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55sturn · 10 months ago

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✮ SAYIN’ SORRY FOR THAT NIGHT

series masterlist!

paring: boston bruins player!chris sturniolo x fem!reader!

synopsis: in which y/n is greeted by a sudden revelation on the night of chris’ most anticipated game, the one that determines whether or not the bruins get into the playoffs and she’s left apologizing for the night that caused it all.

warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions and descriptions of violent fights, verbal arguments, unplanned pregnancy, discussion of abortions, comments from the other team and hecklers, open ending, angst, angst, angst, and more angst.

THIRD PERSON POV

to be in the limelight alone is tough. to be in it for something such a hockey, where a million and one eyes are watching your every move, scrutinizing every play you make, every workout you do to toughen your body and build your endurance for the tasking time spent on the ice is even tougher, but to do all of that with a public relationship is the toughest thing.

chris knew that announcing his relationship at the peak of his career with the boston bruins was not going to be easy. he had all eyes on him as the bruins' newest right winger, but not only was he the newest player, he was also the youngest to join in years.

just like connor mcdavid's rise to fame with the edmonton oilers, chris was in the spotlight and it wasn't easy. he was in the spotlight because he was a phenomenal player with a chipper attitude that most hockey players don't seem to have. he had been scouted at one of his toughest games in his college career and almost immediately the contracts began flowing and the drafting process had started.

as eyes of everyone involved in the hockey world began to shift to the star of what they called "the boston bruins' new era and future captain", so did the female attention. not only was chris good at what he did, but he was insanely good looking, at least to the younger female demographic that had taken an interest in hockey.

but he didn't care for the, for a lack of a better name, puck bunnies or the future hockey wives in training, he had his own hockey wife sitting front row in the v.i.p section at every game, smiling as she watched him zip back and forth between his teammates and the teammates that he was facing

as he announced who the mystery girl in his practice jersey at every game was, he faced an onslaught of even more hate disguised as criticism and scrutiny from devout bruins fans, potential drafting scouts, and anyone willing to spare an opinion. but as the rather distasteful comments rolled in, his skin grew thicker, because as long as he had her to go home to, he could handle it.

PRESENT TIME

chris sat on the bench in the hallway adorning the infamous bruins logos, each brick in the wall holding some sort of history of the team, twirling tape around the blade of his stick. he found the dressing room too stuffy right before a game, so he and john beecher sat outside the dressing room, joking amongst themselves as they prepared for the game.

"cmon man, you played big games before you'll be fine." john chuckled, handing chris back his spare roll of stick tape as chris sighed.

"i know, it's just a big fuckin' game tonight. haven't played montreal yet."

"wait this is your first game against montreal?"

"yes and as a boston native, i know this is the game, just don't wanna fuck up when this decides whether or not we make it to playoffs."

"kid you'll be fine, you've outdone mcdavid's first year and that's pretty fuckin' bizarre 'cause he's a powerhouse." beecher reassured, clapping the young right winger on the shoulder before heading back to the dressing room. chris stared at the wall across, still struggling to comprehend how his life has become the way it is, he's incredibly grateful for the opportunities he's gotten and proud of the work he's put in, it's just still hard to fathom.

sensing that she should give her boyfriend a quick visit before he went on to the ice, y/n made her way through the crowds of people, smiling at the fans that addressed her, politely declining to take pictures until after the game. she proudly donned a large "8" and the name "STURNIOLO" scrawled across the back of a black away-game jersey and black jeans and her trusty, yet dirty, air forces, proudly showing her support for the man she's loved for six years, since she was a small fourteen year old navigating her year of high school with the triplets by her side.

the thin plastic stick weighed heavy in the pocket of her hoodie she wore beneath the jersey, she was about to tell chris about it, to give him a little motivation to play extra hard. but when she spotted the reporter’s mic pointed toward his helmet covered face, she placed that idea on the back burner. smiling she approached chris,

“hey mister big shot.” she laughed, causing chris to grin as he introduced her to the reported as his girlfriend. the reporter quickly bid the couple goodbye, leaving them to have their moment together.

“hey so i’ve got some really good news for you.” y/n smiled, smoothing her hands over his shoulder pads as he tugged off his helmet, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“listen i wanna go be apart of the chant so i need to go, can this news wait?”

“i guess so. give ‘em hell baby, i love you.”

“always ma, i love you.” chris replied, bouncing on his skates slightly before shoving his helmet back on, quickly shoving his way through the door leading to short hallway his team would walk through.

y/n stared at his back, watching him fade away as she was left to mull over the news she was about to tell chris. it was the start of his career and she didn’t want to derail it any, so the choice between telling him now or tell him in a month waged a violent war in her mind.

shaking her head, she made her way back to the staircase leading to the v.i.p section, as she wove through crowds of people, she heard the gasps and murmurs.

“that’s who the new bruins guy is dating? i won’t be shocked when he starts fucking the puck sluts in a month.”

“she looks out of place and that jersey is so unflattering on her.”

“i hope sturniolo comes to his senses and dumps her ass soon.”

scoffing, y/n climbed the stairs, pushing the overwhelmingly upsetting thoughts from her mind as she spotted nick and matt in their seats. breaking the news to someone was imperative to her, not telling someone would break her but she didn’t know whether she should tell someone before chris.

of course she and chris had talked about their views on starting a family together and the idea of raising a baby together but there was one issue,

chris wanted to wait until secured a long term contract with the bruins. he didn’t want anything to deter his plans. and y/n understood, he has worked so unbelievably hard to get to the position he’s in now. starting a family takes a lot of dedication, time, effort, and devotion without distractions. chris was concerned that if they had a baby early on in his professional hockey career, she’d be left alone to carry out so many of the responsibilities that being a parent brought on.

so as y/n made her way to her designated seat, her heart felt heavy. her doubts only grew with every step she took, and it felt like her body had been held down, it was as if she had cinder blocks chained to her ankles. as she sat beside nick, he picked up on her mood, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that sonething was bothering her though. nick bumped her elbow with his, as if to ask what’s wrong and she just smiled and shook her head.

mary-lou, who was sat behind y/n and her three sons, immediately knew what was going on. y/n had a certain glow to her, despite the sorrowful look that had become deeply etched into her skin. she knew that pained expression anywhere, she understood what the taut shoulders, pinched eyebrows, and distraught gleam in her eyes all too well. but the older woman put her excitement about becoming a grandmother off to the side, deciding she’d wait to gloat until y/n had accepted the idea her self.

the family conversed among themselves while the teams prepared to saunter out onto the ice, letting the fans get hyped up. a voice boomed from above, prompting cheers and hollers from the people taking up the stands.

“please welcome your home team, the boston bruins!” the commentator exclaimed, dragging out the words boston bruins in typical emcee fashion, allowing the fans and supporters chant for their team as he played the bruins’ intro song as they skated onto the ice one by one, the emcee announcing the names and numbers above the music.

y/n couldn’t help but lett the pride and excitement she felt show brightly on her face, despite the worries she suffered deep down. she was so incredibly proud of chris, him landing a secure spot on the bruins was a long time coming. it was his dream back in high school the moment he secured a spot on his high school’s team with ease. he was a natural born hockey player and it showed through the surplus of dedication he put into it. and y/n felt more than lucky to be there on the sidelines from the very beginning.

as the emcee asked from everyone to stand for the national anthem, a cheesy grin broke out on her face as chris stood on the offensive line facing the vip box, and pointed up to where he knew she’d be sitting before forming his hand into the best half heart possible that his bulky gloves would allow. she felt her cheeks warm with a deep blush as chris’ family playfully teased her for having their brother and son completely and unfalteringly whipped.

“shut up!” she laughed, her nerves drifting away as the game started. the excitement she never failed to feel at every single one of chris’ games, whether it was just him filling in for the local adult men’s teams or an exhibition game for his old college team, she was always filled with adrenaline as she stood and sat in the stands.

but that was expected when born into a city that favours the winter sport, you were either born with the excitement coursing through your veins or you were born with a deep hatred for it filling every crevice of your body. there was no in between.

y/n cheered along with chris’ family as he zipped, swerved, bobbed, and weaved up and down the ice. that was one thing that most players envied chris for, he was fast and slick, almost as if he was water slipping through your fingers.

and not only was he fast, he held great control over the puck as she moved down the ice, the puck never got away from him as he maneuvered it between players, alternating which side his stick was covering and pushing it.

there was fifteen seconds left in the second period and both montreal and boston held three goals each as chris stood for a moment back checking as his teammates guarding him, and with five seconds ticking down, he delivered a brutal slap shot, sending the puck into the net behind carey price who had dropped to block it a second too late.

the bruins fans’ side of the stands erupted in loud cheers, and so did y/n and chris’ family, his parents laughing giddily as matt made a backhanded comment about price being too old for goaltending.

“i will be right back, i have to use the washroom.” y/n interjects, letting nick know where she’d while the rest of them grabbed drinks.

“yo y/n, you drink budlight right?” justin hums, causing her stomach to drop, her usual habit of having a beer with them at chris’ games being something she hadn’t even considered.

“uh can you just grab me an iced tea? i’ve got an early appointment tomorrow and i’d rather not show up at my doctor’s smelling like beer.” she laughs nervously, causing justin to shrug and accept her answer before heading off to the concession stand near the entrance of the vip box.

“i’ll come with you, i’ve got to use the ladie’s room too.” mary-lou hums, smiling appreciatively as y/n waited for her.

however as they made their way to back of the section they were sitting in, mary-lou motioned for y/n to follow her out into the small hallway that lead to the smoking doors, it was empty as the two stood there.

“how far along are you?” mary-lou whispers, unable to withhold her suspicions any longer, and the abrupt question had y/n’s stomach twisting into more knots than it was already in.

“wha-how did you figure it out?”

“i’ve had my suspicions for a while, the last time you were over i heard you throwing up, and you’ve got the pregnancy glow. plus you’ve been wearing baggy clothes and you aren’t drinking tonight.”

“fuck. sorry for my language. but i think i’m about two and a half months along. last month i just thought my period was late because i was sick and when i get sick, my period is normally late. but then i missed this month’s too and it clicked.”

“have you told chris yet?” mary-lou spoke, her voice soft as she rest a reassuring hand on her future daughter in law’s arm as she shook her head.

“i wanted to tell him before the game, to give him a little motive to play harder but he didn’t want to miss the chant and pep talk so he left before i could say anything about it. i’ve got the test in my pocket and i know it’s not smart to go off just one test so that’s why i’m going to the doctor tomorrow.”

“well i think you should tell him, i think he’ll be happy.”

“that’s what i’m worried about, he wanted to wait until he secured a long term contract. we had this conversation about a month ago.”

“you can’t necessarily control these things. a family comes to be when it’s meant to happen, not when you want it to happen.”

mary-lou’s words stuck deep in y/n’s mind. she knew that chris’ mother was right. y/n had just wished her and chris were a bit more careful that drunken night in the hotel.

FLASHBACK

chris and y/n’s drunken giggles bounced off the walls as they pushed their way into their room. they had gone out for dinner with the team and eventually broke off on their own after swiping two of the complementary bottles of champagne that the teams managers had provided.

they stumbled through the city after hiding in an empty room in the banquet hall, chugging the nasty liquor as quick as they could handle on empty stomachs.

“god baby, you look so pretty in this dress, just wanna tear it off you.” chris rasped, his cheeks flushing and eyes drooping, from the alcohol, or the effect his girlfriend had on him, or maybe even both, she wasn’t quite sure. making him look all the more enticing to y/n.

“do it then.” y/n slurred back, pulling chris into a messy, sloppy, yet incredibly hot, like searingly hot, make out, chris’ hands roamed her body feverishly, unable to stay in one place very long.

as their ministration progressed, so did their desire for one another and the lingering buzz they had from the alcohol left room for a few less than sound decisions. chris drunkenly justified going in raw by saying “just wanna feel as close to you as possible.” and that was all the convincing y/n needed, but she made him promise to pull out in time.

but due to their inebriation, chris wasn’t quick enough but they had long forgotten it by the time morning came.

FLASHBACK OVER

and now she was paying the price for them being reckless. sighing, she made her way back to her seat just as the intermission ended and chris' team made their way back to the home bench, their net switching back to the end they started out on.

it wasn't too far into the third period when the canadiens were getting aggressive, the score was eight to five in favour of boston and montreal was getting mad that they were losing the game, the most awaited game since it was announced boston and montreal would be facing each other to land a bracket in the playoffs.

the fact that it was also playoff season made y/n's stomach twist even tighter, she felt sick. she was so scared she was going to fuck up chris' life plan and she couldn't bear that idea.

but her current worries were thrown on the back burner when she watched a much bigger player from montreal's team check chris, sending him flying back against the ice, his head ricocheting off the ice, leaving chris laying flat on the ice.

chris' coach calls a time-out while paramedics quickly make their way onto the ice, carrying chris off the ice, and before y/n could react, she was pushing her way through the bustling crowd and stomping down the stairs, quickly sprinting to chris' change room.

"i'm sorry ma'am but you can't be in here."

"i'm his fiance." y/n spits, pushing her way into the change room, immediately rushing to chris, raising her hand to play with his hair, pausing momentarily to silently ask for permission which was granted by him leaning into her touch.

"we're okay, if anything happens, we'll call for you." chris rasps, waving away the paramedics, sighing sadly after being told he's not allowed back on the ice for the rest of the game to prevent being knocked around again because he was highly vulnerable to getting a concussion right now.

"tell me something to distract me, baby." chris whispers, pulling y/n into his lap, the bulky padding beneath her feeling foreign as she leans her head on his shoulder.

"i'm not sure what to talk about." she laughs as he rubs his hand back and forth along her thigh.

"your news from earlier."

"oh." she squeaks, her voice almost inaudible as she realizes that it's now or never. sighing, she grabs the test out of her pocket from beneath the spare jersey she wore, placing it into chris' hand with a heartbroken expression and timid voice,

"we're pregnant, chris."

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brainddeadd · 1 month ago

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oooo young player x devils!

maybe she went to the all stars with jack and jesper and her and jack were just chasing chaos everywhere and jack made sure he introduced his favorite teammate to everyone

All Star

The NHL All-Star weekend was one of the biggest events of the season, and Y/N couldn’t believe she was there. As one of the youngest players on the New Jersey Devils, it felt surreal to be surrounded by the league's best players. But it wasn’t just the experience that made it memorable—it was the fact that she got to attend with Jack Hughes and Jesper Bratt.

From the moment they arrived, Jack had stuck to her side like glue, dragging her along as he greeted friends and teammates from across the league. Jesper, ever the calm balance between Jack's chaos, trailed behind with a grin, shaking his head at Jack’s antics.

“You ready to cause some trouble?” Jack had whispered to Y/N with a mischievous gleam in his eye the minute they set foot in the arena.

“Always,” she replied, smirking.

The two of them became an unstoppable duo. Whether it was sneaking into places they probably weren’t supposed to be or challenging other All-Stars to ridiculous mini-competitions, they were everywhere, causing harmless but hilarious chaos.

At one point, Jesper just stood there watching with amusement as Jack and Y/N started an impromptu stickhandling contest on the carpet in the hallway. “You two are like little kids,” he said, shaking his head but unable to hide his grin.

But it wasn’t all just playful chaos. Jack had one goal in mind: to introduce Y/N to everyone. He was proud to have her as his teammate and wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to show it off.

He dragged her to different groups of players, a big smile on his face each time he introduced her. “This is Y/N—my favorite teammate!” Jack would say enthusiastically. “Seriously, you gotta watch out for her on the ice. She’s a beast.”

Every time, Y/N would laugh, a little embarrassed, but she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at how much Jack hyped her up. She had quickly become close to Jack and the rest of the boys on the Devils, and seeing him talk about her like that made her feel like she really belonged.

At one point, they found themselves face-to-face with Connor McDavid. Jack, unphased, immediately launched into introductions. “Connor, you’ve gotta meet Y/N! She’s going to take over the league one day, I swear.”

Connor chuckled and gave her a friendly nod. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard good things.”

Y/N smiled nervously, feeling the weight of the high praise from both Jack and McDavid. “Thanks. I’ve still got a long way to go, though.”

“Trust me, you’ll get there,” Connor said with a reassuring smile before glancing at Jack. “You picked a good favorite.”

“Right?!” Jack grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders as if to show off even more.

As the day went on, Jack continued to introduce her to every player he could, his excitement never waning. Whether it was players from other teams, media, or event organizers, Jack made sure everyone knew who Y/N was.

At the Skills Competition, the two of them were up to more mischief. Between events, they’d jokingly commentate on each other’s performances, making playful bets on who could outdo the other. Jesper sat on the bench, shaking his head at their antics, but you could see the fondness in his eyes. Even on a stage as big as the All-Star weekend, they didn’t take themselves too seriously.

Nico Hischier, who was watching the weekend unfold from back home, texted Y/N during one of the events: “You and Jack causing trouble? Don’t let him get you into too much.”

She replied with a picture of Jack mid-celebration after winning a contest: “No promises :)”

By the end of the weekend, Y/N was exhausted but buzzing with excitement. It had been a whirlwind of meeting legends, participating in events, and sharing endless laughs with Jack and Jesper. As they were heading out, Jack looked at her with a grin. “This was fun. You’re coming to every All-Star game from now on with me, right?”

Y/N laughed. “If I can keep up with you, sure.”

“You will. And next year, we’ll cause even more chaos,” Jack promised with a wink.

Jesper sighed dramatically from beside them. “Just try not to get banned from the league, alright?”

As they all piled into the car to head back, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. She had found a family in this team, and moments like these, where Jack made sure she was part of the fun and excitement, meant everything.

And even though she was the youngest and still learning, she knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t going to forget this weekend anytime soon.

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haddonfieldwhore · 7 days ago

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silver & gold - aleksander barkov

aleksander barkov x mcdavid!reader

summary: what better time for the world to find out about your private relationship than the stanley cup final?

warnings: private but not secret relationship?, sprinkle of angst, reader is mcdavid’s younger sister, i switch from calling him aleksander and sasha which i hope isn’t too confusing, i think i hate this but im posting it anyway sorry

word count: 1.9k

“romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours”

you had a habit of getting yourself into complicated situations, but as you sat with your family in the crowd, you decided you would never be able to outdo yourself with this one.

only moments were left in game 7 of the stanley cup final between the edmonton oilers and the florida panthers, the latter ahead by just one goal as the window of opportunity to change that grew smaller and smaller for the oilers.

your older brother, connor was the captain of the edmonton team, and you hated to think of how much it would hurt him to lose this game, and have to go home without the stanley cup; the thing he had dreamed of for as long as you could remember. edmonton was a good team, no doubt about it, but they were running out of time. you felt your moms grip on your hand tighten even more than it already was, her fingers wrapped around yours like a vice, and your breath caught in your throat as the seconds ticked away on the score clock.

you loved your brother, and would be overjoyed if he led his team to win the cup, but there was a small part of you that was rooting for florida as well. a part of your heart that belonged to someone here in sunrise.

the crowd was on their feet, the building roaring with cheers and applause as you watched the players scramble for the puck against the boards, unable to take your eyes off your brother until the sound of the buzzer snapped you out of it.

it was over.

the panthers were the stanley cup champions.

you didn’t know how to feel; the heartbreak and devastation radiated off of your family and connor’s fiancé lauren. combined with the volume of the fans in the arena, you found it hard to breathe. your eyes met connor’s as he slowly made his way off the ice, and your heart sank for him; this had meant the world to him and you knew it. as he and the rest of the oilers players slowly made their way down the tunnel in defeat, your eyes landed on a different team captain. your fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the charm on your bracelet, in particular the heart with the number 16 engraved on it; a gift from your boyfriend.

the panthers players celebrated their victory, and you watched as aleksander barkov became the first finnish captain to hoist the stanley cup. as the panthers each took turns hoisting the silver trophy until they’d all had a turn, you realized you were crying; but although you were sad for your brother, they were tears of joy.

“you can go sweetie, it’s okay,” your moms voice snapped you out of it, a slight tremble in her tone as you gave her the tightest hug you could muster, before sneaking out of the private box you all had been seated in and making your way to ice level. after a few shortcuts and showing a lot of arena staff your id so they would let you in, you had made it to where the rest of the families were waiting to join the team on the ice to celebrate.

you got a few confused looks sent your way from some of the other wives and girlfriends, and your stomach did a flip. it was a weird feeling, like you were an outsider invading a space that wasn’t meant for you; reminding you that not everyone knew who you were. correction, they knew you were connor mcdavids sister, not that you were aleksander barkovs girlfriend.

you had met sasha a few years ago at one of the many nhl events you’d attended with your brother, and you had found yourself immediately charmed by the panthers captain. you had never met a man so talented yet so humble, and it made a lasting impression. more encounters over the years led to you to of you keeping in touch and growing to be close friends, eventually getting together, though opting to keep your relationship private for a multitude of reasons, your brother being one of them.

it’s not that your relationship was a shameful secret, you just both were content with keeping it out of the public eye, and didn’t want the attention the media would bring to both of you for it.

it had even been nearly 8 months of the two of you dating (partly due to sasha’s busy schedule) before you told anyone in your family that you were together.

connor probably would have taken the news that you were dating a florida panther a lot worse if barkov wasn’t so respected within the league, and overall just a great guy on and off the ice.

“you’ve been dating someone for how long and didn’t tell me?” he had replied when you told him, and while you could tell he was upset, he thankfully didn’t sound as angry as you had anticipated.

“connor-“

“and a panther, you traitor,” he teased, but he cracked a smile and you felt a wave of relief.

“i wanted to tell you, i really did.” you hated keeping secrets from your family, and you hoped they’d have similar reactions when you told them; not unhappy with your choice but just suprised you’d kept it hidden for so long.

“i know you did, and it will take some getting used to, for sure.” you nodded in response. “but i’m happy for you, he’s a great guy.” connor smiled, and you hugged him.

“thank you for not freaking out about this.”

“did you think i would?” connor asked.

“i wasn’t sure - i could understand if you did,” you admitted.

“i can tell he makes you happy - you sort of light up when you talk about him. that’s what matters,” he smiled. “and it’s kind of impressive that the media hasn’t caught you guys out together or anything. you do have a pretty famous brother- hey!” he laughed as you punched his arm playfully.

there had definitely been times that the media (mostly gossip blogs) had speculated that sasha was seeing someone, and there had even been a few pictures caught and posted over the course of your relationship, but nothing that you could be identified in. the headline ‘panthers captain spotted with mystery woman’ had crossed your feed once or twice, but nothing concrete had ever been published. you and aleksander had discussed from the start that you would both prefer to keep things quiet as not to stir up drama, and you were mostly successful.

“yeah, we’ve been pretty lucky,” you sighed. there was something special about having something so personal and special just between you and sasha - and you were grateful you’d been able to keep it just your own for so long.

“we’re just private people, that’s all. even some of the other panthers didn’t know for the longest time,” you laughed as you remembered some of their reactions when they’d finally found out about you and sasha; tkachuk especially, the star winger being both suprised and happy for his captain when he found out.

“you know i love you no matter what right?” connor asked, and you smiled, giving him another hug.

“i know. i love you too, con.”

that had been a year ago, and telling the rest of your family had gone similarly well, any hurt your mother felt from not being told sooner overpowered by her happiness for you and sasha, and your father also approved.

despite the few uncertain glances, you were greeted with a smile by some of the wags you had become close with. you mostly kept to yourself, not taking part in a lot of the wag activities, which you sometimes regretted but mostly didn’t mind. you heard a few hushed whispers, overhearing your last name mentioned in confusion as ellie, tkachuks girlfriend coming over to give you a hug.

“hey,” she smiled as your arms wrapped around her in response. she was your closest friend amongst them, as sasha and matthew were such good friends.

“hey, oh my god,” you exclaimed, laughing in excitement as she squeezed you tightly. “they did it!” you finally said, and while you knew your family wanted a different outcome, right now your heart was here; in florida.

“they did it!” she repeated as a few of the other girls joined in the hug. “are you coming out there with us?” she asked, and you took a deep breath.

“yeah, i am.”

you and sasha had discussed this already, and he assured you that he wanted you out there with him if they won the cup.

“i want to share this moment with you,” he had said when the subject came up one day. “you are the most important to me, and if people find out then that is when they find out.”

“there’s no going back after that, once people know-“ you worried he might regret giving up the privacy you’d worked so hard to keep for the near 2 years of your relationship.

“i don’t care if they know. what we have is still special and you should be there for such a special moment.”

you and the other family members got the signal that you could come out into the ice, and your heart hammered against your ribcage as the anxiety crept up on you. the roar of the crowd was defeaning, cheering and applause echoing off every surface of the arena, and for a moment you thought you were going to pass out.

but it all melted away the moment you saw aleksander, a grin stretched wide across his face as his eyes landed on you.

the captain skated over to you, his tall frame exaggerated by his skates as he towered over you and offered his hands to steady you on the ice, which was still slippery in heels despite the carpet that had been rolled out on top.

his eyes sparkled with the brightness of all the stars as he embraced you, and you couldn’t hold back the tears as your arms wrapped around him.

“you did it,” was all you could say, though you didn’t know if he could hear you over the sound of everyone around you celebrating. “i’m so proud of you!” you said next to his ear, and his arms tightened around you.

“sasha, come get a photo,” someone called, and he led you hand in hand to stand in front of a backdrop for photos with the cup.

“come on,” sasha tilted his head, gesturing for you to help him hold up the cup, and you did, though he held most of the weight of the trophy.

your eyes found your parents in the crowd, and you couldn’t help but realize they were watching the wrong child hoist the cup, and you dreaded how much that would hurt your brother.

you heard some of the panthers cheering and your gaze found them looking onward at their captain, and smiling as they saw you by his side.

“kiss her!” chucky yelled, earning a laugh from some of the guys and even a shy chuckle from aleksander.

the two of you handed the cup back, and his hands turned your chin towards him, and you looked up at his beautiful smiling face.

“well, kiss her,” you teased, and he blushed a shade of light pink, but leaned down and connected his lips to yours.

on any other day, this would be big news. but somehow you felt like this wouldn’t be the biggest panthers headline in the papers tomorrow.

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

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korshrimpski · 2 months ago

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NHL Tarot Cards

so i never finished all of them so here are all the ones i have done and that i kind of like

The Fool - 0

The Fool is young and vulnerable. He has not yet experienced the ups and downs of life, leaving him unaware of the magnitude of life's challenges, as well as the potential he holds. Utah Hockey Club; Logan Cooley & Dylan Guenther

The Magician - I

The Magician is a reminder that you are unique and have many gifts. These skills set you apart from the crowd and can help you begin new projects or overcome adversity. Connor Bedard

The High Priestess - II

The High Priestess is a card of awareness. This card urges you to listen to your inner voice and follow your instincts. Your mind knows far more than you think. Connor Hellebuyck

The Emperor - IV

The Emperor is a card of leadership and power. He is an authoritative force who has been through many experiences to achieve this status. He represents structure and solidity, and reminds you that you, too, hold immense amounts of power over your own life, and what happens to it. Sidney Crosby

The Hierophant- V

The Hierophant is like a messenger from the heavens. He is experienced in spirituality and guidance, and his job is to bring these lessons down to us here in the real world. Claude Giroux

The Lovers - VI

The Lovers card represents the close relationships in your life. 1634

The Chariot - VII

The Chariot card is connected to your natural drive and determination, and can indicate an upcoming victory. Matthew Tkachuk

The Hermit - IX

The Hermit yearns to be alone. He knows that the only way to process what is happening in life is to withdraw from the noise of the world and create a quiet space of solitude. Connor McDavid

Wheel Of Fortune - X

The Wheel of Fortune is constantly revolving - sometimes you will be at the top, and sometimes you will be at the bottom. Stanley Cup

Death - XIII

One of the most misunderstood Tarot cards, Death is not a card about physical death. The Death card speaks of cycles and is a reminder that all things must pass. 2023-24 San Jose Sharks & Macklin Celebrini (2024 draft)

The Devil - XV

The Devil card carries themes of restraint and powerlessness. When it comes up in your Tarot reading, you are likely feeling stuck. Alexander Holtz

The Star - XVII

The Star is the embodiment of hope and healing. He is a calming influence that brings messages of renewal, optimism, and inspiration. Jake Oettinger

The Moon - XVIII

The Moon card represents hidden thoughts, feelings, doubts and fears. Dylan Strome

Others that i didn't make:

7-Strength; Alex Turcotte

16-The Towers; Arizona Coyotes

21-The World; Joe Pavelski

Source of the tarot descriptions

#i still don't really like some of these but i worked hard on them so.. yeah #anyways i hope you all enjoyed these :)#logan cooley #dylan guenther #connor bedard #connor hellebuyck #sidney crosby #claude giroux #mitch marner #auston matthews #matthew tkachuk #connor mcdavid #nhl #alexander holtz #jake oettinger #dylan strome

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annieqattheperipheral · 1 year ago

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Players & team front office responses

The Florida Panthers hosted the league’s first Pride Night in 2013, and the promotion gradually spread across the league until all teams were wearing rainbow-colored jerseys and using Pride Tape during the 2021-22 season without issue. (x)

Oct 2023:

An NHL spokesperson told ESPN that Pride tape had been allowed for years as an exception to its stick tape restrictions, which otherwise would allow players to use only black or white tape. The league said the current ban on Pride tape was to prevent teams and players from using it as an "end around" to violate the new uniform policy.

Stickers and ribbons are also banned from player uniforms, although coaches are allowed to wear ribbons.

...

Commissioner Gary Bettman: "What happened last year was that the issue of who wanted to wear a particular uniform on a particular night overshadowed everything that our clubs were doing. So what we said, instead of having that distraction and having our players have to decide whether or not they wanted to do something or not do something and be singled out, we said, 'Let's not touch that,'"

ESPN

Deputy commissioner Bill Daly: “I think the primary point is that nothing’s really going to change in the sense that our clubs will continue to celebrate these special initiatives and these causes and do a lot of cause messaging around those events,” he said. “The only difference this year is we’re asking the clubs not to employ use of the players on the ice during the game. As you know, probably, we had some issues last year with players feeling uncomfortable in supporting certain causes and we didn’t want our players to be put in those situations going forward.”

Sportsnet

"Game/practice restrictions don't interfere with players' ability to support in other settings. In fact, we encourage them to. (We) just don't want to put other player(s) in a tough spot simply because they don't choose to join."

Toronto Maple Leafs

Morgan Rielly - A

“It’s unfortunate. But I think as players and as people,” Rielly said Tuesday. “We’re going to continue to support those people and those causes that we think need it or are worthy and very deserving of it. Whatever statement was made is fine, but as players, we’re going to continue to offer support and be allies. We want to be a part of this community.”

...

Rielly, for one, won’t be deterred from speaking in support of marginalized groups.

“I wish players had the right to kinda do more and be more involved,” Rielly said.

“I’m going to continue to be involved in the community and offer support to those communities and those groups that want that and need that. As players, we’re going to continue to be involved, pretty much no matter what the league says.”

Brad Treliving - GM

Maple Leafs GM Brad Treliving said that both he personally and the Leafs as an organization have always been supporters of the 2SLGPTQ+ community. Memo or no memo.

“Nothing’s gonna change that,” Treliving said. “We’ll figure out our ways that we make sure that we do the right things and support as we always have and stay true to what we believe in. There’s always challenges in in the world, but that doesn’t affect how we support.”

sportsnet

Mitch Marner - A

“That’s something that I think a lot of people in our organization take pride in and have supported that community for a long time,” Marner said on the Jeff Marek Show Tuesday. “I know I have a lot of friends, I’ve got family, so that’s something close to my heart. I think I’ve said before, but everyone in this world should be able to express themselves as best as possible, and love who they love. They shouldn’t be looked at any differently… It’s unfortunate, but it is what it is. We’re still obviously going to support those communities, and still got a lot of love for them.”

Sportsnet

Edmonton Oilers

Connor McDavid - C

"I've expressed disappointment in not being able to wear the various jersey or the tapes ... whether that's Pride tape or pink tape," McDavid said Tuesday.

"Is it something that I'd like to see back into place one day? Certainly," McDavid added.

ESPN

"In terms of a league standpoint, is it something that I'd like to see put back into place one day? Certainly. You know, but that's not the way it is right now," he told reporters at Rogers Place.

...

"I've commented on this before. I think everyone knows how I feel," said McDavid, a three-time MVP of the NHL.

"I've enjoyed all the nights that we've celebrated here in Edmonton, whether that's Pride night or military night or Indigenous night, all the various nights that we've had and had a chance to celebrate. I've always enjoyed them. I can't speak for anyone else or the league."

Zach Hyman

McDavid's teammate, Zach Hyman, also used the word disappointing when asked about the ban on Pride tape but suggested he won't stop supporting the LGBTQ2S+ community.

"We'll be able to support them individually, but collectively that's out of the players control. Disappointing, but out of our control," Hyman told reporters.

"It's out of our hands. I know personally I enjoyed wearing the Pride jersey, the Pride tape, the military jersey, we had Willie O'Ree night, Indigenous night, all those great things that we support."

CTV News Edmonton

Nashville Predators

Ryan McDonagh - A

"It's a fine line in today's world and today's sports culture," McDonagh said before the Predators faced the Tampa Bay Lightning in their 2023-24 season opener at Amalie Arena. "You want to be your own self, be your own individual, represent yourself. But you also represent your company, your brand and your employer —everybody that you're working for.

"I think it's a work in progress as far as what's right and what's not. Ultimately the individual has the final say. I think that's what you found out last year with guys that made certain stances on things. That has to be continually discussed ... letting people make their own choices."

...

McDonagh said there are other ways players can show support for causes, though. For example, the rule doesn't prohibit players from wearing supportive shirts in arenas.

"Just because I'm not given the opportunity to wear a jersey doesn't mean I can't speak out for something I believe in," he said. "One opportunity closes, another opportunity opens.

"If you feel strongly for something, there's a will and a way to support anything you want in this world."

The Tennessean

Calgary Flames

Mikael Backlund - A

"I mean, it's their decision," said Flames captain Mikael Backlund.

"We're going to support Pride any way we can, other than the tape, and we're going to follow the rules and do what we're told."

Rasmus Andersson

"I mean, it sucks," said Flames defenceman Rasmus Andersson.

"It's something that's close to my heart and something I would love to support but, you know, it is what it is and we've got to find other ways to support it."

CTV News Calgary

Jonathan Huberdeau - A

“I fully supported it, and still support it,” Huberdeau said. “For me personally I still support it, and if I get the chance to do it, I’ll do it.”

Sportsnet

Vancouver Canucks

Patrik Allvin - GM

"Decisions like that, that’s something we follow the NHL, what they recommend,” said Allvin. “I think this organization has done a lot of good things in the community…we will continue to do that. But we definitely follow the league rules and what they’re telling us to do.”

Quinn Hughes - C

"I preached it before, last year in this locker room, this organization, with Pride, will always support that,” said Hughes. “It starts at the top of the organization with the Aquilinis on down. Whether we’re wearing the tape or the jerseys, it’s something that we’ll always support. We may not be doing anything on the ice but we’ll still be doing things off the ice to support it.”

Ian Cole - Canucks’ NHLPA union rep [fr??!]

"I know the reputation that this organization has,” said Cole. “When I came here, it was a really great selling point of this organization — how they approach these things…I think it is very important.”

...

“I think that the NHL wants zero controversy, which inevitably gave them controversy,” said Cole. “Unfortunately, they are the iron fist there and what they say goes…They’re the ones that make the rules. Unfortunately, as employees, we don’t get a ton of say in it. But I really respect and like what the Vancouver Canucks have done.”

[sidenote: this dude's got his own horrendous serious issues (tw: sa) so consider this the worst person you know said something passable. Also he had the NHLPA's support when he was suspended for the allegations so it makes me wonder if he gets at all that they need to take a stand here.]

Vancouver Is Awesome

Winnipeg Jets

Josh Morrissey - A

"It's always been something that I've tried to embrace, the different theme nights and, obviously, the inclusivity around the game of hockey," Morrissey said. "Try and have everyone feel comfortable to either play or watch or be a part of what I think is the greatest game on earth. So that won't change, I guess, as a goal personally to try to grow the game, regardless of what the memo says."

Kevin Cheveldayoff - GM

"I do know that this organization takes great care in wanting to be inclusive and the theme nights," Cheveldayoff told reporters in Winnipeg. "What the specifics of the memos are, I really can't speak to. I don't really have that yet.

"I'll have to obviously get briefed on that a little bit more. But I do know that the commitment from an organization standpoint is we'll do everything we possibly can."

CBC

San Jose Sharks

Anthony Duclair

"I know a lot of guys are supportive of that. I have no problem in the past to do it. It sucks that’s not going to be part of the league moving forward,” Duclair, who has worn both Pride jerseys and used Pride tape on his sticks in previous years, told San Jose Hockey Now. “It’s a little weird to me, a little puzzling to me.”

...

“For me, you’re also banning Black History Month,” the San Jose Sharks winger, of Haitian descent and also an outspoken member of the Hockey Diversity Alliance, opined. “I think we’re taking a step backwards, to be honest.”

...

All these guidelines might affect Duclair, who famously, before Martin Luther King Day during the 2020-21 season, wore skates that featured, per The Athletic, “the letters ‘BLM’ to support the Black Lives Matter movement, a raised fist logo and the phrase ‘Change Hockey Culture.’ The left skate also [featured] the logo of the Hockey Diversity Alliance.”

Duclair isn’t sure if such on-ice statements are now banned during Black History Night.

"That’s something I’ll have to ask,” he said. It sure looks like it though.

But one thing that Duclair knows, the NHL, is once again, falling behind other leagues, by not opening the door for new fans to feel welcome.

“That’s why the NBA, NFL, leagues like that, they’re always growing year after year, always getting new fans, new viewership,” he said.

San Jose Hockey Now

Pride Tape

The Pride Tape team is extremely disappointed by the NHL's decision to eliminate Pride Tape from any league on-ice activities.

The league has used language in recent days which would prohibit the tape from any proximity to NHL Hockey. We hope the league - and teams - will again show commitment to this important symbol of combating homophobia. Many of the players themselves have been exceptional advocates for the tape.

For the last six years we are grateful for the clubs and their players' support and visibility for inclusion in hockey. The NHL's amplification and global influence has been integral to Pride Tape connecting with players, parents, coaches, officials, fans at all levels in over 40 countries.

Seven years ago, Pride Tape was born out of adversity as a grassroots hockey initiative that remains resilient, and optimistic about our plans with hockey clubs, organizations and their partners at every level.

Thank you to everyone around the world who has had the courage to speak up for inclusion and stand up to the idea that Hockey is For Everyone. Despite this setback, we are encouraged for what lies ahead based on our recent conversations from every corner of the sport.

You Can Play

If Hockey is for Everyone, this is not the way forward.

It is now clear that the NHL is stepping back from its longstanding commitment to inclusion, and continuing to unravel all of its one-time industry-leading work on 2SLGBTQ+ belonging. We are now at a point where all the progress made, and relationships established with our community, is in jeopardy. Making decisions to eradicate our visibility in hockey- by eliminating symbols like jerseys and now Pride Tape immediately stunts the impact of bringing in more diverse fans and players into the sport.

We continue to be encouraged by our ongoing work and conversations with individual clubs, where we are working collaboratively to ensure Pride Nights remain vibrant events, providing visibility and a message of inclusion to the entire hockey community all year-round. We know this issue is not within the hundreds of dedicated staff within individual clubs who go to work daily to create a culture of belonging for everyone, everywhere in the hockey ecosystem.

We call on all allies, players, fans, and coaches at every level in hockey to amplify their voices and join us in this important conversation and to remind the NHL #WhyThisMatters. This includes the NHLPA and the NHLCA. Hockey is safer and better when more of us belong.

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maxz-b · 3 days ago

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back for more we're already on part 7 out of ???

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offside-the-lines · 4 months ago

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i'm half-doomed & you're semi-sweet | Connor McDavid (x Male!OC)

Summary: After a painful playoff exit to end the 2022-23 season, Connor just needs to get as far away as possible, all the way to Gold Coast, Australia. He expects some peace and quiet, a reprieve. What he doesn't expect is this happy and carefree bartender, Lucky, to make him question the choice he has been making since he was 10. Title inspo: Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes by Fall Out Boy

This fic is dedicated to @hiding-from-reality-56 for @wyattjohnston's Summer Fic Exchange 2k24. I'm really sorry it's late. Life has been nuts. I really hope you like it! S/O to Demi, Ashley and T for being my cheerleaders, beta readers and editors. Ilysm. Pairing: Connor McDavid x M!OC. This fic features an original male character. Word count: 11.3k Warnings: SMUT: 18 + ONLY. MINORS DNI. SAFE SEX RESOURCE. Angst, lots of (I would say light) angst (first 1/2). Smut, lots of (light to medium) smut (second 1/2). This fic deals with internalized homophobia and coming to terms with your sexuality by way of having your first gay and first sexual encounter (it's hot and sweet, I hope). This was a super meaningful topic for me to write about, and I hope it resonates. Please take care of yourself if this is a topic that is sensitive for you. Connor is also, as I liked to say as I was writing this, Cognitive Distortions and Anxiety and Self-Doubt stacked on top of each other in a trench coat. Our poor boy is going through it in this. The smallest emetophobia warning. Small mention right in the first section (7 paragraphs in). Masterlist | (My requests are currently closed.) | Read this story on AO3

It’s 4 am on May 15th, and Connor’s lying in his own bed. And the only thing he can think about is what should’ve been.

He should be going to Vegas, getting ready to win Game 7.

Or better yet, he should’ve never let it get to that point—needing a Game 7. They should be getting ready for the conference finals.

The humiliation of yet another failed year—a second-round exit, no less—stings deep, and he feels the bile rise in the back of his throat. The taste of ‘This is our year’ sits rotten on his tongue, the number of times he said it to the boys. Momentarily, he wonders if he ever truly believed it. If any of this means anything at all. Or if he really is just a mouse in a cage running on a wheel going nowhere.

The silence in Roger’s Place is all he can hear in the darkness of his own bedroom. It makes him feel like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. The idea of going back to his Toronto house, carrying the looming absence of those 35 pounds, makes him want to throw up.

Or maybe that’s just—

He bolts up in his bed, runs to his toilet, and throws up nothing but bile.

With his head resting against the cold ceramic, he thinks about his parents. He knows they’re not going to be disappointed. They don’t care about the Cu— They don’t care about all that. They care about him, but he doesn’t think he can stomach another off-season of their pitying looks and gentle encouragement.

Another off-season walking around the city of Toronto, feeling like everyone is laughing at him. ‘Look, there goes the Next Great One, the so-called McJesus. What a joke. Look at him, he’s a failure.’ He can hear their thoughts.

They don’t even know about the other thing.

He rinses his mouth and stumbles back to his bed. He picks up his phone and texts his agent about finding somewhere different to train this offseason before he can think better of it. “...in I don’t know. Fucking Australia or something. Just. Somewhere far,” he adds.

He sits on his bed, fiddling with his phone for a while.

He sighs and rests his head against the headboard. He closes his eyes and drifts, picturing what his life might look like if he wasn’t… Well… Him.

He remembers a sports psychologist he was encouraged to see called it ‘maladaptive daydreaming.’ Which—that’s always felt a little ridiculous, given that they also recommend ‘visualization techniques’. ‘Picture yourself scoring the goal, Connor,’ they’d say.

It always felt like the same thing.

He sighs and texts Jeff again. “Totally okay if not. I know it’s super late notice. Just feel like it might be good for me. And for next year.”

The next few days pass like a blur, just room full of people after room full of people. Saying the same meaningless comments over and over. Play the part. Be sad, but not too sad. Be honest, but not too honest.

It doesn’t help that Leon’s grumpy, too. Well, not so grumpy he won’t sit on Connor’s couch—that does occasionally happen—but grumpy enough that he’s been mainly communicating in grunts. But, Connor figures, a grunting Leon is better than no Leon, so they sit in miserable silence as episode after episode of Friends plays on his ridiculously large 85-inch TV.

Which—who even needs an 85-inch TV? Well… Connor does, apparently, according to his decorator anyway. It’s ridiculous, and he hates the excessiveness more with each passing minute. He considers how bad it would be to just rip it off the wall. Probably quite bad. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he pokes Leon in the side with his toe and smiles weakly when he gets an irritated grunt in return and a heavy hand gripping his ankle.

Connor does his duty as Captain and hosts one last team barbecue in his absurd house that makes him feel like a zoo exhibit. He says goodbye to Leon for the summer—every year, it feels stilted and weird; he can never find the right words, but he thinks Leon gets it anyway. Or at least some of it. Not that Connor really knows what “it” is.

Not that Connor really wants to know what “it” is.

Connor swallows down the lump in his throat and turns his phone off, settling in for the flight from LAX to Brisbane, Australia—apparently, Jeff took him literally. He can’t help but think What the fuck am I doing? But that’s the point, right? To not think.

For once in his life, it would be nice to just do something without thinking about it endlessly. To just do something without thinking through the whole play, without reviewing the tape and dissecting everything that could go wrong.

He pops a sleeping pill with the hope that maybe it means he won’t spend the 15-hour flight ruminating on whether or not he should be doing this at all. And then ruminating on whether or not he should be ruminating on whether or not— Yeah. Five hours of rumination he can do—he does it often with the NHL schedule and the Edmonton of it all—but 15 hours seems to be a stretch even for him. So, he pops a sleeping pill.

Besides, he hopes that if he’s asleep, he won’t have to make any more eye contact with the flight attendant whose hand Connor accidentally touched when he helped Connor put away his carry-on. He kept making such earnest conversation with Connor, a smile crinkling the corners of his dazzling green eyes as Connor embarrassingly fumbled over his words, which—

Yeah, he needs to get a grip. And sleep. Hopefully, when he wakes up, he will feel a little less mortified—from experience, unlikely. At least the guy was Australian and didn’t seem to know who he was.

Connor wonders if he would be like this if he worked in something mundane, like finance or sales. If he’s destined to be this way, or if hockey made him this way. At this point, it was impossible to determine where Connor ends and McDavid-97 begins.

Luckily, hockey means he gets the good pills, at least, and he is knocked out for at least 12 hours.

Connor spends the first few weeks in a weird state of suspended animation, just going through the motions of his off-season training. He meets the trainers, who seem to have been briefed by Gary on what he needs and throws himself into the work. No one recognizes him except for a couple of the guys at the rink. But they don’t bother him. It’s a relief. He thinks he understands why Leon fucks off to Mallorca every summer. He wonders why he doesn’t fuck off to Mallorca with him—something else to not examine further.

He takes himself to the beach and watches the surfers and tries to remember to reapply sunscreen every 30 minutes, or whatever, even though it’s “winter”. He fails, of course, and burns bright red after only a few days. He’s forced to return only in the late afternoons.

He finds a pub-thing between his condo and the beach and sits at the bar for dinner every day; nothing better to do. He orders a beer with his dinner at the bartender’s suggestion. He hates it. He drinks it anyway. The bartender—Connor thinks he said his name was Lucky?—probably thinks he’s an absolute freak, judging by the little glances he throws Connor’s way and the amused look he has every time Connor orders.

It doesn’t help that Lucky is kind of stunning. It’s a thought that Connor usually keeps locked up, stuffed in some deep crevice of his mind where he won’t have to examine it, but the longer he watches Lucky—not that he’s watching, he just happens to be at the bar every night, and there’s not much else to do—the more he notices.

Connor watches the messy mop of curls fall in front of his eyes every time he bends over to put ice in a drink and the way he brushes it away with the back of a toned, tattooed forearm. It’s hard to tell exactly how dark his hair is or what the color of his eyes is in the dim interior of the pub, but Connor finds himself itching to know.

But the thing that Connor thinks about as he lays in bed at night is the way Lucky interacts with everyone—playful, easy. He notices the way he flirts—and the guys he flirts with. There’s this weird tightness that settles in his gut, and it twists every time he catches Lucky’s bright smile and the glint in his eyes.

There are an increasing number of days when Connor feels the need to stay until closing. There are a few other regulars he’s gotten to know, and it’s fun to hear about their lives. They will chat with Lucky as he’s cleaning up the bar.

It has nothing to do with the way Lucky will sometimes take some guy home. Nothing to do with the way it’s just out in the open. Bold, confident, and unashamed. There are never any side-long glances from anyone, no snide comments.

Connor is completely unable to ignore the way his chest feels too small every time it happens. He wonders if he could ever do that. He wonders if he could even look at the thing head-on.

He thinks maybe Gold Coast Connor could.

It takes him until the night before his flight to the NHL awards to decide that Gold Coast Connor can make moves. Gold Coast Connor has the confidence and freedom that Connor McDavid does not. Gold Coast Connor is funny and banters with strangers.

Connor McDavid knows to never have more than two drinks. It affects his performance the next day.

That’s why Gold Coast Connor has 5 or 6. Switches to whiskey after the usual disgusting beer. Lucky chuckles at him.

“I knew you hated that. Was trying to see how long you were gonna keep drinking that for. You should see the face you make every sip.”

Connor's face heats; he knows the ruddy red cheeks look ridiculous against his messy ginger beard.

After the third drink, Lucky shoots him a look. He responds with only a shrug, and he seems to decide to not press the issue.

He knows he’s drunk when he shoots his shot.

“Come home with me today,” he says to Lucky, leaning over the bar conspiratorially.

He laughs, smile wide and easy, eyes wrinkling. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Lucky’s smile shifts, and he stares at Connor for a long moment, lips pressed together. The weight of the look sits heavy on him and makes him squirm. He fights the urge to run.

“Yeah, nah,” Lucky decides, “I think it’s time to cut you off. Switch to water.”

Connor suddenly realizes how this must look to him. “I’m serious,” he blurts out, “about the offer, I mean.”

Lucky laughs. “Good to know.” He winks, and Connor feels very warm. “But you’re six drinks deep when you usually only have one beer. Whatever this—” he gestures at Connor “—is, I’m not sure I want to get involved in that.”

His stomach sinks like a rock, and bile licks at the back of his throat. “Oh.” About twenty different thoughts battle in his mind, fighting for dominance.

Lucky looks at him consideringly and sighs. “Connor, it’s not a no. It’s a not today. Trust me, I am very interested. You’re—Look, you’re going on your business trip tomorrow, right?”

Connor nods.

“Okay, talk to me when you get back, yeah?” He leans in—it makes his biceps pop, but Connor tries not to let his eyes catch on it—something akin to amusement dances in his eyes as his lips curl into a smirk. “You can wait that long. You can be good, can’t you?”

A heat settles in Connor’s gut. “Uh, yeah,” he splutters.

Lucky leans back, his smirk bigger now, satisfied. “I thought you’d be into that. Yeah, we’ll have some fun when you get back.”

Connor swallows thickly; something that might be hope simmers under his skin.

The good feeling Lucky leaves him with doesn’t last long. It starts with the mountain of texts, missed calls, and voicemails that come through as soon as he puts his normal SIM card back in.

It only gets worse when he’s faced with Leon’s fury. Leon is pissed off often, but it is rare to see him genuinely angry.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Leon fumes, steel grey eyes not even a foot from his face as he grips Connor’s arm so tightly he thinks it might bruise.

“Um, look—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Leon continues right over Connor’s soft voice. “I had to call your agent just to make sure you were still alive. Hey—at least Cameron got a text, right? Nice of you to not ghost your family, I guess. Guess I didn’t make the cut, eh?”

“Leo, I’m s—”

“You know,” Leon grits, “I was going to fly back to Canada ‘cause I thought something had happened to you. But, no. Glad you’re living it up in Australia. Glad you’re having so much fun.” He drops Connor’s arm and steps back, chest heaving as he breathes heavily. “Well, if you don’t want anything to do with me, then you can have nothing to do with me.”

“Leo, please—” Connor’s voice breaks as his throat burns and his chest tightens like a vice grip.

“Fuck you, Connor. Seriously, you’re a fucking selfish asshole,” he says as he walks away, the door of Connor’s hotel room slamming behind him.

It takes too long for Connor to remember how to breathe after that, sitting on the floor of his hotel room, staring at his shaking hands.

The day somehow gets worse from there when he has to ask Mikael Backlund, of all people, why Matthew has a sling on.

Backlund gives him a strange look. “Wh—Chucky?”

“Yeah,” Connor swallows.

After a beat of silence, he says, “He broke his sternum. Game 3 of the finals against Vegas. Played in Game 4 anyway. Didn’t matter in the end.” Backlund winces. “They lost in 5.”

“Oh,” Connor winces in return.

Backlund stares at him for a while. “Heard it was pretty bad.”

“Shit.”

The festivities continue around them. He gives a cordial nod to Nico Hischier and Jack Hughes as they walk past.

“I thought you two were friends; that’s what Chucky used to say anyway,” Backlund finally says.

“We are,” Connor swallows around the guilt sitting in his throat. “I just, uh, needed a break, so I was—Never mind. It looks like duty calls, so I’ll be—” Connor forces himself to stand up and gestures towards the event people waving at him. “Have a good night. See you next season.”

Backlund nods with an expression Connor can’t quite place—he thinks it might be pity.

Connor sleeps so poorly over the next few days, and it’s a wonder he’s coherent when he meets the Bedard kid. He feels horribly ill-equipped to give the kid any advice and fumbles through some generic pointers. Leon was much better, as he usually is at these things.

At least the time together allowed him to earn back some of Leon’s good graces. They part with a promise of photos and texts and a hug that makes Connor feel unmoored. He wonders if Leon can tell he’s barely holding it together and just doesn’t care enough to ask anymore. He hopes not. He really needs it to not be that.

I guess we can add ‘friendship’ to the list of things Connor McDavid can’t do, he thinks. When he closes his eyes, he can only picture Leon’s furious expression, or Backlund’s confused disappointment, or Matthew’s annoyingly amused smirk when Connor finally had the chance to catch up with him and explain his absence.

Leon’s anger is still the one that stings the most. It’s the one that plays on a loop in his head. It pops into his head at unexpected moments. It’s kept company with all the other failures and misses that haunt him.

He doesn’t sleep a wink on the flight back to Australia.

It takes Connor a few days to work up the courage to go to the pub again, now more sure than ever that he made a fool of himself the last time. But, eventually, he forces himself to just do it—it has nothing to do with his inability to cook.

Lucky greets him, same as always, with an easy smile and a glint in his eye. It’s so normal that it makes him think Lucky forgot about their last conversation. But, something about the way he reaches across the bar and taps Connor on the wrist as he laughs at some dumb comment Connor made. Or maybe it’s the wink he sends Connor when he catches Connor staring at the way his shirt rides up when he reaches for the top-shelf liquor…

Either way, Connor knows deep down that Lucky definitely remembers their conversation. Which means Lucky knows something about Connor that no one else does.

It’s a thought that should make his chest tighten and stomach churn—the idea of it alone would usually send him down a paralyzing spiral—but instead, it makes him feel feverish, a small crackle of expectation settling just below his navel. There’s just something about Lucky that eases something in his chest—Well, there just is something about him.

Neither of them do anything about it, though. Connor can’t decide if he’s disappointed or relieved.

A few days later, it’s almost closing and it’s quiet in the pub. There’s tennis on the TV: Wimbledon, Connor thinks, possibly a replay. He isn’t really paying attention. If he’s honest, he’s never really got tennis. Leon likes it, though, so he watches when it’s on.

“So,” Lucky says, interrupting Connor’s trance. He’s leaning against the bar back, polishing a glass—it makes the muscles in his forearm ripple. Connor pointedly doesn’t stare.

“So?” Connor says weakly. He knows. And he knows that Lucky knows he knows. He still doesn’t acknowledge it. He quickly looks around to check if anyone is close by.

“Did you still wanna come home with me?” Lucky says.

He just drops it into the space between them like it’s nothing. He just says it like it doesn’t turn Connor’s world upside down and his guts inside out.

Deep down, Connor knows that he could say no and Lucky would never mention it again. No hard feelings. Easy. They could both pretend like it never happened. Which is what Connor should want—it is what Connor wants. Which is why Connor is going to say no.

“Yeah.” It comes out close to a whisper, but it doesn’t need to be audible because Lucky smiles. Connor feels his cheeks heat, and it’s like every inch of skin suddenly fires up like live wire.

Lucky turns around and places the glass on the shelf, and Connor blows out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in a puff.

“Good,” Lucky says when he turns back around, “‘cause I already asked Kazza to close out for me tonight. I just need to grab something from the office, and then I’m good to go.”

Connor swallows. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Lucky runs his bottom lip through his teeth consideringly before he flashes Connor a heated grin and walks away.

Connor waits for the pang of regret or guilt to hit; something to tell him to put a stop to this. It doesn’t come. All he feels is the prickling simmer of anticipation.

“Connor?” Lucky says, poking his head around the corner.

“Huh?”

“I meant for you to follow me,” he chuckles.

“Oh!” Connor scrambles to get out of the bar stool—it’s an entirely ungraceful affair—and follows Lucky and waits in the hall.

When he emerges from the office, he hands an envelope to Connor. “Can you hold this for a sec? Just need to put my jacket on.”

“Yeah, sure.” Connor looks down at the envelope, which has Lachlan written in Sharpie on the front. “Who’s this for?”

Lucky freezes and cocks his head. “What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—It’s just on the—Nevermind. Don’t worry about it,” Connor mumbles.

“No, no. Wait.” He shakes his head and huffs. “It’s me? Lachlan, that’s my name?” He pronounces it like Lock-lan, which confuses Connor more.

“What do you mean?”

“Lachy… It’s short for Lachlan?”

“It is?” Connor furrows his eyebrows.

“Yeah, mate! What have you been calling me?”

“I thought your name was Lucky!”

Lucky—or Lachy?—bursts out laughing, snorting a little as he clutches his sides. “I thought you were just saying it weird,” he manages to get out between laughs.

Connor rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, it was loud in there when you introduced yourself, so…” he lets himself trail off. He shifts on his feet, looking at the carpet.

Lachy shakes his head, still chuckling as he grabs Connor’s hand at the wrist. “Come on, this way.”

“It’s a bit weird now ‘cause I’ve been calling you Lucky all this time, and you’re Lucky in my head. I guess I have to change that now,” Connor murmurs, largely to himself.

Lachy hums. He tugs on Connor’s wrist and pulls him forward, swallowing the space between them as he backs them into a door. In a snap second, it’s like all the air has left the room, the world around them focusing in on the one point of contact at Connor’s wrist. Lachy’s hand is warm as it applies some pressure.

There is a beat of silence where Connor doesn’t know what to do but look. The lighting is a little better back here, and it catches on the strands of Lachy’s hair that have been lightened by the sun. In this lighting, Connor thinks Lachy’s eyes might be hazel or maybe a warm amber. He feels an inexplicable need to find out.

The thing that catches Connor off-guard is the way he has to look down at Lachlan. Connor knew that he’s shorter—has seen him with his coworkers to compare—but it didn’t prepare him for the way it feels. The way that Lachy’s everything makes him feel pinned in place even as he towers over him—the six inches or so of height difference feels meaningless under his heated gaze.

Lachy reaches back with his free hand and grabs the door handle.

“You can keep calling me Lucky if you want, seeing as you’ll be getting Lucky tonight, right?” The corner of Lachy's lip ticks up in a smirk as he bites back a laugh. He leans in. “You can call me whatever you like once I’m inside you.”

Connor chokes. “Um, okay?” he squeaks, spluttering.

Lachy—Lucky?—leans his head back against the door and laughs. There is no explanation for the way the sound seeps into Connor, reaching every single crevice. It should be embarrassing to be this affected by someone’s laugh. Connor doesn’t have time to explore that thought further as Lucky pushes the door open and pulls Connor with him into the cool evening air.

The walk to Lucky’s place is not very long. But it is enough time for Connor to feel the ever-present doubt creeping in, even as Lucky tells him a funny story about a collision he saw while he was surfing that morning. He’s standing so close. Close enough that he can feel the heat of Lucky’s arm against his own. Closer than is normal for two guys casually strolling down the street, which—

Connor knows they’re not just two guys walking down the street. Not at all. He can still feel the anticipation simmering under his skin even as the cold air cuts through his thin sweater.

He tries to focus on the fact that the streets are empty, except for the occasional car, and no one knows him here. Here, he’s just Connor. So he tries not to let the looming shadow of his Name dig its claws in.

The thing is… he has a guy—a really hot guy who definitely knows what he’s doing—who is willing to take Connor home. A guy who seems to be into his disheveled and awkward self for some reason. A guy who inexplicably makes Connor feel safe, thousands of miles away from home and away from everything and everyone he knows.

Connor should take this gift with both hands and say thank you like the good Canadian boy that he is.

He thinks about the visualization exercises and pictures himself taking off the Edmonton Oilers jersey with McDavid 97 on the back and the C on the front. He pictures himself handing it over to Australian customs along with the apple he had forgotten was in his bag.

Connor barely has time to even look at Lucky’s apartment before he’s crowded against the door. Connor sucks in a steadying breath.

Lucky looks up at him, his warm breath tickling Connor’s neck. “I’m sorry if I smell like beer; I know you don’t like beer.”

Connor makes an affronted noise. “I do so like beer. I just don’t like—”

Lucky huffs and cuts him off by slamming his lips on Connor’s. Connor lets out a little squeak of surprise before his body takes over. His eyes flutter shut as he takes in the warmth of Lucky’s soft lips.

It feels so foreign when Lucky slides his tongue over Connor’s bottom lip; the wet heat surprises him and makes him open his mouth instinctively. He’s rewarded as Lucky pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles on it slightly. Connor finds out he enjoys that as he bites back a groan.

Lucky’s hands move from the door behind Connor to rest on his hips, fingers applying gentle but firm pressure. His hands feel so warm Connor wonders if they would leave handprints for the world to see, like a brand.

Lucky makes a noise against his mouth that Connor can’t interpret. He hums a questioning sound and finds that it tickles a little. He finds out he likes that, too.

Lucky’s hands pull away, much to his dismay, only to grab Connor’s own hands and place them on his sides—Connor runs his hands down the firmness of his obliques and gives them an appreciative squeeze, earning him an approving sound as Lucky rests his hands on Connor’s chest.

Connor doesn’t know how long they just stay like that, kissing languidly as he slowly becomes more exploratory with his touches, sliding his hands over Lucky’s defined back. And Lucky returns the favor, running his hands over Connor’s chest—through the sweater material, it just feels like broad warm pressure—before reaching up to the nape of Connor’s neck and moving him the way he wants to deepen the kiss.

The wet, hot slide of their mouths feels so nice that Connor thinks maybe they could just stay doing this forever. But Lucky has other plans; he slides his hands under Connor’s sweater and hums appreciatively at what he finds. His hands travel up Connor’s chest; when he slides his hands directly over Connor’s nipples, Connor has to choke down a whine.

Connor’s hands move of their own accord, sliding down Lucky’s back and over his generous ass. His pressure is light, but it doesn’t stop Lucky from rocking forward and onto his tiptoes, stealing all the air from between their bodies. In doing so, he presses his hard dick right into Connor’s, the slide sending an electric shock through his body. They both moan at the same time.

Connor suddenly becomes acutely aware of how hard he is and the slight wet patch at the front of his boxers. Connor sucks in a breath through his nose. If he had known this was happening today, he would’ve jerked off before going to the pub. Hell—if he had even a second, he would’ve jerked off in the pub’s bathroom. Anything to take the edge off.

As it stands, Connor feels unable to get a hold of his restraint, like he’s reaching out to grab something just out of reach. It makes him feel underwater and suddenly too aware of all the sensations at once: the filthy slide of their mouths, Lucky’s thumbs rubbing over his nipples, the friction as Lucky grinds their clothed cocks together. It’s all too much as Connor feels his restraint fraying.

“Lucky,” Connor mumbles against his lips.

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning back a little.

This time, when Lucky slides his hands down Connor’s chest, he claws his hands, and his dull nails scrape over Connor’s nipples, drawing an unrestrained moan as he arches into Lucky.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” Lucky mumbles as his hands continue to travel south, as he recaptures Connor’s lips in a messy kiss.

His mind feels fragmented. Split between needing this to stop so he doesn’t come way too soon, ruining the whole thing, and needing to come so bad he thinks he might die. But he can’t figure out how to put that into words, so he just floats in the liminal space between the two.

He feels Lucky slide hook his fingers over the waistband of his jeans and boxers, and it takes him a second too long to figure out what’s happening as Lucky’s hand dips inside. It’s just the brush of a hand over his bare dick, but it’s more than he’s gotten in almost ten years, and Connor panics.

“Wait—no—” he blurts out, muffled by Lucky’s mouth.

Connor grabs Lucky’s hand and yanks it out of his pants, but it’s too late. He squeezes his eyes shut as he fights the shudder that travels through his whole body as he comes, largely untouched, in his too-expensive jeans.

He tucks his chin to his chest, face flaring so hot he must be bright red. He takes a few breaths to steady himself before he opens his eyes and dares to look up at Lucky.

He immediately winces at what he sees. Connor feels like he actually might die and prays for the ground to swallow him whole.

Lucky’s jaw clicks, his expression one that Connor has never seen on his handsome face before. One of hurt and confusion. Connor swallows.

“Is this a gay panic thing? Because I hate to break it to you, we’d been rubbing cocks for like twenty minutes,” he says, voice low and even.

“What? No! No, it’s not—” Connor stutters, “That’s not—No.”

“Right.” Lucky raises his eyebrows; he clearly doesn’t believe him.

Connor realizes he is still clutching Lucky’s wrist so tightly it must hurt; he lets it go completely. Lucky takes a few steps back, and Connor misses the heat of his body immediately. He feels the edges of panic closing in, so he just speaks.

“No, I promise. That’s not what’s happening. I’ve known since I was like ten that maybe—” His eyes dart around the room, and his eyes fixate on all the little trinkets around Lucky’s house—it’s kind of adorable. He takes a deep breath. Fuck it. “No. I’ve known since I was 10. I’ve just never… told anyone before. Or done anything. That was… That was great. I really liked it. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m so—” He runs his hands down his face. “Trust me, that is not what’s wrong. God, I want to die right now.”

His eyes affix to the surfboard mounted above the couch, a point just over Lucky’s left shoulder. It’s suffocatingly silent for a moment as Lucky looks him over.

“Wait,” Lucky says, his voice low and tight, “Did you just… come?”

Connor drops his head in his hands and straight-up whines.

“Oh my god,” Lucky whispers. “Holy shit.”

Connor wonders if it’s possible to just travel through the door like a ghost. Or maybe blink out of existence.

There’s a shuffling sound before gentle hands on his wrists pull them away from his face. “Woah, hey, Connor. No worries, yeah? It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbles. Connor thinks about all the guys Lucky’s fucked before and wonders if any of them had ever come in their pants after being lightly grazed by a hand. Of course, he would be a failure at this, too.

“Baby,” Lucky’s voice is so gentle, “I’m serious, okay? You have nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s… Seriously, oh my fucking God, Connor, that is fucking hot.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, baby, it is.” He gently clasps Connor’s chin so he has to look at him and smiles softly. “Come on, maybe let’s take a break.”

“Oh.” Connor’s chest feels too tight. “Do you wanna stop? I’m sorry. I can go if you want. I’m sorry for ruining it for you.” He knows his voice sounds odd, but he’s too panicked to care.

“Stop? Who said anything about stopping?” Lucky chuckles. “Unless you want to stop, I am very much still very interested.” He directs Connor’s hand to the front of his jeans, where the hard outline of his cock twitches in Connor’s palm. “Trust me. Very. Interested. But I can wait for a second. Come on, lemme get us a drink.”

Lucky walks over to a bar cart and pours two whiskeys. Connor wonders if he should leave anyway, if he’s just being nice. Sure, he’s still hard, but does he really want Connor, the guy who came from a light breeze in his entryway? Connor thinks about all the guys he’s seen Lucky take home before, and he just knows he’s going to be the worst—or at least, the most disappointing. Maybe it would be less embarrassing for everyone if he left now.

Lucky walks over and leans against the kitchen counter opposite him and hands him the drink with a soft smile.

Connor determines that he should probably stay, given he’s come once already, and Lucky hasn’t come at all. And that’s probably unfair.

“So,” Lucky says, “Earlier, you said that you’ve never told anyone you’re gay?” Connor shakes his head. “And you’ve never… done anything?”

Connor sighs. In for a penny, in for a pound, or whatever. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Really? Never?” Lucky says, slightly incredulous.

“Well, there was like once or twice in juniors—high school, I mean, uh. Bro-jobs, or whatever, on, uh, school trips.” He shakes his head. “It just felt wrong ‘cause they weren’t gay, but I was. And it felt a little like I was taking advantage of it. So I stopped.”

Lucky snorts. “Well, sucking cock is pretty gay if you ask me.”

It pulls an unsuspecting laugh out of Connor. “I guess. I don’t know. That’s not what I meant—I guess—it was just different for me.” Connor shrugs and bites his lip. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I never did anything again after that.”

“Like… nothing?” Lucky asks, not unkindly.

“Yeah. Nothing.” Connor sighs. “I think you’re the first person I’ve kissed in like almost ten years. God, that’s so embarrassing to say out loud. You probably think I’m so fucking weird.”

Lucky reaches over and squeezes his arm. “Hey, I don’t think that’s embarrassing. Or weird. Different strokes, or whatever. It is what it is.”

Connor didn’t set out to have this conversation. Realistically, he never thought he would ever even have this conversation—not at least for another ten years. But something about the earnest way Lucky’s looking at him makes him want to say it. Like it’s suddenly something that’s clawing at his throat to get out.

“I just…” Connor pauses and worries at his lip again. “It’s different for me. I…” He takes a really deep breath and blows it out. “I work in the sports industry, and, unfortunately, being gay is still a pretty big deal in my line of work.”

“Shit,” Lucky nods. “That sucks.”

“I guess a little part of me always thought that if I didn’t say it out loud to anyone or do anything about it, then it was just something about me that was just for me to know. Something that other people don’t get to know about me. I guess in the process, I stopped really acknowledging it, even to myself. It’s weird. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also don’t want people to know. Which must mean I am ashamed of it, I guess. I don’t know.” Connor clears his throat to push through the tightness there. “I’ve never known another option. Like, I knew this was what I had to do from when I figured it out at 10. It’s like… if this is your reality, you might as well accept it and move on, you know?”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not painful, though. It still sucks. I’m sorry.”

Connor shrugs as Lucky lets it hang in the air for a bit.

“Am I the first person you’ve told?” Lucky asks.

“Yeah.”

“Wow… that’s…” Lucky smiles. “Congratulations, Connor. That’s a big deal. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Connor blows out a breath, and it comes out long and shaky. Despite that, his chest feels looser, like one of the invisible chains that wrap around his body loosened. “Yeah.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit as they sip their whiskeys, deep in thought. Connor takes the chance to look over Lucky in the bright kitchen lights. Connor finally determines that he has hazel eyes. They’re largely amber with flecks of green, and it makes him feel warm. It reminds him of the start of autumn and the beginning of the hockey season and the hope that comes with it.

The muscles in Lucky’s forearm ripples as he taps his fingers on the countertop to an unknown beat. It makes Connor think of the little hints of his body under the fitted black shirt and black pants. He knows from the way his shirt stretches when he reaches for a high shelf that Lucky has a broad, defined back. He’s seen enough of his arms and hands to fuel his fantasies for weeks. And what he’s seen of his ass and thighs makes him want to dig his fingers in, just to see what happens. Lucky just looks so handsome, beautiful, hot that it makes his head spin a little.

A flash of heat rolls over Connor as he remembers the feeling of the solid planes of Lucky’s body against his. Connor’s a professional athlete. He’s seen so many naked male bodies in peak physical form so many times and felt nothing that he sometimes questions whether he is actually into men. Of course, there’s always someone who would knock him away from that thought like an 18-wheeler truck. Either way, he doesn’t look in the locker room. Rarely even wants to.

This time, though, it’s Lucky. And he’s not a teammate. And he’s gay. And, for some inexplicable reason, he wants to fuck Connor—a thought that sends another wave of molten heat through his veins.

He shuffles on his feet and feels the uncomfortable wet patch in his pants and flushes. Something catches Lucky’s eye because he raises an eyebrow slightly and cocks his head. It’s a minuscule moment, but Connor catches it, and the way the air seems to shift.

Connor thinks about how he’s already here, everything out on the table. Connor thinks about how he might never get this opportunity again—at least not for another ten years—needs to make the most of it. Connor thinks about the weight of Lucky’s hard cock in his hand. Connor—

“So,” Connor finds himself saying, “Are we gonna fuck tonight or…?”

Lucky throws his head back and laughs. It exposes the long line of his neck, and—Connor doesn’t know if it’s the whiskey or some other form of intoxication, but he has a sudden overwhelming urge to bite it, lick it, kiss it.

So he does.

He closes the space between them in one big step and leans down to run his teeth along Lucky’s neck. He moans in response, a deep rumbling sound that tickles his lips. Connor licks it and savors the flavor of salty sweat and the aroma of heady musk.

“Yeah, baby,” Lucky groans, his fingers finding purchase on Connor's hips and gripping firmly, “I’m going to make this so good for you.” He tilts his head and captures Connor’s lips in a heated kiss.

This kiss is different to the one at the door. It’s more urgent, incessant, purposeful. It’s messy as their teeth clash and tongues slide against each other. Lucky bites down on Connor’s lip harder than before, and he moans. Connor sucks on Lucky’s tongue, earning a moan of his own, before letting go with a pop.

“What do you want, Connor?” Lucky murmurs against his lips.

“I want you to fuck me,” Connor blurts out, the words spilling out.

Lucky freezes for a split second, almost imperceptible, before shaking his head lightly. Connor feels the stab deep in his gut; the sting of rejection hits him by surprise, and it hurts—more than he thought it would. He tries to pull away.

Lucky shakes his head. “No, I just mean, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight.”

Connor furrows his brows, feeling confused, still trying to step away.

“Connor. Not on your first night. You’re not ready.” Lucky squeezes Connor’s hip. “Next time though…”

Connor freezes. “Next time? There’s a next time?” he hears himself say, voice small and quiet.

“Yeah, baby. If you’re game, there will be as many next times as you want before you leave. You’re here for a few more months, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathless.

Connor doesn’t know who closes the gap between them, their lips meeting in a heated kiss once again. Lucky guides him backward until he bumps up against the counter of the kitchen island again. He hears the empty whiskey glass clink as his body knocks it back a few inches.

“So, what are we gonna do then?” Connor asks nervously as Lucky kisses down his jaw and neck.

“Oh, there are plenty of ways I can make you feel good, baby, don’t you worry,” Lucky says against the neck, the puffs of air tickling him.

“Oh,” Connor breathes.

He leans back. “Luckily,” he winks, beaming, “you’re in very good hands.”

It takes Connor a second to process the joke before a surprised giggle escapes his lips.

Lucky pushes his sweater up, exposing his stomach and chest. Lucky flicks a tongue over one nipple and a thumb over the other. Connor groans, his hands tightening on Lucky’s shirt.

“So sensitive,” Lucky laughs into his skin as he kisses his way down Connor’s front. “So pink. God, you’re so flushed, too. It goes all the way down to… I need to know if…”

Connor doesn’t have time to even process the way Lucky looks on his knees between his legs because Lucky is popping the buttons on his jeans and pulling his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

His dick bobs free, already achingly hard again. The swollen head glistens, wet with a mix of his come from before and the new beads of pre-come collecting at the tip. The air feels uncomfortably cold against him, and it makes him squirm.

He’s not uncomfortable for long, though, because Lucky wraps one hand around the base of his dick and squeezes firmly before running a hot tongue up the shaft. Connor’s breath catches in his chest.

He’s given no time to process the sensation before Lucky sucks the head into his mouth, bobbing once before sucking him all the way down with a salacious wink. Connor groans and is, for the first time this evening, happy that he’s come already because it is the only reason he doesn’t blow it from that alone.

Lucky moves, bobbing up and down, his hands resting on Connor’s hipbones, holding him still. It is impossibly hot and impossibly wet and impossibly tight. Connor doesn’t even know what sensation to focus on; the only thing he can think is fuck, that feels so good.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he moans, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to get a handle on his ragged breathing.

He has nothing really to compare this to, but he doesn’t need to compare anything because he feels as though he is on fire, sweat prickling all over him as he focuses on not coming. He focuses on the tension and heat that settles in his gut.

It’s so different than when he touches himself; it’s just so much more. More everything, everywhere. The sounds, the smells—he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. He thinks that maybe he can’t open his eyes and see what this looks like from a real POV perspective because seeing it would ruin his life.

Connor likes to think that as a professional athlete, he has conditioned himself to have great control over his body. A theory that is being very much tested as moans and curses fall from his mouth without his input at all.

“God, fuck,” he rasps, his hoarse voice sounds insanely erotic. “Lucky…” Lucky swirls his tongue over the head as he moves himself up and down Connor’s dick. “Lachy… Fuck. Lachlan,” he moans.

Lucky hums—Connor feels it all the way up his spine—and pulls off with a pop. “Say it again.” His hand moves to lazily slide up and down his shaft.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.” His voice sounds even more fucked than Connor’s; it makes his head spin.

“Lachlan,” he says softly.

Lucky smiles and makes a low noise of approval before sucking Connor back down, all while keeping his eyes pinned on Connor, who can’t look away.

“Oh fuck, Lachlan,” he says, and he’s rewarded with another groan. “You look so good. You feel so good. This is… ahh…”

His hands are gripping the kitchen counter so hard it hurts. The view of Lucky’s shiny red lips stretched over him is too much, his hold on his self-control close to faltering.

He closes his eyes and lets his head hang back; he’s unable to bite down the keening sound that escapes when Lucky flicks his tongue along the frenulum. The symphony of sound in the room sounds so filthy Connor thinks he would be flushing even pinker if he could. But he knows he’s already flushed red from his face to his dick that’s disappearing into Lucky’s incredible mouth.

Connor thinks about Leo and what he would say if he saw this. He wonders if he would be disgusted. If he’d never talk to him off the ice again. If he’d request a trade. If he would lose his best friend. He thinks about what the people would say if they saw him like this—Cam, his parents, his teammates, his agent—

Lucky’s hand slides down Connor’s shaft to the root and traces the line between his balls that are wound up high and tight against his body. His dick throbs inside Lucky’s mouth, and he feels more than hears Lucky’s moan of appreciation.

He decides he shouldn't be thinking of anything at all. However, the decision is more or less taken out of his hands when Lucky presses a finger behind his balls with such incredible precision his knees almost buckle.

The movement causes him open his eyes, and he watches as he accidentally fucks into Lucky’s mouth. Lucky’s dark lashes are wet, and his hazel eyes glisten as they look up at Connor as he fights against a choke, eyes fluttering shut in concentration. Connor thinks he’s never going to forget this moment, the way this looks. Even if this is only a one-time thing, it’s worth it.

Lucky reached up to grab Connor’s hand and place it in his hair. Connor cards his fingers through the soft curls. Lucky rolls his eyes humorously before pulling off.

“Fuck my face, Connor,” he rasps.

“Oh… Oh, fuck,” Connor whispers, hands shaking slightly as they move to grip his hair.

Lucky waits, mouth open, as he reaches one hand between his own pants. Connor watches as Lucky wraps a hand around his own cock, and feels compelled to say something.

“No,” he says.

“No?” Lucky furrows his brow.

“No, don’t—I want to get you. After—”

“Oh,” Lucky breathes, “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

Connor watches as Lucky gives himself a firm squeeze before pulling his hand out and placing it on his broad thigh. He looks up at Connor and smiles before opening his mouth again, tongue hanging out over his bottom teeth. Connor groans as his dick kicks, another bead of precome collecting at the tip. Lucky leans forward and licks it off lightly.

Connor swears before grabbing his dick in one hand and Lucky’s hair in the other before feeding his dick into Lucky’s awaiting mouth. The heat, and wetness, and tightness puts him on edge immediately as his hand clenches, pulling Lucky’s hair tighter. His moan vibrates against Connor’s dick, and he feels it resonate inside every bone in his body. The urge to come is suddenly close to overwhelming.

He keeps his eyes open this time as he rocks into Lucky’s mouth experimentally, watching for any sign of discomfort. As if reading his mind, Lucky rolls his eyes and makes a brief movement with his hands. It surprises a chuckle out of Connor as he relents.

He brushes over Lucky’s lips reverently with the hand that was gripping the base of his dick before he moves it to cup the back of Lucky’s head as he starts to fuck deeper into his throat. With each thrust, he feels the control he barely had fray and unravel.

His pace quickens, hitting the back of Lucky’s throat on every thrust. Lucky places his hand back on Connor’s hip to steady himself as Connor fucks his face. The tension in his groin feels impossibly taut.

“Lachlan, fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Lucky hums and grips his hip tighter so Connor doesn’t even think about pulling out. Their eyes lock, Connor unable to look away as Lucky cups his aching balls in his hand, reaching behind to the spot, and presses his fingers deep, plunging Connor over the edge.

Connor moans his name as he spills down Lucky’s throat, the world going hazy as his balls tighten and throb. He thinks the only thing that keeps him upright is all the years of balancing on knives on ice.

He gently eases Lucky off his dick, realizing suddenly just how tightly he was clutching his hair.

“Sorry, was that,” Connor says, his voice hoarse and soft, “Was that okay? Did I hurt you?”

Lucky laughs, shaking his head before tipping forward and burying his face into the crook of Connor’s thigh.

“Yeah, baby, you did so good. A total pro at getting your cock sucked.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Connor rolls his eyes, unable to contain his laughter too.

“Now, there’s an idea,” Lucky says.

“Yeah?” Connor says, voice suddenly small as a wave of heat rushes over him. His spent dick throbs valiantly in interest.

“Oh, yeah,” Lucky hums against his thigh, “Not today though.”

Connor reaches down and pulls Lucky up to stand, supporting his weight a little as he comes off his knees. He leans down and kisses him gently.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against his lips. He can taste the faint flavor of himself on his lips.

“Nah. Yeah, no worries, baby,” Lucky chuckles, “Any time.”

Connor’s body shudders at that thought, and he chooses to push it aside as he feels Lucky’s hard cock against his thigh.

“I want to take care of you. Can I?” he asks quietly.

Lucky hums and pushes a hand under Connor’s sweater, muttering, “Why are we still fucking wearing clothes? And to answer your question, fuck yeah. Come on.”

They fumble, Lucky guiding Connor, who’s walking backward, to the bedroom, their mouths clashing while they finally remove their clothes.

Connor feels his knees knock against the bed as Lucky gives him a slight push, sending him sprawling. His dick unceremoniously flops on his stomach, and Connor feels momentarily embarrassed before he looks up at Lucky.

His breath catches at the sight. Lucky is standing there, naked at the end of the bed, his heated gaze raking down Connor’s body as he strokes himself. Connor is transfixed by the movement. From where he is, Lucky’s dick looks thick, thicker than Connor’s own anyway, maybe a bit shorter. It tapers down to the tip, where the head, red-purple and mouth-wateringly wet, peeks out from the foreskin.

Connor always thought he would be nervous at this moment, unsure. But looking at Lucky, he feels calm, like the moment before his skate hits the fresh ice in pre-game. Every single cell in his body feels dialed into this moment, reaching out to feel Lucky’s skin against his.

His eyes follow the dark trail of hair, from the groomed patch at the base of his cock up to the mat of hair between his nipples. His eyes track the movement of Lucky’s toned arm as he works himself slowly, languidly. He bites his lip as his eyes trail down Lucky’s thick thighs, a carpet of dark hair over them. For some reason, Connor just wants to sink his teeth into the meat of his thigh.

When he finally meets Lucky’s eye, he feels like his soul is going to leave his body. The look is almost predatory, the way his gaze feels heavy, pinning him in place. His eyes are so dark now, his pupils swallowing the beautiful hazel, as his curly hair falls messily over his face.

“You like what you see,” Lucky says gruffly.

“Yeah,” Connor replies, breathless once again.

“Good.” He kneels on the bed, and Connor slides back further onto the bed. “Me too.”

Lucky knee-walks his way up the bed, his thick thighs bracketing Connor’s legs, skin blazingly hot. Connor can’t help but scramble back until his head hits the pillow.

Connor swallows hard when Lucky finally towers over him. The hand not stroking his cock is pressed against the pillow right next to Connor’s head. The view is intoxicating. Connor’s hands twitch at his sides.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

Lucky moans and nods, biting his lip.

Connor reaches up and runs his hands over Lucky’s cheek. Lucky’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into it. Connor’s thumbs brush over his thick eyelashes, and then he pulls his bottom lip out from between his teeth. Lucky’s mouth remains slightly parted as Connor slides his hands down his neck, through the thick hair at his chest, down the hard planes of his stomach, and onto his thighs.

Connor digs his fingers in, earning him a small hiss, and pulls Lucky’s thighs forward so he can sit comfortably on Connor’s stomach. He slides his hands up the back of his thighs, savoring the contrasting rough and soft of his thick leg hair. He takes a moment to knead Lucky’s ample glutes before taking one hand to trace the thick groomed hair at his pelvis.

Lucky’s hard cock sits heavy on Connor’s stomach, the pre-come smearing a little against Connor’s flushed red skin. Lucky wiggles at the light touch, cock kicking, as Connor runs his fingers down the soft velvety skin of the shaft, tracing the snaking veins. He is so transfixed by it, how soft it is, how much it responds to his touch, how hot all of this is—

“Please,” he hears Lucky whisper, a hint of a whine.

Connor blinks and looks up at Lucky, who looks like he’s in a tremendous amount of pain—although Connor knows that’s not what it is. His jaw is clenched, and he’s breathing hard and raggedly.

“Sorry, I just—Sorry,” Connor says softly.

He takes a deep breath before wrapping his hand around the shaft of Lucky’s cock, earning him a deep moan. He pumps his hand experimentally, noting the difference in how it feels in his hand compared to his own dick, before applying more pressure. When Connor slides his hand up and down again, he runs his thumb lightly against the underside of the tip.

“Connor,” Lucky moans above him, his head dropping a little. His curly hair brushes against Connor’s cheek.

He hums, drawing up the play in his head as he continues to repeat the motion. Lucky’s leaking so much that it doesn’t take long before his hand is wet enough to touch the sensitive head without it being uncomfortable—he hopes at least. He alternates his strokes between one that goes from the root to the tip and one that squeezes the head with a slight twist—the way he knows feels good.

“Fuuuuck,” Lucky breathes. His arm is starting to shake a little from where it is next to Connor’s head. Connor turns his head slightly and presses a light kiss to Lucky’s wrist. “Baby, that’s so fucking good.”

Connor smiles and feels his chest puff a little, proud like when a new drill finally clicks. He looks up at Lucky’s face, now flushed with pleasure. He watches as he applies more pressure, watching the way Lucky’s eyes roll behind the closed lids and lips hang open.

“Yeah, fuck, just like that,” Lucky says. His hand comes up from where it was resting on Connor’s thigh and grabs onto his shoulder, fingers digging in. It hurts, but Connor doesn’t mind.

Connor continues to stroke at an even pace, eyes gliding over Lucky’s face and body, taking it all in. Lucky continues to drop little praises between them, mixed with his moans and curses. Connor feels like he could listen to the way Lucky says his name forever.

It’s not long before Connor notices the way Lucky’s hips start hitching with his strokes and speeds up his hand. He loosens his grip slightly so Lucky can fuck into his hand in time with his strokes.

“Lachlan,” Connor’s voice sounds hoarse and fucked-out, even to his own ears, “Open your eyes. I want to watch you come.”

Lucky moans and his eyes open, gaze unfocused. Connor is transfixed by his face: the square jawline and full cheeks flushed with pleasure, the way his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open, the shape of his mouth as he moans Connor’s name over and over.

Connor feels Lucky’s cock get impossibly harder in his hand as his pace becomes more erratic. Connor sees the moment before he comes in his eyes as they roll back, his eyes slamming shut. Connor feels the momentary desperation before the relief in the way Lucky’s fingers clench into the pillow beside his head and into the meat of his shoulder.

He feels the first pulse in the kick of Lucky’s cock in his hand before the cum hits his chest, his name on Lucky’s lips as he comes. He strokes Lucky through his orgasm in even pulls. He feels breathless and in awe and reaches up with his lips to pull Lucky into a deep kiss.

When they pull away, a while after the last pulse Connor feels, Connor is smiling wide. Lucky rolls off him and pants in the bed next to him, his arm draped over his eyes as he catches his breath. Connor stays smiling like an idiot at the ceiling.

“Holy fuck,” Lucky murmurs against his elbow next to him.

Connor hums. “Yeah.”

“No, seriously. Holy fuck.” Lucky knocks his leg against Connor’s. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve never done that before?”

Connor lets his head drop to the side to look at him. “No?”

Lucky peaks an eye out and looks at him. “What are you, some kind of prodigy? What the fuck?”

“Uh…”

“Did you hack my brain? How—I’m serious, Connor. I can’t believe that’s the first handjob you’ve ever given. I think I might’ve died and fucking transcended. Fuck,” he breathes.

“Um… Thanks?” Connor says, unsure, “I guess I’ve spent a lot of time jerking off, so…”

Lucky knocks a knee against him again, harder this time. “Shut the fuck up.”

Connor laughs.

Lucky turns in the bed to face him and smiles dopily. “Do you want me to get you again?”

“Huh?”

Lucky gestures to Connor’s dick, hard and curved up against his stomach.

“Oh! I didn’t even—No, I’m okay. I think I might be fully dry.”

Lucky laughs. “Yeah, okay.” He’s silent for a second. “Hey, Connor?”

“Mmm?”

“Stay, yeah?” he says, voice quiet.

“Okay,” Connor replies softly.

“You can stay there; I’ll grab you a towel to clean up.”

“Hmm?”

“Your chest?”

“Oh!” he huffs and looks down at the mess on his chest. He runs a finger through the mess and pops it in his mouth, the flavor salty and tangy on his tongue. “Hmm!”

Lucky groans beside him, “Oh my god! What the fuck am I gonna do with you? You’re a fucking menace.”

“What?” Connor asks, confused.

Lucky rolls his eyes and climbs off the bed. “I can’t believe you genuinely don’t know what you do to people, do you? Fuck.”

Connor shrugs, not really following but too content to care.

They wake up facing each other the next morning, the sliver of light streaming in through the curtains illuminating their faces. Their bodies are pressed in close. Close enough that Connor feels Lucky’s morning boner pressing into his own.

Through sleepy blinks, they kiss for a long time, slow and heated, their bodies sliding against each other. Lucky hooks a strong thigh over Connor’s and pulls them even closer together, their hard dicks sliding against each other perfectly.

They moan into each other’s mouths, kissing messily as the sensations build. Eventually, Lucky reaches down and wraps a hand around both of them, rocking against each other. The air in the room feels thick with their pants and moans.

Each slide of Lucky’s cock against Connor’s sends sparks up his spine; the way their heads rub together is unlike anything Connor’s ever felt before. The pressure of Lucky’s hand is light, and it shouldn’t be enough to get him to the edge, but it does faster than he expects.

“Lachlan, I’m gonna come,” he whispers, his voice thick with sleep and arousal.

“Mmm, me too,” Lucky moans.

When Connor comes, it’s nothing like the night before. It’s slow and sensual, waves of heat and pleasure rolling through him like molasses. Lucky follows not long after, covering them both in sticky heat.

Lucky captures Connor’s lips again, resuming their lazy kiss for a little while longer until the mess between them gets to be uncomfortable.

Lucky reaches up with his hand and licks it clean—it unbelievably makes a molten wave of heat roll through Connor’s body again—before he reaches up to cup Connor’s cheek.

“You didn’t panic and run away,” Lucky says evenly, without judgment and maybe even with a sigh of appreciation and wonder.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t,” Connor smiles. “Why? Did you expect me to?”

Lucky shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess.” He pauses and sighs. “It happens. A lot of guys will have the post-nut clarity, or whatever, and make it clear that they regret what happened. They’ll try to make it real clear they’re “straight” which…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I didn’t know you wouldn’t do the same. I mean, I hoped you wouldn’t. But…” He trails off and shrugs.

It stings more than Connor expects, and he feels his full-body wince. “Good thing I’m gay then, eh?” he says.

He didn’t know he was going to say that when he opened his mouth to respond, but he feels with amazing—post-nut—clarity that he is glad he did.

Lucky smiles and it's the smile that makes Connor feel warm and tingly from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It’s a different heat than before. He imagines it’s the type of heat that sunflowers chase when they supposedly turn to follow the sun.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Lucky says.

“Me too.” Connor leans in and plants a soft kiss on Lucky’s lips.

Lucky hums, content. “Come on. Let’s shower, and then I can make us breakfast.”

Later, when he’s sat at the kitchen island watching Lucky talk animatedly about the merit of sharks of all things while making an incredibly delicious smelling omelet, Connor is struck by the normality of the whole thing.

You could replace Connor with any single person, and the world would keep spinning. Why would Connor be any different?

He thinks about checking his phone earlier. He had opened it, heart pounding, holding his breath while he towel dried his hair—he took the opportunity while Lucky was drying his hair in the bathroom with an absolutely wild-looking contraption—”It’s called a diffuser, Connor”.

So, he was hiding, essentially, crouched on Lucky’s bedroom floor where Lucky had plugged his phone in before bed, knuckles white around his phone as he turned the screen on.

It was underwhelming, really. The world did not burn down. It wasn’t front-page news on ESPN or Deadspin or Twitter or something. There wasn’t some sort of international beacon that went out screaming: “Connor McDavid is Gay” or “Connor McDavid has Gay Sex; what is next for the Edmonton Oilers Captain”. There were no “you’re fired” texts from Ken or Bettman. There were no “you’re disgusting, and I hate you” texts from all the people in his life who loved him.

There were only the normal texts. Photos from Cam of some Canada Geese. A text from his mum asking how he was doing. The most notable thing on his phone was a recent text from Leo, apologizing for Nashville—an apology Connor didn’t feel like he was owed, but Leo wanted to let him know he was sorry anyway.

“Hey, just wanted to say sorry for how I was in Nashville. I don’t want you to think I meant it,” he had said. “You’re one of the best people I know. I was worried and hurt. So I’m sorry. I hope you’re having a good time in Australia. You haven’t sent me any pictures, asshole.”

“Isn’t it like 3 am in Germany right now? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?” Connor had texted back.

Leon had sent back his typical response—an eye roll emoji—and Connor had smiled and turned off his phone.

So, Connor watches Lucky move at the stove, easy and carefree. And, for the first time in a long time, Connor feels a little bit of that ease in his chest. Like there is just a little bit more room to breathe. Like there is an ever so slightly less weight on his shoulders.

For the first time since he was 10, Connor considered that maybe he could be wrong. That maybe Connor McDavid could get to have something like this. Something easy—private but easy. Connor considers that maybe this is something he might want to share with a select few people when he’s ready. Not the people who would make it into a Connor McDavid-97-Captain issue. But people who deserve to see Connor a little more clearly.

But for now, he’s just content to watch as Lucky tries—and fails—to flip the omelet in the air like a pancake.

“So, how do you feel about scrambled eggs?” Lucky asks, smile broad and eyes shining.

“Good,” Connor laughs. “I feel good about scrambled eggs.”

“Fuck yeah!” Lucky laughs.

“Fuck yeah,” Connor says softly.

Masterlist | (My requests are currently closed.) | AO3

#the summer fic exchange 2k24 #hrpf #hockey rpf #connor mcdavid imagine #connor mcdavid fic #edmonton oilers imagine #edmonton oilers fic #edm #rox writes #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl smut

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hiding-from-reality-56 · 4 months ago

Text

Blue Hair and Pronouns - Leon Draisaitl

Word Count: 2230 Pairing: Leon Draisaitl x Original Nonbinary Character Rating: Teen and Up (see warnings) Summary: Blake and Leon have been friends for seven years. Leon's fresh off a game-seven loss, and has a month before he's attending Connor McDavid's wedding as one of the Best Men. He also happens to need a date. Tags: Getting together, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, fake relationships Warnings: Mentions of intoxication and alcohol (please let me know if I'm missing anything)

Hi, welcome to my submission for the Summer Fic Exchange 2k24, put on by the amazing @wyattjohnston! This fic is written for @nhl-stories, and features a pairing of Leon Draisaitl/Original Nonbinary OC! I've never written RPF with an OC insert, so please be gentle! This was certainly an unforgettable experience, and I'm so glad I tried branching out in my writing! I hope you like it!

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you can stop ringing-” Blake throws open the door with an exasperated sigh. “What are you, six?”

“You were taking forever, I was just making sure you knew I was here. You got my e-transfer?”

Blake rolls their eyes, prepared to retort with ‘Six-year-old behaviour,’ but decides to answer the question anyhow, albeit with a hint of mischief in their tone. “No, you should send it again, make sure I really got it.”

“Nice try, where’s my dog?”

Blake huffs out a laugh, stepping aside to let Leon in. “Probably eating my couch cushions again-” they put up a hand to stop Leon’s retort before it can even leave his mouth, “I know that was “only once,” but we’ve established I’m never letting you live that down. He was taking a post-walk nap, but I doubt he’s still asleep after that.”

After Leon’s toed off his shoes and lined them up neatly on the edge of the mat in the entryway, he follows Blake into the master bedroom, where a somehow still snoring Bowie lays, snuggled up in the exact spot Blake considers their side of the bed.

“Hey Bowie, I missed you,” Leon coos, flopping onto the other side of the bed and pulling the dog to his chest. Suddenly alert, the scruff of brown fur starts yipping excitedly and licking every square inch of Leon’s face he can reach.

Blake stands opposite the bed, observing the reunion with a bright smile. It’s only been a few days since Leon took off for Florida with the team in their quest for the Stanley Cup, the Oilers unfortunately falling short of glory in the end.

The Leon they’d seen on the ice in the dying seconds and in post-game interviews is far removed from the one they’re looking at now - for one, the hideously long ugly beard’s been shorn. The tears and sweat have been wiped away, and an air of happiness has replaced the defeated expression from just yesterday.

“Alright. Traditions are traditions; to the couch!”

The post-playoffs loss “Tipsy Time,” as Blake had dubbed it, became a thing back in 2017. Blake’s Uber had dropped them off at the wrong house, and they were a few too many drinks deep in their post-breakup misery when they’d staggered up the walkway and decided to just relax for a bit on the doorstep before figuring out their way home. They hadn’t been there for long, or at least they’d thought, before the door they were leaning against was being pulled open, and a slightly scowling Leon Draisaitl was looking down at them. Ever the gentleman, he invited Blake in, disregarding their smeared eye makeup and disheveled demeanor. After an impromptu nap on the couch and some water, Blake drunkenly spilled about their latest failed relationship while Leon listened, clearly a little buzzed himself.

When pressed on why he’d been drinking alone in his home, he roughly mumbled about “playoffs,” and “the fucking Ducks, man,” leading to Blake’s sobering realization that they were in an NHL player’s house. Of course, they’d recognized him when the door had opened, but the reality of it all took a while to sink in. Blake was mortified, as one would expect, rapidly apologized, and tried to leave (which wound up with them on the ground contemplating their shitty depth perception). Leon had insisted they stay until they were “at least sober enough to walk in a straight line,” and sat opposite them on the couch while he nursed his drink and some trashy reality show played in the background.

Of course, once you’ve drunkenly cried over an ex on Leon Draisaitl’s couch, a connection is formed, whether either party wants it or not. It turned into a very careful escorting down the block, exchanging numbers so Leon would know that Blake hadn’t “died or something,” progressing rapidly into a weekly binge-watch of 90 Day Fiancé, and eventually Blake becoming Bowie’s dog-sitter when Leon was away. It definitely made for an interesting whirlwind of a summer, but the unlikely friendship blossomed like they’d known each other for years.

Blake picks up the shot glasses they’d filled and walks carefully across the floor, sitting gingerly beside Leon and managing to not spill any alcohol. They extend their hand, holding out one of the shots for Leon to take. “So. Game seven. I’m sorry it didn’t go the way you guys wanted.”

Leon doesn’t answer, just grunts before taking the offered vodka shot from Blake’s hand and downing it without even a slight wince at the burn.

“Sucks, yeah - nothing we can do about it now. Bigger problems to worry about.”

“You know you’re allowed to be upset about this, right?” Blake places a gentle hand on Leon’s shoulder while flipping through the channels.

Leon shrugs in response, setting the shot glass down on the side table.

“It’s been less than forty-eight hours, you don’t have to pretend everything is fine again.”

“I really can’t worry about it right now. Done enough crying and yelling and swearing down in Florida. Besides, I have to worry about Davo’s wedding now.”

“What do you mean? You just have to show up.”

“I mean there’s the fact that I’m one of his Best Men. And then there’s the issue where I don’t have a date. So I guess what I’m asking is if you’ll come to the wedding as my date. I’ll get lit up if I don’t bring someone.” “So you decided to ask the world’s least gender-conforming weirdo to be your date? Yeah, I can see how that’ll be received so much better,” Blake says wryly.

“Blake, please. I’ll buy you a dress, or a suit, whatever you want to wear, and cover your airfare and accommodations. I’m kinda desperate here.”

“You’re asking someone who was bullied out of hockey the minute they were perceived as different to be your date. At a wedding full of guests who got to live the life I never got to. Do you see why maybe I’m not too interested in being around constant reminders of my own failures?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I never thought about it that way.”

“Besides, nobody is gonna believe we’re an item anyways. I’m like, the polar opposite of a WAG,” Blake adds, trying to lighten the suddenly sombre mood.

“Blue hair and pronouns has been my type for a while,” Leon replies with a smile.

Blake’s not too sure why that one stung more than it probably had any right to, but the next thing they know, their face hardens and they’re snapping back, “You’re not fucking funny, Leon. Fuck you, go on Tinder or wherever it is you find your one night stands, and take someone from there.”

Leon opens his mouth, takes one look at Blake, then closes it before crossing the room, sliding on his shoes, and leaving with Bowie hot on his heels.

“I’m gonna kill Leon Draisaitl. Nobody will ever find his body.”

“You can’t do that, Jade,” Blake replies, tipping their head over the arm of the couch to squint at their best friend.

“And why the fuck not?” She sounds far more affronted than Blake had initially thought she would be. Which, valid - the pair has been through a lot in the last few years, and Blake wouldn’t hesitate to punch someone for Jade. So they suppose it makes sense that Jade would be ready to commit murder for them.

“Because he’s like the second most popular guy in the city, and him being dead would seriously fuck with the Oilers’ dynamic.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I appreciate the offer, though. Shit, hang on. Speak of the devil,” Blake rolls their eyes, holding up their phone to show Jade Leon’s caller ID. They hold a finger up to their lips and swipe to answer. “What do you want, Leon.” Blake winces at the bite in their own tone, not expecting to sound this aggressive. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since the argument, but Blake still feels a little bad for the way they’d snapped.

“Hey. I’m- uh. I just wanted to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t have said that, it wasn’t right. I’m also sorry that I didn’t stop to consider why you might not want to go, and I get it if you don’t want to. I guess what I’m trying to say is, the wedding’s in a month, just- let me know if you change your mind, alright?”

“I appreciate the apology, but I think I’m gonna need some time to think about it. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but it still did hurt. I’m also sorry for yelling at you, there’s probably a better way that I could’ve responded. But yeah, let me sleep on it for a bit, okay?”

“You were more than justified to yell at me the way you did. I crossed a pretty big line. Take care of yourself, alright? I’m sorry again.”

Blake hangs up after a quick goodbye and drops their phone onto the rug. “You don’t have to kill him, Jade. I’m still hurt but he acknowledged his mistake and his apology felt genuine. And he’s never said anything like that before. I dunno. But enough about me, let’s order a pizza and watch sad movies,” Blake smiles.

Blake calls Leon back a week and a half later to accept his offer. Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?

They’d tried to insist on paying for their own flight, but Leon simply emailed them a flight confirmation five minutes later with nothing but “Oops.” in the body.

Fast-forward a couple weeks, several hours of trying on clothes, six arguments about who was allowed to pay for what, and a four-hour flight, Blake is standing in the most gorgeous wedding venue. They’re having a wonderfully animated discussion with Leon and Derek Ryan about the Olympics when their next point is interrupted.

“Blake?”

They stop mid-sentence, they’d know that voice anywhere. They turn around to confirm, and a huge smile breaks out across their face. “Oh my god, everyone shut up, my bestie is here,” they gasp, running forward to scoop the owner of the voice up into an excited hug. Blake does a little spin before setting their friend down again.

“Kailer!!!!! It’s been sooo long! I missed you this season, you should come back so I can tell people I’m taller than an Oiler again.”

Kailer straightens his tie and sighs dramatically. “You’re taller than Hammer, you’ll survive.”

“Hammer’s a child, he doesn’t count.”

“He’s not even a year younger than me, and you know that,” Kailer replies with an exaggerated eye roll. “So I see you and Leon got your shit together, then,” he continues with a shit-eating grin. Blake is confused for a moment, before remembering they came to this thing with Leon. Confusion must’ve shown on their face, because Kailer groans. “If I can figure out a proposal, surely you guys can work out whatever the hell it is you have going on between you.”

“There’s nothing ‘going on’ between us, we’re just friends,” Blake insists. Kailer gives them a ‘sure, bud,’ look, and seems like he’s going to retort with something, when his fiancée comes over with a glass of champagne in hand.

“Bailey, oh my god, you’re such a sight for sore eyes,” Blake exclaims, opening their arms excitedly. Kailer holds out a hand to take Bailey’s drink so the pair can embrace.

“Congrats on the engagement, you guys are so gross and in love and I couldn’t be more excited for you,” Blake rambles as they pull away. “Show me the ring?”

Bailey blushes happily and extends her hand to show off the frankly enormous rock sparkling on her finger.

“Damn, Yamo, you picked well,” Blake whistles in appreciation.

“I sure did,” he replies with a bright smile, but somehow Blake doesn’t think he’s referring to the ring.

“I’ll let you two go now, apparently Foegs is supposed to be floating around here somewhere, and Leon promised me he’d get him to find us so I can bug him and Alex,” Blake grins, opening their arms for one more quick hug from both of them before turning back to Leon.

After a beautiful ceremony, several speeches, and an amazing dinner, Leon holds out a hand, inviting Blake to dance. It’s a slow song, and Blake can’t help but rest their head on Leon’s shoulder as they move gracefully, every movement seamless like they’re made for each other.

Leon pulls Blake in after a twirl, holding their gaze with what can only be described as genuine fondness. Blake feels their cheeks warm, but doesn’t break eye contact. Leon leans down, and their lips are so close, they can feel his warm breath on their face as he speaks, “I was serious, you know.”

“About what,” Blake asks breathlessly. They might actually pass out if what they think is about to happen does.

“Blue hair and pronouns being my type,” Leon murmurs with a grin. Blake huffs out a quiet laugh. So he had meant what he’d said last month - just not in the way Blake had interpreted it. Either way, Kailer will be glad they’re figuring their shit out, or whatever he’d said.

“Shut up and kiss me,” they breathe. And he does.

#my fic #the summer fic exchange 2k24 #leon draisaitl fic #leon draisaitl x oc

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