#but i would say i think the oilers as a whole need to have more fun

[rattkachuk]

Hello! Hope you are having a good day.

So I have a question for you, just ignore when you don't feel like answering.

I came to Mattdrai via the enemies/rivals to lovers tag and then got sucked into hockey. I really like the fanon take on Leon, fav character, fanon Matthew was fine but way too woobified and infantilized in so many fics. So my surprise when I started to watch games, interviews etc. Public Matthew is so confident, so loving, awesome family to back him up, especially Brady, hot as hell, sexy way of playing hockey, amazing public persona. Loved and respected by his team, beyond hockey.

Then Leon. His only trait seems to be that he's pissy which I can appreciate but it seems that he's just a downright mean, arrogant guy with a superiority complex (see that interview when he puts Silovs down.) I don't find him stoic at all but he's just seems boring and bland and yeah, pissy. It doesn't seem like he has fun or likes his team a lot or is liked by them (Connor aside and his skills aside.) His friendship with Connor seems the only endearing or likeable thing. He even looks good in a bland way and his hockey is while it's so skillful it's not hot and also I wonder why his dirty plays aren't called out more often.

So what do I miss? Where does great fanon Leon come from? Why is he written mostly so superior to Matthew and where comes the "his team likes Leon so much but Matthew is an outcast in his own team come from?) It's so far from what I gather from old and new interviews or games and I have watched a lot, also German interviews. I really would like to like Leon, shipping them had been more fun when I didn't find his public self so jarring. What do I not see what everyone else seems to get?

Sorry for the long ask! Have a great day and thank you

first off thank you for such a thought out ask! i don't get to dive into things like this a lot outside of writing fic and it got my brain gears going.

to get right into the bulk of this ask: i get what you are saying about leon. that can be the way he comes off for sure, and look everything i'm gonna say? i'm talking out of my ass here. i don't claim to know anything about him as a person besides what's publicly presented, and i don't have much right to theorize about why he is the way that he is, but i'd be lying if i said i didn't think about it. how would i write rpf otherwise, right 💀

i think he cares a lot. and i think sometimes he gets so wrapped up in things, how things should be, how he should be performing, etc, and when it doesn't go a certain way he gets frustrated and snarky (eg, pissy comments and such). but i don't see that being bad necessarily, especially when it's seems to come from such a team oriented state of mind. which, i dont think he dislikes his team at all? i think if anything, he has a sort of blind faith in his team, and that's the only context i could see a 'superiority complex' making sense in. and yah maybe a little misplaced at times, but ultimately i think it comes from believing so fully in his team and not seeing that come to fruition. he really does not seem to care about his individual performance much at all, so how self obsessed can he be? when i think about leon i just see someone that is ultimately very passionate and committed to the game he plays. i'm also curious to know where you get the vibe that his team doesn't like him? simply because i never got that impression from any of the other oilers, they all seem like they're obsessed with him.

beyond hockey, i see a caring, sweet, kindhearted individual. anytime i see a picture or vid of him interacting with bowie, or even the things his girlfriend posts about him, the comments he leaves for people on ig, and yah of course in the way he talks/acts around connor, i see fragments of someone soooo different than the little two minute post game interviews (which, can we judge any hockey player on those? i think they all hate them dfkjgsd). it's not always something i actively go digging for or have examples of the top of my head, but i do see it, and it definitely goes into creating the version of leon that i have in my mind.

hey, and, he's a silly guy!!! please, i know the reputation is pissy and humourless, ESPECIALLY in fic, but that man is so funny. so many random offhanded comments that make me pause and then laugh. a different sense of humour but it's so there. i love the sandcastle vid from the asg last year and feel like it's a good example of that, all sunburnt and happy. also hey, big man in tune with his fear of the ocean? love that. that little vid of him dancing on the ice earlier this season, those halloween photos where he's dressed as a monkey, every time he talks to a kid. hell, seeing him in warmups and watching the way he takes time to interact fans?? loveee watching warmups but i'd never had a player actually acknowledge my existence before leon!

also i really enjoy his personality on the ice, i like the rat behaviour and the sassy comments that he makes to other players/refs, i like the bitch moves, and i like his hockey too. i think his game is dependable and like you said skillful, and while maybe not the most creative, the sureness and the technical aspect it is hot to me. so my thoughts on everything are probably skewed in that regard.

anyways this was just a whole lot of rambling about why i find him interesting, endearing even, but i understand the perception you have. i don't like some players that other people love, just cause i cant see what they see. and honestly that's sometimes just the way it is! if you don't like leon, maybe u just don't like him and thats fine.

disclaimer that i have only been on hockeyblr for a couple years, and really didn't spare many thoughts for leon til the beginning of the 22/23 season. truthfully i'm hardly the person to ask about leon imo, but of course i have thoughts anyways! if someone else with more knowledge reads my bit of rambling here, please feel free to chime in and add your voice to this!

and side note, ofc, i have to touch on this bc who would i be if i'm not one to talk about matthew; in the way of m.tkachuk, i think that in the early days of mattdrai it was maybe a fair take away during his time with the flames (minus the woobifying). even though he was loved so much here and had some fucking times, and i think the team was mostly good to him (player wise if not regarding management, that is), i see such a stark difference now that he's on the panthers. he seems much happier and more confident, and obviously he's clicking with the cats on another level, and i do see a shift in how he's been portrayed in fics since tbh.

[notthequiettype]

@okaynowkiss tagged me in a game a while back and i have had it open in a window on my laptop ever since but then vic posted and i was like oh yeah this is a great distraction from me doing my job, just what i needed, ty m!!

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word. my word is: NOTE.

four different wips bc ofc and under the cut bc they're excerpts not sentences, also ofc

if you want to play i am giving you the word HOME because o and e were SO HARD for some reason and i also want you to suffer a little

N: "No," Connor says, and shakes his head. "I want-- She's right. If this is gonna work, we have to be a team. I don't want you guys to be strangers. Even if it means you're like... discussing me."

"There's certainly plenty for us to talk about."

"God, shut up," Connor says, flushing across his cheekbones and up his throat. "I get it."

Leon hums and sinks back into the couch a little, spreads his legs more, shorts riding up to show his inner thighs.

"You're so annoying."

"Am I? You don't seem annoyed."

"I am," Connor says. "I also just want you."

"Then have me," Leon says, and tries not to be too smirky about it.

O: Only he-- Davo, has no idea that's coming right now. He remembers now, the strangeness of being in his room in Edmonton while Gaz and Hallsy were on the road one minute and and being here the next, how disorienting it was and how Leon's hand on his shoulder had made him feel so safe, familiar even though it wasn't really, a different Leon, one he didn't know yet.

Connor couldn't remember any of this, not really. He remembered being here and Leon's palm on his shoulder keeping him grounded when he was about to freakout, but everything else was hazy, like he couldn't remember it while he was still living it, and he wondered if he ever would, if once it was over the memories would click back into place. He can't imagine knowing he and Leon would end up here when Leon kissed him that first time, or for all the awful months before it when it felt like he couldn't think about anything else, but thinking about how all of this worked made him feel seasick, so maybe it was better to leave it be.

T: They get into it again at the end of the first, both of them ducking penalties because the period ends, but Connor gets a shove in, the smirk on Draisaitl's face pissing him off more than Connor should let it. He's had guys in his ear and in his face since he was a kid and he has to be better at not letting it get to him now. It's the NHL, if he's lucky, and if he breaks his hand trying to fight again he'll never live it down, especially in a prospect game that doesn't count for anything.

E: "Eisbären, yeah."

"Are you guys any good?"

"Well we're not the Edmonton Oilers."

"I didn't mean it like that," Connor says, and huffs. "I don't know the DEL at all."

"Looking for our fifth title in six years when we get home."

"So pretty good then."

"Pretty good, yeah," Leon says, with a laugh, his whole face going pleased in a way that Connor almost can't stand to look at. Rapidly developing an unbearable crush on a near stranger he might have to play against in the Olympics isn't the smartest thing Connor's ever done, but it could be worse. Probably.

[msmargaretmurry]

Ms. Blues!

Do you have any thoughts on what Leon should do next? Extend? Sign and trade?

Unforch for me I was very much hoping that the oilers would win and am too in my feels to have perspective on this. Would love to see McDrai win it in the next few years, but idk if I am completely delusional lol

hello friend! i am sorry about your sad hockey feelings, but not too sorry because obviously i was on the other side rooting for the p.anthers the whole way 😅 but i do know how crushing it feels when the team you're rooting for loses, and i hope you can find comfort in your good memories from the season and start looking forward to next season soon!

re: leon's looming contract negotiations, under the cut because i got real chatty about it, whoops

i don't really have thoughts about what he SHOULD do, because my stance on player contracts is that they should always be based on what the player wants and thinks is best for themselves. even if it's not the ideal scenario for me personally! sometimes i'll be grumpy when a player's desires go against what EYE want but in my heart i am always in favor of workers having agency regarding their working conditions. in this house we love labor rights baby. i thought that leon did a very good job in his exit interview saying tactfully that he hasn't had time to think about his next contract yet (understandable!) and that it's going to take some time and discussions with both his agent and the o.ilers to figure out what happens next (and did a good job sticking to that talking point even as the e.dmonton media got quite frankly inappropriately aggressive about it).

i wouldn't blame leon if he wants to wait until the entire next season is over to decide what to do. the worst they could do is trade him at the deadline because they're mad he won't commit, and i think that would be pretty beyond the pale LOL. if he pushes his contract negotiations out past next july 1, it's possible he and connor could negotiate at the same time, if that's something they want to do or think would be beneficial. the o.ilers are in a tough spot right now with how fully half their roster needs to be re-signed or let go — something they have to be super tactical about if they want to keep the caliber of team they had this season — and then bouch's contract is up the same time as leon's, and that kid deserves a big payday, and then obviously they'll need the money available to re-sign connor the next year. even with the salary cap going up a significant amount, i can see there being concern in leon's camp about the o.ilers having the ability to pay him what he's worth. he is already grossly underpaid and even wanting to stay there is only so much of a discount a player of his caliber can conscionably allow a team.

i do think he loves his teammates in e.dmonton. he loves playing with connor. those are definitely things that matter when it comes to contract negotiations, too. i also think that making it to the scf this year puts him under unique pressure to stay (which is another reason he might want to wait until after the coming season to figure out his next move! it would not be strange at all if he did; so many players do their contract crap in the off-season anyway!) but obviously it's also not out of the question that the o.ilers make a concerted effort to get him the contract he wants and get it done early so everyone can relax, lol.

i personally wouldn't hate seeing him play somewhere else (excluding on teams i hate, obvs), which i know sounds like sacrilege but it's for the totally selfish reason of i just so rarely root for the o.ilers and i think it'd be fun for ME to have him on a team i'm more all-in on, lol. it's truly nothing against (most of) the o.ilers players, they have some players that i'm super fond of! and some good narratives going on up there too! but my deep and ceaseless loathing of daryl k.atz easily outstrips all of that and is my unwavering guiding star here. fuck that guy fr.

so tl;dr i hope that whatever leon does is what he wants and what feels right to him. a lot of people are going to have a lot of opinions about what he should do but we don't know what's in his heart! i hope the o.ilers are respectful of the process and of whatever time he needs to take to decide, whether it's like two weeks or all season.

[teekays]

Davo for the character ask thing please!

this one took me so long because i have THINGS to SAY. i have cried in an airport over connor mcdavid. lets begin

First impression

i will be so real when i first got into hockey i totally fell for the like... this guy is the BEST agenda. mostly because i think i noticed that the praise he got was SO strong and i wanted to know what made him so good as opposed to other guys but i also noticed he got a lot of hate for being boring and i was like... they're all boring. why do we hate him for being boring specifically? and that led me on a quest to tease out The Connor Mcdavid Story

Impression now

i'm a mcdefender sorry. i know!! he's the most interesting guy in the world actually. like he IS boring but that is so clearly a purposeful obfuscation of whatever else he's got going on there that he developed because of course you're not going to just have your heart out there in the open as a first overall who's been hyped up for years as the Next One placed on a flop team in a flop city... it's also interesting to have seen that kind of relax a little bit in recent years and i think that relaxing is directly parallel to him becoming a little less like. black and white in his thinking which he very much was for a long time. like he's someone with a very strong sense of right and wrong and very strong ideas about How Things Should Be Done and as that has loosened up (because that's not conducive to like, being alive yknow) and as he's gotten more secure in his position he's gotten a little more willing to put himself out there which is fun. the morals thing does come out sometimes tho in that he will speak up if he feels like he needs to in the name of fairness. also i find his like, earnestness and the ways he's different than the nepo babies of the hockey world to be deeply charming even when they suck. like he's a shill grinding for his money but he's honest about it and i have to respect it. make your terrible millions and have a zero tolerance policy for being irreverent and Too Cool for the media while doing it. go white boy go

Favorite moment

sitting on mitch's lap in the everglades was a foundational babygirlism but also. right after the draft i don't remember who it was but little baby connor freshly in that oilers jersey was like "why are you ripping him to shreds rn he literally just got drafted" it makes my heart break into a million pieces i feel like when spongebob lost gary. because that's sooo... it's not him anymore really. but it will always be him and who he was.

Idea for a story

my sick and twisted mind has been percolating Mccareer ending injury for so long because i would like to see him freed from the shackles of hockey and having to build a life outside of what that means to him. who is connor mcdavid? find out next week when he escapes to a beach for a week and hates it

Unpopular opinion

say it with me now. estrogen could fix him! but also once again i think he is much less miserable than people want to think and if he is then it's justified. he lives in edmonton. you'd be sad too. also i covered this but he's actually a little freak and not boring at all if you know how to look at him!!!

Favorite relationship

i'm a mcstrome warrior til i die hashtag Your dead best friend is walking up the stairs hashtag I ain't a kid no more we'll never be those kids again. that being said i think also him and leon should get married. and another thing this may be also an unpopular opinion BUT i am actually so obsessed w ambitious girlboss lauren kyle and the way she so clearly runs their whole lives and he's so deeply okay with that... i think a common hockey boy trait is kind of always wanting to be told what to do because that's what you've done your whole life but to see someone quietly own it that way is so fun to me. i think she should lean into it and be like the tweet that's like "if two guys were in love with me i would manipulate them into doing gay shit together"/"if i had two boyfriends i'd dress them up like twins" with connor and leon and like leon is there for connor's benefit but she makes him think it's her idea so as not to upset the delicate balance. yknow?

Favorite headcanon

this is also from what we've seen mostly based in fact but he's absolutely dogshit at other sports. like. some guys are athletes and other guys are hockey players and he is absolutely a hockey player to his core. hilarious

[ladylooch]

Letters in Your Last Name - Chapter 15

A/N: I also kinda hate GMBG for what he did to us, Sam. I KNOW okay. I kNOWWWWWW about the cap hell okay. But still. FiFi should have retired a Wild player and I will never forgive Billy for taking that from us.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angsty (this is really a theme in these chapters RN), Swearing, lil smidge of smutty themes.

Things are decidedly NOT okay.

I listen intently, standing in my brother’s kitchen 6 weeks later as he describes his conversation earlier this morning with Wild General Manager, Bill Guerin.

“I believe what he’s saying. They thought I would squeak through waivers because I’m still rehabbing. Unfortunately, Edmonton has a lot of goalie uncertainty, so they decided to grab me.” My brother takes off his Wild hat and runs a hand through his hair. Yep, no longer a Minnesota Wild player, my brother will now be an Edmonton Oiler for at least the remainder of this season.

“How… are you even going to get into Canada?” I wonder when I find my voice after the initial shock wears off. “Canada is not letting in international travelers.”

“Well, I’ll be considered a business traveler. The team is working on getting my visa approved. Then I’ll be able to cross the border. What sucks is I still have to quarantine for 14 days. I can’t seem to get around that hurdle.” He mutters in annoyance. Understandably so considering COVID is what created his heart condition in the first place.

“When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I can get packed. I’m going to start driving up as far as I can.”

“You’re driving!?” I gasp. From here to the Canadian border is at least 5 hours in good driving conditions. From there, it’s another 15 hours to Edmonton

“It’s the only way at this point. Air travel is limited between here and Canada and I can’t book a flight until I have my visa.”

“This is such crap.” I snap, pushing away from the island.

“It is what it is, Sam. We can’t change it.” He sighs, coming around to give me a hug. I hug him back tightly and close my eyes, feeling the sadness take over my body. “Felicia is going to need your help while I’m gone. We decided her and the kids are going to stay here for now. The quarantine requirements are tough and we don’t know if the kids can handle a hotel that long.”

“Okay. Of course, I’ll be around for her.”

“Thank you.” He gives me one more tight squeeze before he releases me. “Alright, I have to finish packing and then I’m hitting the road.” I nod in response. “See you when I see you.”

“Bye, Al.” I sigh. We have certainly lived apart for several years previous to Alex joining the Wild, but this goodbye feels harder than any of those did. I swallow the lump in my throat and look down at my phone buzzing on the counter. It’s Kevin. I click ignore because I can’t talk to him right now. I’ll lose it. And I don’t want to do that in my brother’s house when he already has enough stress.

Felicia joins me in the kitchen as Kevin’s text comes through.

I’m home. Where are you?

I type in a quick response. With Alex and Felicia. Go ahead and eat without me. I’m going to be awhile.

“This sucks.” Felicia greets me with a hug. I rub her back comfortingly when we step apart.

“Yeah… I’m here for you though. Just let me know what you need.”

“I will. My mind is so scattered right now that I can’t think of what that is yet. But I’ll let you know. Thank you.” She sighs and grabs her cup of now cold coffee from the island.

“Did you talk to the kids?” I ask her.

“We did. Sawyer is beside himself, but I don’t think Serena really knows what is happening.” We share a sad look and I have to drop my gaze so she doesn’t see the tears forming in my eyes.

It’s going to be a rough day.

A few hours later, I make my way back to mine and Kevin’s apartment in Minneapolis. The whole drive I’m going through the motions until I pull into my spot in our garage next to Kevin’s car. I release a heavy sigh and resist the urge to break down into tears. In the grand scheme of things, this is not the end of the world. But it’s certainly heavy and hard.

“Hey.” Kevin jumps up from the couch when I enter our apartment. “I heard about Al at practice.” He is crossing the room to me and takes note of the scowl on my face. I’m seemingly going through the stages of grief as I take note of the hostility I feel burning in my chest. I want someone to blame and considering Billy Guerin put my brother on waivers, he seems like a great person to start with.

“Fuck Billy.” I scowl at Kevin.

“Okay, get it out now.” He encourages me. “Definitely don’t say that to his face if you see him at the game later.”

“I’ll tell him to his face. I don’t care!” I snap at him, throwing my purse on the counter. “Like what the fuck!? An international team change in the middle of a global pandemic when he has a young family!?”

“Babe, Billy doesn’t have control over who picks him up off waivers… He was trying to move him to Iowa so he could continue to rehab. Al hasn’t even played this year. It probably seemed unrealistic that a team would take a gamble like that.

“Whatever. It’s still his fault.” I cross my arms over my chest, hating that Kevin is being so reasonable about this.

“Are you okay?” Kevin asks after a moment of silence.

“No!” I squawk before bursting into tears.

He comes around the counter and wraps me into his arms. I squeeze myself to him, digging my fingers into his back as I cry. This sucks. There are no other words to describe it. It just does.

“I’m sorry, babe. If you want to stay home tonight, I understand.” He murmurs. The Wild play the Kings at the Xcel at 7:00pm. Going there and knowing my brother has no part in this team anymore will be difficult. But, I’m not just Alex’s sister anymore. I’m Kevin’s girlfriend and he deserves my support.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go.” I nod, pulling away and wiping my tears off my face.

“Okay… But promise me you’ll avoid Billy.” He looks into my green eyes, his brown orbs serious. He sees the fire in them and his expression turns a little nervous. “I’m serious, Sam.”

“I know, Kevin.” I snip at him. “I’m not a fucking idiot.” I start to walk away from him, heading into our bedroom for some alone, self-wallowing. “And don’t tell me what to do.” I mumble over my shoulder at him.

Kevin’s hand comes to his mouth and I can tell he is trying to stifle a laugh at how childish I’m being. He purses his lips and nods his head at me in understanding.

“Don’t.” I seethe at him, watching his brown eyes dance in amusement. “I’m really upset.”

“I know, but it’s kinda sexy watching you get all mad.” He finally releases the laugh, unable to hold it in any longer. He licks his lip as his eyes dip to my chest, taking in my flushed skin.

“I’m not going to have sex with you! My brother just got moved to a different team. For fuck’s sake, Kevin.”

“Okay. I mean, I’m disappointed, but I understand.”

“You have two hands attached to your body that can help you out.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Sure.” He nods to me, crossing the room to where I am- his hands still stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders all casually relaxed. He licks his lip as he looks down at me. “But when you want me as a distraction, I’ll be out here… ready for you.” He leans down and places his lips against mine. His tongue is suggestive as it slides against my bottom lip and it takes everything in me to stay rigid. “Five minutes maybe?” He challenges as he pulls a breath away from me to look into my eyes. He sees right through my fake resistance.

“Just for that smart comment, it’ll be 10.”

“I’m a patient guy.” He grins at me, patting my butt lightly before crossing the room to the couch. _ _ _

Walking into the Xcel Energy Center without Felicia this evening was terrible. There is no other way to describe it. I felt the urge to burst into tears when I shuffled inside, but I barely made puck drop, so I was encouraged to press forward and get to the Family Suite. When I entered, the other girls were so sweet, giving hugs and gentle reassurances of the shitty situation to me. I made it through all of those and only cried when Lauren wrapped me in a hug.

“Sometimes, this league sucks.” She assures me as we sit next to each other in the seating area about half way through the first period.

“It’s just been a tough few months with them and now this is kind of the icing on the crap cake.” I mutter, crossing my legs and arms tightly to shield myself from the uncomfortableness of it.

“Absolutely. It’s been tough for you too. I’m here if you need to talk or vent or cry.”

“Thanks, Laur. I know… I think tonight I’d rather just focus on Kevin.” I give her a sad smile and she nods her head in understanding.

We turn our attention to the ice where the Wild are already ahead 1-0. The puck is in the Minnesota end and I cringe as I see Kaapo Kahkonen sprawling on the ice after being crashed into by a few players from both teams. The net is wide open as the puck comes to the blue line. But Kevin is there. He executes a perfect poke check before he is dashing down the ice on a breakaway. Three Kings players rush after him, but Kevin is too fast. He is down the right side boards, creating just the right amount of space, before he cuts into the center of the slot. He pulls the puck to his forehand and a quick shot snaps the twine behind Jonathan Quick.

“YES!” I scream, jumping to my feet and clapping with the rest of the arena. Kevin celebrates and grins as his teammates mob him. I watch his face on the Jumbotron and feel some of the sadness in my heart ease away.

The first period ends with the Wild ahead 3-0. I feel we can all breathe a little easier. The Kings are a pretty lackluster team these days and the confidence of another Wild win is building in the arena. I avoid mingling with the other girls at intermission and instead stay silent in my seat. I send Felicia a quick text to check in and she assures me that all is well in the Stalock household.

The second period begins and the rest of the girls return to their seats. I take the opportunity to grab a snack- a handful of pretzels- along with an alcoholic beverage. Soon, I settle back into my seat with my cider and watch as Kevin returns to the ice for a face-off in the Minnesota zone. The play begins with the puck bouncing back to center ice. Kevin takes off in pursuit quickly, zeroing in on the defenseman as he turns to grab the puck. Kevin lifts his stick as both players turn towards the corner. At the last moment, Kevin pushes to guide the defensemen into the boards, but the King’s player catches an awkward edge and goes flying into the boards face first, crumpling up from the momentum. Kevin falls into the boards too and the resulting image is awkward and concerning.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim, my hands coming to cover my face. I watch as the teams begin to pile up to fight and Kevin becomes consumed by the hockey players on the ice. The King’s player, Matt Roy, has crumpled to the ice, but thankfully he seems to be able to move. I close my eyes and say a quick thanks to the Hockey Gods before turning my attention back to the pile where Kevin is. Eventually, the player that has Kevin in a headlock is taken care of by Jared Spurgeon. Kevin immediately turns from the scrum and goes to Roy who is still down on the ice. The ref is pushing Kevin away insistently to the penalty box. As he skates away, Kevin keeps looking back in obvious concern.

“Ugh Kevin…” Lauren grimaces at me. “Yikes.”

It takes a few minute for the training department for the Kings to get Roy off the ice. Every second feels like minutes as they talk with him, heads down seeing to the extent of how serious this is. Thankfully, within a few more minutes, Roy is up, skating off on his own power. I clap graciously in response and turn my attention to the penalty box where Kevin is waiting. The refs are still discussing on the ice what to do. They break apart and the Wild penalty box opens for Kevin to skate out to the bench. Game misconduct.

I look at the large scoreboard hanging from the ceiling, seeing there is still well over half the second period to go before the game is over. Kevin disappears to the Wild locker room and the game begins again without him.

“That might turn into more than just this game.” I mutter to Lauren. “I hope Roy is okay.” My finger nail comes to my mouth and I chew on it uncertainly. My legs begin to bounce nervously and I just want to see Kevin. He’s never been ejected from a game before, but my understanding is he will stay in the locker room for the remainder of the game. I purposefully do not reach out to him as I want to be respectful of whatever else he may need to do now that he is off. I’m sure there are a few conversations to be had.

The rest of the game is a blur of motion. The Wild end up winning the game 5-3, but it hardly feels like a win to me. I’m too worried about Kevin. I’m not sure what to expect when I do see him.

As we head down to the elevators, Lauren and I chat with Shyla.

“Poor Kev. That was tough to watch.” Shyla says as we enter the elevator.

“Yeah.” I respond, folding my arms across my chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he is facing a suspension.”

“Probably.” Lauren agrees with me. “Timing sucks too because he’s been playing lights out.”

“I know.” I sigh, running a frustrating hand through my hair. “We will just have to see.”

When we reach the ground floor, the elevator doors open and I step out, surprised to see Kevin waiting for me in the hall. I slow my pace and stop next to him, waving to Lauren and Shyla.

“Chin up, Kev.” Lauren squeezes Kevin’s arm as she walks by him. He gives her a smile that looks more like pursed lips than anything else.

“Not ideal.” I say when Kevin’s eyes meet mine. He responds by pushing himself off the wall and starting towards the player’s parking lot. At this point, congratulating him on the goal seems like a moot point.

“Nope.” I hear him mutter from in front of me.

“What’s going to happen?” I ask when I catch up to him, lacing my arm through his. He doesn’t pull away but he also doesn’t attempt to get closer to me.

“I’ll probably have a hearing with the league tomorrow. At least that’s what Dean and Billy think. They said they would let me know when they hear.”

“Ugh.” I grunt out, pursing my lips in displeasure. Can this day get any worse? I glance at his face and it’s set in a hard, unforgiving frown. “Don’t beat yourself up.” I say to him, watching as his brown eyes darken. “Hey. It was an accident.” I pull him to a stop and he pulls away sharply before running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Sam, I just want to get home. Can we not talk about this right now?” He starts to walk again. I follow him silently, knowing it’s best if I back off. The sound of my boots hitting the pavement claps back to us as we walk to where Kevin’s Audi is. We get inside and Kevin begins to drive us home. I slowly pull my seatbelt over me as we exit the parking ramp, heading back towards Minneapolis. We take I-94 for most of the way until we exit to wind our way back to our building.

“I didn’t mean to hit him like that.” Kevin finally whispers to me as we wait for a red light in downtown.

“I know, baby.” The tension inside of me dissipates at his words and I reach out to touch his cheek. My heart hurts for him as I watch the internal struggle rage just below the surface. “Hockey’s an unpredictable game. And sometimes it’s dangerous.”

“I thought he would go into the boards sideways, so I pushed.”

“I know. He lost an edge, Kev. It happens.”

“What if he isn’t okay?” He wonders, turning with fear in his gorgeous eyes.

“Honey, he skated off on his own. That leaves a lot of hope that he will be.” I rub his cheek with my thumb. “You’re a good man. It was an accident.”

He turns away from me and begins to drive when the light flips to green. We are silent the rest of the way to our building. I don’t know what to say to make it better, so I don’t even try. I hold his thigh in comfort so he doesn’t feel alone.

When we arrive at our building, we head directly to the elevators. Once inside, Kevin blows out a heavy sigh, closes his eyes while leaning against the wall. I purse my lips and look at him. It’s going to be a rough night and likely a couple of days as we navigate both this and Alex’s departure.

“I’m here.” I say quietly to him.

“I know.” He responds. The elevator dings and he walks out without me. I pause for a moment and then follow him down the hall. He opens the door and holds it open for me as we step inside. I shrug off my jacket as Kevin walks down the hall to our bedroom, presumably to change.

While he is in there, I take out a wine glass and give myself a healthy pour of Pinot Noir. I savor the first sip as it coats my mouth and slides down my throat. I take another healthy gulp as Kevin returns to the living room. He plops silently down on the couch and flips the TV on. The sounds of ESPN enter our apartment. Slowly, I move towards him, coming around the couch and standing in front of him. I push him back against the cushions gently and straddle him. My hands run to his shoulders then up to his neck to hold his cheeks in my hands. He melts instantly into my touch.

“This sucks.” I affirm to him, watching his face contort briefly into discomfort. “You can’t let it change you though. You know who you are. You know what type of player you are. Don’t listen to what anyone else has to say about what happened. You know your truth.” He nods in response and I pull him into my chest. His arms wrap desperately around my body as he buries his face deeper into my breasts. I hold him to me with one hand on the back of his head and the other across his shoulders. I gently rest my cheek against his head as well, wanting him to feel held and understood. We stay like that for several minutes.

“How do you always know what to say?” He mumbles to me.

“Tonight, it’s the wine.” I respond with a smile. He sighs out a laugh and nuzzles his nose against my breasts. His head rises and I pull back to look at his face. His features look more relaxed but there is still an edge of sadness to him.

“Thank you.” He tells me.

“I could suck your dick if that would help.” I suggest to lighten the mood. He sighs and runs his hands along my thighs.

“I love your mouth.” He pauses and looks at my lips. “But, for now, just come here.” He pats the seat next to him, so I flip to my side, snuggling into him. He slides his hand around me and dips into my jeans, groping my bare butt. I give him a look and he shrugs innocently.

I know exactly where the rest of this night is going.

[hopetorun]

7, 10, 15, 18 please!

7. answered

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

a lot of writing sticks with me tbh! obviously i have now forgotten all of it due to being asked* but a few things that tend to leave me thinking about something constantly for days: a wrenching bittersweet ending where the protagonist is stuck with only imperfect choices, a scene where it’s so so clear what the non-pov character is going through and the pov character is totally missing it, really good metaphors especially ones involving bodies, great closing lines.

i consider something to be haunting me when i can’t get it out of my head! but i don’t really feel that way about my own stories because that’s so different. i cannot articulate it but it is.

*see previous response to this meme with a note about how i should be better at keeping track of snippets that stick with me

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

i wish i was a person who wrote in the margins but i very much am not, mostly because i get too distracted reading to take notes. i do sometimes scribble stuff in my notes app for book club books so i don’t forget my thoughts but not always. i don’t dog ear pages but i do read in the bath and i also read while eating and stain my books with food. i therefore cannot judge people who deface books in other ways, and would not want to. books are meant to be read and loved and used. my cheeto-fingerprinted copy of little women and my baby blanket that i slept with until it was literally just scraps of thread and the handmade quilt my uncle had on his bed until he died that was worn to bits are the same, actually. we are meant to use these things and love them and that’s its own way of treasuring a thing. if any one person wants to treasure their books by keeping them pristine that’s fine but i treasure mine by loving them to pieces and having to buy a whole new copy to love to pieces again. and covering them in cheese dust fingerprints

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

from home by now:

It works for Matthew, and it’s the most comfortable he’s felt around Draisaitl in literally years. Maybe since they collapsed from the shower onto a hotel bed in Edmonton during the playoff bubble, wrung out and relaxed and extremely pleased with themselves.

“I thought that was going to be hot when you suggested but I didn’t realize how hot it would be,” Matthew said in that hotel room. Leon dropped a hand heavily on his ass, patting him twice and then letting it rest there.

“We’re going to be out soon,” he said. Matthew couldn’t argue with him; the Oilers had been thoroughly outclassed in their first three games, and he didn’t think they were going to pull off a reverse sweep. “We can maybe win one but I doubt more than that will happen.”

Matthew nodded. “Sorry,” he said.

“You’re not,” Leon said, but he laughed roughly.

“Not very.” Matthew shrugged. “I’ll miss this.” He regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth, but Leon seemed unfazed. If anything, he smiled faintly.

“Won’t miss having to sneak around whenever I want to do anything but watch TV in my room.”

There wasn’t a good answer to that; Matthew was willing to put up with it for hockey, but Leon was about to be on a plane back home. He shrugged, and a silence fell around them that felt heavy. Leon’s hand was still resting on his ass.

They were in Leon’s hotel. Matthew needed to leave soon, if he was going to be able to sneak back in and get enough sleep. It felt like breaking the moment would break something important.

Matthew did it anyway. He rolled himself out of the bed, patted Leon on the shoulder a couple of times and grabbed a towel from the bathroom to throw at him.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” he said before he opened the door. Leon grunted, and the noise was almost like one he made on the ice sometimes. Made it easier for Matthew to slip him back into the Draisaitl box, smirking at him from across the ice, looking terrible in orange.

In the present, he’s still Draisaitl, but somehow more comfortable than a few weeks ago. His shoulders are relaxed, which is probably the alcohol, and he’s not walking like he wants to leave Matthew in the dust.

Matthew didn’t think—well, he isn’t sure what he thought, anymore. He thought Draisaitl hated him, and then he thought Draisaitl liked him, and then everything got muddled for a while, with the playoffs and then Matthew’s concussion making everything worse and hazier. At the end of it he thought Draisaitl hated him, but differently than the first time. It felt like—like something changed. Like there was a different thread underlying the way that Draisaitl shoved him and whispered insults and generally refused to look at Matthew at all off the ice after everything that happened.

Above them, the moon is still high in the sky. It’s almost full, a sliver missing off the perfect circle.

“Full moon soon,” Matthew says, because he doesn’t like the silence.

thank you for your submission and for not making me pick 😂😂 excited to get to talk a bit about the sex scene flashbacks, some of the first bits of this story i wrote! i had all these scraps of them tucked at the bottom of my google doc waiting for the right place to fit into the story. early on in the writing process i did a bunch of sketching out timelines of the bubble playoffs and how many days they were both in edmonton and how many times i realistically thought they might have hooked up. it was not many at all, btw. but i stuck to it.

the line about the concussion was a fairly late add, because my trusty alpha and beta readers did tell me i needed to seed it better. it still has that like, oh you weren’t here all along feeling to me! even though i know that’s not how it works for readers.

i didn’t look up whether there’ll be a full moon around the right time in the summer of 2026 for this scene. which is weird for me because i normally look that kind of thing up (huge shoutout to my best friend time and date dot com) but i wanted the moon to be almost full so it is. why do i always look this kind of thing up? well i like to be accurate or at least plausible in descriptions of weather and seasonal changes and when it’s dark outside but also i once read a book where the sun came up before 7 am in scotland in late december and i shrieked aloud.

[sergeifyodorov]

unofficial ranking of most to least bearable first round series should the playoffs start This Very Fucking Moment, plus a little light analysis + prediction.

hold on let me get out my customary 130 am chili cheese fries. (i have never made chili cheese fries before and it is very possible i mostly just glued a whole bunch of cheese to a baking sheet)

bruins-bolts. i shoulda put less oil and more chili on these thangs. anyway when it all comes down to it normally these guys are pretty much the exact same team: middling 5v5 play, excellent finishers, VERY strong power play. on paper boston has better goaltending but also the bolts have Vasi and its the yoffs so im not too worried about that. pastrnak v kucherov is obviously a fantastic marquee matchup. however we fail to mention my crucial aspect that makes a playoff series Interesting: Penchant For Drama. both of these teams are top tier in that regard, esp the bolts. they can Turn It On At Will which i adore and find enthralling engaging and . sexy. i say bolts in 6

vgk-oilers. yeah obviously i wanna see The Jeichel Connie Rematch. who fucken doesn't. no idea how this one goes actually but itll be fun!

avs-jets. ok hear me out ... and by hear me out i mean. this series is LITERALLY unstoppable force (natemac) vs unmovable object (helle)... also the jets are consistently mizzy and nasty and natemac is a one-man firestorm rn. cmonnn guys the whiteout.... anyway wpg is currently Good Where It Counts (strong 5v5, fuck special teams this is the playoffs baby and we're disciplined!!!!) and colorado is propelled forward by 2 superstars (one superstar and the delusions everyone has of cale being that good). i kinda want them both to lose. colorado in 5

stars-kings. not much going on here narratively other than la having 0 series wins in like for evar but frankly im here for the hockey not the narratives sometimes we are here to talk PUCK which means we gotta say: both of these teams are really good. la pk has a few struggles, dallas needs a couple more saves (although this might be leftover from wedgewood getting overworked when otter was out), but they're both clean, strong defensively and offensively, not super top heavy, good 5v5 and special teams. just some quality puck. dallas in 6

panthers-red wings. florida is just the state of drama i guess... red wings are good at finishing and like 0 else... panthers are good at everything Except finishing... wanting pkanes crusty ass out of the yoffs round one vs wanting to deal with The Panthers as little as possible FIGHT. on the one hand, a moral victory for everyone. on the other hand, panthers coverage is really fucking annoying. cats in 5

rangers-leafs. look i love my leafies i really do and this will be probably the only series i like. watch. but also the rangers play EXCRUCIATING puck... like yeah they're good but they're not only defensive-first puck they don't even have it out for the leafs like the other good d-first team (the jets) do... like we dont hate each other we're just vibing. is that igor shesterkin oh shit

canucks-blues. look . the canucks are interesting. the canucks are very interesting. the blues balance it out by being the most Who The Fuck Is That team in the nhl. no tarasenko no narrative juice im afraid. the only potentially interesting thing i can foresee happening is that the canucks' pdo regresses hard and they somehow lose to the blues, which would be funny as fuck. but also i think that's pretty unlikely. through quinn hughes all things are possible. canucks in 4

canes-flyers. other than seeing tk feral it up and potential jrysdale playoff beard, i feel as if the canes offer nothing in the way of drama and they Certainly offer nothing in the way of spiritually fulfilling puck. pyotr kochetkov being a cane is so weird to me because like HE'S spice HE'S drama HE'S something but the rest of the team? it feels like they have zero narrative place. cute little guyness means nothing if you have no tilt in the wider world. the flyers of course are all tilt-in-the-wider-world but they just dont have the sway over a game that the canes' smothering ass dump and chase do. fuck rod brind'amour and fuck you too. canes in 7

can we talk puck. can you guys please let me talk puck for a second

[hockey-fics]

Hockey Players are Bad News ~ Matthew Tkachuk

Summary: Growing up your older brother Taylor Hall taught you many life lessons, but one he made more clear than the rest: don’t even think about dating a hockey player. 

Warnings: Language (if we’re still counting that)

Word Count: ~3,800

A/N: We’re just pretending Taylor Hall didn’t move to Ontario as a kid and stayed in Calgary in this.

You were no stranger to hockey. You had never played the game yourself. But when your older brother Taylor got involved in hockey it seemed like the whole family did as well. He was good, but you would never neglect to mention the role your parents had in him getting to where he was. Beginning with the fact that every winter your dad would maintain a rink in the backyard of your childhood home in Calgary for Taylor to practice on. And practice he did, on the rink almost any chance he got. It was in the backyard where you learned to skate as a seven year old. On the few occasions that Taylor, then thirteen, would take the time out of his practice to coax you around the homemade rink, picking you up every time you fell. 

You were only thirteen when Taylor was the first pick in the NHL Entry Draft by the Edmonton Oilers. But your family didn’t become less involved in hockey. Things were just quieter after that. With a six year age difference between yourself and Taylor he had always been overly protective and the distance didn’t change that in the slightest. 

You made frequent trips to Edmonton and he would come back to Calgary when he had a couple days off. You stayed just as close as you both got older, perhaps you had even gotten closer. And when he went to New Jersey and then eventually to Arizona you still talked just as much, just over text and calls and facetime. 

He had come back over the summer but now it was late in August and he had gone back to Arizona to really focus on his training for the upcoming season. 

Sitting in your friend’s house you look at the Tinder profile on your screen, Matthew. From the first picture you knew more about him than his profile would provide. Matthew Tkachuk. Right wing for the Calgary Flames. Calgary Flames. Despite the fact that you were born in Calgary after Taylor was drafted by the Oilers you developed a strong distaste for the team from the city you otherwise adored. Not even to mention the reputation Matthew carried with him. But the longer you sat there staring at the profile and flipping through the pictures the more you found yourself intrigued by him. And so eventually you swipe right, your screen flashing to the match screen. Quickly tapping the side button on your phone you let the screen go dark, leaving the situation alone for the time being as you focus on the TV show you were watching with your friend instead. 

It was only three days later when you met Matt at a restaurant downtown. The date lasted hours, ending with you two walking around the dark downtown streets just talking. You hated to admit it but the date you had assumed would be terrible was quite the opposite. Matt was charming and funny, he held the door open for you and paid for dinner. He asked you questions about your childhood while you skillfully avoided any talk about your older brother. He told you about playing in the NHL and you nodded along like the inside information was all brand new to you. 

When you finally ended up back at your car you stood by the driver’s side door, looking up at Matt with a soft gaze, hoping he would kiss you. The reality of the situation was that you assumed the date would have been over much earlier and ended in his apartment. But now you were just hoping he would kiss you goodnight and ask you to do it again. And you knew it was bad news. Because the stories Taylor told you as you got older got gradually wilder and always ended with the same message ‘don’t even think about going out with a hockey player’. Especially not one like Matt. 

But your stomach still erupted with butterflies when Matt kissed you that night. It was in the way he placed one of his hands on the back of your head and the way he pulled back slowly, gazing down at you with a smile before dropping his hands from you and stepping back. And it was him asking you to text him when you got home safe, watching you till you were safely in your car before heading down the street to where his own car was parked. 

And text him you did. That night and the day after and the next day too. You exchanged so many texts over the next couple days and each notification from him made you happy in a way you couldn’t explain. No Tinder date you had been on before had ever ended like this and you definitely hadn’t expected to have the best Tinder experience of your like with hockey player Matthew Tkachuk. 

Your second date was mini-golf and ice cream. You picked a flavour you hated and Matt traded you his even though you were pretty sure he didn’t like the one you picked either. Your third date was to the zoo. You tried to contain your excitement but only made it to the penguin excitement before exclaiming how cute they were, while Matt spent most of the time watching you instead of the animals. Your fourth was drinks and arcade games at the Rec Room. You had a couple too many drinks and even though you were trying to beat Matt in a game or two you could barely stop giggling long enough to focus properly. Your fifth was a walk in the park, late fall leaving the leaves a beautiful colour. And you held hands in public for more than a couple seconds, through your entire walk. After that day you started to intersperse your dates with just hanging out, almost always at Matt’s apartment. 

You two had been seeing each other for two months when Matt finally brought up what you had been dreading. Hall was a common enough last night that Matt had never asked about it. You were sitting on Matt’s couch, your legs curled up beside you as you lean against him, eyes focused on the movie playing. 

“Will you come to one of my games?” 

Slowly you turn your head to look up at him, forcing a small smile. You knew you needed to tell him. You were pretty sure he wouldn’t care, but as soon as you told him it was real and that meant you would have to tell your parents and Taylor. Telling him was pushing a snowball down the hill, the avalanche at the bottom would come from everyone else you had to tell.

“Matt,” you say, sitting up straighter so you could look him in the eyes. 

“Yeah?” He furrowed his eyebrows, eyes glancing down your body, taking in the way you had pulled back from him. “Do you not want to? You don’t have to.”

“No,” you laugh, shaking your head. “It’s not that.” Taking a deep breath you try to figure out exactly which words to string together to bring this up. “You, uh, you know Taylor Hall, right?”

Matt’s confusion only becomes more evident as his eyes squint slightly, nodding slowly. “Yeah...why?” there’s an edge in his voice now, uncertain and already on the defence. 

“He’s uh...my brother.” 

You watch Matt go through what seems like ten different stages of processing before he finally says anything and all he manages to mutter is, “what?”

“My brother,” you repeat, knowing he didn’t really need you to say it again, just needed more time to process. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that? Were you planning on telling me...ever?” 

“Ever?” you repeat, pulling back further to turn your body towards him. “Matt, it’s only been a couple months. I though...when this started I thought it would just be a sexual thing. I didn’t expect this, I was assuming you were on Tinder just to hook up.”

Matt glances away from you for a second. “Well I kinda was,” he admits, looking back at you. “But then, I don’t know, I liked you more than I thought I would.” 

“So I didn’t think it would matter.”

“It doesn’t,” Matt says, reaching over and taking your hand, gently pulling you closer. “Doesn’t change anything, I just don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me.”

“Because if things keep going like this I’ll have to tell my family,” you whisper as he pulls one of your legs over his lap so you were face to face. 

“And?” Matt asks, hands on your waist. 

“And they won’t be happy. Taylor is...protective. He’s made it very clear that getting involved with a hockey player is bad news.” 

Matt’s lips curl into a smirk as he looks up at you, listening to your explanation. “Am I bad news?” 

Rolling your eyes playfully you press your hands onto his shoulders, about to push yourself off him. “Matt,” you whine, knowing he knew that’s not what you were saying. 

Suddenly Matt pushes himself forward, one arm around your back as he lifts you up and drops you down onto the couch on your back. “Well am I?” he asks, hovering over you. 

Giggling you run your hands around to the back of his neck. “Yes, you’re awful.” 

Matt chuckles, leaning down and kissing you. “Guess you like bad news,” he whispers against your lips. 

“I’m a sucker for punishment.”

Telling your parents about your relationship with Matt went surprisingly well. After some trepidation about the whole thing they finally came around after having him over dinner, seeing how happy you were around him. Four months, it had been four months. And everytime your parents broached the idea of telling your brother about your relationship you shut it down as quickly as they brought it up. The time would come, you just weren’t sure when.

“It’s disgusting,” Matt complains about the piece of gum he asked for after you took one for yourself. Bubblemint. “Who even came up with it?”

Giggling you shake your head, glancing back over your shoulder at him as you walk up to the door of your parent’s house. “It’s good, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Something is wrong with your tastebuds,” he laughs, stepping inside after you. Your parents had invited you and Matt over for dinner, an almost weekly occurrence at this point.

Just as you're about to call out and tell your parents you were there you see Taylor come down the hallway, the wide smile on his face fading almost immediately. A surprise visit. They didn’t happen often, not with Taylor being down in Arizona now. But whenever he had even a couple days off he would spend most of the time travelling up to see you. 

“Hi,” you say, feeling every nerve in your body firing at once. “You’re home.” 

“What’s going on?” Taylor questions, his eyes drifting over your shoulder to where Matt was standing. 

Taking a deep breath you look over, watching as Matt steps around from behind you to stand at your side. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” you mutter. 

“Find out what?” Taylor snaps.

“I-,” you begin, turning your head to look up at Matt, eyes wide with panic. “I, we’re...I’ve been seeing Matt.”

“Seeing?” Taylor questions, eyes squinting, jaw clenching. 

You feel Matt slip his arm around your waist and you immediately tense up, knowing that it wasn’t going to end well. “We’re dating,” Matt tells him bluntly.

Taylor watches Matt for a second in disbelief before stepping forward, his hand grasping at Matt’s arm yanking him away from you. “Don’t touch her.” 

Matt chuckles with a cold tone, shaking his head. “Too late for that.”

“Matt,” you scold a second before Taylor reaches forward, shoving Matt back against the wall. 

“Don’t you dare talk about my sister like that.”

Reaching over you grab Taylors arm, pulling him back away from Matt. He does so easier than you were anticipating, looking down at you with a look of such disapproval you wanted to simply vanish from his sightline. “Matt, go home,” you say quietly, not able to look him in the eyes. Not able to own up to the face that you couldn’t stand up for yourself, for your relationship. 

“Y/N,” Matt pleads, trying to get your full attention. He was just as aware as you were that asking him to leave in this moment had meaning. 

“Go home, Matthew,” you repeat, using his full name to let him know you weren’t about to argue about it. 

You wait till he walks out the front door before you turn your attention to Taylor. But you don’t know what to say, where to begin. 

“What the fuck?” Is all Taylor says before there are tears in your eyes. 

Not only had Taylor always been a protective older brother he was also the favourite child. Nobody would say it, but you knew it. He was a star in the highest league of his sport, he made incredible amounts of money, he had this whole perfect life. And so you had grown up striving to live up to that, to his standards. To make him and your parents proud of you. But now, standing there under the harsh gaze of your older brother you feel yourself crumbling. 

“Taylor, I-,” you begin, your voice breaking slightly. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Matthew Tkachuk. Are you serious, Y/N? All the times I told you to stay away from hockey players and then you go out and start dating...him?”

“I didn’t think, I don’t know, I didn’t think things would get serious.”

“Why did you even want anything with him?”

Shrugging you wrap your arms around your body protectively, blinking away your tears as you stare down at the ground. “I thought he was cute and then we went on a date and I just, I really like him, Taylor.”

“You say that now but in a month or two when you find out he’s been cheating on you then that’ll change.”

“He’s not,” you begin, trailing off as you shake your head. “He wouldn’t.”

Taylor scoffs and rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t know, Y/N. You don’t know the way guys act on roadtrips. Just because he treats you well when he’s with you doesn’t mean that continues when you’re not together.”

“I...I don’t know what to say, Taylor. I like him, a lot.”

“You don’t love him,” Taylor states but it’s a question and you know it. He needs to hear you confirm it. 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “It’s only been four months.”

“Good,” Taylor mutters. 

“Why?” you mutter, voice wavering. 

“Because it’ll be easier to break up with him if you don’t love him,” Taylor explains easily. 

Furrowing your eyebrows you shake your head. “You don’t get to decide if I break up with someone.”

“No, I don’t,” Taylor replies, stepping away from you. “But I can tell you what you should do. And you should break up with him.” He turns around after that, walking back towards the kitchen and leaving you standing alone in the hallway. Should. All your life you had been doing what you thought your parents and Taylor would approve of, what you thought they would say you should do. But you had never hated the idea of what Taylor would say you should do quite the way you hated this. 

After a few minutes of thinking you walk through the house, finding your parents in the midst of a hushed discussion with Taylor, falling silent the second you enter the room. 

“Hi,” you mutter, walking slowly to the kitchen island, placing your hands on the edge of it as you stare over at your family. 

“Hi sweetheart,” your mom replies, voice gentle and tentative. “I sent you a text earlier, I guess you didn’t get it.”

Pulling your phone from your pocket you look at the notification she was talking about. A warning that Taylor was there, suggesting Matt didn’t come with you right away. To just tell Taylor alone, give him some time to process it. But of course it had only come five minutes before you walked through the door, not having taken the time to read it. “No, I didn’t,” you tell her, putting your phone back away and turning to face Taylor. You’re suddenly hit with a wave of emotions, feeling like you just might burst into tears. Every other time Taylor had come home you had been greeted with a huge hug, with smiles and laughter. You felt like you were going to break under the stare he was giving you now. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Taylor tells you, his gaze softening as he realizes you were on the verge of crying, knowing you well enough to be able to read you. 

“Any guy could hurt me, Taylor. Am I just never supposed to date anyone?”

Out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of your mom grasping your dad’s forearm, gently pulling him out of the kitchen. Giving you and Taylor space to have the conversation alone. 

“He’s not just any guy. He’s plays in the NHL, he’s young, he’s rich, he’s famous. He has so many women interested in him because of that. It’s just different.”

“Would you?” 

“Would I what?” Taylor asks, eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head in confusion. 

“Cheat on your girlfriend because of all that,” you clarify, stating it unflinchingly, challenging him. 

“No.” Taylor sighs, tapping his fingers against the countertop he was leaning on. “But it’s different.”

“It’s not,” you snap. “It’s not different. It’s not different just because you’re being overly protective. You don’t get to decide what Matt would do. You don’t even know him, you haven’t even given him a chance.”

“I do know him,” Taylor retorts quickly. 

“No, you know of him. You know him on the ice, you know how he plays hockey. You don’t know him as a person, as my...boyfriend.” It was the first time you were officially using that label. Boyfriend. Even though it had been almost four months and the understanding was there that he was your boyfriend and you were his girlfriend you had never found yourself saying it out loud. 

Taylor shakes his head, stepping away from the counter. “I clearly can’t change your mind so I’m going to let this go for now so we can have dinner as a family but just know that doesn’t mean I approve of it.”

Turning your head you watch as Taylor walks out of the kitchen to find your parents. And for a few minutes you just stand there, speechless, motionless, like you couldn’t comprehend anything that had just happened. But when your parents come back into the room you try to push it all away. Because Taylor was right, he was back for a short amount of time and even though things weren’t great with you two you needed to let your parents have their time to be just that, parents. 

The dinner passes by slowly and you try to stay engaged in the conversation. But it doesn’t take much for your mind to be pulled to other thoughts. To thoughts of Matt. At first simply worried about him being upset. But your worry begins to merge with Taylor’s words and suddenly you’re concerned about so much more. Other people. Would Matt cheat on you? Would he have left tonight, upset at you and called someone else? Someone who wouldn’t tell him to go home. 

After dinner your parents move on to dessert before then convincing you to stay for a little longer to visit. And by the time you manage to get yourself out of there it’s almost 11 and you had yet to hear from Matt. You texted him at 10:30, getting nothing more than a ‘delivered’ to signify it had even gotten to him. 

After the night is over you walk outside, getting in the Uber you had ordered. Matt had driven you both there, anticipating you would end up back at your apartment or his. It didn’t matter where but you two were supposed to be together all night. 

When the Uber pulls up in front of your apartment you climb out, feeling an emptiness in your chest. You had never felt such disappointment from your brother. You had never pushed someone away so coldly like you had with Matt. Walking up to the lobby door you open your purse, fumbling for your keys at the bottom. 

“Y/N.”

Spinning around quickly you watch Matt jog up towards you, only now noticing his car parked in one of the visitor spots. “What are you doing?” you exclaim, your eyes taking in his appearance. Ruffled hair, heavy eyes. “Why didn’t you answer my text?”

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” he admits. “I didn’t think you would be there that long.”

“You were sleeping in your car?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Well I wasn’t planning to. But you try spending five hours in your parked car with nothing else to do.”

“Why?...Why didn’t you go home? Oh my god, have you just been here this whole time? Matt, what the fuck? You’re such an idiot.”

“Well I did go and have dinner a couple hours ago,” he mutters sheepishly. “I was just worried...I don’t know, I just needed to talk to you, to see you.”

“You were worried...worried about what?”

Matt looks around, not making eye contact with you. He seemed suddenly flustered, panicky. Stepping closer you reach over, sliding your hand into one of Matt’s. “What were you worried about?” you whisper. 

Matt finally looks down at you, squeezing your hand as he pulls you a little closer. “Losing you,” he says quietly, reaching over and pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear, his hand slowly dropping back down to his side. 

You’re speechless for a few minutes, doing nothing more than staring blankly up at him. Taylor’s words suddenly didn’t seem as loud, didn’t carry as much weight. Because the way Matt was looking at you, the vulnerability in his words, you felt like you could trust him completely. “You won’t,” you finally manage to get out, letting go of his hand and wrapping your arms around him. 

Matt’s arms circle quickly around your waist, pulling you into his body till you're balancing on your tiptoes, clutching at him like you were trying to physically prove he wouldn’t lose you. “Can we go inside now? It’s cold out here,” you whisper. 

Matt moves his hands from your waist to the backs of your thighs, suddenly scooping you off the ground. “Matt,” you shriek in surprise, grasping onto him tighter as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Put me down,” you giggle, looking into his eyes. 

“Fine,” Matt huffs, slowly lowering you back to the ground. “But only because we’re going to pick it right back up when we’re inside.”

Shaking your head you roll your eyes playfully, fishing your keys out of your purse. Grabbing Matt’s hand you pull him along behind you into your apartment building, glancing back in time to see him smiling as he watched you. And seeing the way he was looking at you, so enthralled by you, only cemented your knowledge that maybe for the first time Taylor wasn’t the older sibling with all the knowledge.

A/N #2: I’m not going to ignore the fact that waiting for someone outside their apartment could be a huge red flag. If that ever happens to you and they don’t leave after you tell them to. Call. The. Police.

[dubersbutt]

Omg thank you for poly Leon and Connor!! I was thinking what if you were ‘publicly’ dating Connor and there was an Oilers event. So you go as Connor’s girlfriend, all the Oilers and their so know you as the captain’s girlfriend. You, Connor and Leon spend most of the event together which wasn’t suspicious to anyone because they’re such good friends. You look so good and they both want to get their hands on you, so Connor takes you to a bathroom by himself to fuck you over the sink. No one noticed you and Connor slip away however when you go to slip away with Leon, a few teammates see the two of you go into a closet and are obviously really confused.

775 words

Mentions of cheating, and smut but no actual smut or cheating just some teammates being bad detectives

Kailer doesn't question when Leon walks in with you and Connor. Leon and Connor are close, everyone knows that. In fact, they only lived ten minutes away rom each other, often showing up to practice together. He doesn't question it when just the three of you sit at a table towards the back of the banquet hall - Connor liked to keep the attention on him to a bare minimum. He doesn't even bat an eyelash at when you sit in-between the two of them, not Connor.

But when Connor gets up to make the rounds with the rich donors Kailer gets suspicious. You are by no means throwing yourself at Leon, but you're sitting very close to him. And you've got that lovey look in your eye, the one you and Connor so nauseatingly reciprocate whenever you forget there's other people in the room - which is too often, by the way. Leon leans in to whisper something in your ear and Kailer swears that one of Leon's hands isn't on the tabletop but he's not at the right angle to confirm. The only thing that makes no sense in Kailer's brain is that when Connor returns, neither you or Leon try to look normal, you lean up to kiss him as if you weren't just flirting with his best friend. He tries not to stare, but he can't help it. Connor leans down and gives you a quick peck before whisking you away down some hallway. While you're gone, Leon uses this time to make himself known to the rich donors.

Kailer realizes he should also start mingling with other people. He forgets about the situation until he sees you and Connor walk out of the hallway you went down about 25 minutes later. Now, Kailer isn't a detective but he's pretty sure your hair was in some kind of updo when you went down the hall. He can't even really fault Connor, you look stupid good in that dress.

40 minutes later, Kailer realizes that Leon is nowhere to be found in the lounge area. He looks at your table, empty. He looks at the hallway and lo and behold he can see Leon leading you back to the main hall.

"Nugget," Kailer nudges his lines arm, "Look over there."

"What?" Ryan asks, following his gaze.

"Leo and Davo's girl are coming walking down the hall together. "

"And?"

"I know Leon was wearing a tie earlier," as if on cue, Leon straightens his loose collar. His fingers tense, as if just realizing that he's missing it.

Ryan's brows furrow in confusion, cogs turning, "You're not insinuating that-"

"Connor left to migle, Leon felt the need to entertain his girlfriend while he was gone."

Ryan looks around, making sure they're not being overheard, "Are you sure?"

"I don't have hard proof but I'm like 90% sure."

"Do we tell Connor?" Ryan runs a hand through his hair.

"I would want to know if I were him."

"Do we tell him now?'"

"No, there's too many people we don't want anyone to make a scene."

Kailer nods in agreement, "tommorw before practise?"

"That means you have to show up more than 5 minutes before practise."

Kailer groans, "I'mm gonna kill Leon for making me get out of bed on time."

~~~

They end up not being able to get Connor alone until after practise meaning Yams woke up early for no reason. He leads Connor to a supply room under the excuse that someone left the athletic tape on the top shelf and he can’t reach it.

“Whoever put the tape on the top shelf has a special place in hell. This is shortphobic,” Kailer mutters as he pushes open the door. He hears Connor laugh behing him so he feels validated.

“Oh nugget’s here,” Connor says upon meeting Ryan’s eyes, “you could have just asked him.”

He scans the top shelf and his face scrunches in confusion when he can’t see the athletic tape on the shelf.

Kailer takes a deep breath. His heart is beating so fast. He thinks it might explode if it doesn't slow down soon.

���What’s going on?” Connor asks.

Ryan looks at Kailer before, “Yams has something to tell you.”

“Okay, this isn’t gonna be easy,” Kailer starts, “and I really don’t want to tell you this but it has to be said.”

“Spit it out, yams, you’re scaring me.”

“Ithink(Y/N)ischeatingonyou,” he says all in one breath.

“Yams you have to know that I understood none of that.”

Ryan nudges him the ribs and he jolts away in pain, “Are you trying to bruise me, oww.”

Ryan ignores him, “Kailer was trying to say we think that (Y/N) is cheating on you.”

Connor looks more confused, “What?”

“Yesterday when you left her and Leon alone they were getting a very friendly with each other. And then later Ryan and I saw them coming out from the bathroom, and I’m pretty sure he was doing more than helping her fix her hair,” Kailer gasps for air. He’s never been more stressed in his life.

He realized that Connor has his head down and he’s shaking. Oh fuck, Connor was crying. He looks at Nuge, whose starting back at him with wide eyes. What is he supposed to do? Does he go up to Connor? Leave him alone? Does he -

Connor’s laughing. He’s fucking laughing.

“You guys really had me going there for a minute,” he says in between laughs, wiping a tear from his eyes, “I thought she was actually cheating on me for a second.”

Okay, Kailer might not have been the top of his class but he’s fairly certain that sleeping with someone else entails cheating, “Am I missing something?”

Nuge looks just as confused as he is, so there’s that at least.

When Connor finally catches his breath he decides to fill them in, “(Y/N) and I have a...agreement with Leo.”

“Like an open relationship?” Ryan asks.

“More like a throuple.”

Everything starts to click in Kailers brain. Why Leon always comes to practise with Connor, and why they didn’t even bother to pretend they weren’t all over each other when Connor came back.

“So you don’t care that they slept together at the banquet last night,” Kailer just wants to be sure.

“No, because when we got in the car she - never mind,” Connor cuts himself off. Kailer doesn’t even know if he wants to know the end of the sentence, “(Y/N) is not cheating on my with Leon.”

~~~

“They thought what?” You say before bursting out in laughter.

“Apparently you and Leon weren’t very conspicuous with your little meeting last night,” Connor says coming up and kissing your cheek.

“I couldn’t help it,” Leon says also coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you, “You saw how good she looked last night, how am I expected to remain sane all night?”

You turn your head and lightly press your lips to his, his lips linger on yours for a moment before you pull away.

“I missed you,” he says before joining Connor on the barstools on the other end of the counter, slipping his arm around him.

“You were gone for 3 hours.”

“Too long baby,” Leon says and gives Connor a quick peck on the lips, “Missed you too, Con.”

“I was with you the whole time,” he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah but I can’t kiss you at practise,” Leon smiles.

“You’re such a fucking sap,” Connor teases, “anyways they promised they wouldn’t say anything about us.”

“They’re so stupid,” you laugh, “if I were cheating on you why would I hook up with my mistress when you’re in the same room?”

“I’m your mistress now?” Leon asks, mock offended.

“I was dating Connor first, you’re technically both our mistresses.”

"My parents will be so proud of me."

[nolanscheeks]

“Happy Birthday” BB

**

Hey guys! So I know Brock’s birthday was yesterday but I had a midterm this morning so I couldn’t write till today. As always, this is completely made up! I didn’t proof read, so be patient with me.**

Warnings: light mention of smut

** “Good morning, birthday boy” you more or less screech at Brock the moment you see his eyes blink open just after 9am. **

“Good morning” he yawned, rubbing his eyes. You sat down next to where he nestled under the covers and leaned down to give him a kiss.  You love birthdays, any reason to bake a cake, buy things, have a party and celebrate is right up your alley. Unfortunately, this year there would be no crazy night out in downtown Vancouver, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to do everything you could to make your boyfriend’s day special. His team has a game tonight so you guys had made a plan to celebrate the next day, an off day, but you couldn’t resist celebrating on the actual day as well. You’d set an early alarm for morning, as a couple you guys were usually up on the early side, but you wanted to make sure you got up even earlier so you could bake Brock’s favourite chocolate chip banana bread and make him a coffee to surprise him with when he woke up. 

“I made you banana bread for your birthday breakfast” you whispered in his ear, gesturing towards the bedside table where you had placed a few slices of banana bread and two hot cups of coffee.

“I thought we were gonna do my birthday tomorrow.”

“Who said we can’t celebrate today, too?” You playfully tapped the tip of his nose. Brock shrugged and pushed up into a seated position, back resting on the headboard, so you could hand him a cup.

“Thank you, y/n” he said, taking a sip. You grabbed your coffee as well and adjusted yourself so you were sitting next to Brock, leaning back against the headboard as well.

“Ok so,” you inhaled, getting a breath so you could recite your birthday plans for him, “we’re going to eat, then let’s take the dogs out and get more coffee, then we can watch a movie or something before your nap and then I have something for you tonight” you winked at him. The something was a bodysuit you’d picked up at Victoria’s Secret while Brock was at practice yesterday. Brock wasn’t a guy that cared if you got dressed up for him or not, constantly insisting you were just as, if not more, beautiful naked or in PJs but you wanted to spice it up for him, especially on his birthday.

“What’s the surprise?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see when you get home.”

“Is it a puppy?”

You laughed, “yes, Brock. I got you a puppy.” He grinned at you and rested his head on your shoulder. 

“We really don’t need another puppy” he gestured to Coolie and Milo, who were spread out on their huge beds that took up half the floor. 

“Milo is enough of a puppy.” Milo is a handful, always wanting to play, chewing the furniture, biting at Coolie, and whining at the door even after being outside multiple times. At his name, Milo jumped up and rested his face on the edge of the bed, tail wagging. 

“I guess that’s our queue” Brock chuckled, throwing his legs over the side of the best to get up. You hummed in agreement and got up as well, time for a dog walk. 

After a relaxing walk, well, as relaxing as Milo would allow, you and Brock settled on the couch with acai bowls for lunch and Gossip Girl, as per his request, on the TV.

“What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?” you ask around a bite of granola. Brock’s game day routine had been pretty standard the whole time you’d known him but with the protocols and new way of doing media he was getting home anywhere between 10 and 11:30pm after games. 

“Depends on how it goes and if I’m doing post-games” he shrugs, “got something you have to do?”

“No” you replied, smirking at him. 

“I’ll text you.”

“Perfect.” After finishing up lunch and a few too many episodes of Gossip Girl, Brock got up.

“Nap time” he held his hand out, “you should nap with me.” 

“Fine, but only because it’s your birthday” you conceded, taking the hand he offered and following him into the bedroom. You weren’t much for naps, sleeping in the middle of the day felt wrong and often let you groggy, but if he wanted to nap together today, you would do it.

You dozed a little, but not really. It felt like days had passed when Brock’s phone went off and he untangled himself from you. You watched him get ready and then kissed him goodbye as he went off to the rink. After closing the door you got to work. You melted chocolate to dip strawberries into, baked a cake, had dinner, walked and fed the dogs, showered, and got into your new lingerie all while the Canucks game played on your TV. You lit candles in the bedroom, so they would be dripping when it was time and set up the chocolate fondue. By the time you had everything ready the game-ending buzzer sounded and you began to watch your phone for Brock’s promised post-game text. The game had been a bit of a bust, a three-nothing shutout in favour of the Oilers, but whatever, that would slip Brock’s mind the moment he got home.

You idly watched your phone, waiting for his text, but by 10:15 it still hadn’t come. Brock had probably forgotten he was supposed to text you which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, he was often guilty of forgetting small things. You’d been wearing nothing but lingerie, so you threw on a hoodie to keep you warm. Another five minutes passed by and then the front door opened and Brock entered. He shucked off his shoes and coat with a huff, greeting the dogs with a pat on the head instead of the usually enthusiastic hugs they were used to.

“Hey” you greeted, a little wary. He seemed pissed, probably an overflow from the game.

“Hey” he walked over to the fridge, grabbing a protein shake and popping it open.

“You forgot to text me” you teased. You had meant it as a joke, but at your words he tensed up. 

“Sorry” he snapped, “I was a little busy getting my ass hung up by the fucking Oilers.”

“I thought you played well” you tried to reassure him. You hadn’t watched the whole game, but what you had watched looked good.

“It doesn’t matter what you thought, we still got shutout.” He drained the last of his protein shake and the plastic bottle into the sink. Brock’s words stung a little bit. Of course your opinion doesn’t turn the loss into a win, but it wasn’t very nice of him to say your opinion didn’t matter. It also hurt that he had forgotten that you had promised a surprise. There was no point arguing though, he would cool-down and you’d get to have birthday sex, just maybe not tonight. You returned to where you’d been sitting on the couch and patted the seat beside you, beckoning one of the dogs to jump up. Sure enough, Coolie hopped up and cuddled into your side. 

“Your dad is in a mood” you informed Coolie, speaking as if he could understand you. You heard Brock scoff from the kitchen. You ignored him in favour of scratching Coolie behind the ears. 

“Baby” you were completely preoccupied with loving the dog when you heard Brock call out. “You did this?” He was obviously referring to your bedroom, set up like a scene from a romcom. You got up and joined him in the bedroom.

“Yeah” you admitted, “I thought we could have a little fun.”

“Fuck, I love it” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you, “and I love you.”

“Reach under my sweater” you instructed, wanting to guide him towards his surprise. He complied and you felt his arm snake up under the hoodie and grab hold of one of the straps connecting your bra and panties.

“Oh my god” he breathed.

“Happy birthday” you whispered, placing your lips on his.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it:)

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

complication, miscommunication - a. beauvillier

Popping in with another Beau fic! I wasn’t sure who to write this one about for the longest time, so it was on the back burner for a while, but I think it works really well with him. Let me know what you think - hop into my inbox, please reblog it if you liked reading! (I also love reading the tags.) I love getting feedback!

word count: 3k+

The offseason was never a good time for anyone who was unsigned, and Anthony Beauvillier was no exception. After a second-round loss to the Hurricanes in the playoffs, he was taking some time off before leaving New York to spend the summer in Montréal. “Maja,” he called, looking over at the couch to where his girlfriend of a year and a half sat curled up on the other side, seemingly engrossed in a book. Anthony chuckled. “Maja,” he said a little louder. She made a noncommittal noise. “Maja Mitsuko Okabe.”

Maja snapped her book shut, looking up at him with panic in her eyes. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?” 

He snorted. “Does something have to be wrong for me to talk to the woman I love?”

“You full-named me,” Maja shrugged, tucking her feet beneath her on the couch cushion. “Doesn’t usually happen.”

Anthony searched his mind, frantically trying to come up with some excuse for interrupting her, but not coming up with anything that would sound very convincing. “I was just wondering...if you had booked your flights yet for the summer.” 

Maja narrowed her eyes; she clearly wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, booked them yesterday. Air Canada nonstop from LaGuardia to Montréal.” She had requested the time off two weeks ago, and would have heard back sooner had it not been for a staffing change in the HR department of the green energy firm where she worked as an electrical engineer. “I’ll try to get a Friday off sometime in August, come up for a long weekend.”

“I’d like that,” he said. Of course I’d like it,” he thought. Why wouldn’t I like it? Why did I even say that? 

“Something’s on your mind, Beau,” Maja said softly. And, like almost every other time she said so, she was right.

“Yeah,” he sighed. There wasn’t really any use trying to keep it from her. “I’m not sure if the team’s going to give me a qualifying offer.”

Maja shifted towards him on the couch, propping her head up on one arm. “And who told you that?” 

“Nobody, really,” Beau said, shrugging. “It’s just a bad feeling I have. My season wasn’t bad, but I still underperformed, and I know Trotz and Lou were looking for me to step up in terms of goals. Playmaking isn’t everything.” Anthony’s voice dropped. “I know I obviously wouldn’t be able to do anything until I know if they’ll extend an offer, but…” He paused. “My agent’s heard some interest from other teams. Guess they just want to throw their hats in the ring if it comes to that.” 

Maja played with the clasp on her bracelet, the same one Anthony had gotten her for their one-year anniversary. “Where?” 

“Winnipeg, Minnesota, I think he might have mentioned something about Edmonton.”

“Oilers, huh?” Maja said carefully. “Playing with McDavid, that could be cool.” 

Beau made a face. “I mean, yeah, it would be, but…” He trailed off. “But that’s in Edmonton. It’s thousands of miles away. I’d hate having to leave the team, I wouldn’t get to play with Mat anymore. And I don’t know where that would leave us.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t know where that would leave us? I’d go with you, I thought you knew that.” Maja stopped playing with her bracelet. She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like there was never a possibility she would have considered anything else. 

Anthony turned to her. “But you love it here. You love your job, you’re doing important stuff.” 

And that much was true; Maja loved feeling like she was using her knowledge for good, and her coworkers were some of the best she’d ever had. But she loved Tito more. “I am, but I can find a job pretty much anywhere, Beau. It’s important to me that we stay together.” 

“But what if I do go back to Canada?” Anthony said, one hand running through his hair. “Your whole family’s in Boston, I wouldn’t want to take you away from that. And you don’t know anyone there, and I wouldn’t want you to have to move to an entirely new country just for me.” 

“It’s really not all that different, Beau,” Maja said, stiffening. “I’m an engineer. I can get a job anywhere, I might have to get a new license but it’s not that hard. Weather wouldn’t be a shock, I’ve dealt with snow my whole life. And unless you went to Montréal, it’s not even like I’d have a language barrier.” 

“I know,” he said, “but I don’t want you to feel like it’s an obligation for you to pick up your whole life and move just because of me.” 

Maja stood up abruptly, nervously running her hands over her jeans. “It’s starting to sound like you wouldn’t want me to come, Anthony,” she snapped. 

He screwed his eyes shut. She didn’t call him by his whole name unless she was really, really fed up with him. “It’s not that, I just—” 

“You just what?” Maja cut him off. “Because whether or not it’s what you meant by it, Beau, the way you worded it makes me think you’re not serious about this. About us. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am, so I’m going to need you to do some real soul-searching and get back to me about how you really feel, because it sounds like we’re working on a deadline here.” She turned on her heel, grabbed her jacket, and walked out the door. 

---

Anthony didn’t like that they weren’t talking. Granted, it had only been a day and a half, but it was rare that he and Maja went that long without FaceTiming or calling each other, even when he was on a road trip. It just wasn’t something they did. And it also wasn’t like he had to think about his answer, about how serious he was about his relationship with Maja. It was one of the most important things in his life. But, just like the fight that had led him to this moment, pacing around in his kitchen with a rapidly burning piece of toast in the toaster, he was worried. Worried to talk to her, worried he’d seem like he was being pushy if he did, worried he’d seem like he didn’t care if he didn’t. He was tempted to call Mat, or even Jordan, but didn’t want the inevitable tongue-lashing that either was sure to give him. He knew he had to fix it, but he didn’t know how. 

Anthony lay on his bed later that evening, his phone on speaker next to him, playing nervously with his hands. Sometimes, even though he was almost 24, there were things he just couldn’t go to his friends for. Mat was his best friend and he loved him, but he needed someone else for this. He needed his mom. “I know my flight’s supposed to leave in a few days, but Maman...I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave things like this.” 

“Then you don’t,” his mom shot back over the phone, her French terse. “I raised you better than this, Anthony. You don’t leave the women you love unsure of where your relationship stands, where the two of you stand. You love her.” She said it more like a statement. 

“More than anything,” he replied morosely. 

“Then you stay, you go over and talk to her. And if that means you’re in New York for a few more days, then so be it. Your dad and I can wait. Québec will still be here when you’re done. What’s more important right now is Maja, and that you fix this.” 

Anthony groaned, his head hitting the pillow. “You’re right.” 

“What was that?” she replied, even though he knew she had heard him just fine. 

“You’re right, Maman. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t what I meant. I need to fix this.” 

He could see her nodding on the other end of the line. “You do. Go to her.” She had barely hing up the phone before Anthony was frantically tugging on his shoes and stumbling out the door. 

Anthony was outside of her door less than half an hour later; it would have been earlier, but New York traffic didn’t seem to care that it was past 10 PM. He knocked on her door frantically; he could have used his key, but it just didn’t feel right. He heard her pad down the hallway towards the living room. “I’m coming.” She opened the door, her mouth slightly agape when she saw who it was. “I thought you were maintenance. The bathroom faucet’s been leaky.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “At,” he checked his watch, “10:12 PM?”

Maja shrugged. “Night shift?” She stepped aside to let him in. “I’m guessing you want to talk.” Maja was intuitive; even more than that, though, she knew Anthony better than anyone. He didn’t like to let conflict sit, knowing it would only get worse with time. She walked over to her couch, gesturing for him to sit, her arms crossed. “So talk.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said the other day, for making you feel insecure in our relationship and for letting you doubt how committed I am. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Do you get it, though?” Maja questioned. “Do you get why it hurt me so much?”

Anthony did. He knew he did, so why was it so hard to admit it? He settled for a stiff nod.

She sighed. “Because it made me feel like you weren’t as serious about us, our relationship, as I am. I read your cautioning me against moving with you if you ever got traded as you not wanting me to, which made me feel like you just had no interest in building a life with me, in taking the next step. And that’s what hurt so badly, because I knew the second you mentioned it that that’s something I’d do in a heartbeat for you.” Maya looked over his head, her fixing her eyes on a picture of Anthony from his first home game, trying to collect her words. “It seemed like you didn’t see us lasting, nothing long-term that would require those kinds of sacrifices and choices to be made. Almost like I had wasted my time, this past year and a half, on someone who couldn’t care less if I stayed or went.”

Anthony leaned forward, hesitantly reaching for her hands, wrapping his fingers around hers when she didn’t pull back. “I know how my words came out was wrong, and I take full responsibility for that. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but I think I did because I was worried, and didn’t want to assume you’d be willing to do something so drastic as move thousands of miles and potentially to a whole new country just because I asked you.”

“Relationships mean compromise and sacrifice,” Maja said. “And I didn’t think it was fair for me to feel like I was the only one doing either.”

“You weren’t,” Anthony shook his head. “You aren’t.” 

“I never got what you meant about worrying about the distance,” Maja said. She scrunched her nose. “Okay, I take that back like halfway. I got what you were saying about it being hard. It would be, of course it would be. But it’s not like we haven’t done it before. You’re gone a couple times a month during the season, and then most of the summer in Québec apart from when I could get off work for a week or two. And sure, it was rough, but we got through it. So I heard you not wanting me to come with you, and me not seeing a need to stay here, and didn’t see where you saw us going. If you saw us going somewhere. That’s what hurt the most, I think.”

“Moving without ever having lived together just seemed like a big step. I didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for, but I would have hated it just as much if suddenly you were off in a new state or country all alone in an apartment some place where you didn’t know anybody. It wouldn’t have been fair.” 

Anthony had a point, Maja thought, as she moved her thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. “Have you thought about that, though? Things going forward, moving in together, all of that?”

He met her eyes, and now it was his time to stare at her like she had just asked the world’s most obvious question, like there was no possible parallel universe where she didn’t already know the answer. “Absolutely, Maja. I’ve thought about everything.”

“Everything?” she asked, her thumb stopping momentarily. “What’s everything?”

Anthony smiled softly at her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her gently into his side. “Everything means everything. Moving in together. Getting a nice house in Garden City, or wherever we’ve settled by then. The day I finally get to put a ring on your finger,” he said, absentmindedly rubbing the fourth finger on her left hand. “Getting to wake up to your beautiful face every day, and never having to leave. Taking our kids to visit your grandparents in Japan, trying to figure out how to raise them trilingualy.” 

“Really?” Maja laughed, a watery laugh filled with disbelief and hope and unfettered joy somehow bound into a single noise. “You’ve thought about that?”

“Of course I have,” he said simply.

“You said kids, so it’s going to be multiple?” Anthony hummed his agreement. “How many were you thinking?” 

He tilted his head. “I like three. Seems like it’d work well. But that would obviously be up to you,” he chuckled. “Not like I’d be the pregnant one.”

Maja couldn’t remember the last time her heart felt this full. The way he spoke about their future — the house and the wedding and the kids — so easily and freely made Mja nearly positive that it had been something he had been thinking about for a while. “Three sounds good.”

---

5 years, $20 mil, the text read. Anthony didn’t really care that he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, not until they made the news official. But he had to tell Maja, tell her they were staying out, had to let her breathe a little easier and stop worrying about having to type up a two week’s notice and figure out how to apply for a Canadian visa. He knew he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but Maja was more important than that, and she deserved to know, and if that got him a slap on the wrist from the team, then so be it. He looked down at his watch; it was half past 5, so Maja was on the subway back to her apartment if she hadn’t already arrived. He hung a U-turn, changing directions from his place to hers. This wasn’t something he wanted to wait for. It didn’t take him long to pull into the visitor’s parking at her apartment building, muscle memory guiding him into the elevator and up to the third floor. 

“Coming!” Maja said as he knocked on the door. She flung her arms around him as the door swung open, her toes barely touching the floor. “I’m so proud of you, love,” she whispered into his shoulder, her voice muffled by his sweater. Stepping aside, she let him into her living room, where he was greeted by a counter filled with take-out containers. “I might have assumed you’d come by,” Maja admitted, “so I went out to that Indian place you like and picked up some stuff. Figured you’d be hungry.” 

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind as she spooned out the rice and butter chicken. “Thank you,” he said, pressing a kiss against her cheek. “You’re always one step ahead.” Dinner was a quiet affair, Anthony cleaning up their plates and putting the leftovers in the fridge before joining Maja on the couch, her back pressed up against his chest as the Good Place played on the TV. 

“I really am proud of you, you know,” she said softly, twisting her head to look up at him. “I know it’s something you worked really hard for and were worried about, and I’m so glad it worked out for you.” 

He squeezed her thigh in appreciation. “Thanks, babe. And again, I’m sorry about how I told you, how I interpreted everything and spoke too soon. It wasn’t fair to me and it wasn’t fair to you.”

“Don’t keep beating yourself up about it,” Maja said. “You’re right that it wasn’t a good move, but you apologized and took responsibility for it, and that’s what really matters. As long as you weren’t just trying to butter me up when you talked about the future.” 

Anthony knew it was tongue-in-cheek and that she was teasing him, if the half-smirk on her face was anything to go by, but he shook his head all the same. “Of course it wasn’t. I meant every word.” They sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “Don’t resign your lease.” He knew that she had almost a month until she had to give the papers to her landlord, but she’d also been toying around with the idea of moving to a place a little closer to her work. 

Maja looked up at him in surprise, her eyes wide. “Don’t resign my lease?”

He nodded. “Move in with me, I can fly down for a few days to help whenever you decide you want to. Move in with me, let’s start that future now.” If he was being honest, it had been something Anthony had been thinking about for months. He just finally got the courage to ask. 

“When can I start?”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

ReignCorp's earlier days when Sam first started working for L-Corp?

Sam catches a glimpse of dark hair through the crowd and feels a thrill of excitement course down her spine. With bated breath she wades through the throng and feels her chest hiccup when the figure turns to render an arch and regal profile. 

Lena.

Despite having only met the woman once, in the eye of a stormy merger, late at night and laced with exhaustion, Sam can't help but feel excited to see her again. The woman she'd met was far different than corporate had hinted she'd be: warm and genuine, instead of cutthroat and vicious.

"Lena! Hi, good morn... ing." The word stumbles in her throat when Lena turns and gazes at her in cool regard. Oh there's recognition-- Sam can see the click behind her eyes-- but the smile she'd been treated to almost a month ago is nowhere to be found, not even when her name passes through precisely painted lips.

"Miss Arias. Did you need something?"

The best word to describe Lena now is aloof-- something Sam didn't know was possible. In every meeting during the merger, the woman had been nothing short of dedicated, maybe even a little intense. When she spoke to someone, they had her whole attention. Now, Lena scrolls through a document on her tablet. 

Sam forces a smile. "No, just-- wanted to say hi."

The admission grants no reaction whatsoever except for a distracted glance up from her tablet before returning to her report. "I'm sorry, I have to get going. I have a very busy morning."

"...okay," Sam says. Still, she tries again. "I--"

"Please excuse me." Lena slips around her and disappears into the crowd of employees gravitating towards the elevators. 

Sam blinks, staring at the open space the woman had occupied. 

"O-kay."

--- 

Throughout the week, Sam sees Lena several times. Even in direct passing, Lena's gaze slides off of her like she's another just any other face in the crowd. It hurts, Sam is surprised to realize. She liked Lena, and the magnetism of Lena's personality that night had made Sam feel privileged to feel as though Lena liked her in return. To discover she's had it all wrong comes as a shock-- so much so that Sam isn't quite willing to believe it.

She didn't imagine that night. She didn't hallucinate those late hours, or the conversation that had passed as naturally as breathing. She finally gets the courage to do something about it on another late night-- a Thursday. Ruby's with her babysitter, and they won't mind the few minutes' detour to Lena's office.

Everyone else is gone, even Lena's assistant. The familiar quiet of an office long after hours gives Sam the dose of confidence it takes to knock on Lena's open door when she sees the woman inside.

"A fellow midnight oiler, huh?" she greets. If there's anything that will spell the return of their friendly rapport, it's this. 

But Lena glances from her work, registers her presence, and dismisses her in the same moment even as she speaks. "Can I help you?"

Defeated, Sam's shoulders slump. Leaning against the doorframe, she folds her arms across her chest. 

"I could have worked anywhere, you know," Sam says in a low voice. "The night we met, I thought maybe we had the potential to be friends, and that tipped the scales in LuthorCorp's favor. I wanted to work somewhere I would be more than just another body at the computer."

Lena's pen stills.

"Did I get the wrong impression?" Sam asks.

A beat passes. Then, Lena's eyes close, and the stiffness in her shoulders eases enough for them to slump in the low light of her desk lamp.

"No," Lena admits, her voice lifting to hover somewhere near a question. This time, her face moves as she speaks: her eyebrows lift, even as the rest of her feature grow heavy.

Sam takes the tilt of her head for the invitation it is. She settles into the visitors chair and slips her bag off her shoulder before sitting back, and waiting for Lena to continue. After a long moment, she does. 

"I'm sorry," Lena says, sincerely. "I'm just... not looking to make friends."

"Well, that's dumb."

Green eyes sharpen. "Excuse me?"

"Jesus, Lena, it's not like we're discussing marriage! It's friendship! Coffee and casual conversations about your cat and how my kid's on the honor roll. Which, she is, by the way."

Lena releases a huff, but Sam sees the glimpse of a smile.

"I'll tell her you said congratulations."

With a sigh, Lena relents. "Please do."

"And for the love of pete, a nod in the hallway won't kill you."

Lena grimaces. Sam lets her have a moment, and watches as Lena lets go of her walls, and slips back into her own body. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." Sam regards her for a long moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever happened that resulted in you thinking a new friend would be the end of the world."

Sam knows she's treading a thin line now. She's just got done saying it doesn't have to be anything serious, and here she is prying into the private life of someone who's technically her superior. But she needs Lena to know that it can be more, if she wants it.

In the end, Lena doesn't shut down again, but she doesn't open up any further either. "No," she says softly. "But thank you."

Sam nods. "You're welcome." Sensing she's nearing the end of her welcome, she rises and returns her bag to her shoulder. "The offer stands. In the meantime... coffee tomorrow? You can tell me about your cat."

"Don't have one."

"Sweet," Sam returns without missing a beat. "More time for me to gush about my kid. See you at eight."

She leaves no room for argument. Lena doesn't try to give one. 

"And try not to stay too late, okay?"

"Good night, Sam."

"All right, all right, I'm going." 

She leaves with a wave over her shoulder, and catches a glimpse of one more smile before Lena returns to her work. With an unexpected giddiness floating in her chest, Sam surprises Ruby with ice cream before dinner on the way home from the sitter, and lays awake that night thinking about dark hair and sad smiles. 

The next day, she's at the coffee stand at 8am sharp.

[hookingminor]

By the time i make it to the coffee shop every morning theres only one pumpkin muffin left and you always beat me by just one spot in line and get it first. But not today, muffin stealer. - for the fall with jake virtanen?🙈💙

You were not having it today. Every single Monday and Thursday morning you went to the same coffee shop before heading to work to grab a coffee and the special seasonal pumpkin muffin that they only had for two months.

And every time you went to order your pumpkin muffin, the same guy who always managed to beat you to the cafe by a few seconds stole the last one.

You don’t know if he noticed you the first few times it happened, but eventually you let your discontent become very evident. He apologized the fifth time it happened, though he didn’t very seem apologetic. In fact, he looked rather smug. The sixth time it happened, he greeted you ‘good morning’ before making a public display of biting into the pumpkin muffin right in front of you before flashing you a full-cheeked smile.

That was the last straw.

You had gotten up extra early, way earlier than you normally would, but you were on a mission this morning. There was absolutely no way he could be there half an hour earlier to steal your muffin.

You were wrong.

Just as you turned the corner to walk the final few hundred feet to the cafe, you spotted the muffin stealing stranger turning from the other corner. As if on cue, you both locked eyes.

Clutching your bag tightly over your shoulder, you began sprinting towards the cafe entrance, which happened to be directly in the middle of the block. The stranger noticed your rushed steps and began running himself. He had the slight advantage of longer legs, but you reached the door a second before he did.

With him hot on your heels, you ran straight to the counter.

“One pumpkin muffin, please!” You both shouted simultaneously to the cashier.

“Oh my!” The middle-aged woman gasped in shock. She was definitely not expecting two harebrained people shouting at her at such an early hour.

“I’m sorry, but we only have one muffin left,” she explained dejectedly, moving to the display to retrieve the last muffin.

“It’s mine!” You said, directing your fury towards the stranger.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, “We got here at the same time.”

“You’ve been hoarding these muffins for the past month and stealing them from me! It’s my muffin,” you explained with crossed arms.

“That’s not my fault you’re always too late,” he shrugged casually, and it only infuriated you more.

“It’s my muffin.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I need it. I work nine to five in an office, and this muffin, quite literally, prevents me from killing myself.”

“Well, I’m playing the Oilers tonight, so I need it.” You rolled your eyes.

The cashier flickered her gaze between the two of you, the tension palpable in the small shop as you two were in a stand-off.

“We have other flavor muffins,” she tried to mediate.

“Five dollars,” you turned to the cashier. If he wasn’t going to give it to you, you were just going to have to out-bid him.

“Ten,” the stranger countered.

“Twenty,” you spoke before you could stop yourself. Twenty dollars was already seventeen more than it was worse, but you had a point to prove.

“Fifty.”

The cashier’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head, and your jaw dropped.

“Fifty?!” You scoffed, “You would pay fifty dollars for this muffin just so I can’t have it?” The stranger nodded.

With the most dramatic eye roll and bitchiest face you could put on, you gave him one last glare before storming out of the cafe. Fifty dollars for a muffin was ridiculous, and if you spent another second near him you might’ve just strangled him.

Pissed off, hungry, and decaffeinated, you began the long trek to your office building.

“Hey, wait! Muffin girl!” You heard the same annoying voice from the cafe call out for you. Ignoring him, you continued walking as if you hadn’t heard him.

The stranger ran to catch up to you and cut you off by stepping in front of you.

“What do you want?” You asked. He was the reason for your pissed off mood, and the reminder of him was only making it worse.

Instead of replying, he extended his hand, which held half of a muffin.

“Sorry for being an ass back there,” he apologized meekly. You took the muffin from him.

“Did you really pay fifty dollars for this?” You questioned.

“It felt wrong not to after saying I would so… yeah,” he explained awkwardly with a chuckle. You couldn’t help it, you laughed too. He essentially paid fifty dollars for only half of a muffin.

“Well… thank you, I guess,” you said, “Though you kind of owed me this anyway.”

“I know,” he admitted, “I’m Jake.”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

“Stop me if I’m being too forward, but could I, maybe, buy you a coffee on Monday?” The stranger asked.

“Monday?” You furrowed your brows.

“Yeah, that’s when you’ll be there next,” he said simply. Maybe he had noticed you those previous times, then.

“I’ll allow it,” you agreed after a moment, “On the condition that you also get me a whole muffin.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he nodded with a small smile.

“Alright, I’ll see you then muffin stealer.”

[tysonbaerrie]

29 for mattdrai ❤️ love your writing! 💕

For “I.F.L.Y.” by Bazzi! Pure mattdrai fluff. 

Leon wakes slowly, turning over and frowning into the pillow when he finds an empty expanse on the other side of the bed. He reaches out, and only cracks open an eye when he only feels cold sheets. The pillow still smells like Matty, and he doesn’t hesitate to grab it and press his face into it, inhaling the familiar scent. He must doze off again, because when he wakes up again it’s to the clattering of pans and soft curse.

He finds a pair of sweats thrown over a chair in the corner, barely registers the Flames 19 along the leg, and pads out of the bedroom. He finds Matty in the kitchen, Leon’s own Oilers hoodie looking out of place with the red Flames sweats Matty’s wearing. He looks up when Leon enters, a soft smile on his face that Leon needs to kiss.

“Morning.” He greets after pulling away.

“Good morning,” Matty replies, nodding toward the coffee maker. “There’s coffee.”

“Thanks.” Leon reaches for the mug – his mug, he realizes belatedly, a birthday present Matty that had never left his apartment. There’s little things, knick knacks and clothes and toothbrushes, in both of their places. Small symbols of their relationship, of their place in each other’s lives, and Leon would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. It makes him comfortable in Matty’s space, and he likes the proof of Matty’s place in his life when he’s in Edmonton and Matty’s in Calgary.

They eat breakfast on the kitchen island, then migrate to the couch. Once he’s stretched out, Matty doesn’t hesitate to collapse on top of him. They don’t even attempt the pretense of turning the TV on, just make out lazily. There’s no urgency, no real drive to escalate it to anything further. It’s the first time they’ve had a stretch of days off at the same time since the all-star break, the first time they’ve had time for more than a quick, exhausted fuck before passing out in the same bed. It’s the first time in months that they can just be together.

Matty nuzzles into his neck, dropping soft biting kisses, and he’s probably going to shamelessly leave marks that Leon will be chirped endlessly for. He lets his hands wander, up and down the expanse of Matty’s back, his hands sliding under his hoodie to get his hands on warm skin. Matty jumps when he runs his fingers along his sides, cursing Leon softly for inadvertently tickling him.

“Sorry.” He grumbles, and Matty huffs out a laugh against his neck.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, not really.” Leon gets a poke in the ribs for that, and he manhandles Matty until they’ve changed positions, with Leon hovering over him. Matty’s curls are wild, unkempt, and Leon wants to mess them up even more.

“You gonna kiss me or what?” Matty teases, and Leon leans in as if to kiss him before veering away from his lips. He kisses along his jaw, up to trace the shell of his ear with his tongue, then digs his fingers into his curls and tugs. Matty groans softly, leans into the touch as Leon moves down his neck before pulling away. He stares down at the soft, content smile on Matty’s face, his eyes close as Leon continues to drag his fingers through his hair. He looks happy, peaceful. Most importantly, he looks like Leon’s.

“I fucking love you.” The words leave Leon’s mouth before they’re even fully formed in his brain. They don’t say it often – Leon doesn’t feel the needs to and neither does Matty – but the way Matty slowly opens his eyes and beams at him makes him think that he should say it more often.

“Well, that’s good, because I fucking love you, too.” Matty tells him, leaning up to kiss him quick and deep.

“I’m going to marry you someday.” He promises, leaning down to kiss him again. “Going to do it all with you, anything you want.”

“Anything, huh?” Matty raises an eyebrow. “Kids, picket fence, the whole nine yards?”

“I’ll have an entire hockey team if that’s what you want.” Leon presses his weight down, holds Matty in place as he kisses him again.

“Mmm, we’ll give Brady and Emma a run for their money.” Leon’s mind flashes to the ultrasound picture Brady had put in their group chat a few weeks ago, there’s TWO and a string of shocked face emojis accompanying it.

“How many can we adopt at once?”

“You competitive idiot.” Matty laughs, wrapping his arms around Leon’s shoulders.

“You love a competitive idiot.” He tells him, and Matty nods before kissing him.

“I really do.”

[burkymakar]

Matthew Tkachuk Imagine: hell bent/heaven sent

Summary: You’re a FWB with Matthew Tkachuk and you tried confessing your feelings for him, but he said he can’t date you. Reeling from the heart break, a riot in Calgary will put things in much needed perspective, but can it fix the cracks in your relationship?

Warning: T (Violence, intense situations, language)

Word Count: ~4.6k

BLM Resources

Note: I just really wanted to write something angsty and violent, I’m in a mood. The MC will be getting injured and there will be mentions of violence but it hopefully won’t be too graphic. Nothing more than a PG-13 action romance. Also, this is not realistic, I doubt this is how it would be handled in real life but this is my fictional take.

DISCLAIMER: written before i was aware he’s fine with head hits

It’s the battle of Alberta for the Western Conference finals, and it will be your last hockey game ever.

Okay, that’s dramatic, you can’t give up the sport.

But it’s probably going to be your last Calgary Flames game. Watching Matthew Tkachuk on the ice hurts too much.

But what a game it will be. 

That previous weekend, you two were hooking up at his place. He’d been your friend then your friend with benefits for a while, and you felt like things were evolving. Not only did he know how to make you cum better than anyone else you’d been with, he was also having you meet more of his hockey friends and having fun nights in. It was when he took you to his favorite Mexican place that you knew that this was more than just hooking up. 

So you asked. 

“Hey, so when are we gonna make this official?”

And yeah, maybe it was cocky but you felt kind of assured. After being friends for years, you two had a tipsy hookup that was a lot better than anticipated, and so you called each other up when you had an itch to scratch. But the friendship never stopped so you felt like you had two parts to a whole relationship that you just never melded. 

He swallowed tightly and said “I don’t think we should.”

And you felt like you’d been punched in the gut. “What?” 

“C’mon, Y/N, doesn’t this work for you?” He says. “We don’t need to change anything.”

You turn to him, tucking your knees under you, “C’mon, Matt, don’t you want to do more? I mean, I’m not asking like Facebook Official, like middle school, but maybe if guys at bars ask me if I’m seeing someone, I can say yes.” 

He finally looks you in the eye. “Y/N... I’m sorry.” And he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

“I-” You say, as your heart slowly shatters into a thousand pieces. “I should go.”

He doesn’t say otherwise. 

And you left. You left your food, you left one of your heels and your bra in his apartment, and you just go outside and wait for an Uber to take you back to your place.

It’s not until the driver asks, “Are you okay?” that you realize you’re crying. 

That night, Matthew texts you and even calls you but you ignore him. You don’t have the strength to hear his excuses. 

But then you get the email confirmation for your tickets to Oilers @ Flames game. He’d invited you before your falling out. And there was no way you were missing this. Even with your broken heart. 

It’s game 5 in the Western Conference finals, the series tied 2-2, and tensions are high. The arena in Calgary is packed, and you’re in the thick of it.

The other friends/family/WAGs of the team are in the box but you like sitting in the stands. It feels more real, more communal. 

Plus, Matthew made it perfectly clear you were not a wife-or-girlfriend. 

So why are you wearing your Tkachuk jersey?

Because you’re a sentimental idiot. 

Shaking your head as if to clear the emotions out, you focus on your surroundings, which is easy because there’s a sea of other people around you. Even though you’re in the Saddledome, it’s a huge mix of Oilers and Flames fans. 

You’re not up to the glass, but you have a great vantage point. You can see #19 but try not to focus on him, even though it’s proving to be impossible. Every time he gets the puck or almost sinks a goal, you want to cheer. But then you feel like you don’t have the right. 

The Oilers are in the lead 1-0 into the second period, but then the Flames with an amazing shot by Giordano finished off by Lucic even the scoring.

It’s been a rough game, in all the ways. It’s nearing the end of the second, the calls have been all over the place, and the players are getting desperate. 

In the last five minutes of the period, Lindholm scores a goal, with Matty and Giordano assisting, and you scream with the Flames fans. You feel the joy like lightning in your veins.

“Bullshit!” The Oilers fans behind you crow. They’d been rowdy all game, throwing food and talking shit. But that’s hockey. “Offsides!” This was the more unoriginal of their jeers, they said something like “yeah we must be dealing with the Calgary Flames because this is HELL” during the first period and you honestly thought it was hilarious. This pathetic whining was not interesting so you ignored them. 

“Are you blind?” The Flames fan wearing a Johnny Hockey jersey next to you turns to laugh. “It was clean!” 

“Shut up,” the Oilers fan says, ever so intelligently.

“Go suck McDavid’s cock!” Another fan says and you wince, this animosity is getting pretty bad, and it’s all around you.

You try to keep your head down, but you want to watch the game more. Fuck, maybe it was smarter to sit in the players box. 

The game play on the ice is enough to distract them, but then the refs call a slashing penalty on Connor McDavid during the last thirty seconds of the period and the Oilers fans are back on their feet, furious while the Flames fans are gleeful. Once the Flames will have a power play with McDavid out, they’ll dominate. And you cheer as loud as anyone when the period ends.

“That’s horseshit!” The fan says and his whole group throws food, spilling nachos on you and getting it in your hair as the players lead off the ice.

“Hey, fuck you!” You say, trying to get gross cheese out of your hair so it doesn’t stain your jersey.

“Eat a dick, bitch,” he says. His face is flaming red, and you can almost see hatred as the other fans look just as angry.

The Flames fan next to you, also covered in cheese, throws their beer bottle at the Oilers fan, and it hits him in the chest, shattering when it hits the floor. 

You hold him back. “Hey, we don’t do that shit in Calgary,” You try to calm him down. “They’re the bad-” 

“Fuck Calgary!” The Oilers fan says, and throws himself at the Flames fan, taking them down a row of the crowd, knocking over people like bowling pins. 

It descends into chaos from there.

Feet are flying, and fights break out like they’re on the ice. It’s a rippling effect and you watch it like you’re not in the middle of it. Two fans hit the dividers. Another fight breaks out down there, and that starts another one like dominoes across the glass.

Punches are thrown. The fights go so far they even hit the fans against the glass, and they’re throwing punches and trying to smack into each other.

Security isn’t there yet, and it’s a disaster. You see someone pull out a knife and start swinging with it. Several people are screaming. You might be one of them.

More people hit the glass and it pops out, and they fall onto the ice. Across the stadium, people are fleeing like scurrying mice. 

“Shit!” You curse, frozen in fear. Someone shoves at you and you shove back. The movement shakes you from your shocked stupor and you manage to break through the fray enough to get some air. 

You try to escape but an elbow hits you in the face and you’re sent sprawling to the sticky floor. You touch your nose but it mostly hit your cheek so thankfully you’re not bleeding. 

You try to sit up but people are pushing all around you, and the entire section is in chaos. Someone trips over you, and you hear them say “sorry” as they scramble over you. Thank God, you’re still in Canada. 

You manage to stand on wobbly legs and look around, trying to get your bearings as the frenzy continues. 

Security is trying to push down but so many people are trying to leave that they can’t reach the epicenter of the chaos. You’re about to join the stampede when a flying beer bottle hits the back of your head causing you to see stars and fall over the seats, hitting your waist on the plastic. And it all goes dark.

+

Matthew Tkachuk is reapplying tape to his stick, sweat pouring down his face in buckets from practically killing himself the past period. Normally there are a ton more points scored, and this is grating on him. He’s grateful Rittich is on some good shit and McDavid’s starting the period in the penalty box, but he really just wants to win. He can taste the Cup, and he’ll be damned if McDavid stands in his way. 

He’s so focused on the tape job that he almost doesn’t hear Hanny ask a question. “Damn, what’s that noise?”

He looks up and listens. The crowd’s going fucking nuts. It sounds like a goddamn parade, and there’s not even anything on the ice.

“Are they still cheering?” He asks. He thinks about texting you to check what’s up, but holds back. Not only does he needs to keep his focus on the game, he’s not sure if he’s allowed to talk to you. He was a fucking coward the last time you talked, and maybe it’s smarter to stay that way, even if he does miss you.

One of the members of security, Garrett, comes in and locks the door. “There’s a riot out in the stands. The third period will be delayed until there’s a handle on the situation.”

All of the Flames erupt in questions, but there’s only one on Matthew’s mind. Is Y/N alright?

You go to as many games of his as you can, and he loves having you in the stands. He loves having you in his life. But he was absolutely blindsided when you wanted to make it official. He’s not the best at relationships and he can’t stand the idea of you leaving him. 

But that happened anyway.

He stands on his skates. 

“Our family’s out there,” the Captain says, and Matthew nods, out of breath. 

“They have the boxes locked up, but shit’s flying. They’re trying to tamp it down, but it’s not looking good.” Garrett says. It’s not sounding good either. Now that they know what it is, the crowd sounds violent. “The police have been called, they’ll do what they can. But-” 

“I have to get out there-” Matthew says and goes to push through but Garrett pushes him back. 

“It’s too dangerous, Matty-”

“Y/N’s out there, she’s in the stands,” he says and swallows tight. “Get someone to look for her, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I’ll send word but you guys can’t leave,” Garrett gives them all a harsh look as he grabs the radio, stepping off to the side. 

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” He turns to Mark, who normally looks red during games but now looks a bit pale. 

Their marketing and digital team member, Alyssa, speaks up, “People are tweeting at us, there are a lot of videos. How are we supposed to respond?”

“Don’t say anything yet,” Coach Ward says. “Fuck. Until we know what’s happening-” 

Matthew goes for his phone and sees frantic texts from everyone, his brother, his dad, his mother and sister, who are thankfully watching this game from St. Louis due to Taryn’s finals. He had been a bit bummed but now couldn’t be more grateful.

“Are they gonna postpone the game? What happens if they do that?” Talbot asked. 

Ward’s face made it clear he had no answers. 

“We’ll make a statement soon,” their PR director Laura says, she looks worried. “We don’t know the casualties out there. None of you post on social media.”

“Can we call our family?” Dillon asks, and more questions get asked but Matthew texts his family to say “I’m fine, we’re in the locker room, what are people saying?” 

“No phone calls, not right now, we don’t want to add to the frenzy,” Laura says, typing away on her phone. “Texts, but only to tell them you’re alright.”

Matthew is forced to wait as he texts his mom, and reassures him he’s okay. He finally goes to text you and sees one from you right before the game started, a selfie of you in front of the ice during practice from your seat, and your smile is soft and hesitant, not the brilliant one he’s so accustomed to and he has to fight back tears. 

Unable to stay being a chicken, he texts you, “for the love of fuck, I hope you’re okay. And for what it’s worth I’m so sorry. Please let me know ur ok”. 

No immediate response. Irritated, he kicks off his skates, even though the noise starts to quiet around them. Some of the other guys do too, but they do it to pace. He stays still but his whole body feels like it’s on fire, on edge. 

Still waiting, it feels like ages, he decides to check social media, making sure not to post or like anything. #RiotofAlberta is trending, and there are a ton of pictures and frantic fan tweets. NHL already has a statement out but he doesn’t want to read it, so he goes to SportsNet. There are some videos of the fight, and he can’t help but wince as he sees fans break through the glass. Even though he looks for you, he can’t see you anywhere. 

Garrett steps back into the room and gets their attention, “The police are here and have quelled the riot.” Everyone flinches at that word. “There’s still a lot of damage and the officials are still deciding whether or not they can return to game play tonight, there’s a lot of broken glass on the ice.��� 

“Our families?” Giordano asks. “What about our families?”

“They’ve been evacuated and moved to the offices, no injuries there,” Garrett says. The relief for everyone else is palpable. He turns to Matthew. “Tyler is with Y/N Y/L/N and an ACP, she was apparently near the epicenter of the riot.” 

Matthew’s heart sinks to his feet. “Is she okay?” He asks then shakes his head. “I’m going to her.”

“Tkachuk-” Ward says. 

“Either I see her now or I don’t play,” he threatens and everyone goes silent. He might have completely fucked up his NHL career but he honestly doesn’t care.

Ward sizes him up but Matty doesn’t back down. “Have they decided about the rest of the game?”

“The officials are delaying the game for the night, no plan in place for a rematch yet,” One of the referees that was hiding out says. 

“You have ten minutes, Matty.” He finally says, causing Matthew to exhale. He turns to the team. “You all do, go to your families, call who you need to, but be back by 9 and no social media. And so help me God, if any of you get injured out there, I’m sending you to the minors,” Ward says. 

Matthew nods and breaks through the doors, following another security guard so he can find Y/N and Tyler. 

Half of the Saddledome is destroyed and Matthew barely has a moment to really ingest the horror of that before he returns to looking for you. 

Then finally, he does. You’re off the side, there’s an EMT behind you, and you’re alive. 

It’s not until he sees you that he realizes you could have died. 

You could have died and he would have been too much of a pathetic bastard to be with you.

+

There’s an ACP digging into your scalp with a needle, and you’re holding ice to your cheek. You’re mostly just grateful to be conscious.

Tyler, one of the security members and one of your friends from hanging at the arena, found you as you woke up. Someone must have pulled you out of the way because you don’t think you were at the same place you fell. 

The ACP, Emily, keeps asking you questions but answering them is taking a lot more concentration than it normally does. There are a ton of other people being helped around you, some are getting wounds checked like you, one person is getting put on a stretcher but is awake. But their leg looks horribly bent. Everyone else is covered in bumps and bruises and sheepish faces.

Are you experiencing history? How exhausting.

“Where’s Matthew?” You ask instead of answering her question about how you got the bruise on your face. “Is he hurt?”

“No idea,” Tyler says. “The players were locked in the locker room as it got bad.” You exhale in relief, but then hiss as the needle hits your head.

“Answer my questions, Y/N, how did you get the bruise on your cheek?” 

“I don’t know. How did I get it?” You turn to Tyler.

“I wasn’t here,” he says, but he’s staring at you nervously. “Are you really just sewing them up right here?”

“Gotta close the wounds, but with the hair it’s hard to see,” She answers. 

“I don’t know the answer. Is that bad?” You ask Emily. 

“Well, considering I’m picking glass from your scalp, it might be a sign of a concussion,” she says, sympathetic but not sugary. “We might have to take you in for an MRI.”

“I’m not leaving without seeing Matty,” You say, trying to stand but both Tyler and Emily keep you down.

“Y/N!” You hear, and you go to turn your head, but Emily keeps you facing forward. 

“Stay still,” she orders, but you’re shouting, “Matthew? Matt!” 

You hear pounding feet and then Matthew’s in front of you, Tyler moving out of the way. Tears fall from your face.

“Matt,” You sob.

“Thank Christ,” he says and kneels down in front of you. He cups the bruised side of your face gently, his thumb gently smoothing it over. Just like you do when he comes back from a game bruised up. “Holy fuck, Y/N, I- I got you.”

You don’t know what to say, all your emotions (anger at him not wanting you, relief at seeing him, love at feeling him hold you, fear at nearly being trampled to death), so you say nothing. He rests his forehead against yours, and he’s sweaty and red and it’s so familiar it aches. 

“I thought you were gone, I had no idea if you were okay, are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” You repeat, but you forget to answer it. 

“Okay, you’re sutured,” Emily says. “I want you to hold pressure to it, and I think you might have a concussion.”

“Their pupils look a bit weird. That’s a sign, right?” He says, looking at you. You blink as he holds a towel to the back of your head. Even though you’re covered in some sort of yellow goop and blood and dirt from the floor, you want him to kiss you. “Hockey player, remember?” He smirks at you, but it’s a bit shakier than normal. 

“I remember.” You don’t think you can forget that.

“What happened to you?”

“I...” You try to answer. “I think a beer bottle got me? Emily found a sticker in there.” 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he says, gently pushing hair from your face. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why?” You ask.

“I- Christ, you need an MRI,” he says and helps you stand, taking both your hands to gently pull up. You wince at the movement in your waist. Did you get hit there? “I have to get back to the team, but I needed to see you.”

“I like seeing you,” You say. “Why don’t you want to see me?” 

He flinches. “I’ll come find you when I can, okay? We can talk, because we need to.”

You’d raise an eyebrow if that didn’t hurt. “We need to talk?” You figured he didn’t know how to do that. 

“Yes,” he says and turns to Tyler. “Will you stick with her? I- Please.”

Tyler hesitates but nods, “Let me clear it with Garrett but yeah. If not me, I’ll get someone.”

Matthew nods.

“You said ‘please.’”

“It’s a miracle,” he agrees. “Christ, why did you have to sit in the bleachers?”

Your cheek throbs so you hold the ice pack to your face. “Not like I can sit with the WAGs.”

“We’ll talk,” Matthew says, and he pats your good cheek, and you can’t help but smile, even though it hurts.

He leaves, and you turn to Emily. “Will this always hurt?”

Emily shakes her head, “Everything heals eventually. Luckily, the hospital you’re going to is really good with head trauma.”

But you’re not talking about your head.

+

Matthew Tkachuk is sweaty, gross, and exhausted from playing PR. He and Mark Giordano were chosen to represent the team in a video for the social to express their emotions about the riot. Express condolences to the people affected and injured and wish to get back to the game once they safely could. 

Thankfully, the riot never left the arena, not like in Vancouver in 2011 and, like both, no one died and not as many stabbings, though one person was in surgery but expected to make a full recovery.

All the Flames players agreed to chip in money to fix the damage, but so did the Oilers players which was decent. 

People kept calling him, and he ignored them all, not in the mood. The other players were able to leave early and go to their families, but he had to wait. 

After he got the go-ahead from his coach (and murmured a thank you to him), he went to the hospital, calling his family on the phone to finally talk. 

They tried to cheer him up with jokes, since his family doesn’t like to coddle, but stopped when he mentioned you were in the hospital. 

“Take care of her, Matty,” his mom said, and both Brady and Taryn told him to stop being an idiot.

Did other people know how he felt before he did? Christ. 

He checks social media again to see if the fan in surgery has any updates, and he sees a picture of him and Y/N in the Riot of Alberta hashtag. Confused, he pulls up the picture. It was when he found you in the area, and it’s his forehead pressed against yours with the EMT behind you and all the chaos. People were comparing it to the Vancouver Riot couple, and wondering who the “Flames Bunny” was. Shit. 

Well that’s a problem for PR. He has to make sure you’re okay first, before he finds the person calling you a puck bunny and punches their lights out. 

The nurse on duty is a fan and lets him in even though visiting hours are over. Tyler is sitting outside, so Matthew thanks him and makes an inner promise to do what he can to get that guy a bonus or something as he goes home.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door to your hospital room. You lay on the bed, changed into a hospital gown and turned on your side, probably to ease the pain on the back of your head, which makes his heart hurt just to think about. 

“You look like an angel,” You say when you see him, hesitating at the doorway.  

He smiles a little and has to joke. “How much medication did they give you?” 

“Not much,” You say. “Just something to numb my head.”

He walks in and sits at the chair next to you. “Did someone call your parents?”

“My phone cracked when I fell,” You make a face. “But Tyler let me use his. They’re still on vacation but they’re gonna call me tomorrow.” 

“Do you have a concussion?”

“Yeah,” You close your eyes. In the sterile white lights, the bruise looks so vibrant and purple. “They want to keep me overnight because I threw up but I think it was just exhaustion and eating my feelings in candy the past two days.”

He wants so badly to reach over and hold your hand but he has no right. “How are you feeling?” 

Your eyes open again. “Tired. Angry. Hurt. Happy.”

“Happy?”

“To see you,” You say. “Even though you make me hurt and angry.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says and now he can’t resist it, he reaches over and holds your hand. “I was- Shit. I was scared, and I almost ruined everything. Wait, did I?”

“Ruin what?” You ask. 

“Us.” He rubs his fingers over your palm. “I was so worried about moving forward, and I almost lost you. I don’t want to be scared about us, Y/N, I want us to be real. Official. Hell, let’s put it on Facebook, I want to be with you.”

He expects you to smile but you just stare at him. “That’s nice to hear,” You say, and your voice sounds rough. “But that’s not fair of you to say.”

“How is that not fair?”

“You can’t decide you want me just because I got hurt.” 

“Y/N-” He starts, then pauses. How to phrase this? He knows if he fucks this up, he could lose you. “I’ve always had feelings for you. When you and I hooked up that night, it meant so much- everything- to me, and that freaked me the hell out. And when you wanted to be with me, I didn’t want to fuck it up but I did anyway. And when I heard about the riot, my first thoughts were about you.” 

“Matt-” 

“No, let me say this,” he interrupts, then realizes. “Please.”

You nod. 

“Before I even knew you were hurt, I was worried. When I heard you were with an EMT, it hit me. If something had happened to you, the only thing stopping me was because I’m a coward. And that’s not fair to you, or what we are. Or could be. Even without this, but I’ll be honest, it might have taken me a bit longer. So if you want me to wait until... you get better or after the Playoffs or whenever you want, I will. But I want to be with you no matter what.” 

There are tears in your eyes, “Next time, can you figure this out before a riot?”

“There won’t be a next time,” he says. “I know it’s you and me, babe.”

“I like that,” You say. “But I have a head injury so maybe we can wait ‘til I’m cleared, just to be safe.”

“I dunno, most people would say that you need to have a concussion in order to want to be with me.”

“I wanted to be with you when I was perfectly un-concussed, thank you,” You manage a laugh.

He kisses your knuckles. “I know, that’s kind of baffling. But I’m really glad you do.”

“Will you stay?” You ask. “Please.” 

“Of course,” he says. “Scoot over.” 

It takes finagling but he manages to drop the hospital bed bars down and scoot next to you. You’re only hooked to an IV on the other side so he’s not sitting on wires. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” You say. “And that you came to your senses.” 

“Me too.” He kisses your forehead, and holds you close. 

The next morning, they wake up when a nurse has to check Y/N’s vitals. She threatens to kick him out, but you fight for him to stay. Thankfully, the cuts on the back of your head haven’t gotten infected, and you’re cleared to go.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I know all about concussion protocol,” he says as you change in the bathroom.

“What a flex,” You say, stepping out in only the black tank top and leggings. 

“Where’s your jersey?” He frowns, taking your hand in his.

“Matthew, it’s covered in blood and cheese whiz,” You laugh. 

“I’ll get you a new one,” he promises, because no way are you getting out of wearing his jersey. He has someone send a car, and he wheels you out of the hospital. Even though your legs are fine, you apparently still have to leave in a wheelchair.

Once they were safely in an Uber,  he says, “My parents wanted me to call with you, by the way. Make sure you’re okay. Are you up for it?”

“That’s sweet,” You say, resting your head against his shoulder. "Sure."

"Don't look at the screen," he orders and calls the home phone, and they check on you, and express their congratulations that “Matty finally got his head out of his ass.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight much, they’re right.

“And how are you feeling about that photo?” His mom asks, after asking about everything else.

“What photo?”

“Fuck, I forgot to tell you,” he says. “I think we went viral.” 

“What?” You laugh in disbelief, sitting up. He puts his family on speaker and pulls up the picture. 

“Holy shit,” You laugh. “Oh, sorry,” You say to the phone. 

“Don’t be, we hear worse,” his dad says. 

“That’s kind of a sweet photo,” You admit, zooming in on you two, and the tenderness of the embrace. He’s inclined to agree. “Well, it would be more so without the nacho cheese in my hair.”

“And how gross Matty looks,” Brady adds. 

“He doesn’t look that bad,” You squint at the picture, but then wince.

“Stop looking at the phone, you’re concussed,” he says, pulling it away.

“Aww,” Taryn mocks.

“Shut up, I’m hanging up, love you guys.” He hangs up. “You should rest,” he orders. 

“Bossy,” You say but acquiesce. With your eyes closed, he decides to make the picture his phone background, even though you being there for him will be the best reminder.

Note: This is super rough, but I hope you enjoyed reading!

[starrybethany]

Kirby Dach: If I Can’t Have You By Shawn Mendes

Word count: 2629

Music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTJ-oqwxdZY 

Lyrics video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6_9CF1ucoI

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

Can’t drink without thinking about you

I don’t drink often. I tell my friends that it’s because I’m afraid to lose control and I don’t like the feeling of waking up with no idea of what happened the night prior. That’s part of it, but really, the main reason I don’t like to drink is because of Kirby Dach.

Everytime I drink, all I can think about is Kirby. What is Kirby doing right now? I wonder if Kirby scored tonight. What do you think Kirby ate for dinner? How long do you think Kirby’s hair is compared to the last time that I saw him?

I can’t get Kirby out of my mind as soon as a drop of liquor is in my body.

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

He and I decided to keep it lowkey. We decided that since he’s going to be focused on hockey in Chicago and I’m going to be focused on school in Toronto, it wouldn’t be good for either of us to enter a committed relationship.

That was eight months ago. And slowly, text by text, FaceTime call after FaceTime call, my feelings towards him have started to change. I feel more attached to him, I want to hold his hand and pull him around Toronto and show him all of the landmarks.

I want to tell him about my classes and hear about whatever stupid thing Adam said today, but it’s too late. This ‘no strings attached’ situation has set in by now. He thinks we’re both content where we are, so I don’t want to rock the boat.

I’m in Toronto and I got this view

But I might as well be in a hotel room (Yeah)

It doesn’t matter ’cause I’m so consumed

Spending all my nights reading texts from you

Toronto is a beautiful city. From the needle to the towering buildings to the bustling streets, there’s so much activity and always something to look at. And I remember that  once in a while, if I’m not too busy looking at my phone.

I’m either waiting for a text from Kirby, which is far and few between these days, or reading old conversations that I’ve had with him. Some of them still make me laugh. Most of them just make me miss him even more.

Oh, I’m good at keeping my distance

I know, that you’re the feeling I’m missing

You know that I hate to admit it

But everything means nothing if I can’t have you

Kirby: We’re in Toronto for a game soon. Do you wanna go and hang out after? ;)

I bite my lip, trying to find the best way to let him down. I can’t see him in person, I know that if I do he’ll see all the love in my eyes and that can’t happen. So I just need to slowly cut him out of my life, and that starts with the hookups everytime he comes into the city.

Y/N: Can’t

My phone instantly vibrates with an incoming call from him. I hold it in my hand, watching as it buzzes. It stops just to start again with another incoming call. I want to answer, everything in my bones is screaming at me to answer, but my brain is telling me that I shouldn’t.

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

Can’t drink without thinking about you

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

“He’s been calling me forever,” I whine to my friends later that night, the fourth or fifth or  sixth alcoholic beverage in my hand.

“Just answer already, tell him how you feel!” Another friend just as sloshed as me tells me.

I nod, clicking the answer button as soon as Kirby calls again. “Kur-bye, you-ou keep calling me.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you,” he responds. “Are you drunk?”

“Wasted,” I laugh.

“Oh my god,” I hear him groan.

“Well I wouldn’t have to get drunk if you just, if you would just, date me,” I stumble through the sentence.

“What?”

The familiar tune of a song that I’ve had on repeat blasts through the speakers of the nightclub that I’ve been spending my time in. I gasp in excitement, “I love this song! Bye, Kur-bee.”

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

Can’t drink without thinking about you

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

My head is throbbing when I wake up and I groan, reluctantly reaching for my phone. I just want to check and see if my school or boss sent me anything that I need to respond to immediately before burrowing back into my sheets, but I freeze when I see the multiple texts, phone calls, and voicemails left from the one person I was drinking to forget.

Kirby: Can you answer your phone? We need to talk about this

Kirby: I’ve called you five times now please answer

Kirby: I’m guessing you went to bed by now. I’ll call you tomorrow to talk

The last thing that I remember about last night was coming back from the bathroom to the girls giving me my fourth drink of the night. What do we need to talk about? What the hell happened last night?

There are two voicemails so I nervously click the speaker button on the first one, noticing it’s only a couple of seconds so it can’t be too bad.

“Hey Y/N, just answer your phone. I just want to talk things out with you, please. Come on.”

He sounds like he’s almost pleading in that one. I must have said something really wrong to get Kirby to sound like that- he’s usually a very confident and cheerful person.

Then I click on the next one. “Um, so I don’t know if you’re avoiding me or sleeping or if you’re sleeping with someone else… we really should discuss what you told me on the phone tonight. I know you sounded drunk but uh, you know what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts. Call me back, or I’ll probably call you back, but please come to the game when I’m in Toronto so we can talk about what happened tonight. Okay. Bye.”

My heart breaks word by word. I have no recollection of what I said to him while plastered last night. What did he mean by drunk words being sober thoughts? I wonder if I told him about my feelings for him that he doesn’t return and he just wants to talk to let me down slowly. That’s probably it, he just wants to tell me, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

But it is me. It was me who had to catch feelings for him. It’s me who has yearnings to explore Chicago with him and sit with the other wives and girlfriends at the games.

So I don’t need to hear his excuses. There is no need to talk to Kirby Dach anymore.

I’m so sorry that my timing is off

But I can’t move on if we’re still gonna talk

Jay is not Kirby. Jay has some similarities to Kirby- they both like the Edmonton Oilers and having sex with me. But Jay is far from Kirby. He doesn’t ask me about my day like Kirby did or listen to the stupid jokes I would tell just to hear his laugh.

But Jay is enough right now. He sits beside me on the couch, watching a YouTube video with me on my phone. It’s two weeks into our relationship and slowly, Kirby has taken my hint of not wanting to talk to him. He called multiple times a day for the first couple of days, then it slowed to once a day, and now it’s every couple of days.

I’m waiting for the day that the calls stop.

But I’m not waiting in a good way.

The video suddenly stops as an incoming call from ‘Kirby Dach’ pops up. It definitely doesn’t help that the screen is of a picture I took cozied up with him after a great night.

Is it wrong for me to not want half

I want all of you, all the strings attached

Oh, I’m good at keeping my distance

“Why is Kirby Dach calling you?” Jay asks sternly.

I shrug, avoiding eye contact with him. I feel like it’s too personal to tell him- my relationship with Kirby was always very personal. “We’re friends.”

“You can’t be friends with a Blackhawks player,” his tone is laced with disgust and I lift my eyes, narrowing them at him.

I’m already pissed off by the fact that he thinks that he can tell me who I can and can’t be friends with, but I decide to entertain him. “Why not?”

“The Blackhawks are such a dirty team. DeBrincat laid that dirty hit on Bear…” He drones on and I stop listening to him. This conversation is ridiculous, Jay is ridiculous, this relationship is ridiculous, this whole situation is ridiculous.

“Get out.”

“What?” He asks in surprise.

“Get out. You’re not going to sit here and talk about him and his teammates like that,” I holler. I think we’re both shocked by the amount of rage that my voice holds. “He was drafted third overall, he’s very talented, he’s playing for a team packed with Stanley Cup winners. Get out if you’re going to disrespect Kirby like that.”

Jay leaves with little protest. And funnily enough, all that I want is Kirby’s arms wrapped around me.

I know, that you’re the feeling I’m missing

You know that I hate to admit it

But everything means nothing if I can’t have you

It’s been a month. Kirby hasn’t tried to contact me since he called me while Jay was there. I know it’s my fault for losing him- I should’ve answered his calls, returned his texts, and FaceTimed him when I needed him.

I should have gone to his game. I regret staying home and eating ice cream instead.

When the Hawks are playing the Leafs, he likes to see me in the crowd. He likes to see the one red jersey in the sea of blue, he likes to pass the puck with Alex in front of where I’m sitting, he likes to look at me with his eyes sparkling whenever he gets a goal or assist.

I avoid seeing the score of the game. In fact, I avoid social media as a whole. I don’t want to see how happy Kirby is without me. I don’t want him to be miserable, of course, but I’m just not ready to see that beaming smile on his face that should be directed at me.

That would be directed at me if I didn’t stop talking to him. But it wouldn’t be in the way that I want him to be smiling at me.

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

Can’t drink without thinking about you

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

A warm bath and a glass of wine have always helped me relax. I’ve used it as a way to clear my mind, a way to discover how I’m truly feeling about everything.

The wine in my glass tastes bitter as I stare down at the burgundy liquid. I feel like I’m always drinking. If I’m not drinking to forget, I’m drinking to feel something.

And all I can feel right now is longing. I miss Kirby. Even if I would be friendzoned it would be worth it just to have the brunette in my life. Kirby gave me so much more happiness than I realized he did- through ‘good morning, how are you?’ texts to funny memes he would find on Instagram. I would always smile when I saw his name on my phone.

Now I feel like I just have my phone and a missing piece of my heart.

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

Can’t drink without thinking about you

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

It’s two months too long without Kirby. And he tried to reach out to me for a month, so how much longer do I have before he forgets me completely? Before he finds another girl to make smile or laugh?

How much longer do I have to win Kirby’s heart? My eyes widen in horror at the thought of it already being won by someone else. My heartbeat picks up and it’s then that I know.

I’m in love with Kirby Dach. And I need to tell him. I need to woman up and stop ignoring him. I need to communicate and tell him my feelings like an adult, even if it might crush me in the end.

My wet hand reaches over the side of the bathtub for my phone, ignoring the fact that I’m getting water all of it before pulling up Kirby’s contact. It rings and rings for what feels like years. He never answers.

I know what I need to do. I need to go to Chicago.

I’m trying, to move on, forget you, but I hold on

Everything means nothing, everything means nothing, babe

I stare out the window of the airplane at the vast blue sky and the few clouds in it. I just know my friends would call me crazy if they saw me right now. They would tell me that the best way to move on is to get under someone new, and I tried that with Jay, but I can never get over Kirby.

At least not without closure.

I don’t think I want someone new. Kirby is familiar but he’s comfortable. I know who I am with Kirby and I know who he is too.

I’m trying, to move on, forget you, but I hold on

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

Can’t drink without thinking about you

He gave me his address once when I wanted to send him a care package. I found some socks and soaps that I thought he would love, so he told me the address of Brent and Dayna Seabrook’s house and opened the box on FaceTime with me.

I remember his cheer as he saw the pug faces on the socks and the satisfied sigh when he smelled the vanilla of the soap.

I smile at the memory, nervously fumbling with the seatbelt of the Uber I’m taking from the hotel I’m staying at to the Seabrooks’ house. I should’ve checked the Hawks schedule before even booking my ticket, but I remembered to do it on my flight and was relieved to find that they had two days off starting today.

So if all goes well, Kirby has two days to spend with me. If all does not go well, I have two days to explore this city by myself.

I hope it’s the first option so much I cross my fingers so tight that they’re white.

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

I knock on the front door anxiously, balancing from my heels to my toes as I wait for someone to open the door. I hear footsteps and a beautiful brunette pulls the door open, giving me a questioning smile.

“Um, hi, um, is Kirby here?” I inquire, shoving my sweaty hands into my pockets.

“Yes, he is. Who are you?” Her tone sounds more curious than accusatory, so I’m assuming Kirby doesn’t have many girls around here. I’m relieved about that fact.

“Y/N,” I answer.

“Oh! Yeah, I know you, Kirby’s talked about you,” she connects the dots and her smile fades a bit, “Why aren’t you in Toronto right now?”

“I need to tell Kirby that I love him in person,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “Oh, I’m sorry-”Her giggle cuts me off. “No worries, I’ll go get him for you. Please, come in.”

I wait in the foyer of their gorgeous house, looking around with wide eyes. So this is where Kirby spends most of the year. He eats in this kitchen, plays with the kids in the living room, and practices stickhandling in that backyard.

My thoughts get cut off by the sound of feet coming up the stairs from the basement. I feel my eyebrows twitch and I bite my lip in anticipation. It’s now or never.

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

Can’t drink without thinking about you

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can’t have you

“Y/N?” His hair does look longer. It’s covered by a hat put on backwards, and a baggy sweater that I’ve worn a time or two before covers his torso. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a big project due next week?”

My heart swells at the fact that he remembered that. “I do. But I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” He urges me to continue.

I take a deep breath. “I love you.”

A wide grin spread across his face. That sparkle that I’ve been dying to see returns to his eyes and he takes a step closer towards he then stops, like he’s in disbelief. “Really?”

“Really,” I breathe out. Unable to stop myself, I take a few steps forward, closing the gap between us, and lift my lips to meet his.

Even though we’ve kissed before, this kiss is different. This kiss holds so much meaning, so much passion. We know how we feel about each other now, we no longer have to hide it.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers against my lips.

“Me too.”