[ NUZZLE ] Sender Presses Their Face Into Receivers Neck

[ NUZZLE ] sender presses their face into receiver’s neck

quinn hughes bringing his girlfriend home to meet his family and he has never brought home a girl before so his family knows she must be very very special and he is always talking about her! it’s very sweet and soft and she just fits in the family so well and makes quinn so happy

A Keeper - Q. Hughes

hockey masterlist || g's graduation celly

synopsis: Quinn finds himself at the lake in the off season, and this time, he isn't flying solo

word count: 3.6k

warnings: none! losing game seven

For as long as Quinn could remember, his whole life revolved around hockey. He’d wake up, eat a quick breakfast, go to hockey practice, shower, eat lunch, sit and watch film, come home and take a nap, then go back for another practice or a game. Everything he has ever known has been hockey. Hockey took up every moment of his life, every single thought. 

But since that buzzer went off signaling the end of the final period of game seven, Quinn couldn’t think of hockey anymore. 

He wasn’t the type of guy to cry, well, not in public at least. But standing on the ice at that moment, staring up at the scoreboard and seeing the final score, he felt that all too familiar burn behind his eyes and in his nose. He glanced around at his teammates, all of them wearing the same shocked and sad expression on their faces. He didn’t dare look over at Arty, knowing that the young goalie was going to be feeling this loss harder than anyone on the team, even though they all played in the game.

You stood off to the side as Quinn answered a couple of questions for the press. Your heart was also feeling heavy and you had that same all too familiar feeling of unshed tears in your eyes. You were so incredibly proud of your boyfriend and his team. The way they were able to turn everything around from the previous season and give Vancouver a play-off berth in over a decade was something to celebrate about. And, even with that knowledge, all you wanted to do was pull Quinn away from the press and give him a hug and a thousand kisses. You could tell just by looking at him he was physically and mentally exhausted. But Quinn wasn’t going to be rude and brush off the media, he was the captain. He would gladly stand and answer the dumb “how are you feeling after the loss?” question so his guys can go home and rest.

When Quinn was done, he silently walked over to you, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers together. He silently led you towards the parking garage, wanting nothing more than to speed out of Rogers Arena and back home to your shared apartment. It was as if the fans knew that he wasn’t in the mood to stop and sign autographs like he usually did, instead they all seemed to give him space as he left the rink. 

The two of you seemed to move in silence as you walked into your apartment. You took Quinn’s bag from his hand, as he walked towards the bedroom. You were putting his clothes into the washer when you heard the shower turn on. You laid out a pair of sweatpants for him to put on when he was done, and went to start making him some tea. By the time he was done showering, you were sitting up against the headboard, scrolling briefly through social media, with a mug of camomile tea in your other hand. He quietly crawled into bed, and you shifted so he could lay down next to you. You held your arms open as he laid his head down on your chest. 

“I’m proud of you,” You said, running your hands through his hair. 

“Even though I lost,” He muttered. 

“You might’ve lost this one,” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, “But you’ve won so much more.” 

He looked up at you, tired green eyes locking on yours, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Q.”

— — — 

You were a ball of nerves. 

You had never been the type to get nervous. Usually, you were so sure and confident in yourself, but there was something about flying across the continent to meet your boyfriend's family that had your stomach in knots. Quinn had assured you that there was nothing to worry about, that they already loved you. 

Ever since you landed back in Michigan, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off of Quinn’s shoulders. You guys stuck around for a couple of days after the loss, Quinn having to do exit interviews and pack up his things. Quinn only packed one bag to go back to the lake (oh, and his precious golf clubs), while you seemed to pack your whole closet. Quinn couldn’t help but laugh at you as you were quickly shifting clothes from your suitcase to his in the middle of the airport because your bag was over the weight limit. 

“I should’ve told you that we could go shopping when we get here,” He said, one hand on the wheel and the other one intertwined with yours, “Get you a whole new closet to keep here for when we come back next summer.” 

“Okay mister ‘i make eight point six million a year’,” You playfully rolled your eyes, “And who says I’ll be invited back next year?” Quinn gave you a look, “What?!”

“You’ll be invited back next year,” He chuckled, “There’s only ever been one person I didn’t want to invite back.” 

“Hey, that’s not nice. Trevor is a nice kid,” Quinn shook his head with a laugh, “But I’m serious. What if your family doesn’t like me and doesn’t want me-” 

“They are going to love you, Y/N,” Quinn pulled your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it, “They have been begging me to fly back so that they can meet you. My mom has been sending me texts and asking me about your favorite foods and hobbies and card games.” 

You couldn’t help but blush and look down at your lap. You haven’t met Quinn’s family before, but from what he described, you can tell that they are very close. Quinn talks to his middle brother, Jack almost every day on the phone, and either texts Luke or calls him a couple times a week. He values his time with his family almost as much as he values his time on the ice with his teammates. 

“And here we are,” Quinn announced as he pulled into the driveway of a beautiful two-story lake house. Excitement and anxiety filled your body, making your stomach turn. Your hands felt sweaty as Quinn jumped out of the driver’s seat and the front door opened at the same time. A boy with longish brown hair and a similar face to Quinn came rushing out of the house, barefoot and shirtless. 

You watched as the two men embraced each other in a hug, another boy walking out of the house. He was slightly taller with curly hair, but had those same dark eyebags as Quinn. You slipped out of the car, walking up to the three boys who were engaged in a conversation. It was like Quinn had a sixth sense for you being near him, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his side, easing some of your nerves. 

“And who might this be?” The long haired boy asked, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“This would be my girl,” Quinn looked at you, “Y/N,” Heat arose in your cheeks as he looked at you like you hung the stars and the moon. 

“Well I’m Jack,” The long haired boy said, holding his hand out to you. You chuckled nervously, shaking his hand, “And it's a pleasure to meet the girl that has my older brother drooling.” 

“I am not drooling,” Quinn shot back. 

“Basically are, Q,” The taller boy said, “I’m Luke.” 

You shook his hand too, “It’s nice to meet you guys, finally. Quinn has told me so much about you. It’s good to see your healing well, Jack.” 

“Thanks,” Jack nodded, “Been a long season but I’m glad I got this taken care of,” He massaged his shoulder, and you could see a slightly still puffy, pink scar, “But don’t think I can’t beat your ass at pool, Q.” 

“I’d like to see you try, Rowdy.” 

“Boys!” A woman called from the doorway. You looked around Luke to see a beautiful blonde woman standing there, her hands on her hips, “Let your brother and his girlfriend get settled before you start your pool tournament!” 

“Yes mom,” Both Jack and Luke said. Quinn chuckled as he pulled you towards the front door, letting Jack and Luke bicker about who was going to carry your bags in. 

You squeezed Quinn’s hand as you walked up to the matriarch of the Hughes family. You had read up on Ellen Hughes when you had met Quinn. She was an incredible woman, being a former hockey star herself and raising three incredible players. You felt another wave of anxiety rush over you as she looked you over, her eyes similar to Quinn taking you in. It felt like you were standing in front of a judge; a judge who was going to decide if you are worthy enough for her eldest son. 

“Hey mom,” Quinn greeted her, leaving your side to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Good to see ya.” 

“You too, baby,” Ellen said, and held her son at an arm’s length. She tsked, grabbing his chin and running a finger over the scar on his cheek, “That should’ve been a damn high stick.” 

Quinn chuckled, “Not much we can do about it now. Besides, it adds to my cool factor.” 

“Mhm,” Ellen nodded, and playfully rolled her eyes, looking back towards you. 

You mouth felt dry and you stepped forward, holding your hand out to Ellen, “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Hughes.” 

It was silent for a moment, probably not as long as you felt like it was, but it was long enough, before Ellen pulled you in for a hug. 

“Handshakes are for business partners and old men,” Ellen told you as she gave you a squeeze. And just like that, all the tension you felt had melted away. Ellen pulled back and held you at arms length, the same way she did with Quinn, “My son seemed to be hiding you away,” She looked at Quinn, “Why were you hiding her away? You talk about her all the time.” 

Quinn chuckled, grabbing you gently out of his mother’s hold, “Because I wanted to keep her for myself for just a bit longer. I know once I bring her home, I’ll be fighting for her attention.” 

“Well, start fighting now,” Ellen said and you chuckled, “C’mon, I just finished making some sangria. The boys can take your stuff to your room.” 

For several hours, you sat in the kitchen with Ellen, getting to know her. It started off with just small talk; asking where you are from, what are your parents' names, what do they do, what do you do for work, how did you meet Quinn. Then the conversation transitioned into how to make the perfect cheesecake, something Ellen was famous for in their neighborhood back in Michigan. Before you knew it, you and Ellen were making dinner side by side, while the boys sat out on the back patio with their dad, Jim, watching the grill. 

“The boys used to volun-tell me to make raspberry cheesecake for every single end of season potluck,” Ellen shook her head with a laugh, “Oh I wanted to strangle them sometimes, cause of course, they never told more than a day or two in advance.” 

“Oh of course not,” You giggled, “Quinn signed me up to bake cookies for one of the Canucks charity events. Told me at eight o'clock the night before that he needed me to make three dozen chocolate chip cookies.” 

“Boys,” Ellen playfully rolled her eyes. 

“What about boys?” Quinn asked as he walked into the kitchen. 

“Oh nothing,” Ellen said, wiping her hands on the towel thrown over her shoulder, “Y/N makes a better sous chef than you.” 

“Taking my job?” Quinn looked at you. You nodded your head, “Traitor. This is my off-season gig,” He reached over to grab a cube of watermelon, but you swatted his hand back, “Hey!” 

“This is for dinner,” You scolded him. Quinn walked around to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Quinn, your begging isn’t going to make me cave.” 

“Please,” Quinn whined, “I lost game seven.” 

“Two weeks ago!” 

“I’m still wounded!” 

“Fine,” You muttered, grabbing a cube of watermelon and turning in his arms to face him, “Because you lost game seven. . . two weeks ago,” You fed it to him and he smiled. 

“Thanks baby,” He kissed your cheek before heading back out to the grill. 

You shook your head, going back to placing balls of cookie dough on the baking sheet. It was quiet and you could feel Ellen’s stare on you as you worked, causing you to overthink every little movement you made. You paused, looking at the cookies before looking up at Ellen. 

“Did I mess something up?” You asked, fear rising in your body. 

“Hm? Oh, no,” Ellen shook her head, “It’s just. . . he never used to joke about the games he lost. In fact, it was almost like a taboo subject to bring up any losses around him. It’s. . . refreshing to see him like that.” 

You blushed and nodded, going back to work, a small smile on your face. 

Dinner went off without a hitch. Jim had grilled enough hamburgers, chicken and steak to feed a whole hockey team instead of just the six of you. You fell into comfortable silence as you watched the Hughes family interact with each other. It was like no time had passed by them at all, as if they weren’t spread across North America and in different time zones. You felt comfortable and at ease with them. And Quinn could sense that as he looked at you. 

“Feeling okay?” He asked, nodding towards your barely touched plate. 

“Yeah, I feel fine,” You smiled, picking up your fork, “Just. . . taking it all in,” You sighed. Quinn smiled and placed his hand on your thigh. 

Ellen and Jim shared a knowing look across the table, watching you and their son interact. They were both taken aback when Quinn first mentioned a girl in his life. Quinn was always so focused on hockey that personal relationships (unless they were centered around hockey) came second to him. It wasn’t that Ellen feared that her son was going to be alone forever, she just knew the kind of man he was. She knew that hockey wasn’t going to be around forever, that there would come a time where Quinn would retire from the game, and she wanted him to have someone who would be there for when that time came. She wanted him to have someone for when he came home from those long roadies or hard fought games. She wanted him to have the kind of partner and relationship that she has with Jim. 

When dinner was over, you and Quinn packed up the boat, putting a small cooler of seltzers and water, a couple of blankets and towels. Quinn gave you one of his sweatshirts to wear, knowing that it would get cold once the sun went all the way down. You sat next to Ellen as the boys and Jim, pushed away from the dock, ready to set out on a slow sunset cruise around the lake. Quinn took up the captain spot, while Jack and Jim navigated, Luke opted to sit next to you and his mom. 

“So, who is the best driver?” You asked, looking at the three Hughes boys. 

“Oh for sure me,” Jack scoffed. 

“You only have one functioning arm,” Luke pointed. 

“It wasn’t chopped off,” Jack rolled his eyes, “I can still use my hands.” 

“Whatever you say, Bucky Barnes.” 

You giggled and looked at Ellen, “They always like this?” 

“Got worse with age,” Ellen sighed, “I was a little worried when they all went into the NHL. I have known some families that the competition gets the better of them, and they don’t talk anymore. But not these three. I think if anything, they talk more now than they ever had.” 

You smiled, “Quinn talks about them all the time. He has me record their games so he can watch them back after his.” 

Ellen’s heart swelled at your words, “He told them about you first,” You blushed, “Jack can’t keep a secret to save his life, and he texted me asking if I knew that Quinn had a girlfriend and I said no, and then Jack launched into this whole story that Quinn told them about you,” Ellen chuckled, “When Quinn told us about you, I told him I already knew.” 

“What did he say then?” You asked. 

“He said ‘of course Jack told you’,” You laughed and Ellen smiled, “It meant a lot to Jack that you sent him flowers after his surgery, and Luke when you sent some after his Calder nomination. They won’t admit that, but I know it.” 

“They mean a lot to him,” You gestured towards your boyfriend and his brothers who were sitting at the front of the boat, “So they mean a lot to me too.” 

Quinn glanced at you from where he sat, a smile on his face as you talked to his parents. His parents were two of the most important people in his life. He valued their opinion on almost everything, so it meant something to see you so easily getting along with them. His heart felt warm when he heard your laughter at a, no doubt, embarrassing story his dad was telling. 

“So when are you going to propose?” Jack said, pulling Quinn out of his trance. 

“What?” 

“You got a ring yet? I bet you got a ring already.” 

“Huh?” 

“You’re going to marry her!” Jack exclaimed, “And don’t even lie, I can see it. I have a sixth sense for these things.” 

“Yeah, and I talk to ghosts,” Quinn rolled his eyes. But his younger brother was right. Even though you and him had only been dating for six months, Quinn had already imagined proposing to you, getting married, buying a house, and hopefully, having a family. Quinn had never felt this way about someone before, and he would be lying if he wasn’t a bit scared of his feelings, but one look at you and all those fears melted away. 

“Whatever man,” Jack waved him off, “As long as I get to be the best man, I won’t complain.” 

“And who says you will be the best man?” Luke asked, “If anything, I think it would be me. I never broke his xbox controller.” 

“Luke, you’re literally like seven,” Jack scoffed, “It won’t be you.” 

“I’m twenty.” 

The sun was completely down by the time you guys had made it back to the dock. Quinn expertly parked the boat in the hoist, and helped you out, before raising it back up. Jack and Luke had run back to the house, shouting something about getting a fire started, Ellen and Jim walking hand in hand behind them. You stood on the dock, taking in the dark lake in the final strands of light from the sky. 

“No wonder you guys run away to this place at the end of the season,” You said, “It’s so peaceful here. I love it and I’ve only been here a couple of hours.” 

Quinn chuckled, “It feels like this is the one place on earth where I can be just Quinn Hughes. Not the hockey player or the captain of the Canucks. Just Quinn.” 

You turned around, draping your arms around his neck, “Well I like it, Just Quinn,” He smiled at you, his hands resting on your hips, “Thank you for bringing me here. For letting me into your life.” 

“Of course,” Quinn’s voice was full of sincerity as his thumbs brushed over your hip bones, “Thank you for being in my life. You’ve made me a better person.” You tilted your head up slightly, placing a kiss on his lips. One of his hands cupped your cheek, while the other one tangled in your hair, deepening the kiss. When you pulled apart for air, you rested your forehead against his, wanting to just stand in his embrace for a moment longer. 

“Hey lovebirds!” You broke apart, like two teenagers being caught by your parents. But instead of your parents, it was Jack, “Quit sucking face! We’re making smores!” 

“He is such a child,” Quinn huffed. You laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the house. 

“Yes but you love him.” 

“Unfortunately, I do.” 

You sat on Quinn’s lap, your legs dangling off the side of the chair, by the fire, as Jack and Luke argued about how toasted a marshmallow should be for the perfect smore. Ellen and Jim sat across the firepit from you and Quinn, enjoying having their kids back home. Your eyes were growing heavier by the minute, the heat from the fire, being in Quinn’s embrace and the exhaustion from traveling finally catching up to you. Quinn could feel your body growing heavier and heavier with sleep, his hand running up and down your back, a soothing motion that he knew would lull you to sleep. 

“Tired?” He asked, looking at you. 

“A bit,” You yawned, “But I don’t want to go to bed yet, having too much fun.” 

“Just close your eyes,” Quinn whispered. You nodded, nuzzling your face into his neck. He leaned his cheek on top of your head. It wasn’t very long after that, that Quinn could feel your breathing start to slow, until you were sleeping in his arms. He looked down at you, a soft smile on his face, as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“She’s a keeper Quinn,” Jim said, raising his can of beer towards his son, “She’s gotta be a special one to deal with you.” 

“Yeah,” Quinn said, his eyes still on your sleeping frame, “I’m not letting her go anytime soon.”

note: I am thinking of creating a tag list. Is that something y'all would want? also, requests are open!!

family | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

you feel happy that your boyfriend’s brothers like you

You stood in front of the mirror, carefully applying the final touches of your makeup. The room was filled with the sounds of Luke humming a tune and Jack’s playful teasing. Luke was sprawled out on the bed, flipping through channels on the TV while Jack lounged on the other bed, tossing a hacky sack with his good arm.

“You almost ready?” Luke asked, watching you with such love.

“Almost,”you replied, glancing at him through the mirror with a smile. “Just need to fix my hair.”

Jack smirked and chimed in. “Come on, Y/N, it’s just a game. You don’t need to impress anyone.”

You rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “It’s family night, Jack. I want to look nice.”

Luke sat up and moved behind you, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You always look beautiful,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Ugh, you two are so gross,” Jack groaned, adjusting the sling that held his arm. “Get a room!”

“We have one, and you’re in it,” Luke shot back with a grin, catching the pillow Jack threw at him and tossing it back.

-

Family nights at games were always a highlight for the Hughes clan. Tensions buzzed in the air as you arrived at the Rogers Stadium.

you felt slightly uncomfortable going, but Ellen insisted saying that you’re “practically family” at this point with how long you’ve been with Luke.

Ellen helped you onto the ice while Luke tied his skates. Quinn skated over toward Ellen, giving her a hug, then Jack, Jim, Luke, and finally, you. He pulled you into a hug, which was rare for Quinn but made you feel giddy knowing that your boyfriend’s brother liked you.

Quinn pulled away, giving you a small but genuine smile. “Good to see you, Y/N.”

You returned the smile, feeling warmth spread through you. “Good to see you too, Quinn. Excited for the game?”

Quinn nodded, glancing around at his family. “Yeah, it’s always better with everyone here.”

Luke skated over, slipping his arm around your waist. “You wanna skate around with Dad and me?” he asked. You looked over at Luke. Quinn watched how much warmth radiated from you when you were with Luke; it made him happy.

You nodded, grabbing Luke’s outstretched hand. He gave Quinn a nod and you smiled at Quinn. “Hey, be careful out there,” Quinn called out, knowing how reckless his younger brother could be.

Jim helped you stay steady on the ice when Luke decided it would be funny to pick up the pace, Jim tighten his hold on you as you scolded Luke to slow down.

eventually the family hour was coming to a close and the game getting closer, photographers swarming to get photos of players and their families.

A photographer approached. “Can we get a Hughes family photo?” he asked, camera at the ready.

You instinctively stepped back, giving the Hughes family space for their moment. You watched as Luke, Jack, Ellen, and Jim gathered together, a perfect picture of familial love and support.

Just as the photographer was about to take the picture, Quinn looked up and noticed you standing off to the side. His usual stoic expression softened. “Y/N, get in here,” he called out, his voice carrying a tone of insistence that left no room for argument.

You face scrunched in confusion, he waved you over once more, quickly skating to Luke’s side. Luke wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. The photographer snapped the picture.

after the photo was taken Quinn hugged all of you before y’all were guided off the ice and into your seats.

-

Later, as you left the arena, you felt a warm hand slip into yours. You looked up to see Luke smiling down at you, his eyes filled with love.

Luke cleared his throat . “Quinn doesn’t usually do things like that. He really cares about you.”

you looked up, cheeks heated, “Yeah, I’m really happy. I’m just kinda bummed he just started liking me,” you said, half-joking, half-not.

Jack, walking behind you, snorted. “Quinn liked you since the very first time he met you. He kept on saying, ‘I like how Luke’s girl doesn’t post only when she’s with us. Luke’s girl this and that.’” Jack mocked him in a teasing tone.

“Shut up, dude,” Luke said, laughing. “But as he was saying, Quinn really likes you.” He smiled, kissing your cheek.

Jack obnoxiously gagged. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s get to the car.”

uh oh | luke hughes

luke hughes x lazar!reader

you're trying to sneak out your boyfriend but their is one thing standing in your way, Curtis.

my masterlist!

You're not sure how all of this happened, but all you know is that you were trying to get your boyfriend out of your brother's house before morning skate.

You tiptoe through the dimly lit hallway, every creak in the floorboard causing your heart to race. The morning sun filters through the curtains, you glance back at Luke who’s following your lead, trying to make as little noise as possible.

You grab Luke's hand, tugging him down the stairs, his hair messy and wearing last night's clothing that was scattered around your bedroom floor. You hear Curtis's bedroom door shutting. You turn to Luke, whose eyes are wide. He motions for you to go upstairs. You and he quickly and quietly make your way back upstairs.

You shut your bedroom door behind you, closing your eyes in relief. When you open them, you find Luke staring at you, a sly boyish grin on his face. "I feel like I'm 16 again," he jokes, pressing himself against you and placing soft kisses all over your face and neck.

You push him away playfully. "You didn't get any play when you were 16," you tease.

He lets out a huff, pulling you in for a kiss. It's sweet, his hands dancing around your back, but it becomes more needy. Then you hear a knock. "Hey, sissy, I'm gonna get going," Curtis calls out.

Your voice is hoarse as you reply, "Okay, Curt, see you later." You feel Luke's breath fanning against your cheek as he presses harder into you, trying to stay hidden.

"Hey, are you okay?" Curtis asks, and you see the door handle beginning to twist.

Luke slams you against the door, pressing harder into you if possible. "Curt, I'm changing, give me a second," you call out, and the door handle stops twisting.

Luke stands in the middle of your room awkwardly. You push him into your closet, giving him one last peck on the lips before closing the door.

You grab your robe, wrapping it around your body, and open the door. Curtis steps in, his expression concerned. "You feeling alright? You sounded a little nasally," he says, placing a hand on your forehead to check your temperature.

"And your lips are looking pinker than usual," he presses on, his eyes narrowing slightly. Your cheeks flush, flashes of the night before still in your memory.

You can almost see the face Luke is making inside the closet, trying to stay quiet and unseen.

"I'm fine, Curtis," you say, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just a bit tired."

Curtis frowns, still not entirely convinced. "Alright, if you say so. Just make sure you get some rest. And drink plenty of water."

"I will, thanks," you reply, ushering him out of the room as quickly as you can without seeming too eager.

Once Curtis is finally gone, you open the closet door. Luke stumbles out, looking both amused and relieved. "That was close," he whispers.

"Too close," you agree, shaking your head. "We need to be more careful."

Luke nods, pulling you into a hug. "Definitely. But it was kind of fun, sneaking around like that."

You laugh softly, leaning into his embrace. "Yeah, it was. But next time, let's avoid getting rocked by my brother."

"Deal," Luke says with a grin, kissing the top of your head.

The two of you quickly get dressed, fixing his wrinkled shirt you say, "Alright, you should get going before Curtis gets suspicious. Where did you park?" you ask, giving Luke a quick peck on the lips.

Luke pulls his keys out of his pocket. "Around back. Why?"

Your eyes widen. "Curtis takes the trash out today," you remind him. Luke's jaw drops slightly, and his gaze shifts to your window. Without hesitation, he opens it. "It's not that far down," he reassures you.

You stare at him bewildered. "So, are you just gonna stand there and not kiss me goodbye if I die?" he asks with a smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully and give him a chaste kiss. Closing the window behind him, Luke gives you a wink before climbing out and jumping down. You watch as he tumbles through the grass but quickly gets up, giving you a thumbs up.

"Dork," you giggle, shaking your head fondly.

Luke dusts himself off and heads around the house to where he parked. You stay by the window for a moment, watching him disappear from view before letting out a sigh of relief.

-

At morning skate, Luke is in the locker room changing into his gear. The room is filled with the usual chatter and chirps, but it doesn't take long for his sharp-eyed teammates to notice a few things.

"Hey, Lukey," Jack calls out, smirking. "What happened to your neck? Looks like you've been attacked by a vampire."

He knew Luke was sneaking out to meet someone, he just didn't know it was you, yet.

Luke tries to play it cool, tugging at his collar to hide the faint love bites scattered around his neck and chest. "Oh, you know, just an overly enthusiastic mosquito," he jokes, but his attempt at nonchalance only draws more attention.

"Yeah, right," Timo chirps. "Must be some mosquito."

As Luke continues to change, pulling on his practice jersey, Dawson, points out something else. "Hey, man, nice socks. Didn't know you were into... strawberries?"

Luke looks down, realizing too late that he's wearing your themed strawberry socks. He quickly tugs his hockey socks over them, but the damage is done. The locker room erupts in laughter and playful teasing.

"Nice touch, Luke," Jack adds, nudging Curtis. "You see those socks? They look like something your sister would wear."

Curtis, who had been lacing up his skates, glances over at Luke's feet. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the strawberry socks peeking out from under Luke's gear. A moment of realization crosses his face.

"Wait a minute," Curtis says slowly, his gaze shifting from the socks to Luke's face. "Are those... my sister's socks?"

The locker room falls silent, all eyes on Luke. He freezes, unsure of how to respond. His mind races for an excuse, but nothing comes to mind.

Curtis stands up, his expression a mix of confusion and dawning comprehension. "Luke," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Why are you wearing my sister's socks? And why do you have those marks on your neck?"

Luke swallows hard, realizing there's no easy way out of this. "Curtis, I can explain," he starts, but Curtis holds up a hand to stop him.

"Save it," Curtis snaps. "I think I just figured it out."

The room is tense, everyone waiting to see what Curtis will do next. He takes a step closer to Luke, his eyes hard. "You and my sister? Really?"

Luke nods, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, we've been seeing each other."

Curtis's jaw clenches, but then he surprises everyone by letting out a long sigh. "Out of everyone on this team, she chose you," Curtis says, unable to resist a teasing jab at his teammate. "You gotta be kidding me. I gotta deal with you at home now too. You better take care of her, man, or else you're gonna go flying into a wall."

Luke nods earnestly. "I promise, Curtis. I care about her a lot."

Curtis studies him for a moment longer before finally stepping back. "Alright. But I'm watching you."

The tension in the room eases, other teammates exchanging relieved glances. Practice goes on, but the dynamics have shifted. Luke feels the weight of Curtis's gaze on him, but he also feels a sense of relief. The secret is out, and now, you guys can move on without sneaking around.

As they pile into the locker room, Luke walks over to Curtis. "Thanks for understanding," he says sincerely.

Curtis nods, his expression softening slightly. "Just remember what I said. And maybe next time, don't wear her socks."

consequences masterpost

cover made using @art-and-the-hockeys​ amazing wallpapers!! go check them out <3

summary:  you absolutely hate Matthew Tkachuk so it’s just your luck when you wind up pregnant with his child.

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

epilogue

Outtakes: the proposal, another one, instagram edit 1

instagram edit 2, instagram edit 3

strawberry wine: l. hughes

blurb: in which luke is teased for how he treats you, but he doesn’t mind. Not if all of it’s for you / word count: 1.3k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

You hadn’t meant to fall in love with him at first. When you first met Luke— right in the middle of your freshman year at UMich, where you were trying to balance the precarious work-social life balance— it wasn’t love at first sight. No, you were way too pessimistic for that. Instead, the love you had garnered for the curly haired boy was gratuitous— it was a simmering feeling you felt every time he turned his gaze on you, everytime he checked in with you via text or phone call when he was away, and the feeling of his heartbeat as he laid on your chest— the reminder that, above all, he had put you first.

Falling in love with Luke wasn’t an automatic fairy-godmother thing, but it was magic all the same — it was the feeling of coming up for air after being submerged underwater, the feeling of being in the sun after being inside for too long. It was a feeling you wanted to be embraced with all the time, really. 

Now, though, you were hearing the extent at which Luke loved you — in your sleep induced haze while your head laid on Luke’s chest, and your legs extended over his lap. The two of you had made your way to the Hughes Family lake house for the first few weeks of the summer, where you were joined by Quinn and Jack, as well as some of your and Luke’s mutual friends from UMich; all the people you cared about, all under one roof. 

As the summer grew, and the first week turned into the second, you could only feel how much your love had grown for the boy with the curls— the boy who had somehow made falling in love with an all-consuming feeling that you never wanted to let go of. 

Now, though, as you listened to the conversation around you, your almost-sleep was interrupted when you heard Jack call to Luke— saying something along the lines of something “being clear,” and picking up on some changes in Luke’s behavior. 

Now almost fully awake, you didn’t want to make yourself entirely known— not just yet. Luke and you had spoken about what to expect on the trip— the teasing and remarks that were sure to come from his brothers, the jokes that were sure to come out of Trevor or Duker at one point, and even the overprotectiveness for the only other woman in the house from Ellen. Now, through, you could tell the conversation was fully about you— and Luke. 

“I’m just saying, man,” you could hear Jack start. “We’ve never seen you this whipped before! It’s liek you’re an entirely new man, Moose,” he finished, to where you heard the rest of the boys add in their own agreements. You felt Luke pull you even closer when he said that, and could feel the hand on your calve resume its soft movements— mishappen shapes and letters that didn’t really mean anything, but that Luke had gotten into the habit of doing whenever you were around.

“Name one time where that’s happened,” Luke said. “I might be in love, but I haven’t changed,” he said, and oh god— he was in love with you! Even if you were still supposed to be asleep the sole notioon that he’d say it in front of the people whose opinions he cared about so deeply made your heart melt even more. The truth was, you were in love with Luke as much as he was in lovr with you — he was your rock, your safe place, and above all else, the person you looked for in anything; the one who had captured your heart and kept it as close as he could to his own. 

“C’mon, dude, you literally put your hand on the table corner when she dropped her cup the other day, just so she wouldn’t hit her head,” Quinn said from the opposite chair. “And, not to mention, you literally called Mom right after your first date with her, just to ask her how you did, and to see if she could help you see whatever signs Y/N was givign you” the boys laughed. While you had picked up on the things Luke did for you— including making sure you were always safe, that second thing wasn’t something you were aware of. Sure, you were both nervous wrecks on your first date, but you found him charming— especially when he had shown up at your dorm smartly dressed, and had brought flowers not only for you, but for your roommate too. 

“Plus, remember that time Coach made you do extra liners because you showed up to practice with a hickey on your neck?” Duker said. “Wasn’t that after your sixth-month anniversary, or something? When you rented that hotel room to, and I quote, “treat her how she deserves to be treated?” C’mon Hughes, you’re a sap!” he finished. 

Duke was right; you remembered that date almost vividly. Luke had spent so much on a grand hotel room, had taken you out to dinner at a nice restaurant, and, in the privacy of your own room, had danced with you for the entire night— had spun you around and around until the two of you ended up tangled in the white sheets, kisses being shared like secrets, and leaving them like brands on the entire expanse of his chest, his neck, and his mouth. The two of you had drank a third of a bottle of strawberry wine before you ended up on your tiptoes, Luke spinning you and leading you around the expanse of the entire room, before ultimately taking it further. 

That night, you had become his, and he had become yours in a way that you had never imagined possible; regardless of either of your past experiences, you had felt love strum between the two of you in, as cliche as it sounds — magical way. 

“So what, I care about her! Look at her, and tell me you wouldn’t give it all up” Luke said, but you could tell he wasn’t mad in the slightest. Sure, he was getting chirped at, but it was all in good fun, and he understood that; it must have been a strange thing, for both of his older brothers to see him so in love, and so ready to be tied down to you, that he didn’t even mind the teasing. 

Luke, for all his faults, loved you, and that much was entirely apparent every time he opened his mouth to talk about you— something he would do any chance he got, always finding a way to bring you up in his conversations. 

“We know, dude, you’ve just become such a sap,” Jack added. “‘S making the rest of us wanna settle down too,” he said, laughing. It was true, in a way. Seeing their little brother so in love — so much so that he had almost put his hockey career on pause just to be able to graduate with you, and looked like Cupid had whacked him in the ass with an arrow every time he looked at you — they could clearly see the adoration he had for you; the bone deep understanding that you were his, and he was yours. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, waving them away. Feeling like this was your cue to get up, however, now that the conversation had died down, you opened your eyes, and picked your head up slowly from his chest. Luke looked down at you immediately, his hand that was previously on your leg coming up to cup your chin. 

“You okay there, honey?” he asked. You could only try to shake away the remaining sleep from your head, and smile up at him. Here was your boy — the one who had taken your heart and ran with it, who held you close, and who planned to never let go; the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with, and who was willing to endure every single comment about your relationship just to keep you. You couldn’t have asked for anyone better —— you couldn’t have asked for anyone other than your Luke.

“Never better, baby. Never better.”

series masterlist

Summary: The New Jersey Devils have a new coach. He has a cute daughter. Luke Hughes is screwed.

Or, in which Luke Hughes walks in on you changing, laying the groundwork for an interesting barbecue night at your parent's Hamptons house.

A/N: Hello my lovelies, I hope you are all well. It's been a while since you've gotten a full-length fic and let me tell you this one was on the drawing boards for a very long time. I started writing it before we knew who the new coach was and just hoped it would be announced before I was ready to publish it hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this very much, and I hope you enjoy it enough for part 2 (and 3, and 4, and-) because I may or may not be planning on making this a little series, depending on how much you guys would like that. Anyway, I enjoyed writing this a lot, from the team dynamics to the meddling teammates and parents and everything in between. If you do find this to be something worth a place in your heart, leave a little feedback? Also do that if you wish you'd never read it in the end, but please be nice, I might be sensitive. Okay, that's all for the word vommitting, enjoy everyone's favorite little simp embarrassing himself in front of his soon-to-be crush and then experience a ray of conflicting emotions<3

_____________________________________

"They'll be here in ten!" "I won't be ready in ten!"

You can almost see the way your mom is no doubt rolling her big brown eyes downstairs, standing with a perfectly manicured hand on the stairwell and shouting up the large open space for you and your brothers.

"No amount of that will make it better," your brother, Alex, deadpans as he walks by, throwing a judgy glance at the fluffy makeup brush in your hand, halfway through sliding it across your cheekbone. "Might as well come downstairs now," he continues his verbal assault, once again reminding you just how ruthless 14-year-olds can be.

"Get lost, yeah?" Throwing him a cursory glance, you kick the door shut with your bare foot, only just reachable from your place at your old-fashioned vanity. The blue Maple Leafs cap that you keep on the hooks behind the door falls from the force, reminding you once more what exactly you're getting ready for:

Meeting your dad's new team.

Truthfully, you knew it was coming the second the Leafs blew their playoff series. You just hadn't expected your dad's new coaching gig to be finalized so soon, nor that it would be in a state so close to your college. The decision to apply to NUY came easy, as you have always held a love for the city. Besides, with your family's beach house in the Hamptons, the very same place you're sitting in your bedroom right now, the city has always been close and you feel comfortable there, confident, even.

Both of those feelings are nowhere near present in this very moment, though, as the dread of meeting the entirety of the New Jersey Devils roster, plus their partners and children, leaves you already wanting to stay hidden and cooped up in your coastal-themed room, the navy blues and whites of your sheets looking much more inviting.

It isn't that you're nervous, per se, or even shy or introverted or whatever it might be, no.

Usually, you like to call yourself an extrovert. Just, an extrovert with a social battery that drains quickly around new people. Especially, around new people you need to give the very best impression. You want the players to like your dad, and as always, that extends to them liking you and the rest of your family. Which is why you've been taking all day to get ready for this team-get-together-barbecue.

And why you're still not ready, despite starting your makeup roughly two hours ago. In your defense, there might have been a few musical performances in between those hours, though.

As you manage the finishing touches of your makeup, car doors slam, and booming voices carry into your room through the open window.

That definitely wasn't ten minutes.

You decide you might as well take your time getting ready anyway, sure half the team isn't even here yet. Besides, your other younger brother, Evan, is still deep into his Fortnite game, judging by the occasional yells and swear words coming from his room across the hall, and no one's come to get him yet.

Finally finished with your hair and makeup, you rise, stop to hang the fallen cap back on its rightful hook, then walk the few steps to your full-length mirror where your two outfit choices are neatly hanging, and examine your options. In the end, you decide on your favorite little white and red sundress, the sweltering August heat putting you off your other option of flowy pants and a top. You also figure the inconspicuous nod to your new team colors won't hurt.

Slipping out of your pink robe, you reach for the dress and let it pool by your feet, deciding to step into it so as to not ruin your newly styled hair.

Just as you begin to bend down, the door to your room swings open with force, the poor Maple Leaf cap once more meeting the floor.

"Oh!" A tall boy stands in your doorway, head full of curls and mouth parted slightly. You're aware of who he is, of course you are. Growing up with your dad being, well, your dad and living in the city of hockey for a good four years, it would be weird if you didn't.

Especially considering Luke Hughes happens to be a well-talked-about player in hockey circles. You never realized he would be this cute up close, though. Okay, maybe that's a lie. Maybe, you know who he is and maybe your insistence on looking your absolute best has a little to do with him being here. Only maybe, though.

He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock and locked on your half-covered figure. You let out a startled yelp, grabbing the nearest thing—your discarded robe—to cover yourself.

"What the hell?!" you shout, your heart racing.

Luke snaps back into motion, his face flushing red, the color beginning at the base of his neck up to the tip of his ears. If you weren't otherwise preoccupied with preserving your modesty, you might've taken a little more time to appreciate his broad shoulders and lean figure. Or maybe you would let your eyes linger on his flexed arm as he's gripping the door handle, maybe his square jaw and prominent jawline. You might have even wondered how his nose had come about to have a tiny scar on the bridge (a hockey incident?) if his eyes are hazel or green, or if he has female help to care for his curls.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Your mom, I'm assuming she's your mom - the nice lady with the blue pants and red shirt? - said I could use the bathroom up here - the two downstairs are both preoccupied -, and I thought this was it but I must have gotten the doors confused and-"

You lift your hand, effectively stopping his rambles without a word.

"It's fine-"

"I'm so sorry!" Luke backs out hastily and slams the door shut behind him before you can finish your sentence.

For a moment, you stand frozen, towel clutched to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. Well, that's one way to make a first impression, you think wryly. Taking a deep breath, you quickly finish changing, trying to shake off the embarrassment that follows, even though you know it technically wasn't your fault. As you pull the sundress up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, noticing the color on your cheeks matches Luke's.

Fully dressed, you smooth down your sundress and check your reflection one last time. With a final, steadying breath (and a small pep talk to yourself in the mirror) you head downstairs.  Already from the hall, the sounds of laughter and small talk reach your eyes, multiple rooms of the house filled with people.

Your mom spots you quickly as you near the door leading onto the patio, her eyes lighting up with approval (your choice of clothes) and a hint of relief.

"There she is," she announces, relief flooding her face now that she's no longer holding the fort as hostess all by herself. She's standing by the pool, the water sparkling in the August sun and making a quick swim seem more than tempting, surrounded by what must be a few of the players' significant others. As you reach them, your mom makes quick work of the introductions, well-practiced from years of being a coach's wife.  

You easily slip into the conversation, the girls not wasting time including you. A few of them must be around your age, you think, hoping it'll give you a few familiar faces at upcoming games. They tell you about how excited their respective players were to have a new coach, how they hope this might be the turning point for the team, and all the standard things you're sure there might be a secret manuscript for. But they also take you by surprise, inviting you to sit with them at the games and home to whoever's hosting some of their get-togethers when they learn you go to NYU.

Despite their friendliness, you find yourself mindlessly searching the outdoor party, not quite sure exactly what you're looking for.

Eyes bouncing over the small sea (maybe more a lake?) of people, never resting long on one thing, you soon come to realize it's not a what but instead a who that you're searching for, as you spot Luke from across the garden.

He's chatting awkwardly with your dad, who's starting up the grill, and a few of his teammates - who are trying to help your dad - and his face is still a bit red, but he's playing it off nicely. It seems that way, at least, as his hands move animately, his words backing them up. For the first time, you let yourself take him in, silently approving of the white polo shirt he's chosen and how it stretches across his chest.

You know you have to squash the attraction before it can fully manifest, your dad has always been uncompromising on where he stood on you and "doing stuff" (his words) with his younger players.

Well, all of his players, age-appropriate or not.

Yet, when Luke catches you staring and you grin at him, hoping it conveys forgiveness, a shy schoolgirl giggle threatens to leave your lips and you can't help but think maybe.

Yet, when his shoulders visibly relax and you receive a crooked, grateful smile in return that makes your stomach do a flip, you think what if?

And yet, when a wave of confidence seems to wash over you and you send him a wink that has his blush growing back in full force, you decide it might be okay to let a teeny, tiny, insignificant little crush grow. Besides, you're not going to act on it, and either way, your dad doesn't have to know.

A sharp bark of laughter echoes through the garden, refocusing not only your attention on them but your mother's too.

"You should go over there, introduce yourself," she nudges you, a smug smile on her face you can't quite figure out the reasoning behind. Deciding to let it go, you bid your group goodbye for now.

The smell of smoke from the firepit in the middle of the garden and the salty sea breeze mix as you make your way through various clusters of people, reminding you just how much you love summer nights and barbecues like this. It's a beautiful afternoon, the sun still high in the sky and bathing the entire garden in warmth.

Smiling, nodding, and trying to avoid getting run over by tiny little people zooming past, mini sticks in hand, you stay focused on your end destination.

"Dad!" you call out when you're a few feet away. He turns, his face breaking into a wide grin when he sees you. You keep your gaze on him, afraid your face might light aflame, should you lock eyes with Luke again. One thing is the confidence you can muster with half a yard between you. Being this close to him is another one entirely. You quickly figure he's much the same.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, putting an arm around your shoulders and squeezing for dramatic effect. "This is my daughter, Y/n," he announces to the players surrounding him. His voice is light, proud even, and the chuckle that follows his words tells no story of the hard look in his eyes, a mute warning.

"Nice to meet you," an accented voice finally draws your attention to the players. Kind dark eyes meet yours as he extends his hand. "I'm Nico."

"Nice to meet you too, Cap," you reply, shaking his hand firmly, hoping the nickname doesn't cross a line but rather relaxes the otherwise awkward air.

"Uh, this is Jack, Alex, Dawson, Timo-" he's pointing the guys out for you one by one. You don't tell them you know who they are, a combination of watching the occasional game of theirs and studying their roster this morning.

"-and this is Luke," he claps him on the back, a shit-eating grin on his face, which instinctively has you raising your eyebrow in question. Had Luke told them about how he walked in on you?

You don't get an answer -not that you were planning on asking him about it in front of everyone anyway- because barreling out into the garden comes Alex, dragging Evan behind him.

They're quick to join you, and you introduce them to everyone. Alex immediately starts talking about his favorite players, not one of them being the guys he's standing in front of. They take it in stride, though, and let him ramble about Mitch Marner and Sidney Crosby to their faces.  

Evan, always the more reserved of the two, stands beside you quietly. You know it's a combination of him being uncomfortable around all these new people, but also because his favorite player is Jack, who's only a few feet away from him.

"He's nice, you can talk to him," you murmur to Evan when the conversation flows and no one pays the two of you any mind.

"I'm not cool enough."

"You're cooler than me and I talked to him." You nudge him, hoping he'll take the chance to talk to his favorite player. Not that he won't have one again, but you know he'll be sad when the barbecue is over and he still hasn't told Jack he plays hockey too.

Evan rolls his eyes, and mumbles "Everyone is cooler than you," but smiles slightly nonetheless. Squeezing his shoulder, you return your attention to the conversation, not missing the way Luke's eyes seem to be permanently stuck on you.

A while later, Evan is fully engaged in hockey talk with Jack, who looks just as excited about the subject as your brother does, Alex has somehow roped John Marino into telling him stories from when he played with Sidney Crosby, and you're currently on the sidelines along with Simon Nemec's girlfriend and Jesper Bratt's fiancee, watching the game of the night. Okay, maybe a third watching, one-third talking to the girls and getting to know them better, the last third being your eyes drifting to one specific player every once in a while.

The game of the night is a tournament in cornhole. Fancy, you're awake. And if you were to guess, tipsy cornhole. Either way, the teams are as follows:

Luke, Simon and Alexander Holtz

Nico, Timo and Jonas Siegenthaler

Jesper, Dougie Hamilton and Brendan Smith

Dawson, Curtis and Erik Haula

A little too many players, but somehow they've acquired six stars and stripes colored bean bags and that seems to make it work.

From what you're gathering, they're playing three rounds, the winners of the first two playing against each other in the finale.

So far, they're halfway through game two, chirps and lighthearted insults flying through the air. All the guys are competitive, hockey players after all, and it's shining through in the way they're playing the simple yard game. At one point, after Holtz stretched a little too far mid-throw, they even had to get Ondrej Palat to be the unbiased referee. He ruled in favor of the Swiss team, though. Words of disagreement were spoken. Bean bags were thrown. It was a sight.

The end of game two is nearing, team Jesper versus team Dawson, the teams currently tied. As Haula prepares to throw his last mini bean bag, the deciding one, everyone seems to pause and hold their breath.

He throws, and as if it was nothing, the bean bag lands square in the hole.

Team Dawson erupts in cheers, having moved on to the final round against team Luke.

The two losing teams join you on the sidelines, not wanting to miss the grand finale, and the two winning teams begin to set up for the final game.

You watch, hopefully discreetly, as Luke passes the bean bags around to his teammates, muscles flexing and face shadowed by the Yankees baseball cap he's acquired from somewhere. When he lifts his shirt to wipe his face, a tiny bit of abs showing, you quickly avert your eyes, though.

I should talk to him, you think, wondering how mad your dad would truly be, wondering if Luke would even want to talk back to you. As you ponder, you accidentally space out, retreating into your mind and completely missing the commotion happening in front of you. It's not until Haula's walking away and Dawson and Curtis are frantically searching for a replacement teammate, that you realize what's happening.

Still, then, it's Nico's nudge to your arm that brings you back to reality, a scheming smirk on his face.

"Y/n wants to play!" Nico speaks up, authoritative and captain-like, leaving no room for argument. You snap your head towards him in disbelief, mouth dropping open and eyes narrowing, trying to figure out what he's playing at. He simply shoots you another grin, identical to the one from before.

"Really? That would be awesome!" Dawson catches your eye, looking relieved and so puppy-like you can hardly let him down.

"Oh, uh. Sure?"

You let him drag you to your feet and throw his arm around your shoulder and he leads you the short distance to their board. The grass tickles your bare feet as you follow him and perhaps if that wasn't distracting you, perhaps if the sun didn't shine directly into your eyes, you would've noticed how Luke sends him a not-so-subtle glare.

"Alright," Dawson says, leaning down and a little closer than necessary. You get the strange feeling he's playing the closeness up, but brush it off under the impression that he might just be a little drunker than the rest. "The trick is to aim for the board but don't be afraid to go for the hole if you feel confident. It's all about the arc and the release," he tells you, voice solemn. You burst out laughing.

"I've played cornhole before," you tell him, but keep your voice light so he knows you're joking around. Still, you remove his arm from your shoulder (much to the relief of the tall boy down by the other board) and take your position after Curtis.

"I'm just trying to make sure we win," Dawson tsks and pats you on the head like you're a child. You roll your eyes and shove him back, pleased with the sibling dynamic you've started to develop with him.

"We're playing against Luke, he's got the aim of a toddler. We'll be fine," Curtis can't resist but says and raises his voice a little to make sure his victim hears. You snicker.

"Ha ha, you're so funny," Luke deadpans, but his eyes still flicker to yours, trying to gauge what you think. He visibly relaxes when you smile at him softly, then gets ready to shoot.

Turns out, Luke doesn't have the aim of a toddler.

In fact, he seems to be the best player they've got on his team, much to the annoyance of your teammates. Okay, you're annoyed too. After all, your dad's competitive streak runs in your blood too.

Eventually, it's your team's turn, and your turn to shoot. Holding one bean bag in each hand, you get in position. Trying to squint and see the hole while fighting a war against the sun, you launch the bean bag.

The sun wins the battle, though, and the beanbag lands next to the board with a depressing thump. Curtis is quick to defend your bad shot, yelling something about how your team has a clear disadvantage and it's a rigged game.

Your opponents laugh it off as you get ready to take your second shot. Stopping you just before you can shoot, though, Dawson offers his cap to you. Before you can even attempt to deny his offer, the argument of how he then won't be able to see dying on your tongue as Luke marches the thirty-something feet over to your side and promptly places his Yankees cap on your head. He doesn't say a word and doesn't offer any explanation to his teammates who complain about their loss of advantage as he returns to them. You're sure your face is beet red as you adjust the cap, trying to gauge what his stony face means and simultaneously trying to shake the butterflies in your stomach.

Nevertheless, you're thankful for his sacrifice, now able to see the board. As was it child's play, your next shot lands the bean bag right in the hole. Your teammates cheer as you move to trade places with Dawson.

The Canadian is quick with his two shots, one landing in the hole and the other resting comfortably on the top of the board.

Soon, he's returning to your side as you wait for Luke's team and their turn.

"Nice hat," Dawson whispers as you watch Simon throw his first bean bag.

"Suits you," Curtis joins in as Simon prepares for the second throw.

"I don't want to hear a word," you whisper back, hoping the heat in your face disguises itself as the effects of the sun and that your voice comes out authoritative enough that they'll listen.

"Noted." You love Dawson.

"Hey Luke, can you even see with all those curls falling in your eyes now?" Curtis? Not so much. Oh well, one out of two is good enough.

Smacking his arm lightly, you risk a glance at Luke. Pretending not to hear his older teammate, he tosses the bean bag. It lands just shy of the board.

"I'm sure that's not what he's blinded by!" Timo yells from the sideline, earning a few hearty laughs from the other guys. His own is short-lived, though, as he soon has to put those quick hockey reflexes to use and duck to avoid the bean bag Luke sends his way. Not quite fast enough, the bag hits him square in the chest.

"Oops." Luke shrugs as Nico throws the bag back to him, no one telling him he technically used one of his two shots.

You're getting bored. Honestly, you should've known playing a competitive game with a bunch of competitive man-children would end in an argument sooner or later. Somehow, someone, messed up the score and the final result is proving harder and harder to decide by the second.

"What about a shoot-out?" Dougie's suggestion cuts over the multiple loud voices, all of them stopping at once. "How would that even work?" Holtz questions, but it isn't a total dismissal of the idea. "Best out of five?" "Best out of three?"

"Or up the stakes, fastest to five?" Evan suggests, voice timid. You turn your attention to him, pleased he feels comfortable enough to butt in and acknowledge his idea.

"That's a good one little man," someone calls out, and you realize it's Luke.

Evan is beaming and you're pretty sure you're the definition of heart eyes as you turn to look at him.

A few more proposals get thrown around before you collectively agree on the fastest to five option.

It's arranged so that each team picks one shooter, and they each have three bean bags at the same time, shooting them in quick succession and at the same time, then all over again if no one gets more points than the other.

"Okay, pick your shooter." Nico uses the captain's voice again. He's somehow managed to assume the rule of game official and is now leading the game.

"We'll go with Y/n!" Dawson says before you have a chance to huddle up and agree. You shoot him a look, but come up short of an argument when he and Curtis both say you've been the most reliable shooter of theirs. Not to toot your own horn, but you're still wondering how they managed to make it to the finale. It must be Haula's merit, you think.

"You've got this, champ." Dawson grips your shoulders from behind, imitating a boxer coach, as you turn around to face the other team's chosen shooter. Rolling your eyes, you lift them to find Luke in the same position as you, Holtz behind him the same way Dawson is prepping you.

The Swede is talking lowly to Luke, most likely a pep talk, but then Luke's eyebrows fly into the air and he turns to look at his friend with an incredulous look. Huh. Interesting.

"You guys ready?" Nico asks. You hum. Luke nods.

"Don't go easy on me just because I'm a girl," you holler at Luke. The chirping part of hockey was always the only thing you were good at.

"I'd never," he smirks back.

"Go easy on me because I'm your coach's daughter," you say instead.

His eyes widen in fear. You laugh so he knows you're joking.

"3...2...1...Go!"

You take Luke's momentary surprise as your chance, shooting your first bean bag before he's collected himself. It hits its intended target, but that also seems to snap Luke out of his stupor, and he's quick to fire his first bag too.

You pout as it goes through the hole.

He apologizes.

You can tell it's sincere.

Simon chastises him for doing so.

Drowning out the cheers and hoots from the onlookers, consisting of pretty much the whole party now and most of them seeming to cheer you on, you focus on hitting the hole once more, and quickly.

Luke is just as fast as you, though, and somehow the beanbags manage to collide mid-air, stopping each other's momentum and falling to the ground in the middle of the two boards. A groan escapes you as the both of you scramble to throw the last bean bags. Just as you shoot, your eyes lock with Luke's green ones, and a flicker of something you can't quite place passes through them.

You both shoot.

Your bean bag lands in the hole.

Luke's bag falls a few feet to the left of the board.

"We won! You did it!!!" Dawson grabs your shoulders and shakes you as Curtis excitedly slaps his back and ruffles your covered hair, the cap sliding around, your head smaller than its owner's.

"Wait- what do we win?" Curtis turns to Nico, then to the losing team, who's mid-interrogating Luke on how he missed that shot. Truthfully, you're wondering the same thing.

"Umm, how about they carry your bags the first month of away games?" Nico suggests, Dawson and Curtis nodding along in agreement. You step towards Nico in protest, though.

"Uh, no, how does that get me anything?" You jokingly scowl, throwing a quick look at your teammates.

Curtis gets a contemplative look on his face as he shifts through ideas for a prize in his mind, while Dawson nods along to your words.

"That's true, she did win for us," he says.

"We buy you food?" Simon asks more than suggests and you turn to them, just missing the way Holtz smacks him on the back of the head.

You don't miss the quiet "No, Luke's the only one who'll do that," and the smirk accompanying his teasing. Nor do you miss the way Luke dishes out a smack to Holtz's head.

"Come to the first practice and you get to decide their drills," your dad cuts in. You're unclear on if it's to stop the not-so-subtle thing everyone's got going on about Luke and you, or if he's simply wanting to see his three youngest players suffering. Either way, you like the sound of his proposal.

So, it's decided: Luke, Simon and Holtz will be carrying Dawson and Curtis' luggage and whatnot for the first month of away games, and (after a little bargaining) you'll decide the three boy's drills for the first two practices.

"You're the hot Swede?!" You exclaim, trying to keep your patty in your mouth as you look at Holtz, or Holtzy as you're calling him now, in disbelief. He chuckles and takes a big bite of his own burger, wincing slightly at the charred taste. You love your dad, truly, but a master of the grill he'll never be. You know it, he knows it, your mom knows it, everyone knows it.

Why he insisted on grilling the food tonight and why anyone let him you have no idea.

Having sat down next to Holtzy at one of the tables scattered around the garden, you had quickly fallen into comfortable small talk, with Dawson, Jack and Evan (who haven't left Jack's side all night) joining.

Your conversations mostly consisted of random subjects, hockey taking up a majority of the words. That was until you had mentioned your freshman year roommate, and best friend, Claudia, and Holtzy's eyes had lit up with interest. He had asked if there was any chance you were talking about Claudia Dupont, and when you confirmed it was indeed her, he told you he'd been having an "arrangement" with her since he came to Jersey.

You know she has a semi-regular hookup and that it's been going on for a while, after all, you tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything, because for some reason, she never wanted to tell you the name of this mystery hookup, or anything about him. Besides the fact he's from Sweden, that is. You understand why now. Still, you were going to tease her endlessly about this.

"What can I say, it's the Swedish charm."

You fake gag, but it only eggs him on. Jack mumbles something about it probably just being something she's checking off on her naughty bucket list and the rest of the table collectively lets out an "oooh".

Except for Evan, his ears were covered by Jack before the forward spoke up.

Their chirping continues back and forth, and you decide it's your opportunity to grab another drink. Rising from your chair, you head towards the outdoor fridge, only stopping to have a brief chat with Simon's girlfriend, who you're coming to like more and more as the night goes on.

Promising to bring her back a Dr. Pepper, you leave her for your original destination. Finding her drink quickly, you take a minute to peruse the fridge for anything interesting and you end up trying to decide between a lemonade and coke.

"I'd go with the coke."

You jump at the sound of his scratchy voice, hurrying to turn around and bumping your knee against the fridge door in the process. Pain shoots through your leg and you wince, losing your balance in the process.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Luke grabs ahold of your bicep, the action meant to steady you. Instead, it leaves you more disoriented, his cologne filling your nostrils and has your knees weak. If you were a betting woman, you'd put your money on him wearing Dior Sauvage and while it's cliche and you're trying not to roll your eyes at the predictability of him wearing that scent, you also can't deny that he smells good. Aaaaand you've been quiet for way too long analyzing his cologne and this is getting embarrassing for you the longer you don't say anything.

"You're good, don't worry," you tell him as you regain your hold of yourself and manage to take a step away from him. Not that you don't want to be near him, but you're pretty sure if you keep standing so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you might do something stupid.

Like touching the scar just to the right of his chin.

Stealing a glance at him, you're surprised that you have to crane your neck so much, even while standing a few feet away. He's tall, which you knew, of course, but he's tall and has such a cute smile, and his shoulders are so broad, his eyes are so pretty and his curls are practically beckoning you to touch them. His curls. His curls that you can see, because you're still wearing his cap, you realize.

Luke's lips, which are sporting his crooked smile that you've come to adore in the last few hours, quickly slide south as you reach up to remove the hat from your head.

"Here, you'll want this back-"

"No, no! It looks better on you! I mean, it looks better than the Maple Leafs one does, I'm sure. Not that you don't look good in that, I think you'd look good in anything, but-"

"Luke," you giggle and he stops, the realization that he's been rambling once more in your company settling in. You don't mind, the way he seems to be much more confident when you're further away and surrounded by his teammates intriguing you. Maybe you're more alike than you realized.

Besides, it means, at least you hope it means, that your blooming crush isn't entirely one-sided.

"I'm sorry," he says again, large palm moving to the back of his neck and his eyes not quite wanting to meet yours again, long fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. The motion brings forth flashbacks of when you got a peek at his abs earlier, and it suddenly feels like the temperature rises a few degrees.

Deciding to bail him, and yourself, out, you change the subject.

"You let me win."

It sounds more accusatory than you'd like, but you mean it as more of a statement. You've been replaying the cornhole game over and over in your head, specifically Luke's last toss and it's the only explanation you've come to believe. Luke lets out a strangled cough and you think your change of subject didn't get him as much off the hook as you had planned.

"I wanted you to be impressed with my cornhole skills so I was playing my best. But then you joined the enemy and put me in a tough spot," he mumbles, color flooding his cheeks.

"And you thought the impression would be better if you let me win?"

"Eh, I try to be a gentleman."

"Oh reaaally?"

He shoves your shoulder gently when you teasingly arch a brow at him.

"Did it work?" He asks anyway.

"The impressing or the gentlemanning," he laughs at your made-up word, and the corners of his eyes crinkle sweetly. Maybe you're already more down bad than you realized.

"Both?" There's a vulnerable note to his voice, and in a moment of weakness, you lay your hand on his bicep. He tenses the muscle, leaving you unsure if he's trying to show off or is simply a little uncomfortable.

"I was impressed," you admit, hoping it'll instill a little more confidence in him again and that he'll get the double meaning. He flexes once more. Showing off. You smile. Your hand slides down his arm, briefly touching his hand on its way back to your side. His fingers momentarily stretch out to chase yours, a movement you're sure he doesn't even realize he's doing, and yet.

Yet, you let hope bloom in your chest.

"And the gentlemanning?" Getting bolder, Luke takes a step towards you.

"To be decided." Your head tilts back as he invades your space, not willing to break eye contact, not willing to back down from whatever's changed between you within the last minute.

"Do I have any say in which way the judge sways?" His hand comes to lay beside you, resting on the fridge you're leaning up against. It feels like you've just finished running a marathon, your heart about to beat out of your chest, air leaving your lungs and your voice coming out a little breathy. You're acutely aware of where you are, who you are, who he is, and who may be watching.

"I'll be back in the city beginning of September," you say, answering his question without an answer. His brows briefly furrow, but then a look of realization spreads on his handsome face and your heart does a weird thump thump thump as his smile widens.

Deciding you've put your heart enough on the line, for now, at least, you grab the Dr. Pepper and your own Coke and head back towards the party. You can't resist but glance at him over your shoulder, though.

He's standing frozen, hand still on the fridge, watching you walk away. You smile at him. He winks. You wonder once more about the confidence from afar. It's better than lingering on the giddy feeling in your chest.

As you drop off the Dr. Pepper to Simon's girlfriend and return to your table, Dawson nudges you, letting you know he saw that entire thing.

You shrug him off. "It's nothing," you whisper.

"Sure, and I suck at hockey," he whispers back.

"Weeell..." Your eyes drift to where Luke sits next to Simon, two tables over.

"Rude. You know Luke's-" He starts, a mischievous smile breaking free from its restraints.

"Eat your food." Luke turns his head, curls bouncing a little, and catches you staring. Shit. You return your attention to Dawson.

"Yes, Ma'am." He salutes you, but the grin remains as he digs into his food.

Following his lead, you try to immerse yourself in the conversation around the table. Still, you can't help but occasionally find Luke across the tables. If Dawson notices he says nothing, and for that, you're grateful because your mind is busy running a million scenarios through.

You've just set yourself up for the biggest heartbreak of your life, or maybe, just maybe, your happy ever after.