summary: sammy hughes is your typical oldest child.
disclaimer: this series includes riley hughes as well, meaning that the hughes' have five children. in order they are: sammy, quinn, jack, luke, and riley. this also spans from 2014 to the present and you can really see my dislike for toronto in this series lol. also, sammy is a teen mom but mitch isn't the dad so there's that.
you can find all of my mitch x sammy works for this series here ↴
✰ meet sammy (coming soon)
IMAGINES:
✰ two blue lines:
✧ pt. 1: merry christmas
↳ it's christmas morning and sammy
just got the worst result of her entire
life.
✧ pt. 2: get off the bench
↳ sammy drives her brother to the ice
rink the day after christmas and runs
into an old friend
✧ pt. 3: tell the boy
↳ sammy has to tell her boyfriend she's
pregnant.
want to join the taglist for the series? join here!
The early morning sunlight gently creeps through the window, illuminating your bedroom in a yellow glow. You’re lying on your side, fingers dragging through Mitch’s thick brown hair as he sleeps on his side as well, facing your direction.
It’s his birthday, 29. You have a whole day planned out, perfectly scheduled around his mandatory team meeting this morning.
He tenses slightly as his alarm begins to blare, turning over to shut it off, your hand slipping from his hair in the midst of his movement. He turns back to you, a smile reaching across his sleepy face.
You press a light kiss to his lips, his smile spreading to your own face now. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He lets out an exhale and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you chest to chest against him. He kisses you again, deeper this time before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. Your eyes shut on instinct, and you feel his eyelashes flutter against you. “Thank you, baby,” he mumbles in his sleepy state, eyes still closed. “I love you. So much.”
“I love you too, birthday boy,” you say, never getting sick of hearing those three words. His hand comes up to brush some hair off of your forehead, before moving down to cup your cheek, pulling you forward for yet another kiss. It lasts longer this time, his tongue dipping into your mouth. He groans deeply, hand moving backwards to get a grip in your hair, pushing your mouth harder against his.
“Babe!” you pull back, exclaiming with a giggle. “Baby, it’s 8 in the morning,” you try to reason. “I don’t care. I want you. It’s my birthday.” He kisses you again, twice more, trying to move your bodies even closer together. “Later, okay? I wanna make you breakfast, whatever you want, and spend some time together before you leave.”
He groans in protest, his head falling against your neck. “Fiiine,” he drags out, muffled against your skin. “One more kiss though. Please? It’s my birthday.” As he plays the birthday card one more time with a smirk, knowing exactly what he’s doing, exactly how handsome he is, and exactly how much you love kissing him, you dodge his lips and kiss his nose instead. “Hey,” he says, brows furrowed with a small pout. “That’s not fair.”
You hop out of bed and make your way over to his side, pulling on his arm to get him up. Your strength is no match for his and he doesn’t budge. You lean over and whisper in his ear, “We can go kiss in the kitchen and pretend like we just accidentally got distracted in the middle of making breakfast.” That gets him up and out of bed real quick, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. A laugh and yelp of surprise comes from you, as he happily makes his way to the kitchen, a promise of your lips and a breakfast of his choosing imminent.
pairing(s) — MITCH MARNER x reader (est. relationship)
wc — 4.5k
synopsis — think hilary duff’s balcony engagement circa 2007
note — this belongs to the i don't remember this bar collection
specific content warnings below the cut.
cw — profanity and other vulgar language, taking the lord’s name in vain + other religious-ish imagery, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected PIV intercourse (multiple) + creampie/breeding kink, discussion/thoughts of cum play, outdoor sex and mention of previous exhibitionism, mention of previous choking + breath play (f!reader receiving), pain kink situation (both), one line of blood play (f!reader receiving), justified violence (not directed at reader!!!), slight d/s dynamics, and possessive!mitch being a domestic little horndog
“Before we talk about that beautiful, game-tying goal in the tail-end of the second and your overall command of the offensive zone throughout tonight’s game, I first want to congratulate you on some major life news. A few weeks belated; my apologies.
For those who don’t know, you came back from the All-Star break with more than just a tan; you came back with—and as—a fiancé.”
Mitch does nothing to dim his megawatt smile or to dull the sparkle in his eyes. The mere mention of you coaxes out an impossibly giddier version of himself, unencumbered by the stress and pressure of a waning season. It’s always been that way.
It's difficult to remember a time before you. He doesn't want to.
Despite of meeting on arguably one of the worst nights of his life, somehow, all he feels when the memory rises to the surface of his mind is joy.
He remembers your laughter, warm and buoyant, and the way the low light painted flattering shadows across your kind face as you spoke animatedly about your passions and dreams. He remembers being treated like a person before anything else, not some character in a video game or a pawn in someone else’s fantasy league, and he recalls your fervent, genuine interest in his off-ice hobbies. Not once did you ask anything invasive or demand he share more than he was willing.
Nor did you fish for tickets.
For Mitch, privacy was paramount, and the sentiment echoed throughout your lengthy relationship. It was your through-line, and it should’ve blanketed the intimate proposal in safety.
He gets hot under the collar just thinking about it.
Mitch will entertain the host’s questions to an extent. Because, despite his insistence on privacy, he will never pass up an opportunity to sing your praises or brag about his luck.
“Did you bring anything else back? Any special souvenir to commemorate such a momentous occasion?”
Mitch is instantly hard, his pale cheeks ablaze, eternally grateful that the camera is filming from the chest up.
Carried in on a warm evening breeze, the evocation is so palpable he can taste the blue curaçao on his tongue and feel its muted burn in the back of his throat. The air smells of pineapple and your fragrant shampoo, a comforting scent that clings to him like a second skin. The phantom of your touch sends a shiver down the expanse of his sore, sweat-drenched back.
“—holy fuck.”
The crinkled, two-word curse tumbles from Mitch’s mouth with little effort.
Every modicum of tact was either battling against the warm rum coursing through his body or fighting to keep his guttural, damning moans at bay.
They are getting hot and heavy on a patio, after all.
Mitch knows this isn’t smart. He knows he should’ve moved the celebration indoors, that he should've waited until you were curtained in safety to give in to his desire and your wandering hands.
He knows, he knows, he knows.
The problem is he just doesn’t care.
Mitch wasn’t about to delay the appreciative mouth of the woman he was going to make his wife, not even for a second.
Even if she dropped to her knees with only a hedge to play look-out. A line of decorative foliage is their first and final defense, the leaves carelessly swaying between them and the rest of the luxury resort he booked for All-Star weekend.
It’s difficult to make sound decisions when the hand wrapped around your cock is newly weighed down by five carats.
The dazzling rock shines proudly in the concluding rays of a setting sun. Glittery and perfect, like the woman who wears it.
Mitch hisses when the tip taps the back of your throat for the first time that night. The sensitive skin melts into your tongue like an ice cube, the creamy droplets of anticipation swallowed greedily by your ravenous mouth. He sees stars in the cotton candy sky peeking through the palm trees.
It hasn’t been that long; his day began with your nose nuzzled against his pelvis, his head limp against the cool tile of the shower a few feet away.
When it comes to you, nothing is ever enough to curb his appetite.
Always needy, never satiated—a pair of perverted peas in a pod.
Your tongue repeats the delicious motion it had previously, too, lazily tracing along the underside of his length until he’s whimpering with no regard for anything besides spilling himself down your throat. He feels you smile around his thickness, pleased by the ease of his undoing. You were damn good; you deserved to be proud.
In all honesty, it took very little effort on your part to make him weak in both his knees and in his resolve.
However, there was a special kind of magic in your pretty face, now dusted by a salty sheen, nestled against his taut abdomen, his cock engulfed by the vice-grip of your throat.
Mitch is close already.
White-hot sparks descend through his quads and calves to zap his sandy toes. Electrified, his hips sputter of their own volition, but like the godsend you are, you accommodate every jolt and tilt in stride.
With one hand braced against his hip and the other gently massaging the heavy weight of his balls cradled in your palm, you peer up at him through a fan of fluttering lashes.
He whines—at the mischievous glint in your glassy eyes or the bite of your manicure as you sink your nails into his burnt skin, he can’t be sure.
Some of your fingers curl into the nasty bruise eating up his lower back, the by-product of a gruesome communion with the ice a few days prior. Sharp nails nip at the fragile skin. Mitch doesn’t know if the twinge of pain was intentional on your part, but he loves it either way. Perhaps a little too much, he thinks to himself as he twitches violently in your grasp.
And perhaps you aren't the only one with a masochistic streak. It's clear from the heaviness of your lids the converse applies to you.
His sweetheart's sick and sadistic. He's never been prouder.
“Get off,” he husks. Abruptly, he steps out from your embrace.
In retrospect, Mitch could’ve been nicer about it. At that moment, however, he was far too desperate for chivalry.
Staring down at your wide, despondent eyes—a pup deprived of her favorite bone—your fiancé amends, “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ll give it back soon. There’s no way in hell I’m wasting a load in your mouth when I know how good your pussy feels around my cock.”
Heat scales Mitch’s spine as he spreads you wide open against the chaise. Your folds glow brighter than the jewelry on your left hand.
With the tip of his finger, he tests the waters. Gingerly, at first, like he's still unsure you'll be able to take him. That charade hardly lasts, but tonight, it's barely a blip.
Your body eagerly welcomes the attention, mouthing at him before sucking the touch past the taut, elastic ring of your entrance. Your faint groans elicited by the intrusion harmonize so sweetly, so perfectly, that Mitch’s eyes fall shut in tranquil bliss.
When your hips rock against his palm, they snap open.
Blinking at him hard and fast, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, turning the plushness a sickly shade of pink—of desperation. Tears crowd your lash line but never cascade down your shiny cheeks; they, like you, are impatiently waiting for reprimand.
Mitch almost laughs. You did jump the gun, so he can't fault you for expecting the corresponding punishment. But it's a special occasion—you're celebrating, so it never manifests.
And Mitch wants to do more than just spank you silly. Plenty of time for that later. A lifetime's worth of it.
Instead, with the flick of his wrist, Mitch encourages you to take your pleasure.
The subtle, tantalizing movements, building in speed and ferocity with each pass, beckon him forward until his sunburnt skin is close enough to burn yours. Feeling you beneath him, feeling his weight rest against your body, feels better than heaven, and he’s barely started.
Like before, Mitch is painfully aware he won’t be able to last long. Judging by how silky-slick you are against his palm, you won’t be either.
With his free hand, he catches your jaw and, with little resistance, tilts your head to keep your gaze from straying. Your mouth falls open when he slips another finger inside. Mitch grins down at your lust-blown pupils and the feel of your hot breath against his lips. He leans down and licks into your idle mouth. A third finger causes your bottom lip to tremble between his and your forehead to ease, every little muscle going soft and pliant between the cushion and his chest.
“Atta girl,” Mitch praises. His lips press briefly to your cheek before beginning their descent along your throat. The touch is featherlight and sends a shiver down your spine, coaxing your chest further into his. “—love seeing you like this, all beautiful and open. And all fucking mine.”
Mitch wouldn't necessarily consider himself a territorial person, and he can't recall ever feeling possessive of a partner. Until he met you.
It had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof; you were his the minute your eyes met through the crowd, and you reassured him of that fact constantly. It was never you that needed a reminder—it was everybody else.
The men who openly leer at you from every corner of Scotiabank Arena. The NHL hopefuls in your Instagram comments shamelessly flirting as if he didn’t exist or wasn’t in the photo, too. The unprofessional commentators who found ways to sneak in a lecherous comment or two under the guise of camaraderie whenever they spoke about his prowess.
You weren’t some object to be won or bought. You made a choice, and he’d make sure they knew and respected it.
Sure, the engagement ring will aid in this up-hill endeavor, but a little due diligence never hurt either.
“Tonight, it's gonna take. I’m making damn sure of that, sweetheart.”
Your walls squeeze his digits in recognition. Mitch chuckles, dark and dry, against your shoulder. You might like the implication more than he does.
You two weren’t trying, but you weren’t not trying either. Seeing you wearing his ring—the one he picked and purchased—kicked him down a perverted spiral. Flipped the last switch, cut the final cord. He wanted to complete the picture. He wanted to give those good-for-nothing losers one more reason to keep their mouths shut and their eyes to themselves.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love for me to fill you in a way that’ll last? C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me how badly you want to be stuffed full of me, how much your pussy needs it—how badly you want to be heavy and swollen with my kid."
Mitch tends to your clit, keeping you borderline incoherent as he tickles your ears with more filth before you can reply to the first goading.
Your eventual responses are muffled by a long, primal whine.
When he has you swaying on the brink of collapse, he’s painfully hard against your inner thigh. There's an iridescent river pearling from the weeping head, freely flowing down to pool beneath your ass. It beams in the dim light like a beacon.
Transfixed and desperately in love, Mitch could cum right now. Just like this.
But staining a stupid fucking cushion would be more of a waste than shooting himself your throat. So, much to your chagrin, he, once again, retreats back onto his knees.
“C-come back,” you whimper with a loud hiccup. The choked sound is as pitiful as your attempts to reach for him. “Please, please, please—”
Satisfaction spreads over the bridge of his nose, leaving him rosy from one cheek to the other. He pins you with a heated, half-lid stare as he strokes himself.
His palm doesn’t feel as good as yours, but Mitch is grateful for that. He wants to drag this out. Instead of rutting into you like a teenager in the backseat of a car, or like himself after a long stint away.
That can’t—and won’t—happen if he keeps touching you. He has to back off before he loses his ever-loving mind.
“Stop being a tease,” you chide. Irritation weighs heavily on your voice. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”
“There’s something I want you to see first, you little brat,” he replies, adopting your sharp tone as he brings his open palm down on your inner thigh.
You shriek, but your eyes beg for another. Maybe he shouldn't have cut you any slack earlier...
He grants your silent wish with a matching blow to the other side before guiding his rigid cock to rest over your body.
And it was better than Mitch ever imagined.
He groans at the sight, “Can you see it? Can you, sweetheart?”
Mitch waits patiently for it to click in your mind, but the confusion that swiftly overtook your fucked-out features never dissipates. Eyes rolling, he shifts forward. Hand still wrapped around the base, Mitch leans over until the full length of him sits against your bare stomach.
Your body quivers over the contact, so he has to hold your hips down to keep you from wiggling and ruining everything.
“I know you can feel it, but I want you to see it. I want you to see how deep I get inside of you, sweetheart. All the way up…” Mitch trails off as his hands glide from your outer hips to the center of your abdomen.
His voice is so deep. So hungry. Your whole being—mind and body—goes weak at the foreign richness.
With tender thumbs, he applies pressure beneath his swollen tip. “—here.”
Mitch moves slowly at first, as if he'd just been sheathed inside of you. With each careful thrust, his stones caress your aching clit, all puffy and pouting.
It feels wonderful to be touched again, even if only in short bursts. But it's not enough friction or force to do much more than aggravate you further. Even when he picks up speed, it’s more hurtful than helpful.
Still, you cannot tear your eyes away from the angry, ruddy head dribbling out ropes of arousal or voice a shred of discontent. The opaque beads form a nonsensical pattern, but it's mesmerizing nonetheless.
If you were any less needy, you’d take your time running your fingers through the milky mess. Swirling around in the evidence of Mitch’s desire until you had enough to lick clean.
As if privy to your thoughts, he pins your wrists at your sides again.
Mitch isn’t faring much better than you. His eyes are trained on the shadow bisecting your middle. Locked, laser-focused. This little…exercise was as much for his amusement as it is for your education. He knows how far he can reach inside of you—knows how fucking fantastic it feels to be buried at the root, but seeing just how deeply he can fuck you is something else entirely.
It's enough to make him question why and how he ever stops fucking you. He’s an idiot for depriving himself. For neglecting you. An exercise in frustration as much as his fruitless effort to shun the rose-colored perversions dancing wild in his mind, Mitch has wasted so much time.
Fuck penance and fuck propriety—it would be a sin to do anything other than worship at your altar as a devoted acolyte. Cardinal, even.
His stomach tightens as he considers how empty you must feel in his absence—and how deliciously whole you must feel when he drives home. He wonders how forlorn your folds must look right now as he keeps what you covet just out of bounds. His body obstructs the view, but Mitch knows you’re open and fluttering around nothing, pleading for mercy.
If he were a cruel man, he’d ignore your begging and continue on like this until his balls were empty and your chest was covered in ivory threads. Lucky for you, your future husband is of the clement variety.
Before you can get another babble, his mouth is back on yours. He keeps your arms tight to your sides, so you’re incentivized to convey your fervent need for more—of anything, really—through your lips and tongue.
Mitch is greedy when he kisses you and needy while lapping up your fire—happily, and without pause. His head pounds like he finished a handle in a single sip, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Ever. It’s disorienting, and yet, he can’t seem to get enough no matter how much of you he drinks down. Mitch wants to spend the rest of his life drunk on your lips.
Begrudgingly, he tears his mouth from yours. Then, tanned chest heaving, he positions himself between your glistening southern lips. Mitch looks down at you, and when your vision finally focuses, his eyes have been shadowed in darkness by his hulking brow.
His prior impatience dwindles ever so slightly even though he's on the precipice of complete satisfaction. Mitch hasn’t gotten a good look at you since your nimble hands relieved him of his shorts some twenty minutes ago, and you are glorious. A celestial nymph with dominion over his heart, devastatingly beautiful and all-consuming in every conceivable way. The hold you have over him is dangerous, verging on obsession. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or say if it appeased you so.
He isn’t fearful. He’s honored. The gratitude he feels knowing that you were, and remain, receptive to his devotion is overwhelming. And now, watching the lucid waters of lust ebb and flow in your glazed eyes, he’s never felt luckier.
Mitch thumbs the gem resting atop your finger, and you shudder as if it were the one tucked between your thighs.
His other hand lingers around your right wrist, though not as tightly as before. With his pulsing head shallow in your heat, he knows you’ll behave. Disrupting him now would only prolong his teasing. A lesson you learned—and were often reminded of—the hard way.
As his fingers trace the metallic band, warmed by the tropical sun and his furnace-like touch, Mitch pushes his hips forward, slow and steady, until he’s fully enveloped by your wanting walls. With your snug, pillowy softness stretching and constricting to accommodate his generous blessing, his grip on reality slips.
“You’re a fucking dream,” your fiancé rasps.
His hands are now splayed wide on either side of your head, effectively caging you beneath him as he builds a faithful rhythm. Teeth clenched, he works diligently to fashion a tribute worthy of your ethereal beauty and power.
“—always so warm and wet for me, just begging to be split open on my thick fuckin' cock. How long have you been this needy, sweetheart? Since I bent you over on the boat? Right over the railing where anyone could’ve seen you?”
You nod, bruised bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Tears well in your eyes.
Your afternoon tryst had been as quick as it’d been rough. Sundress bunched high, the fragile fabric wrinkled between your hips and the cool metal railing as Mitch’s right hand wrapped around your throat. His talented fingers pressed firmly into your sun-kissed skin, relentless in their torment, as he pawed at the pathetic knot struggling to hold your bathing suit in place. His mouth curled into a smirk as it whispered a heady mix of degradation and praise. All while you preened for him, a large crowd just steps away.
That wasn't the first orgasm you were robbed of today.
The hem of the thin material that clung to your anguished body floated demurely above your ankles, landing just shy of the bone. The sullied garment hid the incriminating evidence that inched down your sore thighs with every step you took. The irony was not lost on you as you walked back to your room.
“D’you know how hard it was to stop myself from fucking you in front of all those people? To hold back like that—to not bend you over and take in broad daylight? Of course you do, you sweet, sadistic minx. You always know how to rile me up—and you always find a reason to.”
Mitch grins against your lips before his teeth momentarily replace yours. They nestle into the grooves as if that was the expressed purpose of the faint indentations.
“With the way you’ve been behaving, I’m willing to bet you want a better souvenir than a gift shop tchotchke, hm? Y'gotta be patient for me, though—good girls wait for their rewards. Jus' wait… Oh, I don’t know, nine months? Give or take? Think you can do that for me?"
He’s being cheeky on purpose. He likes the way gentle irritation plays out between your legs—always has and always will.
Mitch releases your lower lip again, but only after he’s nicked it with his canines. A dainty bead of crimson materializes. Covetous, his tongue laps it up without pause. Painted lips kiss from cheek to cheek.
Your back arches. Your hips lift to rock in time with his thrusts.
“God, I can’t wait till we get those fuckin’ keys,” Mitch mumbles, almost absentmindedly.
The lean muscles of his upper body ripple as he sits up to grab ahold of your jaw, a calloused hand on either side. He has an unimpeded view of your dazed, saccharine countenance. His hips slow until they match the thumbs stroking escaped tears into your cheeks.
“—m'gonna take you in every room, against every surface. That way, there won’t be a single thing in our home that—fuck—that doesn’t remind you of me and how well I take care of you—you and your tight cunt.”
With little fanfare, he threads his arms under your dewy legs. Mitch uses the newfound leverage to tug your body even closer.
A shriek rips through the firm seam of your lips as his length traverses an unexplored depth. Your knees snuggle against the pit of his elbows, pleased to be so close in spite of the pain.
Mitch holds your gaze, reveling in your silent screams. He winks, then slowly lowers himself down until your body is folded squarely beneath his. Your muscles burn with the fury of budding resentment, which you’ll surely feel towards him in the morning after this unprompted foray into acrobatics, but the new angle is too good to do more than just... take it.
His hands are glad to have been relieved of their duty and, eager to take advantage of their newfound freedom, palm your chest as his mouth descends on your poor neck. The delicate skin is utterly defenseless against the desire thumping deep within his chest and spilling over his ribs.
Mitch wants to stake his claim—to mark his territory. A stammer of expletives accompanies the vulgar jut of your hips when he rolls your sensitive nipples, swollen and begging for attention, between thumb and forefinger. Bracketed by his forearms, you surrender completely.
Mitch hums at the lewd, sucking sound made by your arousal. Wet squelches ricochet off the adjacent wall with each and every thrust.
“I’ve really made a mess out of you, haven’t I?”
You nod, eyes pinched in concentration.
You’re close. He can feel your body trying to milk him dry. Fortunately, Mitch isn’t far behind. You feel too fucking good to prolong the inevitable.
He brings a hand to your clit, and it moves in messsy circles as he speaks, “Not done yet, though. Gonna flood this pretty cunt—gonna leave you all sticky and hot. I know you want it, but I need you to cum for me first. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”
You unravel on command, your chin falling to the side in ecstasy. Mitch’s firm hand is quick to wrench it back; he needs to watch your face contort as you crumble like he needs air to breathe. Mitch won't be able to think straight until he reaps the rewards of fucking and rubbing you through it.
The sob that wrecks your body is high-pitched and perforated by little gasps, and the rush of wetness is more pathetic than any noise you could and would make in your lifetime. More than you ever thought your body was capable of, more than your new fiancé expected, more than either of you anticipated.
He's soaked in a matter of seconds—as are you and the cushion dripping onto the concrete.
Mitch's climax comes in quick succession but, unlike yours, without warning. Undoubtedly, his peak was triggered by the gush of your undeniable satisfaction.
Drained dry, Mitch hunches over to capture your lips once more, determined to distract you from the inevitable bodily ache on the come-down. Delicately, he places your trembling legs onto the chaise and nestles into the space they vacated. He feels every little muscle twitch and spasm when he hugs you tightly to his body.
The world is muted, fuzzy around the edges, and drowned out by the aftershocks, so you miss most of his sweet-nothing rambling, but the relief and contentment that flood your spent body is reply enough.
He isn’t sure how long you stay like that—tangled together in paradise. You doze off, dipping in and out of consciousness, and wake just after the buttery sun slips entirely behind the horizon. Through the darkness surrounding your bare bodies, silvery moonlight replaces the golden rays of sunshine, but you—and your ring—shine as if nothing's changed.
You keep up a quiet conversation. Nothing of importance is spoken; it's carried on purely for the enjoyment of one another’s voice. Mitch peppers your skin, sticky from humidity and exertion, with tender lips, and you return the favor tenfold. You’re both smiling so wide, so happily.
And you keep grinning into the night, even when your cheeks begin to ache. It’s only when the light breeze ghosts over your bare skin that either of you consider relocating. In no rush and reluctant to leave your deep warmth, he’s leisurely about moving into the dim suite.
Mitch freezes abruptly. His stomach splatters at his feet when his mind catches up to his instincts. Murmuring. He hears murmuring. Terror races down his spine like an ice-cold chill. It's quiet at first. Almost as if the evening wind picked up a distant conversation yards away and softly settled it in his paranoid eardrums. He can’t make out any particular words—except his last name.
His mood sours beyond repair with the realization that the juvenile whispering is much too close, the giggles muffled only by the permeable wall of greenery bordering the suite’s ground-floor patio.
“We just wanted to be the first to say congratulations!” A teenage voice devoid of tact and respect calls out above a chorus of snorts and giggles.
Mortified, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. His chain is cold in comparison to your shame.
Mitch growls and reaches beside the chaise. He shouts something that would’ve made even the most shameless of shit-talkers blush, then sends a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon clear through the leaves. It shatters, and the crisp bubbles spill out on the concrete, sending the herd of inconsiderate assholes scattering like mice.
“I’ll go pick up the glass,” he sighs, knowing you’ll chastise him for the mess. "—later."
Mitch couldn’t be honest with the journalist.
He wouldn’t even if he could.
He shares so much of himself and his life with the world already—a hazard of the flashy, public-facing occupation he chose—and you’ve offered up far more of your world than he’d ever ask of you. He doesn’t mind a photo here or a video there, sometimes a press junket or two in a philanthropic context, but Mitch won’t bring the media into your private moments beyond where they’ve already encroached.
Especially not for a leading question intended to bait him into saying something stupid. Or to prematurely announce the impending arrival of your first child.
So, instead, he simply says, “Towels. But if the Four Seasons—or my future wife—asks, I’m totally joking, and I definitely put them all back.”
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All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.
Summary: you get an offer to represent leafs merch with Mitch
Warnings: swearing, make out session, fade to black smut, Mitch’s a nice guy
Word count: 612
Note: first off I choose a cute imagine. But I really want to thank you guys for the appreciation on Sneak Away like lots of love. Also major thank you for the 300 followers. Love you all so much.
When you had first got the call to do the shoot, you were over the moon. You’d been living in Toronto for as long as you could remember and living there also meant living so close to a rink to practice for all competitions. To most countries you were another figure skater, but to Canada you were a sensation, very close to Tessa Virtue.
When your coach told you that the leafs wanted to partner with you, you couldn’t help but be excited. So here you were walking down a tunnel following your stylist and a leafs representative. “Okay so Y/N, you’re going to change into these and we’ll see you back in that room.” They told you, handing you a jersey.
It was a regular leafs jersey with the blue being the prominent colour however, this jersey had the All-Star patch on the shoulder. You examined the jersey, looking at the back number, number 16, Marner. Your heart gushed and a blush rose to your cheeks.
You walked out of the change room and headed to the studio for where you’d be taking the photos. “You look great!” Your stylist gushed. “So we’re gonna have you stand there and Mitch over here will be right behind you.” The photographer said, pointing to Mitch who was beside him.
You nod your head, allowing the stylist and photographer to walk away, leaving you alone with Mitch. “Hey, sorry about the late notice. I thought they would’ve told you,” Mitch says nervously while shaking your hand. “Oh, no it’s fine. Makes me feel less nervous.” You say, giving Mitch a bright smile.
“This makes you nervous?” He motions to the photoshoot going on behind him. “Not all the times you perform in front of hundred of people.” You laugh at his exaggeration. “between you and me, the ice is my home. There’s no fear, there is only peace.”
Mitch looks at you with such adoration. All the words you were saying to him about skating are just what he felt when he played hockey. Although no one enjoys losing, he still felt better on ice than walking on concrete.
“Okay, you two lovey eye makers, time to do the shoot!” The photographer shouts. You and Mitch both blush but comply. The photoshoot went on calmly. You felt more comfortable knowing Mitch was in the room and the fact that he was whispering nice things in your ear and some poses being of him holding your waist and you two smiling at each other.
“Last shot. Mitch, I want you to point to y/n’s back while she stands facing you. So her face won’t be in shot.” The guy explains. You turned around to face Mitch to see him already staring at you before posing for the camera. You stared at him during the time and you could see the smirk growing on Mitch’s face.
“That’s it, folks! Good job everyone!” The photographer yelled out, already putting his equipment away. “Well, that’s it.” You say, facing Mitch, fiddling with your hand. “Maybe it can be a bit more.” He says confidently.
A half an hour later, you back at Mitch’s apartment and you back against his door and your lips attached to one another. You moan into Mitch’s mouth as he runs his hands over your body, feeling very curve. “Good, you’re so beautiful.” He groans, looking up and down your body.
“We should probably take this to your bedroom.” You suggest playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. “Yeah, one hundred percent.” He says, trailing kisses from your neck to your lips. “If we make it there.” He mumbles before crashing his lips to yours.
all my favorite conversations always made in the a.m.
summary: New Year’s Eve. A time for celebration of another a fresh start, of new beginnings. But for you, it was just another reminder of all the time you felt like you wasted. And when you share a heart-to-heart with your childhood best friend Mitch, someone who you fell for years ago but never told, will the both of you let another moment pass you by?
playlist
word count: 3.3k
warnings: alcohol consumption, self-doubt, general fears about the passage of time.
written for Demi’s (@antoineroussel) Winter Fic Exchange.
to Quinn (@fear-of-flyers) with love.
Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone. Please don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but don’t attack me or others!
The sky above you is clear, not even a whisper of a cloud in the darkness. You inhale the cold winter air, the sting of it entering your lungs a welcome feeling. Through the open window, you can hear the New Year’s Eve party drifting up the staircase of Mitch Marner’s childhood home; cheers, laughter, and music.
You know should be down there, celebrating with your family and your friends both old and new. Celebrating the ending of a year and the excitement of a new beginning. But that thought made a different chill sneak into your bones.
Another year come and gone. Another sign of time passing. Another painful reminder of how the world was moving on, whether you wanted it to or not.
Perhaps that was the reason you snuck upstairs with your jacket into Mitch’s old bedroom and took the screen out of the window before climbing onto the roof; your only company the stars.
You wish you could see more of them.
Another deep exhale escapes as you take another swig of your drink from the cliché red solo cup before turning your face back towards the sky. You are so lost in thought that you barely notice the sounds of someone else behind you until a gentle curse breaks the winter silence. It is only then does your attention turn towards the open window to see Mitch climbing through the frame, a champagne bottle in one hand and the other rubbing the back of his head.
“Having trouble there Mitchy?” you tease, the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease.
“I’m getting too old for this,” comes his reply as he sneaks across the shingles before lowering himself next to you with a groan.
“Don’t say that. You’re only 25.”
“Exactly. That’s ancient, depending on who you ask.”
A dry chuckle escapes you. Wasn’t that the truth? You weren’t elderly by any means but still… Time has a funny way of fucking you over.
You take another sip from your cup before extending it out towards Mitch. He reads your silent request and fills the cup before taking a drink of his own from the bottle.
The two of you sit there in the quiet before you finally speak.
“How’d you know I was out here?”
“Intuition,” he replies and you turn to look at him, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Pretty big word for a man who can’t say ‘encyclopedia’.”
“Call it a new year’s resolution,” he jokes and you can’t stop the genuine laugh that falls from you, recognizing that teasing tone laced through his words. “Nah, I just knew you’d be out here because it was our spot. Back when we were kids.”
You smile at the memories, a part of you happy to know that they still existed in his mind after all these years. The two of you hiding up here when you didn’t want to go home, or whenever Mitch’s older brother Chris was being annoying, or just when the two of you wanted to be alone.
“It’s still a good place to be alone,” you muse aloud, eyes returning to the stars. Mitch is quiet besides you but you can feel his gaze trained on your form.
“Do you want to be alone?” he asks, his gentle voice pulling your attention back to him. Even in the darkness, you can see his baby blue eyes reflecting the moonlight and your breath catches in your throat at the sight.
It was beyond cliché, falling for him. But as the two of you grew, so did your feelings. You never told him, believing that it was just an innocent childhood crush that would fade with time. When he got drafted, you thought the new distance between the two of you would prove your assumption true. But even with his hectic NHL schedule, he still managed to visit frequently and every time you saw him again, those feelings came back twice as strong. But you still made no attempt to become anything more than friends, scared of ruining what you had with him already.
However, there were moments: moments in your shared past and moments like these – when he looked at you like you were made of starlight – that made you think that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same.
“You can stay,” you whisper, his eyes still connected to yours. “Besides,” you say, turning away, “this was our spot. Seems pretty rude to kick you out of our spot, especially since it’s on the roof of your house.”
“Well, you were the one to figure out how to take the screen out of the window. So, I guess it’s technically your spot since you discovered it,” he rebuts.
“It was your idea though.”
“It was just a stupid suggestion,” he says and the self-deprecating edge to his voice catches you off-guard, demanding your attention once more. Mitch is now leaning back on one hand, taking another hearty drink from the bottle of champagne.
“It was the best suggestion,” you say softly, your own voice pulling his eyes back to you. The two of you appraise each other for a moment before that loveable grin appears on his face.
“So we’ll just call it even?”
“Sounds good to me.”
The silence falls between the two of you once more, a comfortable silence as you both sip the chilled champagne. Your eyes have turned back towards the sky, assessing the dim twinkle of the few stars above you, tracing the shapes of the constellations that you could make out.
“What are you doing out here?” Mitch asks, his voice once again echoing through the night.
Your initial reply is a shrug, accompanied by another gulp of alcohol as your eyes stay fixed on the horizon. Mitch doesn’t press you for information, content to let you sit. You knew that he would wait for you to talk. Or, even if you never did, he would still sit beside you to keep you company.
That was one of the things you loved about him.
“What are you doing up here?” you flip the question back to him. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs? It’s your party after all. I thought you would be hanging out on the couch with your friends.”
“Eh, they can survive without me,” comes his noncommittal reply. “Besides, you weren’t there, so...”
His voice trails off and you can’t stop that small yet persistent flame of hope in your chest from leaping at the lingering unsaid statement. You force yourself to keep your gaze forward, to keep your voice as neutral as possible.
“So?”
“So,” Mitch pauses and out of the corner of your eye, you see him raise the bottle to his lips before he lightly rolls his shoulders and darts his eyes back towards you. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing out here.”
“Trying to stop time,” you answer, the words out of your mouth before you could really think them over. There is a slight tilt of Mitch’s head as he analyzes your words, a brief moment of quiet contemplation until he speaks again.
“How are you going to do that?”
“Unsuccessfully,” you reply, the scathing edge to your voice as sharp as the winter chill. The red cup lifts to your lips as you down the remaining liquid.
“Why do you want time to stop?” Mitch questions, his voice gentle in response to your clear frustration.
The answer doesn’t come freely at first. Instead, you repeat the earlier motion of wordlessly holding out your empty cup towards him. He pours more of the sparkling champagne without hesitation and you take another long drink, taking the moment to gather your thoughts.
“Because I feel like I’m running out of it,” you murmur, eyes now sinking down towards your lap, as your fingers play with the plastic edge of your cup. “I know it’s stupid for me to feel that way. I’m young – I have plenty of time. But still, I feel like I’m falling behind. And time isn’t waiting for me to catch up.”
Another drink of champagne, another heavy sigh.
“I don’t know, maybe it’s the night: New Year’s Eve. An entire holiday devoted to the fact that another year has come and gone. Or maybe it’s this party.”
“Am I really that bad of a host?” Mitch chirps and you know he is trying to inject some of that light-hearted energy into the conversation. Your head turns to him, a smile on your face as you knock your shoulder against him in jest.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” the words escaping in an airy laugh and the smile stays on your lips when you hear Mitch’s quiet chuckle. “I mean, everyone downstairs is here to celebrate what’s next for them. And when the morning comes, they will all disappear back to their lives in cities far away from here with excitement for the future. Yet here I am, in the same place as before with nothing planned.”
The silence comes again, settling over the two of you like the blanket of untouched fallen snow in the yard beneath your perch.
“I get it,” Mitch says, his voice once again being the first to shatter the nighttime quiet. It was your turn to look over towards him, eyebrows furrowed in question.
“You got out though.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
You can hear the resignation in his voice, your eyes following the path of the champagne bottle as he raises it to his lips, taking another large drink.
“But?” you ask, your voice a gentle prodding.
“But what?”
“Nothing,” you spit out, tearing your gaze away from him. “It just sounded like there was more to that sentence.”
The silence falls again between the two of you. But this time, it is sharp and brittle, like the thin ice that frosted the puddles that formed in your backyard every spring. You don’t want to look over to Mitch, half expecting to hear him crawling back into the house, leaving you alone in the winter night once more. But that isn’t what he does.
Instead, you feel the nudge of a shoulder against yours. You turn your attention back to him and are somewhat surprised to see the soft smile on his face.
“You think I would’ve learned that I can’t hide anything from you,” he murmurs, that smile still tugging at his lips and there it is again, that pang in your heart, the one that feels like you’re being called back down to earth after being lost in the atmosphere for too long.
Mitch continues to look at you and you can see the sadness that painted his features. You don’t know exactly what to say but your body thinks for you as you scoot closer to him until you can feel the warmth of his body seeping into your own.
“Tell me,” you whisper. Mitch sighs and you can’t stop the trill in your heart as his body leans closer to yours.
“I also feel like I’m running out of time,” he says. You stay silent, letting him get his thoughts in order, knowing that what he needs right now is a listening ear.
“You know how I said that 25 is ancient to some people?” he asks, looking to you and you nod your head in confirmation. “It really feels like that when it comes to hockey. I mean it honestly seems that once you’ve hit your late twenties, your done for. Or at the very least, you aren’t the player people focus on. And – I don’t know – maybe it’s the fact that most players do retire in their thirties and I’m slowly getting closer to that age. The end just feels like it’s creeping up on me.”
Mitch takes another pause, turning his own face towards the sky.
“I sometimes feel like I’m losing people’s attention. And I know that maybe sounds selfish – “
“It’s not.”
“But I want to know people care about me as a player. But if I’m not good enough for them, why would they still want me?”
“Mitch,” you speak, your words sounding like a plea. “You just broke a franchise record; you are still one of the names people associate with the current Toronto Maple Leafs. People know who you are, Mitchy,” you try to encourage him. “People love you.”
“Until I disappoint them,” he mutters and you knew exactly where that anger that tinged his words came from; the cascading criticism that fell during last year’s playoffs.
Mitch’s hand raises, ready to take another drink, content to let the alcohol dull the edges of his emotions. You once again move without thinking, your hand flying out and stopping the bottle before it reaches his lips. Mitch looks over to you, the surprise in his eyes.
“Then don’t listen to them,” you say, your voice now taking on a harsher tone. “Especially those people who act like you’re a penny that they can discard when you no longer shine. You have people who do, and will, love you. People who will always be proud of you and support you, no matter what you do. Remember that.”
Mitch is staring at you again, those pale blue eyes sinking into you, pulling you in, as if he created his own gravity that you were helplessly caught in.
“You have always been a star.”
Neither of your move, your eyes still locked together as you sit with your thighs pressed against each other. It isn’t until you see a grin tug at the corner of Mitch’s lips that you relax.
“So you think belong up there?” he asks with a small nod of his head, gesturing to the sky above. A smile appears on your own face before you lay back, your spine connecting with the shingles, gaze turned upwards once more.
“Wouldn’t it be easier? Being a star?” you muse. “A million miles away from everything, having no other purpose but to shine, to burn bright and beautiful.”
Mitch gently takes your cup from you and out of the corner of your eye, you glimpse him stretching out to place it and the almost empty champagne bottle on the windowsill before copying your movements, coming to recline next to you on the rooftop.
“It would be nice,” Mitch acknowledges, his own eyes trained to the few glimmers of light dotting the ink-black midnight. “I wish we could see more of them,” he hums and you can’t stop your head from turning towards him, his own words echoing the exact thought that crossed through your mind earlier that very night.
Your eyes stay locked to him, his profile dimly illuminated by the streetlights below, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It is a moment before you turn your gaze to the sky again, another sigh falling from your own lips.
The two of you rest there in silence, eyes trained on the stars, before a memory tugs at the corners of your mind.
“Do you remember when we used to lay on the trampoline in your backyard and stare up at the sky?”
“And you would point out constellations to me?”
Another gentle smile pulls at your lips as you recall those moments; moments that were so similar yet so different to the one that you currently found yourself in.
“I wish we could go back to then, when we young and everything was simple. Before we knew what we know now. But we just can’t.”
“No reason we can’t pretend for a little while though,” Mitch replies and a small jolt rushes through you when you feel Mitch’s knuckles knock against your own, his skin impossibly warm. “What do you see?”
You raise your left hand towards the sky, the action inadvertently turning your body towards Mitch, nestling deeper into his side.
“Right there is Orion. He’s always pretty easy to spot because of his belt: those three stars lined up next to each other.” Your finger traces the invisible path of the stars, following the shape of Orion’s arm.
“Above Orion’s shield is Taurus – your zodiac sign,” you say, nudging Mitch gently. “The way you can spot that constellation is to look for the small cluster of stars that form the base of the V shape that makes up Taurus.” You keep your pointer finger trained upwards, backtracking to Orion and over the constellations raised arm.”
“To the left of Orion is Gemini. Their feet are first and if you continue to look that way, you’ll eventually see Castor and Pollux. Those are the heads of the twins. Castor is the brighter of the two.”
“Well, that’s mean to say,” Mitch interrupts. “Who’s to say Potluck isn’t smarter than his brother?”
The laughter that erupts from your chest is the first authentic laugh you’ve uttered since the night began; one that wasn’t laced with sarcasm or depreciation, nor was it used to hide your sadness and fear. This was the laughter that only Mitch could pull so easily from you.
“No, the star is brighter, like visually. And it’s Pollux not Potluck. You aren’t paying attention at all,” you say, glancing over at him to tease him further but feel the laughter catch in your throat.
Because those blue eyes are once again staring into the depths of you. Mitch is looking at you with such infinite tenderness, like you were the one that hung every star you named in the sky.
“Then it’s just like old times,” he whispers and it takes a minute for your mind to comprehend the words he’s just spoken.
“What do you mean?” you ask, your voice quiet as if you were afraid that if you spoke any louder you would awaken in from this impossible dream.
“Because whenever you talked about the stars, I always found myself looking at you.”
“Why?”
In the dim light you can see Mitch’s eyes take in your bewildered expression, a look that remains on your features even as that sweet smile appears on his lips.
“For someone who can see everything so clearly, it’s amazing how hard it is for you to realize what’s right in front of you,” he whispers and your breath catches again when you feel his hand graze against yours again before he continues to move, fingers lacing in between yours.
“Haven’t you heard me calling to you?” he asks, his free hand reaching out to rest against your jawline, thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’ve been calling out to you from the start.”
“But…” you start to say, the disbelief of this moment still running through your mind. “I’m just me.”
There is another small pause as you continue to stare into Mitch’s blue eyes, the sincerity of his gaze never faltering even against your doubt.
“That’s the most perfect thing about you.”
His words cause that ache to echo through your chest again, that inexplicable feeling that always appeared when you were around him. The desperate need to be close to him, to be next to him. And now, you think you understood what it was.
Not infatuation, not some fleeting feeling that would eventually burn out, just like every single pinprick of light above you. It was so much more.
The two of you move towards each other, hands still intertwined, guided by the pull in your chest, the pull of him. It was gravity, powerful and inescapable and this time, you don’t fight against it.
And when your lips meet his, the feeling settles. Because for the first time in a long you, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
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Can you do some headcanons for Jack Hughes or Mitch Marner about them being with an ADHD/neurodivergent girl?? Like, a lot of my personal things are weird noises, textures (I love soft, but hate scratchy), random bouts of singing, and constant movement/fidgeting
yes ofc!! i’ll do mitch since you seem to be pretty infatuated with him! and there’s 100% nothing wrong with that.
as someone who doesn’t have adhd and isn’t neurodivergent, this might be a little bad and i apologize and ill try my best.
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mitch marner with an ADHD/neurodivergent gf!
warnings/content: just fluff, mitch is sweet and understanding, gf has adhd and is neurodivergent, mentions of triggers gf doesn’t like (ill try not to add a lot so it doesn’t affect you), that should be all!
a/n- here’s my work for this request and i hope it’s close as can be, i want it to make sense and i want people to understand it. i’m extremely sorry if this offends anyone
definition of adhd: A chronic condition including attention difficulty, hyperactivity, and impulsiveness.
ADHD often begins in childhood and can persist into adulthood. It may contribute to low self-esteem, troubled relationships, and difficulty at school or work.
definition of neurodiversity: The term “neurodivergent” describes people whose brain differences affect how their brain works. That means they have different strengths and challenges from people whose brains don't have those differences. The possible differences include medical disorders, learning disabilities and other conditions.
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mitch marner
-mitch is an extremely sweet and understanding person. when you guys first started becoming friends and when you started dating, you explained everything to him.
-by explaining i mean telling him how certain things affect you, how you act towards certain things, what makes you comfy and uncomfy.
-he made sure to listen and understand what you meant. mitch is a vocal yet well kept person, so he doesn’t really have problems asking when he doesn’t get something you say
-he also made sure not to ask to much or push anything further, he knows how hard it can be so he immediately educated himself to better understand.
-i feel like he can relate to some of the triggers you have or things you absolutely love.
-as neurodiversity is a bigger factor to depression, when you have downtimes, he makes sure to stay by your side but also give you space when needed
-if you guys are out in public, say at awards, he’s definitely making sure you’re 100% near him at all times. he doesn’t want you out of his line of sight, just to protect you.
-he loves you!! don’t forget that!! anything that you think are flaws, he sees them as perfection im telling you. mitch is extremely honest, so it goes perfect!!
-textures and sounds can play a huge roll in your life, so he makes sure he knows what you like and don’t like. such as soft texture and scratchy texture (i don’t really like that either).
-one of his favorite things about you, and there’s thousands, is when you just randomly start singing. like he’ll just be chilling with you on the couch, you both on your phones, and you just start singing. it’s like music to his ears, which it pretty much is music.
-your voice calms him down when he’s the one that’s had a bad day, and everyone has one no matter who you are and it’s normal. that’s why he always wants to be near you. you give him the comfort he needs and wants.
-when you move or fidget a lot, he calmly asks if everything’s okay and if you need him to do something or help you. i feel like that’s what he’d be like during the start and mid friendship and relationship.
-the longer you stayed with him, the more normal it was for him to know what to do. practice makes perfect and mitch lives by that, as hes also a hockey player and you need practice for that.
-overall, mitch understands you and loves you for who you are. and it’ll stay that way forever!
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okay well i hope you liked that! i tried to research and make sure i didn’t get anything wrong. i hope this wont offend anyone as im not the best educated on this stuff!
IMAGINE : finally saying “I Love You” to Mitch Marner
- You guys have been dating for 3 years.
- You were always scared to say those three words “I Love You”.
- Mitch didn’t say it also, but one night when it was a late game. You were almost fully asleep. When he came home.
- The interviews took up half of his time, and he thought you were asleep. He cuddled you and repeated I love you over and over in your ear.
- You were a bit upset that you couldn’t say it back, but the word just kept slipping away from you.
- A few months later things changed.
- It was like any other take out dinner.
- You were so excited you almost forgot to do your hair because of it.
- You loved it when you guys ordered take out and had a little date night with movies because of it.
- Mitch helped set up the “fort” with blankets and extra snacks in case you got hungry and the movie wasn’t over yet.
- You picked Rapunzel, as you both loved disney movies.
- During the movie you couldn’t help, but be extremely affectionate in a way you hadn’t yet.
- You would steal kisses in between movies, but this one was different.
- You mumbled the words ‘I love you’ which you thought couldn’t be heard due to the loudness of the tv.
- But he heard it and he replied with a big smile. “I love you too.”
- You both hugged each other tightly not wanting to let go.
- You couldn’t believe you said that especially the fact he said it back.
- After the movie ended. You guys stayed just cuddling and holding each other. Just listening to the outside rain bat against the window. It was a nice sound.
- Mitch eventually put on the Lion King to help you fall asleep.
- He cuddled you to sleep on his chest.
- Even after you slept he would repeat over and over how much he loved you and how much you meant to him.
- Even when numerous days passed. You found it easier and easier to say “I Love You”
- You remember the second time you said it. It was right after a win on the road and when he hit 100 regular season points.
- The best thing about it was you said it in front of all of his friends.
- He couldn’t stop his smile.
- You spent that rest of the night just holding each other and watching movies
inspired by: all i want for christmas is you by mariah carey
series masterpost: 10 days of christmas
the whole scotiabank arena cheered as the maple leafs scored yet another goal - leading by 4. i smiled as i looked down at the ice with my friend. the captain, john tavares had scored with a saucy pass by the one and only mitch marner.
i watch as mitch cellys with his teammates, a huge smile plastered on his face. his eyes move towards the crowd and he catches mine, his smile only growing just like me.
the game ended not too long after, but everyone waited as they announced the three stars of the game. when mitch came out, gaining the third star, he threw his stick to a kid not too far from my seats. before he headed back into the tunnel, he mouthed ‘wait for me by the locker room’.
mitch and i had just reconnected a few months ago after not talking for around four years. we used to be super close friends at school but i went to study abroad and mitch pursued his hockey career so we just fell out. but the day i saw him again, i had feelings rushing over me just like the ones i always used to have.
victoria and i got up as a security guard led us to where the locker room was. “the femine urge to just walk into that locker room” she joked as she eyed the doors. i laughed, not lying that i was feeling the same thing.
“so are you going to be spending christmas with mitchy?” she asked, curious if he’s let me know of any plans yet. “well i want to! he leaves for a road trip tonight, but he’s scheduled to get back by christmas eve” i said, happy as i picture all the cute things we could be able to do once he gets back.
“hey y/n!!” he says as he walks out and hugs me, “hiiii mitch!!, oh um, mitch this is victoria” i said as i guided him to her direction. he smiled and he hugged her as well “hi, nice to meet you! did you study abroad with y/n too?” she smiled, “yeah, we found out we were both from toronto on the first day!”
he nodded, “well i’m happy you weren’t alone alone” mitch said as he looked over at me. i smiled in return as others came out and we parted to make some room.
“oh wait, mitch is that her??” one of the boys asked as he walked up and put a hand on mitchy’s shoulder. mitch looked down shyly as he nodded, “yeah, y/n this is willy, willy that's y/n and her friend victoria” he says. the blonde walked up with a smile and hugged both victoria and i. “its nice to meet the two of you! and y/n, we’ve heard a ton about you. give him some good luck for the road trip if you can” willy says as he winks and walks away.
i laughed as mitch led us out to the private parking lot. “wow willy is cute” victoria whispers in my ear quickly, smirking. as we stopped near the bus, victoria said “i’ll head over to the car, leave you two to have a minute” i nodded as she walked to the direction of the car.
as i looked back to mitch, his sad and tired eyes were staring at me. “so the long road trip….” i said. “yeah,” he takes a deep breath “i’m going to be home on the 24th, and i um, i wanted to ask if you’d ahh like to ummm…”
“he’d like it if you'd spend christmas at his place cause he’s pretty lonely” a boy with dark hair said as he walked away quickly. mitch turned around and gave the man a vex stare. “well yeah” he says, his face red and his eyes looking around before he settles on you.
i smile, it’s what i wanted in the first place and i didn’t even know if he’d want the same thing so i said “yes, of course, i don’t have much plans for myself anyways” a smile popped on his face, “great!! okay, well i’ll call you then”
“sounds good!!” i say as i hug him; it ends up being one of those types of hugs where you have to force yourself to let go even if you don’t want to at all. i wait as he jogs to his bus and waves right before he goes in. i grin to myself as i walk to my car.
—
the 24th of december came, mid noon as i sat in my living room taking a nap on the couch. the was until my phone began ringing, i picked up as i saw mitch’s picture appear on my screen “hey mitch, what’s up?”
“hey y/n, have you seen outside?!” he asked, “ummm no my curtains are down but hold on,” i got up and walked to my windows, the whole city was covered with a sheet of snow, and the visibility staggering as more snow was coming down “oh wow” i said.
he laughed a bit, “yup, it’s even worse here in edmonton” i turned back to my couch, “so you’re not coming back today are you?” i asked.
i heard a door closing and a loud sigh before mitch answered, “yup. we’re hoping it clears by the night time but knowing canada’s bipolar weather, that probably won’t happen”
now it was my turn to sigh, “i was really looking forward to seeing you today” i said with a sluggish tone. “me too, me too”
“mitch?” i asked softly. “yeah?”
“if i won’t be able to see you today, or even tomorrow, i wanted to get something off my chest” i said, bringing up the courage to say what i was planning on saying - i was hoping there would be a fire behind us and whip cream moustaches from our hot coco. “what is it?” he asks.
“well, since i saw you for the first time in a couple years i had so many feelings rush over me-” i took a deep breath, “the whole time we were friends in middle school and high school i really really-”
“i love you” mitch says quickly. i could tell there was a bit of panic laced in his actions, but maybe i was also just taking too long to spit it out. “yeah, me too” i say shyly.
“i know how you feel, trust me the amount of times i wanted to tell you and the few times i tried” a nervous laugh escaped his lips. “so i wasn’t alone” i said, snickering a bit.
“you never were” i could hear his smile on the other side, which only made me have one myself. “okay can you try to come home as soon as you can? i really need one of your hugs right now haha” i said cuddling into my couch once again.
“i promise” he says, before a voice comes and tells him something. we said our goodbyes and ended the call. i started to find some available work postings i could apply to and other things i needed to do before the night fall. i also called my parents even though i saw them a day ago. without knowing, i fell asleep at some point and awoke with a few sounds coming from my door.
confused, i wiped my eyes and slowly walked to the door, looking through the peephole first. when i saw the light brown hair and blue eyes through the small circular window, i immediately opened the door and swung myself onto mitch.
i heard him laugh as his equipment bag fell to the ground. “mitchy!!” i said, hugging him even tighter. “i’m here y/n” he says as he snuggles his head into my hair.
i let go of him as i pull him inside, “what time is it?” i asked as he grabbed his bag and put it near the door, kicking off his shoes and following me to my room. “around 4 in the morning” he says as i drag him down to my bed with me.
“and i get to have what i wanted after all” i say as he puts me under the covers and holds me tight. “we both do” he says, placing a kiss on my head.
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