he said softly, dropping his bag by the door and crossing over to sit next to you.

He let out a long sigh and collapsed onto the couch, his head landing in your lap. “I can’t believe I’m that guy now.”

“You are,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair. “But I think it’s cute.”

Jack grinned up at you, his heart swelling. “I meant every word, you know. About you looking like a movie.”

You smirked. “Prove it.”

“I don’t have to prove anything. It’s all in the video.”

You laughed and kissed his forehead. “Yeah, but I’m gonna need a personal reminder later.”

Jack chuckled, the tension finally easing from his body. “I can do that.”

As the evening stretched on, you two simply stayed there. He was the internet’s softest boyfriend and he was okay with that, as long as you were by his side.

After all, who cared what the team thought? He had you.

[postgamevibes]

hey just wanted to let you know that i love your writing! you literally never miss and the way you write connor especially feels like so canon like yea he would actually do that. so, much love to you!!

Thank you so much 😊, this means so much to me.

[postgamevibes]

Summary: When Jack gets mic’d up during practice, he forgets the camera's rolling and says something way too sweet about you. Now he’s the internet’s favorite boyfriend, his teammates won’t shut up, and you might love him even more than before.

*********************************************************

Part I: Practice

Newark, NJ — 10:18 AM “Jack, mic’s hot,” one of the team media guys said, clipping the wireless pack to the inside of his practice jersey.

Jack gave a mock salute. “Time to embarrass myself.”

“More than usual?” Luke yelled from the bench.

He just grinned, twirling his stick like he was born holding it. “You love it.”

The ice crackled under his blades as he shot across the zone, tossing chirps like candy. He launched a snowball at Daws, flicked a puck at Nico’s skates, grinned at a kid behind the glass and waved, exaggerated and goofy.

“You’re a menace,” Nico muttered as Jack skated backward with a smirk.

“Gotta give the people what they want.”

Luke skated up beside him. “What’s she think about your mic’d up ego?”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend, dumbass.”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “She loves it, she watches all the clips and sends me timestamps of when I sound like an idiot.”

“Supportive.”

Jack grinned. “She made me a playlist last night, all sad indie girl songs, I listened to it four times.”

Luke blinked. “Romantic.”

“My girl gets me in my feelings.”

And then, without thinking because Jack rarely does when he was mic’d up he added:

“She was in my hoodie, hair up, no makeup, and still looked like a damn movie. Like what am I supposed to do? Not fall in love?”

Luke choked on air, Nico turned with a smirk, Daws let out an audible “ooooh” from the crease.

Jack blinked.

“That’s getting cut, right?”

“Doubt it,” Nico said. “You just handed them the opening shot.”

Jack groaned. “You guys are gonna ruin me.”

Luke clapped him on the back. “No bro, you ruined yourself.”

[postgamevibes]

Will Smith x reader nurse, where he meets her on a visit to the children’s hospital and keeps going back to see her

Sorry for the late response, for some reason it didn’t appear in my inbox, but I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Will wasn’t expecting much from the team’s hospital visit. Smile for the photos, sign a few sticks, keep it moving. What he really wasn’t expecting was you—a pediatric nurse with a quick tongue, warm heart, and a laugh that he can’t stop thinking about. One visit turns into more, and soon he’s making up excuses just to see you again.

Genre: Fluff | Soft Romance | Comfort

*********************************************************

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the kind of sterile hum Will usually associated with away-game locker rooms or long customs lines, but today, it echoed off white hospital walls and pastel-painted murals of cartoon animals holding balloons.

A nurse led the group of the Sharks players down the hall, each with a bag of signed mini sticks and plush toys. A few staff members walked behind, snapping photos for PR. Will hung toward the back, doing his best to stay present even though his mind was still half on their last game.

He didn’t hate stuff like this, he got why it mattered. It was just awkward. He never quite knew what to say to kids he never met before. They were braver than he was, fighting harder battles with smaller bodies, and he didn’t feel like much of a hero in comparison.

Still, he smiled signed a stick, took a picture with a kid in a Mario Kart T-shirt.

And then she walked in.

You.

Scrubs in a cheerful shade of lavender, lanyard with pins from the kids, including a glittery “Cool Nurse” badge. Hair pulled back, a few strands falling near your cheek. You were cradling a clipboard in one arm and talking gently to a boy in bed who couldn’t have been older than six.

Will froze like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

You noticed the group and turned.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” you said with a smile.

Your eyes landed on Will for a second longer than the rest, but maybe he imagined it.

“Which one of you is the one obsessed with Sour Patch Kids?” you asked, arms crossed.

That made Will blink. “Uh me?”

You nodded knowingly. “Mason here heard it on TikTok. He’s been talking about it all morning.”

The boy grinned shyly from the bed, holding up a small plastic bag of the candy. “I saved some.”

Will smiled and stepped forward, kneeling beside the bed. “You have excellent taste, Mason, we might be best friends now.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “That’s what he said about the cardiologist yesterday.”

The visit moved on, but Will lingered behind.

You were checking vitals, humming softly under your breath, one hand tapping against your thigh in rhythm.

He hadn’t meant to speak. He really hadn’t.

But he did.

“You’re really good at this.”

You glanced up, half-surprised he was still there. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he said, softer now. “They love you.”

“They’re easy to love.”

He nodded. “Still.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Sour Patch.”

He laughed. “That’s going in my bio.”

A pause.

You tilted your head. “You sticking around?”

He shrugged. “Might.”

Will showed up again two weeks later.

This time, no cameras. No teammates.

Just him, standing in the pediatric hallway with a bag of Sour Patch Kids and a sheepish grin.

“I’m visiting Mason,” he said quickly when you spotted him. “Thought I’d check in.”

You narrowed your eyes in mock suspicion. “Uh huh. And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that the nurses just got a fresh coffee delivery from downstairs?”

“I’m hurt.”

“You’re predictable.”

You let him follow you through rounds, only half pretending it wasn’t the highlight of your week.

One visit turned into three.

Three turned into six.

And somewhere between the giggles of young patients and the quiet comforts of evening shift check-ins, you started to look forward to the sound of his sneakers in the hallway. The way he’d lean against the counter at the nurses' station. The way he’d wait until the end of your shift to walk you to your car, even if it meant sitting in the waiting room for an hour with nothing but a hospital vending machine and Property Brothers reruns.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked him once, voice low.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“I like the company,” he said finally.

The seventh visit was different.

It had been a long day tough cases, short tempers, and a stubborn vending machine that ate your last five.

Will found you on your break, sitting on the floor in the staff lounge, sipping lukewarm tea with tired eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just sat next to you and offered a bag of candy.

You took one.

Then another.

Then leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You ever get that thing where your heart just feels… full?, but also heavy?” you murmured.

He nodded. “All the time.”

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because I’m listening.”

You looked up at him.

And there it was that quiet warmth in his eyes, that safety, that steadiness.

So you kissed him.

Just once. Soft. Testing.

But when he kissed you back, you forgot the heaviness entirely.

Weeks later, after the first real date (and the second, and the third), he came to pick you up from a double shift. You were running late and looked frazzled, but he didn’t mind.

He leaned against the hood of his car, watching the automatic doors slide open.

You stepped out, hair pulled up, cheeks flushed.

He whistled. “There’s my favorite nurse.”

You groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious. I think I’m injured.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh yeah? What is it this time?”

He stepped closer, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “Heart-related.”

You tried not to laugh. Failed. “Sounds serious.”

“Very.”

“Well, Mr. Smith,” you said, slipping your arms around his waist, “good thing I’m certified.”

He grinned. “Think I need daily monitoring.”

You kissed his jaw. “You’re lucky I make exceptions.”

[postgamevibes]

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

*********************************************************

The hit looked worse in slow motion.

You’d watched the replay a dozen times, heart in your throat each time. The way Connor’s shoulder smashed into the boards. The grimace as he skated off. The way he didn’t come back for the third period.

Now, the apartment was too quiet.

Connor sat on the couch with his arm in a sling, wrapped in layers of ice and tension. The team called it a “minor upper body injury,” but you knew Connor. Nothing about this felt minor to him.

“I’m fine,” he said for the fifth time in ten minutes.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you knelt by the coffee table, gently adjusting the ice pack slipping from his collarbone.

“You don’t have to hover,” he muttered.

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re… orbiting, then.”

You looked up, catching the way his jaw tightened even as he tried to joke.

“You’re allowed to be upset,” you said softly.

Connor stared ahead. “I’m not upset.”

You didn’t push not yet.

***

The first two days were the hardest.

Connor refused to let anyone from the team visit. He kept the TV on constantly, half-watching old games or muting the sports network when they mentioned his name, he barely ate.

You made soup, he picked at it.

You offered to watch his favorite movie, he fell asleep halfway through.

You gave him space, even when every part of you wanted to crawl onto the couch and wrap yourself around him until he stopped looking solost.

---

The dam broke on day three.

You found him in the kitchen at 2 a.m., staring blankly into the fridge, he didn’t hear you come in.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

He shut the fridge and leaned against the counter, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “I feel useless.”

You walked closer. “You’re injured, not useless.”

“I’m letting the team down.”

You stopped in front of him. “You’re allowed to rest, to heal.”

He shook his head. “I’ve worked my whole life for this, and now? I just sit and watch. What if I come back and I’m slower? What if I lose my spot?”

You took his good hand in yours, firm but gentle.

“Connor. You are not your stats. Not your shift count. You are allowed to be human, and you're not alone in this.”

His eyes filled, and he looked away quickly.

“Don’t—”

“Hey.” You cupped his face, turning it back to you. “You don’t have to hold it in for me.”

And just like that, he crumbled.

He buried his face in your neck, shoulders shaking, all the pressure and fear and frustration spilling out at once. You held him tightly, grounding him with every soft murmur, every gentle touch.

“You’re still Connor,” you whispered. “Still the guy I love. Even on the IR.”

***

Recovery wasn’t linear, but the turning point had come.

Connor started eating again. He let you help him stretch, ice, and tape. He even let the team check in.

Some nights, he still got quiet. Still stared too long at old game footage. But now, he let you sit beside him head on your shoulder, fingers laced with yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered one night.

“For what?”

“For not treating me like I’m broken.”

You kissed his temple. “Because you’re not, you’re just healing.”

And he squeezed your hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Maybe it was.

Maybe, for both of you, that was enough.

[postgamevibes]

Summary: A sweet, stolen moment between you and Jack at a café goes viral on TikTok and suddenly, the internet is obsessed with how soft Jack Hughes is for his girlfriend. The teasing from teammates ramps up and your private relationship feels a little more public than you intended, Jack proves there’s no hiding how much he loves you even if the whole world is watching.

*********************************************************

The café was quiet rare for a Saturday in Hoboken, especially after a Devils win.

You and Jack had scored a little corner booth, sunlight filtering across half-finished pastries and your shared iced coffee. He was in full “soft boyfriend” mode: backwards hat, hoodie sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping gently on your thigh under the table.

“You’re staring,” you teased, sipping through your straw.

Jack just blinked slowly. “So?”

“You’re so obvious.”

He leaned forward. “Don’t care who sees anymore.”

Unbeknownst to you both someone was seeing.

A few tables away, a fan sat half-hidden behind a plant and an iced matcha, recording you and Jack from behind her phone screen. It was just a short clip Jack laughing as you stole a bite of his muffin, brushing a crumb from your lip, kissing your hand like he was in a rom-com.

You didn’t know it yet, but the internet was about to fall in love with your relationship.

You found out later that night.

Jack was flipping through his phone, lounging on the couch with you wrapped up in his hoodie blanket combo, when Luke texted him a TikTok.

@user1: not me crying in public because jack hughes is literally the softest boyfriend ever 😭💘 🎵: “Until I Found You” – Stephen Sanchez

You watched the clip play.

The way Jack looked at you like the rest of the world melted away. The way you smiled, easy and happy. The gentle kiss to your knuckles.

Top comment:

you can always tell when a man loves his girl. this? this is love.

You blinked. “Well. That’s definitely us.”

Jack just laughed. “We are pretty cute.”

You groaned and buried your face in his shoulder. “Jack, we’re going to go viral.”

He just shrugged. “You mad?”

“No just kinda liked it being ours.”

“It still is,” he said quietly. “They only get the highlight reel. They don’t get the sleepy morning you. Or the you that steals the covers. Or the you who cried over my split lip.”

“I did not cry”

“Sure,” Jack grinned. “Definitely didn’t.”

The next few days? Chaos.

The TikTok crossed a million views in 48 hours.

The Devils reposted it. Buzzfeed wrote a listicle. Your name started trending. People in your DMs asked for skincare routines and “how to land a hockey player.” One girl wanted to buy Jack’s hoodie for $20.

Jack’s teammates were merciless.

“I didn’t know you were auditioning for The Bachelor, bro.” “Did she spoon-feed you too?” “Hey lover boy, want me to play ‘Your Body Is a Wonderland’ in the locker room next time?”

Jack took it in stride. “Y’all just jealous,” he’d say, totally unbothered.

You? A little less so.

It was sweet, sure. Nothing negative. But still your thing with Jack had always felt like a quiet corner of the world. And now it was getting blasted with ring lights and love song edits.

It all peaked one afternoon when you dropped off Jack’s water bottle at practice.

As you passed the glass, someone on the ice yelled:

“Don’t forget to blow her a kiss, TikTok boyfriend!”

Jack skated past, smirking. Met your eyes and winked.

You mouthed I’m going to kill you.

He mouthed back love you too.

That night, after the teasing and reposts and chaos, things felt quiet again.

Jack came out of the shower, damp hair curling over his forehead, sweats low on his hips, hoodie sleeves bunched at the wrists. He dropped beside you on the couch with a sigh and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You ever wish we’d kept this quieter?” you asked.

He looked at you. Thought about it. Then shook his head.

“Nah.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

“I mean yeah, it’s a lot. The guys are gonna roast me forever. But—”

His voice lowered.

“I’m not gonna pretend I don’t love you just because someone’s watching.”

You blinked.

“I love you. On the record. Off the record. Online. Offline. I love you when you steal my hoodies and when you call me out for leaving my stuff everywhere . I love you when you roll your eyes and when you kiss me with muffin crumbs on your lip.”

“Jack…”

“You okay, though? Really?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah, just weird, but not bad.”

He kissed you again, and again, like he had all the time in the world.

“Next time we get caught on camera,” he murmured, “I’ll try to make it even cuter.”

You laughed. “You better not, I can’t go viral again.”

Jack grinned. “Too late, already planning the sequel.”

[postgamevibes]

Summary: You convinced Will to film one silly TikTok trend. Now he’s viral. Sharks Twitter has made memes. His teammates won’t let him live. And honestly? You’re loving it.

*********************************************************

You didn’t mean for it to go viral.

Truthfully.

It was just supposed to be a dumb little TikTok, a 15-second clip with your boyfriend and a trending audio that made you laugh. Something for your private account, your close friends, maybe a few likes from people who didn’t even know who Will was.

You definitely didn’t expect the Sharks official Twitter to repost it.

Or for the clip to hit 2.3 million views overnight.

Or for Will to become a meme.

But we’ll get to that.

It started on a slow Tuesday, the kind of day where Will was in sweats, lying upside down on the couch with his legs over the back cushions and a protein bar balanced precariously on his chest.

He’d had a morning skate, then an afternoon nap that bled into a mid-afternoon zone-out session. You were stretched out on the rug, scrolling TikTok with a mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

“Babe?” you said.

Will hummed without looking away from the ceiling.

“Do you love me?”

That got his attention. His head popped up like a gopher. “What kind of question is that?”

“A serious one.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “…yes?”

You grinned. “Perfect. I need you to help me film something.”

“Nope.” He immediately flopped back down. “Not happening. I know that voice.”

“Will.”

“Last time you said that, I ended up dancing to Beyoncé in my boxers.”

“And it was iconic.”

“It was character assassination.”

“Come on. It’s just a trend. You barely have to do anything.”

He groaned but tilted his head to look at you again. “What’s the trend?”

You held up your phone. The video played: one partner is recording while the other one walks into the room, unsuspecting, and the person behind the camera hits them with a cheesy pick-up line or embarrassing confession. The hook? Their reaction.

Will watched three of them. Laughed at one. Gave a slow side-eye during another.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But if I end up a GIF, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“You already are a GIF,” you teased. “The Sharks fanbase is unhinged.”

Will raised a brow. “And you’re making it worse.”

“Damn right.”

You waited until he was in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself while making his post-nap smoothie. He was in his go-to gray joggers and a Sharks hoodie, hair a mess, but you didn’t think he’d ever looked more dateable in his life.

You propped your phone against the salt shaker.

Started recording.

Walked up behind him, trying to keep a straight face.

“Hey Will,” you said sweetly.

He didn’t even turn around. “Yeah?”

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fineapple.”

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

Will slowly turned his head toward the camera, blinked twice, and deadpanned, “I regret everything.”

You couldn’t stop laughing.

He reached for your phone, but you snatched it away before he could stop the recording. “Nope! It’s perfect. That face? Oscar-worthy.”

“I will end you.”

“You love me.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be TikTok famous.”

Famous, no.

But viral?

Absolutely.

You posted it an hour later with the caption: he’s gonna kill me for this later 🍍 #finapple #nhlboyfriend #hockeysoftie

You didn’t even tag his name.

But the internet has ways.

By the time you woke up the next morning, the video had exploded.

Sharks Twitter had reposted it.

Will’s deadpan expression was a meme.

Someone had edited him in a Hawaiian shirt holding a pineapple smoothie with the text: “San Jose’s finest fruit.”

And your phone?

Blowing up.

You rolled over in bed and opened your notifications.

“Oh no.”

Will was still asleep, one arm thrown over your waist, mouth slightly open. Completely unaware that the internet had crowned him the NHL’s newest reluctant heartthrob.

You snorted and scrolled through the top comments:

“why is this the most boyfriend behavior i’ve ever seen”

“the way he didn’t even blink. iconic.”

“petition to start calling him fineapple smith”

“sharks players dating people with tiktok accounts should be ILLEGAL. my heart.”

You nudged Will gently. “Babe. Wake up.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

“Nope. You’re famous.”

His eyes cracked open. “What?”

You flipped the phone around.

He blinked at the video. Then the comments. Then the tweet from the Sharks’ official account.

Then he groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “This is my villain origin story.”

By the time Will got to practice, it was already too late.

The boys knew.

They all knew.

“Yo Fineapple,” Bordy chirped the second Will walked into the locker room. “Where’s your tropical smoothie?”

Will glared. “I will drop you in warmups.”

“Oh my god,” Eklund laughed. “Are you blushing?”

“You’re dead to me.”

Zetterlund poked his head around the corner, holding up his phone. “You really said ‘I regret everything.’ Bro, that delivery was Emmy level.”

Will walked straight to his stall, sat down, and sighed so dramatically you could hear it over the music.

Someone changed the locker room playlist to “Escape (The Piña Colada Song).”

He didn’t talk to you for twenty minutes after practice.

You were waiting outside, leaned against your car, sipping your coffee with a smug little smile.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, squinting into the sunlight.

“I think you’re trending on Twitter. Sharks fans are obsessed. They’re calling me ‘pineapple girl’ in the replies.”

He opened the passenger door and slid in. “I hate everything.”

“You love me.”

“I like you less today.”

“You’re grinning.”

He tried to stop, but a little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Shut up.”

That night, you sat on the couch with Will’s head in your lap as the Sharks game recap played in the background.

You ran your fingers through his hair, scrolling through the comment section of the video for the hundredth time.

“Someone just posted fanart,” you said, showing him.

Will squinted. “Why do I have sunglasses and a lei?”

“Because you’re Fineapple Smith now. It’s canon.”

He groaned but didn’t move. “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Never.”

He tilted his head, looking up at you. “Fine. Then I get to post the next one.”

Your hand paused in his hair. “Wait. Really?”

“You started this. I’m finishing it.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Two days later, Will posted a video with the caption: revenge is sweet 🍍

The audio was from some dramatic soap opera moment, and the video was him walking into frame shirtless with a pineapple in one hand and your bathrobe over his shoulders.

He winked at the camera.

It got 5 million views.

You were toast.

But at least you were his toast.

And if being TikTok’s favorite hockey couple meant living in a world where people made fruit puns about your boyfriend on the daily?

Well, you figured there were worse kinds of trouble to be in.

[postgamevibes]

The apartment was quiet when Will finally got home.

You heard the front door creak open, followed by the dull thunk of his gear bag hitting the floor. Then footsteps, slower than usual. You stayed curled up on the couch with a blanket around your shoulders, eyes on the muted game highlights still playing on the TV.

Will rounded the corner, still in his hoodie and joggers from after the game. His hair was messy and damp from his shower , and he had the slightly dazed look of someone who’d just poured every last ounce of energy into sixty minutes of hockey.

You stood immediately. “Hey. You okay?”

A tired grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. We won.”

“I know. I watched the whole thing. You were insane.”

He dropped onto the couch and opened his arms. “C’mere.”

You went willingly, sinking into his side as he wrapped both arms around you. He smelled like his locker room soap and the cold outside. There was something different about post-game Will something looser, more raw.

For a long moment, you just sat there, tucked beneath his chin, your hand resting over his chest.

“I kept thinking about the sandwich,” he said eventually, voice muffled against your hair.

You laughed softly. “That’s adorable.”

“I’m serious. First intermission, I couldn’t stop replaying how you called it ‘edible chaos.’ It made me laugh. Took the edge off.”

You looked up at him. “I love you, you know.”

Will blinked. He didn’t say it often, but when he did, it was always like it was the first time. Earnest. Quiet. Real.

“I love you too,” he said. “I’ve never had something like this before. Someone who makes me laugh and hands me the exact sandwich I need to believe I won’t blow the game.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “You’d play great without it.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But with you, I feel unstoppable.”

A comfortable silence settled between you again, only broken by the sound of a game recap clip finishing on the TV.

“You know,” Will said, after a while, “they mic’d me up tonight.”

Part 2

You turned your head, surprised. “Yeah?”

He hesitated.

“And I might’ve said something about you. On the bench.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Will.”

“It wasn’t bad! It was just one of the guys was chirping me about smiling too much, and I said, ‘That’s what happens when your girlfriend makes you banana magic before puck drop.’”

You laughed. “Banana magic?”

“It sounded better in the moment.”

“Oh my god. You’re gonna be a meme.”

“Worth it,” he said, tightening his arms around you.

You stayed like that for the rest of the night, wrapped in his post-win warmth, the music of his game day playlist still playing faintly from his phone on the counter. The rituals, the superstitions—they weren’t just about luck anymore.

They were about love. Comfort. Connection.

And every time Will laced up his skates, he carried that with him.

[postgamevibes]

Part 1

The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the sunlight or the lingering warmth of the blanket, it was the music. Faint thumps drifted through the walls, pulsing in rhythm with the quiet shuffle of feet in the kitchen. You knew that playlist by heart now. Classic rock, early 2010s hits, and Will’s favorite twist, one ridiculously cheesy boyband song he swore got him in the zone.

You smiled into the pillow.

Game day.

You pulled one of his sweatshirts over your head, light gray and stretched at the collar from how often you stole it and padded into the kitchen with bare feet. Will was already up, seated at the island, tapping his fingers on the marble counter to the beat. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends, and his headphones rested around his neck.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted without turning.

“How do you always know it’s me?”

“I’d know your footsteps anywhere.”

You walked over and wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind, resting your chin on top of his head. “You’re annoyingly charming already. Did you sleep?”

“Five hours,” he said. “Solid for a game day.”

You hummed. “Nerves or excitement?”

“A little of both.” His hand found yours, resting on his shoulder. “Mostly excitement. Home games are the best. And…” He turned enough to meet your eyes. “You being there helps.”

Your heart gave that flutter it always did when he said things like that without hesitation.

“You want the usual?” you asked, stepping away toward the pantry.

“Please and thank you.” He grinned and pressed play on the speaker, the volume going up a notch.

As the kitchen filled with familiar beats, you reached for the bread and peanut butter, then paused and called over your shoulder, “I feel like we need to address the elephant in the room.”

Will groaned. “Don’t.”

“The boyband song. It’s next.”

“It’s tradition.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It wins games.”

You laughed, spreading peanut butter across the bread. “Do you remember the first time I caught you listening to this?”

He smirked. “Yeah. You made fun of me for twenty straight minutes.”

“And then you played it before that OT win against Vegas. And now, magically, it’s a ‘ritual.’”

“It is,” he insisted, crossing his arms. “It’s the same thing as not touching the Conference Final trophy.”

“You’re not in the Conference Final.”

“Yet.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, layering banana slices carefully on the sandwich like it was sacred. It was one of the weirdest pre-game meals you’d ever heard of peanut butter, banana, honey, all squished between toasted multigrain bread but Will swore by it.

“I added cinnamon this time,” you said, sliding the plate toward him. “A touch of flair.”

He eyed it suspiciously. “You’re messing with the formula.”

“You said it yourself. We’re not in the Conference Final yet. Might as well experiment.”

Will bit into the sandwich and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Okay. Not bad.”

“I’m a culinary genius.”

He smiled, chewing thoughtfully. “You know… this whole thing? The playlist, the sandwich, the socks none of it felt real until you started doing it with me. Before, it was just something I did to stay calm. Now it’s kind of our thing.”

You sat beside him, suddenly quieter. “I like being part of your pre-game weirdness.”

He reached over and tangled his fingers with yours. “It’s not weird anymore. It’s grounding. Like a promise. That no matter how fast everything moves out there, I’ll always have this with you.”