Twins!

I tried😭

I love Mr.Snoopy and needed to distract myself from period one💀

He’s so hot omg

love

The Wanderer

jeremy frazier x fem oc.

chapter one: hey, sadie, it’s 1999.

From Jeremy’s window, you get a good view of the town. The trees all turning brown and gold, the leaves which fall from them in varying shades of reds and yellows. Some are dead, with only branches to spare. Then there is the winding road, of course, and the small stores that tunnel it.

From Jeremy’s window, people are putting together Christmas decorations on their houses, string lights in multicolours, and Santa Claus signs in the yards.

From Jeremy’s window, she stares down into his backyard. Her backyard. Their backyard, as it has been for so long. There’s the stolen bike propped up on the inside fence, waiting for the cops. There is the eyesore pile of leaves laying crisp in wait for the kids from next door to come and dive into when they’re feeling daring. There is Jeremy’s childhood treehouse, its paint red and faded but standing strong. And sitting at its edge, strumming a guitar, is Jeremy himself. His long fingers dance along the guitar strings, long legs hanging over the edge of the doorway he sits in. Today, Jeremy’s dressed in her favourite teal sweater of his, and black jeans. His head is bent over the guitar ever so slightly, chocolate curls brushing his eyes. It’s strange, how she gets the urge to grab his curls and slam his face into the treehouse wall. Strange indeed.

As if he can sense her watching, Jeremy raises his head and tilts back, lifting a knee up to his chest under the guitar. Milky skin is unchanged in the cool weather, darling pink lips turning up to a smile. A set of dark brown eyes meet her’s, and they set there. He’s calm today, apparently. He’s kind.

Sadie isn’t.

Today she feels…angry. They’re always conflicting emotions, the two of them. A match strikes inside her, and she raises a confident hand to her neck, swiftly moving it across in a slicing motion, clenching her teeth.

Jeremy’s mouth only tugs upward, perfect white teeth on display. He tears his eyes away and down to the guitar strings, and begins to play again. The song is familiar, but she’s never learned its name. He won’t tell her. She can’t help but latch her eyes on his hand, strumming the strings like they’re the most delicate things in the world. Memories cast phantom fingertips along her wrists, searching somewhat softly for a pulse. She’d had one, then, at that particular moment in time.

Which was why he’d swung the bat again.

“You should come down!” His voice calling pulls her from the past. It’s like honey, not at all uncaring, and it does the trick. “The fresh air’ll do you some good!”

Sadie scoffs harshly. Fresh air…Is he trying to be funny?

“Move away from the window, Sadie,” he chastises, he advises, he urges.

She folds her arms and waits heavily on one hip, tapping her fingers along her arms, and steps backward until she’s definitely out of his vision. The street is busy, today, but the treehouse is just behind the fence and out of sight. She could really annoy him and open the window, throw herself out—that usually gives him a bit of a shiver, at least. Or maybe—

“I know what you’re thinking, Sadie! Stop plotting and come down!”

He knows her too well. Being house-bound for twenty years will do that to a person.

Tilting her head, she allows herself to consider the options:

One—leaving their room today would be a nice change of scenery. She hasn’t left it in exactly a week, rotting in desperation and depression. Eyeing the movie posters on the walls, Sadie thinks of all of the things that could go wrong by going outside. Absolutely nothing, to be real. She just risks blowing up on Jeremy for the third time this week.

Two—Jeremy would try to serenade her with a sweet word and deescalation techniques, and she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t try to throw herself and him out of the treehouse.

“What do you think, Prisoner Panda?”

Sadie turns to their bed. There are Jeremy’s old plushies of course, only an alien from the movies in Montana, and a blanket. But there is also her panda, a small and ragged thing left here by chance many moons ago. He’s cartoonish and limp, now the stuffing has moved so much. But he’s still smiling, and he smells like home. Prisoner Panda is Prisoner Sadie’s only best friend.

The other one killed her.

Prisoner Panda does not answer her.

“I should go out, right?” Sadie nods to the inanimate object. “A change of scenery will make me feel better, huh? Yeah. I think so, too.”

She takes a jacket from the back of Jeremy’s desk chair and pulls it on over her outfit of red dress and tights. The next step is getting out of the bedroom. Jeremy’s music is still playing away from the yard, as Sadie slips through the hallway. The yellow patterned wallpaper smells faintly of cigarette smoke and baking, the smell of which only becomes stronger the closer she gets to the ground floor and the kitchen.

The staircase is somewhat creaky, the banister painted dark brown, like old varnished mud, and the steps are the same. She can’t count the times she fell on these stairs, all the times Jeremy’s mom would help her with an ice pack to the knee, or the head.

As if she can sense Sadie thinking about her, Jeremy’s mother comes hurrying by the staircase just when Sadie reaches the bottom. Her long blonde hair is tied up today in a pretty bun, and stuck through with green sparkling pins. She has a rag and a bottle of cleaning detergent in her hand, peering at Sadie with her one good eye. She bursts into a bright smile exactly like her son’s.

“Morning, Sade.” Her pale hands wipe down every inch of the walls. Always cleaning, is Sara. Obsessively so.

You’d deduced together, you and Jeremy, that his parents were completely unaware that they were dead. To them, it was just another day. The kitchen utensil sticking through Jeremy’s mother’s eye was nothing to her, and the same for the one in his father’s head. The weapons their son had used didn’t phase them in the slightest, because to them it never happened. Life went on as normal. Was it a coping method, she wondered? Or hadn’t they reached the level of self-awareness in the afterlife of which she and their son had?

Passing by the living room, Sadie clears her throat. “Morning, Ted.”

Ted Frazier is by all means, a couch potato. While Sara cleans, Ted hogs the television. “Mornin’. Think Jeremy’s outside…”

Through the homely hallway, decked in frames of she and Jeremy in Montana, the last one at their graduation, and snapshots of Ted and Sara’s life together, including small images of baby Jeremy, and other family members Sadie only met the once. It smells strongly of lavender and lemon cleaning products, like a little trail of Sara.

Through the dining room, past Sara stress-polishing the table, Sadie strolls to the open back door, and out into the world.

There’s the plain garden fence, encasing the small bench on one side (where Jeremy can’t reach), the red treehouse, and down to the open driveway.

The wind blows firmly today, but not enough to put her off coming outside. It kisses her skin like she’s still alive, and the grass is cool under her feet, bare beside the material of her tights. Jeremy’s coat blows, forcing her to wrap it tighter with her arms crossed around the front. Sadie raises her gaze to the sound of strumming, the high notes blending softly together.

“Hey, Sade,” his voice comes down, gentle, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. “It’s a nice morning.”

Across the damp ground she approaches him, staring from the bottom of the ladder at first. She wishes to scare him, get her own back. Not that she hasn’t done so in the past twenty years, but it’s long overdue since the last time. Two weeks, exactly, since she’d tried to throw him down the stairs. Jeremy had the upper hand, and pushed her over the banister instead.

“If you came here to stare at me and say nothing I’d say just go back inside,” he drawls. “You’re being boring.”

“You’re an asshole.” She spits, full of spite.

“You said that last week. And then you couldn’t get enough—”

Quickly, she raises her hands and claps them around his thin ankle, feeling the bones grind beneath her fingers. And she yanks, hard on his weight. He shifts only once, enough to be startled, the guitar falling hard to the wood beneath, and then she pulls again, unforgiving this time. Jeremy yells in surprise and pain, body landing with a thump on the thick tree roots at the base. Groaning on his back, a hand stronger than it looks takes a fistful of her hair and twists, as her own balls up and pounds into the junction at his neck—right where he broke it.

“Get off!” He’s angry, now. And good, she thinks, he deserves to feel what she is feeling, and slaps her palm across his face. It’s only eleven in the morning, but they’re about to have many, many fights today. “You little psycho, go back inside!”

Sadie laughs, and then cries out. Jeremy slides his fingers through her hair to her temple, digging firmly into the place of injury.

“Ow! Ow, fuck!” She lets go of his collar. Jeremy wrenches himself from her grip.

They’ve had this particular back-forth situation happen a million times. She knows how to hurt him—digging into his broken neck—and he does her—by pushing on the spot of impact.

“You told me to come out!” She manages to yell, pushing a hand free between them both to take a dig at his bruised neck. “You—told—me!”

“I thought you were feeling angry, not murderous! I can deal with angry.”

“Shame I had to deal with murderous!”

She bites at his wrist, grazing it, and Jeremy laughs like he can’t believe it, taking a handful of her hair to pull her away. They’ve done this a million times, and he still acts shocked.

It makes her think of his twentieth birthday back in 2001, play-fighting in the front room. They’d just watched a rerun of some army movie and tried to replicate their moves. Surprisingly, she’d had him on his back, watching in glee as he wrestled her over, hovering carefully between her knees and complaining about a girl being stronger than him.

Such a shame things went the way they did back then.

She doesn’t stop fighting him because she wants to; they stop because of his mom. She yells from the doorway.

Sara sighs heavily. “Jeremy! Not again, guys! Back To The Future is playing in five, don’t you want to watch it?”

The two of them are quiet, just breathing hard, adrenaline running. Jeremy moves away slightly, giving her space. He lightens the hold on her hair, brushing the bloodied dip of her skull from the incident so long ago. His thumb brushes over it, a loving touch and a tender warning all the same.

“Yeah!” He calls, stumbling back to his feet. “We’re coming now.”

“Well, don’t be late for it! You know what your dad’s like.” Sara laughs nervously, tittering in place. “I’m going to get started on lunch!”

Lying on her back watching the clouds float by, Sadie waits to catch her non-needed breath. After a few seconds, she sits upright, and uses the tree to get to her feet. Jeremy stands a little way off with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, observing her.

“Feel better, psychopath?”

She nods her head, and hums. “A little.”

Jabbing his thumb to the house, he lets that smirk appear. “Can we go watch a movie now? You’re not gonna smash the television over my head are you?”

Sadie pushes him aside, passing. “Don’t push your luck.”

They settle on the couch for the movie, and stay there until it’s nearly time for dinner. There’s no benefit of eating in the afterlife—the food is nice, but pointless. It has no nutritional value whatsoever, but Sadie does it to appease Sara, who has never known she’s dead.

That night, in the dark coziness of their bedroom, tucked under covers and blankets galore, Jeremy presses a mirage of kisses along the impact zone on her skull, raining love along the violence. He noses at her neck, and breathes in the flat of her collar.

“I’m tired,” mutters Sadie, laying a warm hand against his bruised neck. She feels the blood pooled under his skin, tiny fragments of bones dancing around under there.

“So sleep,” he says.

For the first time in weeks, she does.

—

“We really should put out the Christmas decorations. I’ll ask Ted and Jeremy to go get them down from the attic later…”

It’s raining hard this morning of December seventh. The sky cries, presenting itself in dark blue. The stand mixer whirs, and so does Sara, spinning back and forth around the kitchen for the things she needs to make cupcakes. Sadie’s supposed to be helping her, but the Vogue magazine from 1999 that she has read a million times is just so damn interesting…

Rain cracks down on the windows. Lifting her eyes, she watches the droplets slide down the glass, and pool at the dip in the window ledge.

“What do you think, Sade?”

She looks to Sara, now. The cooking utensil sticking out of her face used to bother Sadie greatly, but now it’s like looking at a friend—the abnormalities don’t bother her much anymore.

“What?”

Sara smiles but rolls her good eye. She waves the bowl of batter. “I said, vanilla or strawberry flavoring?”

“Strawberry,” she decides, looking back to page four. “We had vanilla last week didn’t we?”

“Right we did, Sade. Right we did…”

It’s boring, being dead. Trying to find ways to pass the time when you’re aware that you’re no longer living is difficult. At first, they tried everything, she and Jeremy. Football games in the yard (once they got past the initial hatred stage); moving household furniture around; and other things. But there’s only so much time that being intimate and pushing furniture pieces around can fill.

They started to get creative.

By trying to kill each other again.

“Bet this isn’t what you thought came after death,” she told him once upon a time, trying to gather a bit of broken skull off of the floor.

“Not. One. Bit.” Jeremy seethed, trying to crack his neck back in place.

It’s been twenty-two years since this Vogue magazine came out, but when she looks out of the window, the style is coming back around. The two-thousands never dies, it seems. She’s seen it come back about five times, now.

The chair shrieks across the tiles when she stands up. Sara grimaces and casts a look to the hallway, where Ted’s programme can be heard. It hasn’t gone amiss that there’s been a lack of arguing on Ted’s part this past week—he’s bound to blow up anytime now. Every little noise Sadie makes is like pulling on the tense wire that is Sara’s nerves.

She leans down to the windowsill, her head down on her arms, watching the world go by. School kids wait for the yellow busses, a couple of teens bike on by, laughter high on the rain. The headlights on the newer cars shine down the street, whizzing past at a speed waaaaay over the limit. Longing pulls at her heart.

A shuffle somewhere behind her draws her eyes up, refocusing on the reflection of the lit kitchen in the glass.

“Morning,” Jeremy sighs, pulling a chair from underneath the table and sitting heavily. He’s in black pyjama pants and a loose-fitting red sweater, and he takes the bowl of cereal his mom offers him, digging in straight away.

Ugh. Sadie looks away, out of the window again. This time, she swears a kid looks right at her. Probably not—Jeremy’s always said living people can’t see them one bit. Unless they’re Lydia Deetz, but she’s a bit of a folk story in their world. A could-be, whom people want to believe can give them a way out. There are whispers, and shouts, but nobody has proven her to be the real deal yet.

“Did you get a good sleep?” Sara lays a gentle hand in her son’s curls, shifting them. “Your father and I didn’t keep you awake yelling did we? I tried to tell him to quieten down; that he’d wake the two of you. But…well, you know how he is.”

As a matter of fact, yes, Ted did keep them awake. Something about slipping on the stairs because they’d been polished too much. Unable to sleep, Sadie had turned on some alternative rock from Jeremy’s player, and watched the world go by all night at his desk chair, contemplating life and the afterlife. Nearly twenty-three years of the same posters on the walls, twenty-three years of Ted and Sara, twenty-three years of Jeremy sleeping with his back to her, tossing and turning, like he can’t face the consequences of his actions.

In the middle of the night, governed by moonlight, she had even dug out Jeremy’s copy of the Handbook for the Recently Deceased and had a good old flick through. Hers had been thrown under the bed when she missed her target of Jeremy the week prior, and she couldn’t be bothered to go crawl under there and grab it.

Seven-hundred pages of illustrated explanations, incantations in different languages of all kinds. Nothing particularly helpful, besides the whole ‘draw a door!’ thing it offered, for those who wanted to talk to a case worker.

They’d done that in the early days, when the desperate need to escape became too much for even him. See, Jeremy’s death had been an accident. Hers, an unfortunate consequence. Wrong place, wrong time. In another life, she might have stayed home. Jeremy wouldn’t have come out to the garden to find her. The cops would have found him in the house and arrested him before taking him to prison, and her life would have continued in a decent deal of shock, but at least it would have continued.

Jeremy had drawn a messily-etched door on the wall, tearing down his precious posters, and knocked three times. It materialised and opened up into winding hallways passing grotesque endings and frightful things. It was a whole city—dry cleaners and police forces in terrible hues of reds and greens, dirty and depressing; a waiting room, and an immigration centre, for those wanting to reach the Pearly Gates, the Fires of Damnation, Elysium or the Great Beyond, governed by the dead. Their case worker, Juno, in her last year working, sat them down and explained the basics.

They were dead. This was the afterlife. No, Sadie, there hadn’t been a mistake. No, Jeremy, he couldn’t go back. But the good news was that they weren’t stuck forever! Sadie blew her nose noisily at this on a tissue Juno handed over the desk as Jeremy side-eyed her, clenching his fists. This was not what he’d hoped for.

“One-hundred-seventy years for you!” Juno slapped a stamp down on a business-like card, a bit of slip with Jeremy’s name in blood-red ink looped along the top line. “For soul redemption, and per the guidelines.” She slapped it down in front of him. “Don’t lose that, young man!”

She turned to Sadie next, human-looking with permed blonde hair and kind eyes. “Sadie, darling, I know this is hard to comprehend.” She touched Sadie’s hand, before offering a glance to Jeremy, as if willing him to understand. “Murder victims are often the hardest to console—the shock.” She picked up her pen with the other hand and began to write out another card.

“Only fifty years for you, my dear. Your life review deemed it unfair to have you repent for his sins. But, per the guidelines, you also have a lot of reviewing to do.”

“What happens after the time is up?” Snapped Jeremy at her side. His foot tapped anxiously at the ground. “What does it mean?”

“You’ll come back here and head on over to immigration! Show them your passports—they’ll arrive in a few days, so not to worry about that. You’ll have a choice: reunion at the Pearly Gates with other family members. Damnation if the council decides you have more repentance to continue. Or the Great Beyond, if you would like another shot at life. We give significant wait times between your death and your departures overall to allow those who have passed into our current side the opportunity to really think through their choices.”

Jeremy shifts, leaning forward. When Sadie shifts her gaze away from Juno to her boyfriend, there’s this look on his face. Anger, shock, mixed with a bit of terror that this is what the afterlife is.

“So this happens to everyone?” He asks.

Leaning back, Juno shakes her frizzy hair. “Not everybody, no. Some people become ghosts, others don’t. Luck of the draw. We aren’t completely sure why only certain people end up in our state, but it happens more often than you think. The live people think it’s down to unfinished business. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, both? You’re very new here. And oh, so young! Twenty…what an age! Not to worry—we have some pamphlets I can give to you. We run acceptance classes on a Thursday night, all about accepting you’re dead. It helps some dead to make peace with their circumstances. And of course if you ever have any queries or complaints, we’re always here to help!”

Thunder cracked, and the book in Sadie’s hands slid from them, falling to the floor with a heavy thud. It fell open, face-up. She leaned down to it and examined its pages contents. The book only displayed the contents when it deemed the reader ready for them. The pages her book showed would not necessarily be the same ones as in Jeremy’s.

SO YOU WANT TO EXCHANGE YOUR AFTERLIFE FOR ONE OF THE LIVING? READ ON NOW, WE CAN HELP!

The bed sheets ruffled, Jeremy rolling over in his sleep. Ted screamed at his wife two floors below, and Sara’s words came through among the sobs.

Creeping across the room on light feet, she sat down at her boyfriend’s side. “Hey, Jeremy…you’ve got to get up.”

He opened his eyes, seriously unimpressed, rubbing them.

Sadie leaned down, smugly smiling. “I’ve got an idea.”

The following afternoon, residing in the same chair after a fight with Jeremy and an aching heart, Sadie thought back on her whole twenty-two years in this house. Her parents were somewhere out there in the big wide world, in their sixties. Her siblings would be grown with families of their own, having been to college, or travelled. Maybe she was a sad reminder in a photo frame on the mantelpiece somewhere, or a candle lit in memory on the anniversary of her death, or her birthday. She might be a story shared at Christmas, replayed every few years on the news. She missed them terribly.

She thought long and hard about the lead up to her death, and spiralled. For the rest of the afternoon and well into the night, curled up beside him, she thought over first encounter with Jeremy in the town, and a long drive into what became her new home.

She thought way back when, to 1999.

CHAPTER 2 -> to be published.

I want to see at least 2 fights tonight!!

This game is killing me

Chucky vs Emberson

Sad car

Justice for Stu

I'm so sad the cute beard is gone

I'm so normal about him

Davo ate that

This was literally so adorable

[ 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!!

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About Me! RJ,She/Her,19,I am a Quinn Hughes lover and an Oilers girl.

I love to yap about my boys

Writing

I do help one of my friends in writing and planing for our wattpad stories

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