#if the oilers don’t pull through at home…

[rangersgirl73]

don’t fucking tell me that my team AND my two bandwagon teams will be defeated by the p*nthers

[nineteenninety-six]

I hope I don’t send this 1000 times but tumblr glitched

Could you write with Jack abbot , like his neighbour (reader) knocks on his door and she’s like should I go to the er and he looks down and she’s managed to cut like her palm and he ends up stitching it himself (cause of course he has a kit) and like it would kinda be a plus if she was kinda scared of hospitals and stuff cause comforting jackkkkk

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Reader

TW: Medical inaccuracies. reader get injured. Jack stitches her up.

AN: I'm gonna reopen up my requests \O/

Hurried, rapid knocking on his door pulls Jack's attention away from the hockey game he was watching and he bites back a frustrated groan at the noise. He had a rare weekend off and that meant no disruption and he had warned all his friends and family about that, the only exception being emergencies.

The knocking quietened for a moment before it started back up, and then panic shot through him. He had his phone on DND and perhaps there was an actual emergency and no one could get through to him so they came to his apartment but a check through his phone showed no texts or missed calls.

Jack pondered for a few moments on whether or not he should return to watching the game or answer the door before he settled back into the couch, watching as Sidney Crosby dangle the puck through the Oilers defence and score a goal.

"Jack…? Please tell me you're in right now." 

Jack perks up at the familiar voice that comes through the door, it was his nextdoor neighbour. You guys weren't exceptionally close, friendly to each other, greeting each other as you passed by and sometimes you would drop off baked goods to him if you had extra or felt exceptionally neighbourly. He'd always thought you were attractive but he was a good couple of years older than you and he didn't want to misstep and make things awkward.

The panic and worry in your voice brings Jack to his feet and he hurries to his door hoping to catch you before you turn away. He swings the door open and finds you there with your right arm held above your head, hand wrapped in a tea towel that was darkened with your blood.

Relief bleeds into your expression at the sight of him, "Oh thank God, you're home."

"What happened?" Jack asks, hand automatically reaching for you injured one.

"Sorry to disturb you but I remembered you're a doctor and honestly, I'm not the biggest fan of hospitals." You wince. "I cut myself whilst cooking."

Jack ushers you further into his apartment, sitting you at the kitchen island before he collects the first aid kit he keeps underneath his kitchen sink.

"Let me take a look," Jack says as he settles into the seat beside you, gently resting your injured hand on the counter before he slips his glasses on to get a better look.

Your lips tug as you watch him slip his glasses on. You knew he was a bit older than you but the visual of him needing 'reading' glasses was a funny sight.

"Keep laughing and I'll send you over to the ED" Jack murmurs, eyes still on your hand, "I'll have you know that I'm a very capable doctor, glasses or not."

Your uninjured hand covers your mouth as you muffle the laughter that erupts at his words, "I would never judge your skills as a doctor, Jack."

Jack finally finishes analysing your hand as he straightens up and looks over at you, "Good because you absolutely need stitches."

You felt your stomach twist at his words and your lunch threatened to make an appearance. You hated hospitals and you always tried your best to avoid landing in one but it seemed like your luck had run out.

Jack watches your reaction, quickly figuring out why you reacted like you did.

"I have a suture pack, I can do it here if you'd prefer?"

"Oh Jack, I'll bake you a whole tray of muffins if you can do it here." 

Jack huffs a laugh at your words before he nods, "I'll go grab it. Stay here."

You look around his apartment whilst he's gone from the room. You can see his degrees hanging on the wall, along with pictures of friends and family, the ones where he's clearly deployed abroad sticking out to you. His place was comfy yet obviously showed the signs of its owner not being in it often, twelve hours shifts keeping him busy. 

"Snooped enough?" Jack asks as he returns to the kitchen with the suture pack.

"I didn't snoop," You deny, "I merely…looked. Analyzed."

Jack began to sanitize the counter, wiping it down, along with the chairs for good measure before he set up shop. 

"Okay, I'll rephrase my question." Jack says as he waves you towards the chair, "Analyzed enough?"

"Yeah, I learned a few things about you." You say as you settle down, setting your hand down on the table.

"Yeah?" Jack spared a glance at you before he put his glasses on and snapped gloves on. "This will hurt, I don't have anything that will numb the area and you'll have to survive off of ibuprofen or paracetamol."

You nod, you'd rather deal with the pain than go to the hospital and so to distract yourself you begin to talk.

"I didn't know you were in the military," You say as Jack flushes your wound.

You half expect Jack to give you a half answer or even not answer at all but he easily answers as he begins to stitch up.

"Yeah, joined straight after high school. Always wanted to go to college and become a doctor but the traditional route wasn't for me."

You pause before you ask your next question, "Do you think it was worth it?"

Jack paused what he was doing at your question, eyes fluttering up to yours before they flick back down to the instruments in his hands but he answers as he pierces your skin.

"I lost a lot. More than I ever imagined I would," Jack's words are gentle as he focuses on what he was doing, "But I don't regret it. I wouldn't be the man I am today if I didn't serve."

"Well I'll make sure I bake you your favourite dessert for veterans day. Just for you." You say through gritted teeth.

Jack pulls back with a smile which slowly erupts into laughter, "And what about Military Appreciation Month? What do I get for that?"

"Whilst I love that you believe in my skills and talents, I can't bake you something everyday for a month." You joke, "Were you thinking of something specific?"

Jack waits until he ties off the thread and snips the extra off before he answers.

"How about a date?"

You blink at Jack in slight confusion. Sure you thought your neighbour was attractive, his grey curls and light eyes made every woman in the apartment block swoon but in the years you had been neighbours, your interactions were minimal.

"A date?"

"You can say no, don't feel pressure just because I patched you up." Jack reassures you.

"No-no! I'd really like to go on a date with you," You reach over with your uninjured hand and rest it on his thigh, "Not pressured at all!"

"When are you free?" Jack asks.

"I feel like I should be asking you that instead considering your shift patterns," You say as you pull your hand back from his thigh and hold it out expectantly, "Pass me your phone and I'll give you my number."

Jack does as he's asked and you tap your number in, drop calling your phone so you also have his number before you return his phone to him.

"I'll text you." You smile at him.

"I'll look forward to it." Jack returns your smile, "Now let me wrap your hand before I send you back home."

[malk1ns]

january 9 vs oilers, 5-3 win

i started writing this before the game even started because i found geno getting put through his paces inspirational.

Sid isn’t supposed to be here, but it didn’t take a lot of sweet-talking for the training staff to let him down the tunnel towards the ice. He had to look Kevin in the eyes and promise that he wouldn’t so much as step out onto the bench, but the practice facility has been abuzz for days over Malkin’s arrival, and Sid, arguably the person most impacted by his presence in Pittsburgh, hasn’t even gotten to see him from a distance, let alone smell him.

Not that it really matters. Their pheromone profiles are a near-perfect match, Sid’s gone over the files himself. Malkin’s a little older than the organization might have preferred to stud their prized omega, but he’s got a resume and a pedigree, a track record of producing talented offspring, and when he was made available internationally the Penguins jumped to offer an enormous compensation package to bring him to Pittsburgh. If Sid ends up having some objection to Malkin’s scent, he’s going to have to get over it.

Watching Malkin on the ice, though, Sid doesn’t think it’ll be a problem.

He creeps a little further down the tunnel, still hanging back from the bench so as to not get in trouble for getting too close, but he can’t resist improving his view.

The coaches are watching Malkin run through a set of conditioning drills, and Sid knows that up above him most of management is watching from the balconies. He spotted the dynamics team heading that way with binders and clipboards earlier.

Malkin’s not the fastest guy from what Sid can see; when he was younger, closer to the age Sid is now, he had a bit more footspeed, but it’s evident from the drills he���s lost a step there. His edgework is insane, though, and the way he handles the puck has Sid craning his neck to try and get a better look. 

They’ve got Chiasson in goal, and when Malkin dekes him out of his net and slips the puck behind him like it’s nothing, Sid has to hold back a cheer.

He must make some noise though, or maybe he’s drifted too close to the ice, because Malkin’s head snaps up. 

Sid shrinks back down the tunnel before anyone can catch him, heart pounding as he escapes back towards the locker room. Malkin’s probably going to be done with drills soon anyway.

The trainers pull him into an exam room to poke at his wrist, and then Dr. Vyas wants to see him for a blood draw to assess his hormone levels, and by the time Sid finally escapes he’s starving, so he ducks into the lounge to poke around for leftovers before going home.

He’s bent over rummaging through the refrigerator when the smell of pine fills the room.

Sid’s nostrils flare as he stands up and shuts the fridge. The smell is strong, almost enough to sting his nose, but it’s good, like the forest around his lake back home. Nobody on the team smells like that.

Malkin is standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Shit,” Sid says, looking around the empty room. The staff probably figured he was long gone; if they knew he was still in the building, Malkin wouldn’t be anywhere without a chaperone. 

“Hi,” Malkin says, stepping into the lounge. His voice is deep and raspy, like he’s tired. Sid wonders if he’s still jetlagged; from what he’s heard, they practically had to smuggle him out of Russia even with the transfer agreement to bring him here in place. “Not think you’re still here, sorry.” His English is better than Sid expected, which is maybe unfair; plenty of North American guys are playing in the K these days, and Malkin’s been captain of his team for almost two decades.

“It’s alright,” Sid says. As Malkin gets closer, the hair on the back of his neck stands up. “Uh…I probably should go, I don’t think they want us alone yet.”

“Hmm,” Malkin says, closing the final distance between them as Sid backs into the counter along the wall. “Too late, yes? We here now, alone.”

He’s so much taller than Sid, who stands frozen as Malkin bends down. Up close, the smell is almost overwhelming, and Sid’s eyelids flutter as Malkin inhales next to his neck.

“Sweet,” Malkin mutters, and Sid’s face goes hot. He’s heard it before, that he smells like cake, like sugar; it’s been too much for some of his teammates before, and none of them usually get this close to him when he’s not wearing a blocker like he does during games and practices.

“Sorry,” Sid says inanely, and Malkin lets out an amused huff, reaching out and cupping his hand over the side of Sid’s neck.

Sid nearly swoons at the unexpected contact. Malkin’s hand is huge and warm, and when their skin touches the pine-scent spikes, soporific and enticing.

“Sweet is good,” he croons, running his thumb under Sid’s chin, skirting over the scent glands there and making Sid moan embarrassingly at the sensation. “Smell like you’re taste good too.”

Sid’s never been touched like this. He’s hooked up plenty, but only with betas or other omegas. Even though he’s done his share of looking at alphas in bars, the language in his contract is clear, and Sid wasn’t about to risk a breach for a night of fun. And only alphas have this sort of effect on omegas.

“You like?” Malkin asks, like the answer isn’t obvious by the way Sid’s scent is rising and his body is instinctively going pliant and soft. “Yes, good, it’s good you like. We have nice time, I think.”

The way he’s playing with Sid’s scent glands is making Sid slick up. He can feel it, and he’s sure Malkin can smell it. Sid didn’t read more than the first page of Malkin’s stud file, but maybe he should have; Malkin is experienced, and Sid is totally out of his depth.

“Lyubimyy,” Malkin practically purrs, bringing his other hand to Sid’s waist. “So sweet for me, I can tell. Sweet boy. You’re not do before, I know this—don’t worry, I take good care of you.”

When he steps back, Sid sways towards him before he can help himself, making a bereft little sound. Malkin laughs, but it’s not mean—he sounds delighted, like Sid did something to please him.

Sid badly, badly wants to please him.

“I do too much,” Malkin says, regret coloring his voice. Sid wants to shake his head in denial, but he’s so stuck under the scent and the lingering effect of Malkin’s hands on him that he can’t do much more than stare up at Malkin with wide eyes. 

“Sorry, sweet boy, I’m not mean to push. You’re just smell so nice, can’t help it.” Malkin takes a pointed inhale, and Sid watches as his eyes go dark. “I go now. You go clean up, go home—we see each other soon.”

Sid watches him leave. It’s only when he’s further down the hallway and his scent starts to recede that Sid feels like he can move again.

He jerks off in the bathroom, biting his fist to keep from making too much noise. When he closes his eyes, he can feel Malkin’s fingers on his throat, a phantom touch that pushes him over the edge faster than since he was a teenager.

The drive home is a daze. Sid’s not sure how he’s going to make it through their games this weekend, now that he knows what’s waiting for him on the other side.

[haddonfieldwhore]

guilty conscience - matthew tkachuk

flames!matthew tkachuk x draisaitl!fem! reader pt.2

summary: you and matthew continue to sneak around, and leon figures out that something is up

warnings: langauge, mention of violence, implied smut, continuity is questionable because i didn’t plan to write a part two 😅, unrealistic leon behaviour

word count: 3.3k (oops) part one is here

it wasn’t even a month before the oilers and the flames met again, this time at home in edmonton. calgary being in town meant that matthew tkachuk was in town, and you thought back to that first night you had found yourself tangled up with the rival teams player; and all the times after. the two hour drive never stopped him from texting or calling after a tough loss, inviting you over to help him let off some steam. this quickly turned into meeting up to celebrate wins as well, and in the short few weeks since your first meeting, you felt as if you had spent more time in matthews bed than your own.

“are you gonna be at the game tonight?” he asked as he got dressed, staying at your place rather than a hotel; he would be sleeping there anyway.

“yes, but i am obligated to cheer for the oilers as long as my brother is on their team,” you laughed. leon had gotten you tickets for the game like he always did, the two of you having made up only a few days after the incident happened. however the thrill of sneaking around with matthew hadn’t worn off, even though you were no longer doing it to get back at your brother.

“how much would i have to pay you to wear my jersey to the game?” he teased, wrapping his arms around your waist as you pulled your t-shirt over your head.

“more money than your contract,” you replied. “if the crowd didn’t mob me, i think i’d be disowned by my family.”

matthew placed a kiss on your lips with a smile, and you fixed his curls that you had spent the last half hour tangling your fingers through.

“that’s too bad. you’d look hot wearing my number.”

“i wouldn’t look hot in the body bag they’d have to carry me out in. nevermind if leon found out why i was wearing it. you’d be in the back of the hearse with me.”

“as fun as that sounds,” he joked. “i have a game in a few days so-“ you interrupted him with a kiss.

“don’t worry. i’ll secretly be cheering for you,” you smiled. “you’re more fun to hang out with when you win.”

“hey,” he warned with a chuckle. “i gotta go, but i’ll meet you here after the game? we probably shouldn’t leave together…”

“you’re probably right. it’s already suspicious enough that you told the team you were staying with a friend instead of at the hotel with them.”

“is it so hard to believe i might have a friend?” he laughed, putting his shoes on to leave.

“sometimes,” you joked. “good luck,” you smiled as he snuck out of your apartment, shaking your head as you began to get ready to go to the game.

•

despite you wishing him good luck, the game went in favour of the oilers, this time the flames falling to edmonton in a 1-0 loss. at one point calgary had scored a goal to tie the game but it was waved off for interference.

your eyes met matthews on the bench, and you could tell he was frustrated as he slid his mouthguard back over his teeth. after the game ended, you went to meet up with leon backstage, the edmonton player in a significantly better mode than the last time you had seen him. he greeted you with a hug, and you returned it with a smile, but a sinking feeling sprouted in your stomach.

“hey, it’s good to see you,” your brother smiled, and you smiled back.

“you too. good game,” you commented, the words tasting funny in your mouth as you realized you didn’t mean them; and part of you wished calgary had won.

“yeah, a little bit of payback is nice. to bad we couldn’t get a few more goals, but i’ll take it,” he laughed. payback, you thought; that’s what matthew had been.

you weren’t sure that’s all it was anymore.

•

another month went by, the season nearing the midway point now. you scrolled through your phone as you waited for matthew to get out of the shower. you had spent the last few days at his house while the flames played a five game homestand, winning all but one; which meant matty was in a good mood going into the third matchup between the two alberta teams this season tonight. a message popped up on the screen, and you bit your lip as you replied to your brother.

you hated lying to him, and you’d found yourself doing it more and more the closer you and matthew became. you couldn’t exactly tell him that you weren’t even in edmonton at the moment, instead two hours away after spending the week with a man he hated.

a man who you had fallen for; and fallen hard.

the man in question had the nerve to walk out of the bathroom in just a towel around his waist, hung low on his hips as the warm air rushed out of the bathroom and tickled your legs as you sat on the edge of his bed. he walked over and placed a kiss on the top of your head, quickly noticing your expression.

“what’s up?” matt asked, his eyebrows furrowed at the upset look on your face.

“nothing, it’s just leon.”

“did he say something to you?” he asked, his fist clenching slightly at his side.

“no, nothing like that,” you assured him as you looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze softening and his jaw unclenching as he relaxed. “i just hate lying to him about…”

“…us?”

“yeah. it was kind of fun at first, and now i’m just worried what’s gonna happen when he does find out. more so worried about what he’s going to do to you,” you admitted.

“come on, sneaking around is still a little bit fun,” he teased, and you managed to crack a smile. sometimes, you thought. “it’ll be okay, we will figure it out when we get to that point.”

“i don’t want him to kill you,” you said, taking his hand in yours, you fingers playing with his absentmindedly. “which is a real possibility-“ you laughed.

“i’ll be fine. come on, the guys might kill me if im late for the game.”

•

you were only thirty minutes through the two hour drive back to edmonton when your phone rang, leon’s name popping up on the screen. panicking slightly, you answered it, matthew glancing over from behind the wheel as your leg shook anxiously.

“hey, leon.”

“where are you?” he asked, no hello. not good, you thought, trying not to freak out.

“what?” you asked, hoping to find out why he was asking.

“where are you?”

“on my way to the arena,” that at least was true. “why what’s-“

“bullshit, your car is at home.”

“what - you drove by my house? why?”

“because you’ve been hiding something. why are you in calgary?” he asked, and your heart pounded in your chest. your phone location must have been left on by accident.

“i was visiting a friend-“

“without your car?”

“i got a ride - oh my god. you’re my brother not my dad, i don’t need to tell you where i am all the time.”

“why didn’t you tell me you were out of town when i texted you this morning?”

“not that i have to explain myself, leon, but i didn’t feel like typing it all out and i had just woken up.” with each lie you told, you knew you were burying yourself in a hole that was becoming harder and harder to dig out of.

“i’m not sure i believe you.”

“you don’t have to, but it’s the truth.” half true, you thought.

“if you say so.”

“whatever. i’ll see you after the game.” you hung up the phone and ran your hands over your face.

“i’m scared to ask…”

“he knows something is up,” you sighed. “i’m so dead. we’re both dead-“

“hey, just breathe okay?” his hand rested on your thigh reassuringly.

“we just have to be really careful.”

“baby, he’s gonna find out eventually. maybe it would be better if he found out sooner than later,” he suggested. in the short two months you had been with matthew, you weren’t sure exactly when it changed from just hooking up to something more. “unless you want to just stop and pretend this never happened...” he said, his jaw stiffening.

“is that what you want?” your heart beat sped up, but you breathed a soft sigh of relief as he shook his head.

“no, that’s not what i meant at all. as much as you might think i do, i don’t actually want to cause problems between you and your family,” he laughed, and once again you found yourself cracking a smile despite the situation.

“i like you a lot, matthew,” you admitted. “i don’t care what he says to me, he’s my brother and he’ll get over it. i’m just worried what he’ll do to you.”

“don’t worry about me. do you really think he’d be that mad that we’re dating?”

“…are we dating?” you asked for clarification. you’d never really discussed it.

“i mean .. you’ve been at my house for the last week. i kind of thought that made it clear that i want to be with you,” he shrugged with a smile.

“you do?”

“of course i do. did you think i didn’t?”

“i don’t know. maybe,” you laughed, and his hand squeezed your thigh.

“does that mean we’re dating?”

“yes, i guess it does,” you smiled, leaning over to kiss him softly.

•

you cheered internally for calgary as the game went on, sending matthew a smile as your eyes met his. the shared looks between you and the calgary flame didn’t go unnoticed by edmontons number 29, and he had to restrain himself from ramming matthew into the boards whenever they shared the ice. leon noticed how everytime the flames scored, matthew was looking for you in the stands. although you weren’t outwardly celebrating, you were happy the flames were winning. sure, leon would be pissed, but he could get over it.

you felt bad that once again, matthew had taken priority in your life over your brother, but you only wanted them to lose when they played calgary, so you didn’t feel too bad.

the game ended with calgary winning 5 - 2, and you tried not to look too happy as you waited for leon to get out of the dressing room. when he did, he was in a mood again, this time not because of the loss, but because of the way he had caught tkachuk staring at his little sister.

“hey,” you greeted him.

“hey. i’m sorry about how i acted on the phone earlier,” he apologized, greeting you with a hug that surprised you slightly. “you’re right, you don’t have to tell me where you are all the time.”

“thank you. i’m sorry about the game.” his face dropped and he shrugged, his eyes catching sight of a familiar head of curls down the hall. leon’s anger got the best of him, and he marched toward matthew and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to turn around.

“i don’t know if you’re just trying to piss me off, but quit looking at my sister and focus on the game, yeah?” he warned, and matthew looked slightly confused, his eyes glancing to you as you shook your head behind leon. your brother poked his shoulder to gain his attention back. “don’t look at her.”

“maybe you’re the one who should focus on the game. remember which team won,” matthew laughed, and you could tell this was not going to end well.

“leon, just leave it. are you really gonna pick a fight with someone for looking at me?” you knew they didn’t get along, but this was beyond what you’d expected.

“when he’s a prick like this guy-“

“leon! enough,” you pulled on his arm. “let’s just go home before you do something you regret.”

“i wouldn’t regret it,” he said stepping closer till he was nearly face to face with matthew. you could tell that matt was keeping quiet for your sake, and you appreciated it as you stared in disbelief at your brother. he had never been this overprotective before, and you barely recognized him.

“what the hell has gotten into you? i’m sorry you lost but you don’t get to act like an asshole because of it. you’re making a scene.”

you stepped in between them, pushing leon back from matthew and putting some much needed space between them.

“why are you defending him?”

“why are you acting like this? you’re being ridiculous!

“why is he looking at you like that? why did he spend the whole game watching you?”

“who cares?” you argued, as you felt everything crumbling around you. leon glanced from you to matthew, who stood back and kept his mouth shut for your sake.

“who were you with in calgary?” leon asked, starting to connect the dots in his head.

“leon-“

“who. were. you. with?” he demanded.

“it’s none of your business who i was with!”

leon wasn’t listening anymore, instead staring a hole into matthew, who if looks could kill would be six feet underground.

“it’s not enough to be an jerk on the ice, you have to go and get with my sister just to piss me off?” leon took a step towards the younger man, your hands on his chest doing little to slow him down. matthew opened his mouth to speak, but you did first.

“it wasn’t like that leon,” you defended your boyfriend. “it was my idea.” leon stopped, looking down at you with wide eyes.

“tell me you’re joking right now-“ he spoke calmly, but you knew he was anything but calm, which made it even scarier.

“i’m not,” you said. “i went to him.”

“how long?” his jaw clenched as he stared at you, his eyes filled with hatred; for you or matthew you weren’t so sure anymore.

“it doesn’t matter - it’s not gonna change how much you hate me right now,” you said, hoping that he would just let it go. no such luck.

“how long?” he repeated.

“since november.”

“you’ve been sleeping with my sister for two months?” he yelled at matthew, his raised voice drawing the attention of a few other players from each team as they left their locker rooms. “and you-“ he poked your shoulder harshly. “you’ve been lying to me about it for 2 months? everytime you told me you were busy or had plans - you were with him?” he said, a disgusted look on his face.

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded as tears began to well in your eyes.

“why did you do it? why him?”

“i knew it would piss you off,” you said honestly. “after that game in november you were so rude to me, and i know it was wrong, but i wanted to get back at you somehow. but it’s not about that anymore, leon. i really like him.”

“were you ever going to tell me?”

“yes, i promise. i just knew how you would react-“ he scoffed, interrupting you.

“you mean how i would react to finding out that my little sister got with a guy she knows i don’t like just to make me mad?”

“it sounds really bad when you say it like that,” you looked down at the floor as leon laughed in disbelief.

“it sounds really bad? it is bad!” he snapped. matthew tried to send the few calgary players who had gathered away, assuring them that he was fine and he didn’t need their help. a few edmonton players lingered outside their locker room as well, aware of who you were and wondering what was going on.

“i’m sorry,” you repeated.

“i would expect something like this from him, but you? this is a new low. maybe you two are perfect for eachother.” leon began to walk away, and you called after him.

“please, leon. i know it was wrong, but it’s not up to you who i date.” he stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“you’re right,” he said coldly. “i just think it’s best that you stay away from me for a while.” your heart broke as you realized just how bad you had screwed up. “and get him out of my sight before i decide not to be so nice.”

matthews arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you watched leon walk away with his teammates, and you turned around to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, kissing the top of your head as you cried, your arms thrown around his shoulders.

“he’ll get over it eventually,” you sniffled. “thank you for not saying anything to piss him off even more.” he laughed, his chest shaking lightly as he rubbed your back.

“i try to be on my best behaviour,” he teased. the few flames players that had been lingering around came over to check on you and matthew, one of them you recognized as matthew’s friend sam bennett.

“best behaviour my ass,” he joked. “leave it to you to stir up drama with draisaitl.”

“hey,” matthew warned lightly, but you laughed.

“two draisaitl’s actually. leon is my brother.”

“that explains it,” sam said, patting matthew on the shoulder. “good work, genius.”

“it was a mutual agreement to piss him off, for the record.” matthew defended himself.

“well,” sam said, looking in the direction that leon had gone. “looks like it worked.”

matthew punched his shoulder with a laugh, and you felt a smile creep onto your face despite everything.

“you wanna come for drinks with us?” one of the other flames asked, and you looked at matthew for his answer.

“what do you say? you officially switching sides?” he joked, and you shook your head with a laugh.

“what the hell, sure,” you agreed. matthew smiled, kissing you softly as the guys cheered. you followed them hand in hand with matthew as you walked you to his car, a bittersweet feeling in your chest.

leon had reacted about as well as you thought he would, but he hadn’t killed matthew, so that was a plus. you just worried for the next time they played eachother; but that wasn’t for weeks. maybe leon would calm down by then.

the older draisaitl watched from across the parking lot as you laughed with matthew and his friends.

“i know it sucks that she lied to you, but she looks happy,” connor mcdavid offered. leon simply shot him a glare, and he didn’t mention it again as connor got into the car without another word.

he hated that he was right; you did look happy. eventually he would get over it, but it still hurt that you had gone behind his back specifically to get back at him; even if he had kinda deserved it.

you didn’t notice leon watching you as got into the car with matthew, his hand holding yours over the center console as you followed behind sam’s car to the bar.

“i’m suprised he didn’t punch you, so i suppose that could have gone worse,” you laughed half heartedly. “congratulations on the win, by the way.”

“he might just be saving it for the next game,” he laughed. “and thank you. i’m sorry.”

“i knew what i was doing, you don’t have to apologize. and as much as it sucks that my brother hates my guts right now, i still have a pretty cool boyfriend at the end of the day,” you smiled, and matthew brought your joined hands up to his mouth to kiss the your knuckles, his facial hair tickling your skin.

“does that mean you’ll wear my jersey to the next game?” he asked with a goofy smiled.

“don’t push it.”

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

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

hi so you know how youre taking requests...and you know how you love me so much....can you pretty please write a little something about steve and soda + baseball,. . 🫶

Sodapop passes the neighborhood baseball field every day on his way to work.

It doesn’t quite look like it used to. There aren’t as many kids playing baseball anymore, it seems, save for the Shepard gang’s occasional games on Friday nights under the street lights. The chain-link fences have seen better days, and one of the dugouts has a hole in the roof that lets the rain in. The outfield’s riddled with holes and way overgrown with grass that reaches Soda’s knees, but the four bases are still there, and somehow, Soda’s not quite sure how, the pitcher’s mound always seems to be perfectly intact.

As he passes by today, only half-listening as Darry tells him what to get from the grocery store when he gets off, Soda imagines a group of young boys out on the field, the group of boys that he used to belong to.

~~~

When he was five, Soda’s mother put him into baseball. She never imagined the sport would give her son his best friend, but she needed something to do with him because her oldest was already in football, and having the two younger boys at home at the same time was getting to be a little too much.

So Soda went to baseball twice a week, dressed in his jeans and Darry’s hand-me-down shoes, clutching a glove that was a little too big for his hand with a Tulsa Oilers hat pulled low over his face.

The coach, a man named Mr. Ambler who lived down the road from the Curtis family, stuck the rag-tag group of little boys in the outfield while he talked to the parents. The little boy next to Soda, gap-toothed with dark, curling hair that tufted at his ears, pointed at Soda’s hat.

“My dad likes that team.”

Soda’s dad had been the one to give him the hat. Soda told the other boy as much and he nodded, scuffing his feet in the grass.

“Do you like baseball?”

“I ‘spose. My momma says I will.”

“Who’s your momma?”

Soda pointed her out on the side of the field, standing beside a woman with the same dark, curling hair as the boy beside him.

Together, they stood awkwardly, not saying anything for another moment before the other boy looked back at him.

“My name’s Steve. What’s yours?”

“Sodapop.”

Steve scrunched his nose up like he didn’t believe it. “Sodapop’s a funny name.”

Soda shrugged. “My brother’s name is Ponyboy. He’s turning three soon.”

“Oh. That’s a funnier name.”

Steve and Soda stuck together for the rest of the first practice. At the end of the week, Steve came over for a playdate.

~~~

“You’re gonna get hit in the face if you don’t pay attention.”

Sodapop rolls his eyes as he looks back at his best friend, attempting to give Steve his best impression of Darry’s bored look when Sodapop and Ponyboy ask the eldest Curtis brother to play.

“I’m payin’ attention.”

“Sure.”

Sodapop put his glove up, and Steve lobbed him the ball. It made a thwack noise as it smacked against the worn leather of the palm, and Soda winced a little at the sting. Steve always had the better arm between the two of them. Moments like these reminded Soda why he hated agreeing to play catch with Steve before their games.

“Are you pitching today?”

“I don’t know. Coach A said he’d say when we started.”

Nodding, Sodapop threw the ball back, and Steve plucked it from the air with one hand before tossing it back lazily. It rolled through the air and landed right back in Soda’s glove. He wished he could make it look as effortless as Steve did, but really, Soda didn’t care. He played baseball because it was fun, because Steve did. He liked the game…but he didn’t like it the same way Steve did.

The conversation trailed off as they continued to pass the ball back and forth, but Sodapop notably brightened when a thought came to his mind.

“Hey! Ma said you could come over after the game today, an’ you can have supper with us if you want an’ even stay the night if your folks say it’s okay.”

Steve shrugged, but Soda saw the small smile on his face. He knew Steve liked coming over to the Curtis house. 

“I’ll ask my mama when we’re done,” Steve answered casually. “She won’t care none, it’s one less mouth to feed for her.”

“Ma said she’ll make green beans for you if you want, Pony likes ‘em too so you’ll have to share with him, but-,”

They won the game. 5-2. Steve struck out three kids in a row.

~~~

When the glove smacked into the back of his head, Soda knew who it was before he even turned around.

“Glory, what’d you do that for?” he griped, rubbing at his head as he turned around to look at Steve.

Steve didn’t look bothered by Soda’s grumpy expression in the slightest. “You told me you’d catch with me and here ya are, too busy lookin’ at the girls to pay any attention to your best pal.”

“I pay attention to you,” Soda argued, plucking the ball from Steve’s glove and knocking the boy’s hat off without a pause. He turned on his heel and dragged his feet through the dirt as he headed for the outfield to throw with Steve. “You’re the one never payin’ any attention to me.”

“Ya know, you’re real lucky I ain’t got that baseball no more. I think the girls would find you real cute with a black eye.”

“Some-body’s jeal-ous,” Sodapop sing-songed. He launched the ball back over his shoulder and listened for the thwack of the glove as Steve caught the terrible throw. “Ya know, I think I saw Evie sittin’ out there, maybe after you could-,”

“Shut up, Soda.”

“I’m just sayin’-,”

“Shut up, Soda.”

~~~

Soda watched quietly as Steve walked out to the pitcher’s mound. It was getting dark, dark enough that they should probably be heading home soon. Well, home in Soda’s case. Steve didn’t like going home too often these days. He didn’t like to talk about it either, even with Sodapop.

Steve traced the rubber rectangle with the toe of his sneaker and stood sideways, like he was getting ready to set and throw another strike down the middle of the plate.

“You okay?”

Steve shrugged.

Mr. Ambler died yesterday.

Sodapop’s mom told them after school today, and while Soda was pretending to do his homework, Steve sat silently, staring out the window of Soda’s bedroom.

“You wanna go somewhere real fast?” he had asked.

Soda would’ve gone anywhere to get away from his English homework.

The walk to the diamond was silent, and Sodapop was expecting Steve to talk once they arrived, but…so far, no such luck. Steve was solemn and Soda didn’t know what to do about it. 

They ended up staying out there for the longest time. Neither of them said a word, but Steve stayed on the mound, staring down at home plate, and Soda stayed until Steve was ready to go.

~~~

“Are you listenin’?”

“Huh?”

Sodapop lifted his head off the window and glanced over to find Darry glaring at him, lips pursed. He looked a lot like his father when he did that, Soda thought. Soda had been on the recieving end of that look an awful lot growning up.

“You’re gonna go get eggs and milk, right?”

“Yeah,” Sodapop answered, turning back to get one more glance at the field as they passed. “Eggs and milk.”

Soda still had his glove. Tucked under his bed, stacked up with that Oilers hat. Soda sighed as he remembered all the good times he had on that diamond, good times with Steve, good times they’d never get back.

Soda liked playing baseball. He missed belonging to that group.

[isacksteban]

Hot Headed — Strollini (+ Delilah)

The tension had been building all game. Lance skated down the rink, his breath coming in steady bursts as he chased the puck, adrenaline surging through his veins. The other team had been relentless, throwing body checks at every opportunity, and the referees had let a few questionable hits slide. Lance, usually calm under pressure, could feel his patience wearing thin.

It started midway through the second period. Lance had been cornered near the boards by an opposing defenseman, a hulking guy with a reputation for trash talk. The player shoved him harder than necessary, pinning Lance against the glass.

“Nice skating, sissy,” the guy sneered. “Maybe try sticking to figure skating next time.”

Lance ignored him, focusing on the puck, but the comment got under his skin. Moments later, another shove sent him sprawling onto the ice. The refs called nothing — as they tended to when it camr to Lance — and the crowd groaned.

As the game wore on, the hits kept coming. By the third period, Lance had had enough. He'd managed to be on his best behaviour since transfering to the Oilers before this season but he couldn't act like what the other team was doing wasn't completely fucked. He wasn’t the type to back down, especially when the other team started targeting his teammates. When one of the rookies on his line got checked into the boards so hard he crumpled to the ice, Lance’s blood boiled. It's not so much the idea of himself getting hurt that gets him going but seeing someone smaller and less experienced be targeted for those exact reasons was too much. He skated over, his jaw clenched, and got right in the defenseman’s face.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Lance snapped, shoving him back.

“You want a problem?” the guy shot back, dropping his gloves.

Lance didn’t hesitate. His gloves hit the ice as the two lunged at each other, fists flying. The crowd erupted in a deafening roar, cheering and jeering as the two men grappled. Jerseys were yanked, and helmets clattered to the ice. Lance landed a solid punch to the guy’s jaw but took a brutal hit to his temple in return, the impact sending him stumbling backward.

The refs finally intervened, pulling the two apart. Lance was still seething as he skated toward the penalty box, blood trickling from a fresh cut above his brow and staining his white jersey. His legs wobbled slightly as he sat down, adrenaline giving way to a dull, throbbing pain in his knee.

By the time the game ended, Lance was limping off the ice, the cut above his eye hastily patched with a butterfly bandage. He knew he’d face questions from his coach and teasing from his teammates, but worse than that, he dreaded the look he’d get from Luca when he got home.

By the time Lance made it home, still smelling faintly of sweat and disinfectant, his husband was waiting for him in the living room. Luca, impeccably dressed despite the late hour, had their three-year-old daughter Delilah nestled against his side. She was asleep, clutching a small plush of the Oiler's mascot, Hunter.

“You’re limping,” Luca said, his voice sharp but low enough not to wake Delilah. His eyes zeroed in on the butterfly bandage barely holding the cut on Lance’s brow together. “What happened, Lance?”

“It’s nothing, mon amour” Lance muttered, kicking off his shoes. “Just part of the game.”

Luca’s eyes narrowed, the calm veneer cracking. “Part of the game?” He carefully shifted Delilah onto the couch and stood, arms crossed. “You got into another fight, didn’t you?”

Lance shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It happens. You know how it is. You've seen the product of a handful of fights in my career. You were on my side four years ago when Verstappen called me a slur mid game and I socked him in the jaw.”

“No, actually, I don’t know how it is,” Luca snapped, his Italian accent thickening in his frustration. “You’re supposed to be a role model. Not just for your fans, but for her.” He gestured toward Delilah, who stirred slightly before settling back into sleep. "I don't care what you got away with before we adopted Delilah, before you had to grow the fuck up, but it doesn't matter now."

Lance sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Luca, sweetie, it’s hockey. Fights happen. You can’t just—”

“You’re not some reckless rookie anymore, Lance!” Luca interrupted, his voice rising. “You’re a father and a three time champion with almost eight years of experience. Do you want Delilah to grow up thinking it’s okay to throw punches every time she’s upset?”

“That’s not fair,” Lance said, his voice softening. “I don’t want her to think that.”

“Then act like it,” Luca shot back. “She adores you, Lance, you know she does. She mimics everything you do. You have to think about what kind of example you’re setting.”

Guilt twisted in Lance’s chest as he glanced at their daughter. Delilah’s tiny face was peaceful in sleep, her light curls framing her pale cheeks whistfully, Luca was right.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment of silence. “I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand.”

Luca’s expression softened, though his lips were still pressed into a thin line. “Just... promise me you’ll be more careful. For her. For us.”

“I promise,” Lance said, pulling Luca into a hug. “No more fights. I’ll be the best role model I can be. The best behaved hockey player the sport's ever seen.”

“You better,” Luca muttered against his shoulder, though his arms wrapped tightly around Lance. “Because next time, I’m the one who’ll fight you.”

Lance chuckled, pressing a kiss to Luca’s temple. “Noted.”

From the couch, Delilah stirred again, her sleepy voice piping up. “Daddy, did you win your game?”

Lance and Luca both froze before bursting into quiet laughter. “You know I always win, now go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Lance said, brushing a kiss against her forehead.

As Delilah snuggled deeper into her blanket, Lance met Luca’s eyes. He still had work to do to prove himself, but he knew he was willing to do anything to please his husband.

[puckpocketed]

Thoughts about the Kings v Oilers series so far? Serious or funny is up to you!

HI!!! Thank you for dropping by, just gonna frow everything up under the cut!

Praying very hard for no injuries and a good road trip (split it, come home and win the series?)

Good to see Darcy make a comeback from a less than great game 1, fingers crossed we see 2 Goals Only Darcy through the rest of the series and beyond <33

Reports of the Kings’ bad power play have been greatly exaggerated by out of market press. Really REALLY interested in the way we’ve had Kuzmenko stationed down low, and even behind net at times and cycled the puck through him from there. Power plays are #fake hockey when it’s the other team and #profound when it’s my guys !

Want to see a bit more from Laferriere. He’s been a great facilitator, great at Getting The Puck for his lineys, but I’d like to see him score because I care and support him <33

VERY concerned about the lack of 4th line usage. Reverting to 11/7 is. Idk. I know it works and they’re good at it and the forwards like having more shifts, but I’m feeling v unsure about it all.

Tanner Jeannot might be out all of round 1 and likeeee….. while i really do Not like his habit of toeing the line of Injuring People once every 20 games or so, i fear he is an NHL caliber bottom 6 player and we need him to eat minutes. Not sure what we do without him, but would like to see Sammy Helenius and Jeff Malott and even Alex Turcotte get their feet wet, even if that means we drop a game.

Having up to 3 lines that can feasibly match up with 97/29 is cool and all but if they’re all playing 20 mins a night because Hiller refuses to play our 4th line, I wonder how long we can sustain the defense. You can’t really shut those two down, just hope to break even. We managed this for the most part but that was AT HOME where Hiller could dictate matchups. Not so on the road!

Building off this for our defenders, I’m also concerned with Spence + Clarke’s minutes being cut back so much (and subsequently everyone else being over-used) I do understand that playoffs aren’t a learning environment but their leashes are so so short rn. I know they’re both capable of elevating their games, we’ve seen it through the regular season, I just want them to have that chance.

Pessimistic outlook is I’m never ever ever counting 97/29 out <3 they may not have the most impressive supporting cast but they can flip a switch and crush you at any moment. Overconfidence here, even 2 games up in the series, would be a killer.

Optimistic take: they did their thing already in game 1 and lost. They did the thing where they decide they’re just Better and score at will and they still lost. Call it dumb luck, call it an unforced error, but they did all that and the Kings still pulled out a win. We could look back on this and that might be the difference between winning or losing the series.

Breaking character but I do not actually expect this to be a cup contending year & I’ll be happy to make it through 1 round.

The Cup is…. a very long shot to me considering how green the Kings actually are. There are 5 players rn who were in the AHL last season or part of this season. We have QB experiencing his first year full time at center. As much as I think everything that could’ve gone right has gone right, I don’t think this roster holds up on a run to the finals. Especially if usage continues like this. We’re deep but not That deep.

HOWEVER. I LOVE HUFFING FUMES !! I WOULD LOVE TO BEAT THE ODDS AND W*N. <3

[ladylooch]

Letters in Your Last Name - Chapter 15

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

Word Count: 3.5k

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

Things are decidedly NOT okay.

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

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

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

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

“When are you leaving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m home. Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s going to be a rough day.

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

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

“Fuck Billy.” I scowl at Kevin.

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” I squawk before bursting into tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m here.” I say quietly to him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” He tells me.

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

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

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

[hopetorun]

7, 10, 15, 18 please!

7. answered

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from home by now:

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

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

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

Matthew nodded. “Sorry,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nylqnder]

ATLAS | TREVOR ZEGRAS

summary: your boyfriend comes home after a rough game, only to let his frustrations out on you

warnings: arguing & angst

word count: 0.99k

I turned the tv off after all the Ducks had walked down the tunnel after having given up 6 goals and marking none against Edmonton. The boys were exhausted and frustrated after an abysmal season. I was seeing that firsthand in my boyfriend. 

With every loss, he would come home a little less joyous than the one before. Trevor did a good job at leaving it all on the ice but he’s also the type of person that blames every loss on himself. He carries the weight of every loss on his shoulders, letting it pile up till it becomes too much. That leads to him taking his frustrations out on the ice and being reckless with how he does it. 

I knew it would take a minute for Trevor to get home, so I finished some chores while waiting for his arrival. I was just starting the dishwasher when I heard the door click open and shut, paired with him kicking off his shoes and his backpack dropping to the floor.

I enter the living room where Trevor’s shuffling through, unbuttoning his white dress shirt. He grimaces as he removes it, stretching out his arms. 

“Hi, my love.” I say softly, sitting on the edge of the couch in front of him.

“Hi.” He sighs.

“How was the game?” I ask, even though I know exactly how it went.

“Did you watch?” He asks me.

“Well yeah, of course I did but-”

“Then you know how it went.” He grumbles.

I’m slightly caught off guard by Trevor cutting me off and his curt tone, but I understand where it's coming from. I watch him grimace again as he rubs his shoulder, which I assume is sore from being checked into the boards by one of the Oiler's D-men.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He replied sharply.

I sigh, getting up and standing in front of him, delicately placing my hands on his shoulders. “Hey, how about we take a hot bath together? Hmm? I can get the Epsom salts and maybe a couple of candles?” I ask him.

He finally looks into my eyes, but his are tired and slightly frustrated. “I’m just going to take a shower on my own.” He says.

“Are you sure?” I ask, rubbing my hands up and down his upper arms. “I mean you never turn down a bath.”

Trevor suddenly pushes my hands off and steps away from me. “Yes, I’m sure, holy shit.” He said in an exasperated tone. “Get off my back.”

“What the fuck, Trevor?” I ask, not bothering to watch my tone anymore.

“What?” He shoots back.

“Don’t say ‘what?’ like that.” I snap. “I don’t understand why you’re taking your anger out on me.”

“I’m not.” He grumbles.

“Yes you fucking are, Trevor! You’re being so short with me and for what?” I ask. Trevor runs his hands over his face and walks away from me.

“Whatever, I don’t need this right now. I’m going to take a shower.” He mumbles, heading down the hall and into our master bathroom. 

I feel like screaming, but I don’t out of fear of bothering my neighbours. I get that he’s stressed and frustrated, but it doesn’t excuse him being a complete and utter asshole. It feels unfair for his anger to be misdirected to me. When the shower turns on, I walk into our bedroom and prepare for bed. I try to fall asleep before Trevor’s done with his shower but I find myself kept awake by my anger and our unresolved argument.

I hear the shower turn off and a bit of movement in the bathroom before the door opens and Trevor begins changing. I stay still and shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I don’t have the energy to argue some more with Trevor tonight, so I hope that his attitude will change by morning.

I hear the drawers of his dresser slide open and shut as he changes into some sweats. He slides into our bed, and his arms snake around my torso pulling me close.

“I know you’re still awake, baby.” He whispers, pressing a delicate kiss to my shoulder. His tone is a stark difference from before, now soft and mellow, a hint of sadness trailing every word. “I’m sorry for how I was acting earlier and how I treated you. That wasn’t fair for you. Shit’s been difficult with work and I took it out on you, but you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

I let out a breath of air I had been subconsciously holding in, twisting around in his arms to face him. “Lay it on me.” He says, expecting my outburst to continue.

I chuckle softly, brushing his wet hair off his forehead. “I forgive you,” I say, knowing he truly didn’t mean to take it out on me. “But I need you to talk to me. Or Troy, or Jamie, just somebody. It’s not good for you to just let this all bubble up and then lose your temper like this when you get a little bit upset.”

“I know, I know.” He sighs. I pull him close, resting his head against my chest, our legs tangling together. “It’s just so fucking frustrating. It doesn’t matter how much I score if I can’t fucking get back and defend. I’m letting way too many shots get to Gibby or Stolie. And we’re just getting dominated in every game."

“You need to stop putting every loss on yourself,” I tell him. “It’s good to recognize what you need to improve on but at this point, you’re taking on the faults of others.”

He lets out a deep sigh and presses his forehead into my sternum. “I’m so proud of you, you know that right?” I ask him, feeling him nod in response. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” He replies.

[miracleonice87]

Can you please write a blurb about a domestic and romantic scenario with husband!Nathan MacKinnon, I love your writing! 🥰😘❤

first of all, thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much that means to me! ❤️

OUCH y’all i hurt myself w this one in the best way! 10000% everything i wanna say to Nate right now. congrats to the Dogg – cannot even wait to watch him in the big dance.

combining this one with a request from my lovely @fallinallincurls who asked me to write a blurb about Nate coming home from Edmonton. I hope you both enjoy 😘

_____

Feelings and the Final with Nathan MacKinnon

After watching Nate practically bounce down the Rogers Place hallway with an enormous grin on his face after sweeping the Oilers, you expected him to be just that bubbly and ecstatic when he got home. Instead, a handful of hours later, he came through the door to find you in the kitchen, grabbing another glass of wine as you waited up for him… and his demeanor wasn’t at all what you had anticipated.

Instead, you barely greeted him with a soft, “hi, bub!” before he easily, wordlessly lifted you up onto the kitchen counter and wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking his face into your neck.

You smiled to yourself – the adrenaline from the win and the celebration seemed to have worn off, and you assumed he was now just tired.

And he was – there was no doubt about that. But there was something else brewing within him, too, and after standing in your arms for a few long moments, still not speaking, you felt a wetness on your shoulder and heard soft sniffles escaping him.

You tightened your grasp on him, arms tightly wound around his shoulders.

Since he was a kid, Nate had felt every emotion more deeply and intensely than most people – when he was happy, he was elated; when he was mad, he was incensed; and when he was feeling sentimental, as you sensed that he was right now, that emotion, too, was to the highest power.

“Let it out, baby,” you whispered, hoping to ground him. “You’re okay.”

Hearing your voice vibrate in your chest brought him more comfort than he could ever explain, more than you would ever know – he couldn’t express his emotions like this around anyone but you. You were his safe place – his haven. Which is why he knew he was bound to break down the moment he saw you, no matter how triumphant he had been in his postgame interviews and on the flight home. You were the only person with whom he could express every emotion that this long-awaited win had brought.

He only needed a couple of minutes, then he was drying his eyes with the back of his hand and sighing deeply, a sign that he was ready to let the feeling go. He stood up and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “I’d be lost without you.”

You beamed, smoothing a hand over his lapel. “You’re welcome, baby,” you responded, cupping his cheek as he kissed at your hand. “I’m so proud of you, Nathan – you’re going to the Final!” You squealed, making him giggle and then shake his head in disbelief.

“I know… man, that’s crazy, huh?” he asked rhetorically. Then, he turned serious again. “But, I mean, it doesn’t mean anything if we don’t pull it off.”

You knew that was coming. You slid your hands up his shoulders and around the back of his neck, bringing him closer to you, then pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I know you believe that. And that’s fine,” you said when you parted, your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But I don’t believe it. I think this was a huge step for you – for all of you. You have worked your fucking ass off for so many years, and look where you are now. Center stage. All the eyes in the world are on you. That is where you thrive, baby,” you reminded him, giving him a gentle shake. He offered a small smile. “And I, for one, cannot fucking wait to watch you live your dream. You’re playing for the Stanley Cup, Nate. I want you to remember that. I want you to enjoy it.”

He nodded, eyes fixed on you, knowing you were right – as always. He smoothed his hand over your hair and leaned in to kiss you.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, earning a wide grin from you.

“I love you, you whispered back. You snaked your feet around the backs of his knees, now completely trapping him in your grasp. “Listen, I know it’s late, but whattya say we-”

“If you’re about to say ‘go upstairs and celebrate,’ then you don’t even have to ask,” Nate filled in, his lips never moving more than a millimeter from yours.

“Okay, just checking,” you said before he lifted you off the counter, deepening your kiss.

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (9)

all parts in the master list

-

It was obvious that you’d been reading far too much into the way Matthew had been treating you and acting around you. 

It was obvious that he just really fucking liked your cat and that was it.

It was obvious to you now that you’d never have Matthew Tkachuk in any capacity so you needed to get over your stupid feelings and attraction and go back to treating him the way you did before the roadie. 

So you did. 

*

He had no idea what he had done to make her revert back to her old behaviors. He thought they were starting to finally get along and maybe, actually become friends. They spent small amounts of time together in their respective apartments and they were civil—bordering on friendly—at work. 

“Hey!” 

Matthew gave her a big smile and pulled up in front of her to bump her fist but instead of greeting him a similar fashion, she rolled her eyes and pushed past him without a word.

It was like that for two weeks and it wasn’t just at work. When they happened to run into each other in their shared building, she barely spoke to him and almost completely avoided eye contact. 

He had no fucking clue what he had done to make her hate him again. Before all this started, he thought maybe they were getting somewhere, in some way he didn’t even know how to explain. 

Everything came to a head after a home game and a huge loss to the Oilers. 

*

Someone was knocking, no, pounding on your door and you were in no mood to deal with anyone’s bullshit. You had just arrived home from the arena after a devastating loss to the Oilers and you were in a shit mood. All you wanted to do was sleep and whoever was slamming their fist into your door clearly didn’t care you had a skincare routine to get through before you went to sleep. 

You didn’t bother looking through the peephole, instead opting to rip the door open and tear apart whoever was on the other side.

“What the fuck?!”

He wasn’t who you expected to see, though if you thought about it, you weren’t sure who else it would be. 

Matthew was still in his suit but his curls were more disheveled than earlier, indicating that he’d been running his fingers through them. He bit his lip as he looked down at you and the expression on his face was unreadable.

“Fucking, what, Matthew? I need to sleep.”

“Why aren’t you nice to me anymore?”

“Because I don’t fucking like you.” 

You weren’t prepared to see his face drop the way it did and but you refused to feel bad for. 

“Since when?”

“Since always, Matthew, we don’t get along. We don’t like each other, we aren’t friends.” 

He literally shrank into himself at the sound of your words but it was only for a second before he was back up and on the defense. 

“I’m so annoyed with myself that I thought we could even attempt to get along,” you didn’t see it coming but as soon as it hit you, you felt it hard and heavy, “you’re a miserable fucking bitch that can’t play nice with anyone. I’m not sure why I even fucking tried.” 

It was enough. 

It was enough for you to put your hands up on both of his shoulders and shove him hard, sending him crashing into the wall behind him. 

It was enough for you to unleash hell on Matthew Tkachuk and scream the most hurtful things you could think of, not caring at all if the entire building heard it. 

He didn’t retaliate in any way, choosing to lean against the wall and take your cutting insults while giving you no response at all. Your voice was hoarse by the time you were done screaming at him as you shrank to the floor just outside your apartment and watched his back head toward the elevator without a word. 

++

Awkward, weird, uncomfortable.

Those words were the only way to describe the following morning as you sat directly in front of Matthew, doing a health check after he received a hard hit to the head in the last game.

“Are you feeling any dizziness?”

“No.”

“Any lightheadedness?”

“No.”

“Anything just generally weird or out of place?” 

“Hm,” he chuckled slightly, “yes.”

“Tell me how you’re feeling.” 

“I’m kind of exhausted, actually, but it doesn’t have anything do with my hit. I invited Ashley over last night and, holy fuck, she is incredible in bed. Like, really fucking good, so tight and ready for me.”

“This has nothing to do with your head injury.”

“You asked me if I was feeling off, I responded honestly.”

“This is inappropriate.”

“Is it? I’ve talked to other staffers about my off the ice situations before.”

He was trying to get a rise out of you and, so far, it was working. Your hands were sweating and you were irritated by his stupid smile and his comments about sleeping with someone pissed you off. 

At that point, you didn’t care what happened to you.

“I say that because I feel like I can’t give you adequate advice about your bedroom activity. I have no doubt you enjoyed your evening with Ashley, but as a woman, I can’t pretend to know how she felt after your night of bliss but I can guess.”

You leaned over the table, your chin resting in your palms as you gave him your best look of innocence, “she wasted her time with someone who claimed they could deliver and she definitely didn’t cum.”

His entire face went fire engine red to match his hair and you politely excused yourself from the room. 

Matthew Tkachuk was not going to make a fool out of you and get away with it. 

Determined to take control of your strange situation with Matthew, you opened Instagram and sent a direct message you never thought you’d send, to Brady Tkachuk.

He was recently single, so why not?

[troubatrain]

adore you - m. tkachuk

a/n: when i asked for fics to bring back i had a few people ask me for this one - i have the biggest soft spot for this fic because it was the first one that ever got a decent amount of notes on my old blog so I hope you guys love it a second time :)

Matthew Tkachuk was the bane of your existence. He was egotistical, a little dumb and flat out annoying. But, no matter what you did you could never get rid of him. You were forced to spend time with him because your best friend, Hannah, was dating his teammate, Noah. You actually liked Noah, he was kind and extremely good to Hannah. You couldn’t understand how he put up with Matthew and you honestly had a second thought about your friendship when he explained to you that they’d played together on US teams when they were younger too. 

Matthew had been a nightmare since the first night you met, when Hannah went on and on about how she thinks you guys should meet because you’d be perfect together. As usual, you told her you weren’t looking for anything right now, because you were just too busy for it. But, you went along anyway and Hannah introduced the two of you. You’d never met a more annoying human being in your life, who was so sure you were going to sleep with him that night that you ended up chewing him out in the middle of the bar. When you’d finally finished ranting, he just went on about how cute you looked when you were mad at him and you felt your blood boil. That was two months ago, and in those two months he’d spent every waking moment of his day trying to bother you about something.

Which would explain why, as you were home catching up on some work, there was a knock on the door of your apartment and you already knew who it was. You’d opened the door and like you’d received once a week for almost a month, there was someone delivering a bouquet of flowers for Mrs. Tkachuk. You’d signed for them, not bothering to explain to yet another random delivery man that you were not in fact married and tossed them immediately in your garbage. Snapping a picture and sending it to Matthew like you’d done every other time.

Glad you signed that contract, because you’re going to go broke sending me flowers.

You’re worth every penny wifey ;)

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, annoyed with how often this went on. You called Hannah who’d been the cause of all of this in the first place, and waited for her to pick up the phone.

“Hey Y/N what’s up?” Hannah asks.

“If Matthew sends me another bouquet of flowers you can tell Noah he’s going to have one less teammate,” You practically growl into the phone, hearing Noah’s laugh in the background.

“Give Chucky a chance Y/N, the kid wants to marry you,” Noah says, taking the phone from his girlfriend’s hand.

“He’s a nightmare Noah,” You say, sighing into the phone.

“He ADORES you,” Noah explains, “He literally never stops asking about you, speaking of, are you coming to Sean’s party with us tonight?”

“Will you keep Matthew away from me?” You ask, deciding that’s the only way you’d want to even go.

“Yes, I will try and keep Chucky away from you,” Noah promises and you reluctantly agree to go to the party, earning a cheer from Hannah through the phone.

--

When you get to the party, it’s in full swing. The room is filled with people you knew and didn’t and you were honestly shocked Sean knew this many people. You were thankful though, because you knew it would be extremely easy for you to avoid Matthew all night. 

You were doing great with your initial plan of avoiding Matthew. You were having a good time, dancing and drinking with your friends. You definitely were drunk but so was everyone else at the party. You’d escaped to go to the bathroom, walking down the hallway to one of the bathrooms in Sean’s large home. You stopped in front of his wedding photos, looking at the pictures from his nuptials that happened the summer before. 

“When we get married it’ll be even better than Sean’s,” You hear behind you and instantly knew was standing behind you, “Think about it you can plan one of those pinterest weddings, we’ll get hitched, I’ll take us on a sick honeymoon and we can hang our wedding photos in some big old house together.”

“You’re insufferable,” You say, turning around to face the pest behind you, but when you turned your heel caught the edge of the rug you were standing under and you stumbled, falling directly into Matthew in front of you.

“And you’re drunk,” Matthew says, holding you up so you don’t hit the floor.

“I’m fine,” You say, your words slurring together more than you’d intended, you push yourself away from Matthew to stand up yourself.

“No you’re not, I saw you, you had like 4 shots with Hannah,” Matthew says, knowing just how much you’d had to drink.

“How do you even know that, stalker,” You say back, crossing your arms across your chest.

“I was keeping an eye on you, there’s a lot of people here, and you’re absolutely oblivious,” Matthew says and just as he was saying something genuinely kind, he had to ruin it.

You shook your head at his comment, “You’re honestly the worst.”

“I know, can I get you home now?” Matthew says, holding up his keys.

“I can get home myself,” You say, stumbling over your own feet when you try and move down the hallway.

“Y/N please let me just get you home safe, no funny business I swear,” Matthew promises, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you still.

You push his arm off of you, “You’ve never done anything funny in your life, and fine.”

Matthew smiles at the insult, “Thank you, c’mon wifey we gotta get you home.”

He grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours, pulling you out of the house and down the street to where his car was parked. He opens the door of the black Audi, letting you slide in. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he starts the car to head to your apartment.

“You drive a less douchier car than I thought,” You say, taking in the views of Calgary as you drove through the city.

“I think that was almost a compliment,” Matthew says, laughing.

“Your taste in music is terrible though,” You say, pointing to the top 40 story that was playing on the radio.

“There it is,” Matthew says, pulling in front of your building, turning his car off.

“I can get up to my place myself,” You say, opening the door to get out of the car.

Matthew sighs, “Please Y/N.”

“Whatever,” You mutter, not in the mood for an argument. You both ride up the elevator to your floor in silence, walking down the hallway to your apartment.

“Thank you by the way,” You say, opening the door to your apartment.

“Anytime,” Matthew says, heading back down the hallway, “By the way, I meant it, I’m marrying you one day.”

You shake your head and shut the door, heading to get ready for bed.

--

The next week Matthew and yourself had gone back to your normal bickering. You didn’t think much into the weird conversation you’d had in Sean’s house, unsure of why Matthew was so concerned with getting you home safe. It bothers you for a small amount of time, until you heard him compliment your ass from across Noah’s kitchen and you knew things had gone back to normal. With the All Star break over and Matthew flying back to Calgary you knew your small vacation from his pestering would be over.

But, you were packing to head to Edmonton with Hannah to go see your parents. The two of you were both from Edmonton, moving to Calgary to go to college together. While Hannah's hockey loyalty switched over to the Flames the day Noah asked her to be his girlfriend, you were still a big Oilers fan, only cheering for the Flames because of your friends with Noah and his teammates. But, after the game right before the break, in which Matthew couldn’t stop being a rat and running his mouth in the media, you were almost excited to go to the game. Looking forward to watching him get roughed around a little bit. You pack the Kassian jersey you’d bought recently, knowing you’d be going to the game with Hannah and looking forward to pissing Matthew off beyond belief. 

--

You’d spent the first couple of days in Edmonton, catching up with your family and friends that lived there. You were excited to have had the couple of days home, spending time with your parents and reaping the benefits of having your mom take care of you for a few days. 

You were standing in your childhood bedroom, packing up some stuff to bring back with you on your drive back to Calgary the next morning. You finished packing and slipped on your outfit for the game, putting on the Kassian jersey you’d packed. You hear Hannah beep her horn outside of your parents house, and you head out the door to see her.

“You didn’t actually buy that,” Hannah shakes her head in disbelief, thinking you were kidding when you’d told her about the jersey a couple of weeks prior.

“If Matthew gets to spend every waking moment of his life irritating me, I’m going to do the same back,” You shrug, “Plus we’re in Edmonton, it’s fine.”

Hannah sighs, “I wish I understood you guys.”

The rest of the car ride is spent catching up on how you’d both spent the last few days. Arriving at the arena, you both head in, sitting at the seats Noah had gotten for the both of you. You were right against the ice, on the Flames side of course, watching them skate for pregame warm ups. You see Noah spot you, shaking his head at your choice in jersey. You see him skate over to Matthew and point in your direction, the curly haired menace turning his attention over to you. His nostrils flare out, and he skates directly into the boards in front you, knocking your beer on the ledge to the ground.

“I cannot stand you,” You say, annoyed you’d have to go get another drink.

“Look at what you’re fucking wearing,” You hear him say before skating away, spending the rest of warm ups away from you.

“He’s mad Y/N,” You hear Hannah say, pointing to Matthew across the ice.

“Good,” You say, sipping on the beer you had to go get after Matthew knocked the first one over.

The game was off to a hot start, and hits were flying in true Battle of Alberta fashion. The entire crowd was waiting to see if Matthew would finally drop his gloves with Kassian after the media circus that ensued after their last meeting. When he finally does, you feel Hannah grab your arm, taking your attention away from your phone and you look up watching Matthew square up against Kassian. You watch him throw punch after punch, finally knocking him to the ground, Matthew looking over at you as he skates over to the box.

The rest of the game was intense, ending in a 3-4 shootout win for the Flames. You head to the locker rooms, waiting outside for Noah. The team starts to roll out one by one, looking exhausted from the hit heavy game they just played.

“You’re not actually wearing that right now,” You hear Johnny say, laughing as he comes up to you, “You must have put Chucky’s mind in a blender.”

“I’m sure he’ll recover,” You say, spotting Matthew leaving the locker room, making a beeline over to you.

“Sorry I had to give your boy a beating tonight,” He says, still a little mad at you.

“Yeah I just love him, the whole team actually,” You say, trying to rile him up.

He glares at you, before leaning down and whispering in your ear, “Nineteen’s a better number for you don’t you think?”

You ignore the chill that climbs up your spine when he places his hand on the small of your back, “Over my dead body.”

Matthew shakes his head and walks down the hallway to head back to the team’s hotel, not letting you know that seeing you in that Oilers jersey made his skin crawl.

--

When you arrive back in Calgary, you’d gotten four texts from Matthew, asking you if you’ve gotten back to your apartment yet. When you finally do, there’s a box at the door, a large red bow on top. Your gut says it’s from Matthew, and your suspicions were confirmed when you opened the box and revealed a Flames jersey, the number nineteen glaring at you. You pick up the card and nearly gag at the writing

Looks better than orange and blue babe - Matty

You think about tossing the jersey in the trash like you’d done with every bouquet of flowers he sent you, but you something wouldn’t let you. You leave the box on the island in your kitchen, deciding you’ll do something about it later. You set down the box and look at your phone, checking your texts to see Hannah had texted you to see if you were going to meet her out after Noah’s game tonight. You debate it internally for a moment, but decide to go out.

--

Later that night, you arrive at the bar and instantly spot the large group of hockey players standing in the corner. You walk over and immediately hear the sound of Matthew’s laugh, giggling at some stupid joke he probably told. You catch up with everyone and head over to the bar to grab a drink. While you’re waiting to get the bartender’s attention, you feel a hand on the small of your back and turn around to see Matthew standing behind you.

“You look incredible tonight,” Matthew whispers in your ear, flagging down the bartender with ease.

“I can’t believe you followed me over here,” You say, turning your back to him.

“I can’t believe you don’t want to be with me,” Matthew says, “We’d make such cute babies.”

Matthew drones on about how if you guys had kids, they’d probably have his hair but he wants them to have your smile. It would be cute if you didn’t know he was doing it to get under your skin. Your eyes scan the bar, seeing a group of girls pointing to Matthew and whispering, probably about the Flames resident pest being out at the bar. 

“Don’t you have a fan club to entertain,” You say, nodding your head towards the girls.

“I could talk to you all night and I’d still take one of those girls home,” Matthew smirks back at you and while you’d usually feel your blood boil at the comment, you felt something different. A pang of jealousy washes over you at the thought of Matthew giving his attention to someone who wasn’t you. You’d had it for so long, and something in your gut said you didn’t want anyone else to have his attention the way you did. You look at him for a moment, taking his blue eyes and crooked smile, and relishing in the way his hand on your back feels.

You sigh, “You could just take me home.”

You see Matthew choke on his beer, “I can - I - what?”

You giggle at his reaction, his usually cocky demeanor diminishing as you finally decide he can have what he wants, “You can take me home,” you repeat again, running your fingertips along his arm.

“You’re fucking with me,” Matthew says in disbelief.

“I’m not, but you have to promise me something,” You say and he nods, prompting you to finish your statement, “I can still plan the wedding.”

Matthew laughs at the reminder of what he told you at Sean’s party, “You can have whatever you want babe.”

You grab his hand and lace his fingers with yours, leading him out of the bar and into his car. Matthew knew that once he finally got you, he wasn’t going to let you go.

[ya-pucking-nerd]

"Come home" - m.barzal

A/N: here it is!! the part 2 to déjà vu!! (also credit to the gif maker ily <3) 

i debated for a while whether or not to even write it because the point of the song is that she is angsty and angry and hurt, but the hopeless romantic part of me was screaming to write a part 2 so here she is :)

tagging the people who seemed to really like the first part (in case they’re interested in the second part?) : @ollywahlygator @2manytabsopen @matwith1t @barzysreputation @tessisawriter @calgarycanuck @fallinallincurls

It had been over a year since you and Mat broke up. After discovering Kathryn’s Instagram, and your show being canceled by ABC, it seemed like all signs pointed towards you moving back to LA. You were offered a position as a regular on James Cordon’s Late Late Show. You told yourself that you were moving back to LA to further your career and definitely not because you want to avoid Mat at all costs.

Right now, you were driving with some of your coworkers to the Staples Center to help him shoot another episode of dodgeball “Brits vs. Americans” for his show. You were excited; it was supposed to feature Tom Holland, Olivia Rodrigo, Chase Stokes, Dua Lipa, and loads of more guests.

What you didn’t realize was that the New York Islanders were in town to play the LA Kings tonight. When you got there, the Staples Center crew hadn’t started putting in the floor where you would be playing dodgeball. They invited you all to just lounge around in the stands until the hockey practice ended. It still didn’t hit you yet that the New York Islanders could be the ones practicing on the ice; you assumed it was the Kings.

Your coworkers were chatting and pointing excitedly at the “hot ones” on the ice. You rolled your eyes and opened your phone until you saw a flash of blue pass you.

“Well, those certainly aren’t the colors of the Kings,” you thought as you groaned internally. The rational part of your brain tried to reason “Maybe it’s the Oilers or the Leafs. Their team colors are blue,” but when you saw the familiar logo of a team who you supported wholeheartedly, you groaned loudly.

“What’s up, Y/N?” your coworker, Molly, and probably closest friend in LA asked.

“Oh, nothing,” you lied. “I think I’ll just need to take an Advil when I get home. I’m feeling a headache coming on.”

“I got you,” she says as she starts digging in her purse. She pulls out a bottle of Advil, and you slowly take them. You don’t want to get caught in your lie, so you grab your water and take a pill. You thank her quietly while you wait for the Staples Center staff to start to build the floor so that you can play dodgeball with James and get out of there.

And as fate would have it, none other than Anders Lee himself would stop right where you were sitting and turn around. The recognition in his eyes was uncanny, and he gave you a small wave before throwing himself back into whatever drill Barry was running. Molly looked at you in shock but didn’t say anything. You hadn’t told anyone about Mat and the New York Islanders, because you never thought that the ghosts of your past would follow you back home. Or at least you were hoping they wouldn’t, but they always find a way.

Barry ended practice a couple of minutes after the Anders sighting, and you didn’t think much of it when your production crew started taking over as soon as the Staples Center crew was done. Someone came over to where you were left seated and guided you through the halls of the Staples Center to get you to a changing room so you could put on a red tracksuit and play dodgeball with James. You finished and started to go back out to the court. On your way, you walked past the guest locker room, so you did the most reasonable thing you could think of and averted your eyes to the floor. The last thing you needed was to make eye contact with any member of the New York Islanders and invite them to come over to you.

You ended up walking into a pole.

“Shit, Y/N, are you ok?” asked the voice of the one person you really didn’t want to see.

“Yeah, Mat, I’m fine. I’m good,” you said back as you still refused to make eye contact.

“I’m gonna go get some ice from the trainer. Wait right here!” He ran back into the locker room and emerged with an ice pack in 30 seconds. He held your head steady and gently laid the ice on your throbbing head. You had to admit, it did feel nice.

Molly came around the corner and saw you on the ground with a hot hockey player sitting next to you looking super worried, and she started laughing hysterically. She helped you up, and in between laughs, said, “Only you would manage to walk into a pole.”

She was ready to bring you out to the court when Mat shouted, “Y/N, can we talk later today?”

You looked back in shock, but nodded your head, nonetheless. You shouted back to use Instagram DMs.

What you didn’t know is that the rest of the guys were eavesdropping on your entire interaction. After you were dragged away by Molly, the guys all looked at Mat and shook their heads. See, they knew that Mat wasn’t with Kathryn anymore. They also knew why Mat was ever with Kathryn in the first place. And they also knew that Mat still had feelings for you.

~

You lost the game of dodgeball.  But, at this point, you didn’t care. You knew that James would get some good moments to air on the show later that night; especially when James got out the huge yoga balls and started kicking them at the Americans.

Ultimately, you just wanted to get back to your apartment and sleep until the show later tonight. You forgot about promising Mat an Instagram DM conversation until you looked at your phone.

When you got home, you immediately crashed into bed, not even bothering to change out of the tracksuit. You had set your phone on your small kitchenette table and never thought to look at incoming notifications.

Waking up thirsty, you dragged yourself out to your kitchen to get water. Grabbing your phone was something you did absent-mindedly, but your eyes bulged at the 10 Instagram DMs you missed.

“Hey Y/N! I don’t know when u will be done with the James Corden stuff, but text me when ur out” 11:53 am

“By the way, congrats on getting a job with James Corden. I always knew u would make it in LA” 11:54 am

“I was thinking, since we have an entire afternoon before either of us has to be anywhere, we could meet up at that ice cream parlour we visited that one time?” 11:57 am

“Am I being annoying?” 12:07 pm

“Hey, just checking to see if ur done with the thing” 12:33 pm

“Y/N???” 12:59 pm

“The guys are all telling me that I’m stupid for continuing to try, but I just wanted to talk.” 1:32 pm

“Y/N, I know this seems like I’m obsessive, but I truly just want to talk. Like catch up maybe? Please don’t ignore me.” 1:50 pm

“If u don’t want ice cream, that’s totally cool too. We can get whatever u want.” 2:24 pm

“The guys are taking my phone now :(” 2:38 pm

You let a little stream of air out of your nostrils as you read all his messages, but also feeling a little bad that you missed all these messages.

“Hey Mat. Sorry, I came home and took a quick power nap. Where did you want to go to talk?” 2:49 pm

You now understood the anxiety Mat was feeling when you didn’t respond for over two hours, but you did have a little more self-control than he had. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait near as long as he did.

“Did u want to go to that ice cream parlour we went to?” 2:50 pm

“The one in Malibu? Yea, I can pick you up if you want.” 2:51 pm

Mat sent you the address of the hotel. You changed and grabbed some cash and got ready to pick him up to drive 30 minutes just for a symbolic ice cream parlour.

On your drive over to the hotel, you told yourself that the reason you were doing this was for closure on your part. You most certainly did not miss him and would absolutely say no to giving him a second chance.

You presumed the rest of the team was in the hotel or maybe sightseeing, but Mat was waiting for you on a normal-sized chair, but Mat made it look tiny. After the exchange of hellos, he was uncharacteristically quiet. It made you a little uncomfortable because the Mat you left in New York was able to start up a conversation with just about anyone as long as they were willing to listen (and sometimes when they weren’t). This Mat was sitting with his knees together like a puppy with his tail between his legs because he knows he did something.

Parking the car was a little difficult because the parlour was full. You finally pulled into a spot and Mat bounced out of the car.

The parlour had changed a bit since the last time you came here with Mat. For one, they covered up the cute mural. Instead, it was a plain grey wall. The comfortable booths you once sat in were replaced by cold, metallic chairs. Outside, the picnic benches that were once adorned with rainbow-colored umbrellas were now covered with simple grey ones.

“Hey, go pick a bench. I’ll get it for you.” Mat offered, already reaching for his wallet.

“Mat, no. I can’t let –” you started.

He interrupted you, saying, “I basically begged on my knees for you to come out here with me, and then I even made you drive. It’s the least I can do.” A small laugh left his lips at the end, letting you know he genuinely felt bad about it.

You conceded and reminded him, “Strawberry, please!” At that, Mat smirked and said, “I remember.”

He exited the parlour five minutes later holding two cups. Ironically, both were filled with strawberry ice cream. He was sheepish as he gave you a cup and a spoon.

“They were out of bubblegum, but I figured you didn’t want to share with me anymore.” He was beating around the bush, which was funny considering he was the one who asked you to come with him.

You, however, were not the type to beat around the bush. The words “Why did you bring me here, Mat?” were tumbling out of your mouth faster than you thought. See, you weren’t the type to beat around the bush, but you generally weren’t that blunt.

Mat was taken aback by your bluntness but answered in stride.

“I missed you, Y/N.” He abandoned his spoon in his cup. He started lifting his hands to hold yours, but he probably saw the fear in your eyes and immediately retracted them back into his lap.

“What?” You were confused. You thought Mat was still with Kathryn. Was he cheating on her with you? Oh, no. You were not about to become “the other woman” no matter how much your petty side wanted to hate Kathryn. Deep down, you knew she did nothing wrong. She was just a lucky girl who got to experience being loved by Mat Barzal. “Mat, you have a girlfriend.” That was your only defense, and you knew it.

“No, not anymore. She um… She left me. She was using me because she wanted more followers. She was one of those beauty youtubers and she thought that if she got more attention from different groups, she would get more subscribers. It worked actually, but eventually, she wasn’t gaining as many from me and my fanbase, so she moved on to some other group.”

You could see the pain in Mat’s eyes. When you were in a relationship with him, he wasn’t always the best with words, but you could always tell his emotions by his body language and his eyes. Both were very telling – maybe even more so than any actual words could convey.

You realized you were quiet for a little too long. Mat’s eyes now shifted from dejected to curious. He was waiting for a reply on your part.

You decided on “Mat, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” You were trying your best to not get emotional right now. You knew that when you were emotional, you made bad decisions.

And then, out of nowhere, you said, “I saw all those dates you took her on.” You were once again shocked by the bluntness of your choice of words but decided to continue. “Mat, those were the exact same dates we used to go on. I mean, this was our ice cream parlour, and you took her here like you’ve never been here before. Did you even tell her that I found it first? And playing her our songs? Did she ask you who taught you Billy Joel?”

You felt yourself beginning to lose it, which you didn’t want to do, so you chose to end with “Why?” It left the ball in his court. He had a choice, to either answer with a simple “I don’t know” or he could be honest.

He chose the latter. “Because I missed you, Y/N. And I’m not just saying that. I think, subconsciously, I was trying to make her you. I thought that if I took her on the same dates and did the things we did, it would make me feel for her the way I felt – shit I mean feel, still feel – for you.”

He left you a minute to let those words simmer. He did gain enough courage to grab your hands in his. His thumbs were rubbing yours in soothing circles as you worked through all that he had to say.

“What do you mean still feel?” You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

“Y/N, of course, I still have feelings. I don’t think I ever stopped. You know, we broke up because we always agreed ‘right person, wrong time’, right?” He looked hesitant about saying the next part. “What if now is the right time?”

His hazel eyes were webbed with worry. This was probably the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen Mat. Ever. The question plagued your mind, and the longer you thought about it, the more the answer became clear.

~

Mat left the ice cream parlour with one more phone number in his pocket. You left the ice cream parlour with a weight lifted off your shoulders. You had been granted that closure your heart yearned for. But now, you yearned to be loved by Mat Barzal again. No one had ever made you feel so seen like he had. No one had made you feel so important. But, in the back of your mind, your insecurities about Mat’s insecurities were eating you from the inside out. If Mat’s insecurities lead him to break your healing heart again, you didn’t know if you could survive. You eventually decided that you wanted to take it painfully slow. You didn’t want to let him back into your life all in one day. That would set a precedent that he could break your heart whenever he wanted and then walk right back in whenever he felt like it, which is not what you wanted. You needed him to know he had to earn his way back into your life.

Throughout the rest of the regular season and into the post-season, you and Mat kept in touch. Nothing noteworthy, really. Mostly filled with memes on Mat’s part and “good luck!” texts on yours. Sometimes, there were hints of playful flirting, too.

Mat, however; was playing noticeably better. You didn’t want to attribute that to your grand reentrance into his life, but the rest of his team did. You got “thank you” texts from the whole team for weeks until they were ultimately eliminated from the playoffs.

When the Isles got eliminated, Mat surprised you and booked a flight out to LA. The season finale of The Late Late Show was airing that night and then, you were done. Mat even came to watch the live show. He brought you flowers and complimented you endlessly.

Instead of going straight back to your apartment or to a club, you took a walk along Hollywood Boulevard. You held your flowers in one hand and your other was dangling beside you because you wanted Mat to hold your hand. Soon enough, you found an excuse to grab it without him thinking it was weird. You were coming up on the Walk of Fame, one of the biggest attractions in Hollywood. It was so crowded, and you didn’t want to be separated from Mat, so you grabbed his hand, and together you faced the chaos. He confidently guided you through and he did not let go of your hand when you were through.

You found your way to the lobby of your apartment building. Mat had yet to let go of your hand, but you didn’t mind.

“Can I walk you up? For safety purposes, of course.” He smiled through the question. You didn’t mind; you wanted the excuse to spend a little more time, even if it was just an elevator ride.

Ever the gentleman, Mat walked you to your door. He was trying, and you wanted to acknowledge that. You knew that he didn’t have to make this trip. He didn’t even see his family yet, and you knew how much they meant to him. He pushed it off for fourteen whole days to spend time with you. In the back of your mind, you thought maybe he might make a move on the fourteenth day, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

Those fourteen days came and went quicker than you expected. You gave Mat a true tour of Los Angeles. The last time he was here, you mostly spent time at your apartment. This time, you didn’t want to allow yourself to fall into that trap. You took him to your favorite places, the biggest tourist attractions, but you did eventually allow him into your apartment.

Your suspicions were correct. On the fourteenth day, Mat came to your door with a bouquet of roses. “Y/N, let’s try this again. Once the summer ends, move back to New York with me. Come home”

[hockey-fics]

Hockey Players are Bad News ~ Matthew Tkachuk

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

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

Word Count: ~3,800

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you come to one of my games?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s uh...my brother.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“So I didn’t think it would matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a sucker for punishment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Find out what?” Taylor snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you even want anything with him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” Taylor mutters. 

“Why?” you mutter, voice wavering. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you?” 

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

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

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

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

“I do know him,” Taylor retorts quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dubersbutt]

Well all know how much Connor and Leon score but what if they made a little bet out of it. Like whoever gets more points in one game gets to eat you out, whoever has more points gets a blowie and whoever scores a hatty gets to fuck you while to other just has to watch.

1.6K - smut, mlm relationship

“Either of you gonna score a Hatty for me today?” you ask as you lie with you boys after their pregame nap. You had planned on getting some work done while they slept, but Leon had wrapped you in his big arms and Connor nestled himself in the crook of your arm and you couldn't have left even you wanted to.

Connor's eyes were still closed, but you knew he was awake because he leaned into your hand when you scratched ran your fingers through his hair.

"It's gonna be me," he mumbles, "Leo sucks at hockey."

Both you and Leon snort and you lightly tap Connor on the nose, "That's not nice, Con."

"Is that true?" Leon asks, "If I get more points than you then you're blowing me in the parking lot."

"Hey, no fair, I want to be included in this," just because you couldn't go to the arena doesn't mean that you shouldn't be apart of sex bets.

"die Geduld," (patience) Leon mutters, kissing the top of your head, "If I get a hatty then I get to fuck (Y/N) however I want, and you just get to watch. If you get one then you get to do whatever you want to her and I won't interfere."

Connor pressed his mouth into a thin line. You couldn't blame him for wanting to take his time, Leon wasn't always the most generous person in the sex bet category.

"Deal," he says, outstretching his hand for Leon who clasps it firmly.

~~~

"5 points!" Connor says, smashing his lips against Leon' s as soon as they sit in Leon's spacious Genesis. Connor had made sure to take his time changing so they would be the last two to leave the arena.

Leon's hands wander down to Connor's belt, undoing the belt before Connor pulls away, "Hey aren't I supposed to be blowing you."

"I changed my mind."

In hindsight, they probably should have the gotten into the backseat so Leon didn't have the centre console digging into his ribs as he bent down to take Connor's cock into his mouth. He wraps his hand around the base, slowly jacking him off as he feels Connor's dick harden in his mouth. Leon feels a hand in his hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp.

Leon doesn't notice that his phone is ringing until Connor's lifting his head up.

"(Y/N), is calling," he says slumped back against the seat.

"Answer it, put it on speaker," Leon commands, before dipping his head back down and licking his cock from base to tip.

"Hel-fuck, Leon," Connor mutters into the phone.

He hears you giggle on the line, "I was going to ask you guys why you're so late but I'm assuming you're still at the rink."

"Yeah," Connor breathes out, "Leo's trying to kill me."

Leon takes that as his cue to bob his head all the way down, until Connor's cock hits the back of his throat. Connor's hips thrust up involuntarily, but Leon's ready holding them down as best as he can from his awkward angle.

"I'm sure he is," you sound amused, "text me when you leave the rink."

Connor agrees but Leon's not sure he really heard what you said. He practically throws his phone down into the cup holder.

Leon looks up and Connor's face is completely flushed, traveling down the open collar of his shirt. His eyes are shut and he's panting against the seat. Leon drops Connor's dick from his mouth before blowing cool air on the tip and Connor's whole body jolts up.

"Leo," god Leon's never going to get bored of hearing his name, "Don't tease me."

Leon's hand slides up and down slowly, "I don't know what you mean."

Connor whines, and Leon laughs, "Please."

"Only because you asked so nicely," he teases as he ducks his head down again.

Leon knows exactly what Connor likes. Knows that Connor likes a little scratch go teeth along the underside of his dick once in a while. He knows that Connor likes short fast bobs of the head with a strong pressure on the base of his dick. Connor's fingers dig in the back of his neck and he knows Connor's close.

He keeps up his ministrations, stopping until Connor's spilling down his throat. A little bit dribbles out getting stuck in his beard when he he straightens up to clear his throat.

Connor leans over to kiss Leon, thumbing the little white spot in his beard before slipping his finger in-between Leon's lips. Leon wraps his lips around Connor's finger, humming lightly before he moves his head far back enough for it to fall out.

"Fix yourself," Leon says, jerking his head toward Connor's limp dick, not yet tucked back into his pants, "I hope you enjoyed my generosity because that's the last time you're cumming tonight."

"Text, (Y/N) we'll be home in 20 minutes."

~~~

Leon stops midstep when he gets into the bedroom and Connor walks right into him.

"Dude, what the the hell?" He says poking Leon in the spine.

"I take it you didn't check your texts," you tease as Leon finally remembers how to move his legs.

Goddamit, that's what he gets for trying to "live in the moment" or whatever bullshit that is.

You're sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the Oilers navy alternate with a pair of knee-high stockings. He can see the lines of your garters holding them up when you shift, but he's very aware of the 29 sitting on your shoulders.

You lean back on your hands, looking like a renaissance painting. The neon looks so good on your deep skin tone, the navy complimenting every inch of you. He doesn't notice that you're wearing heals until he tries to get close to you and the sharp heel presses into his chest.

"Congratulations on your hatty," you say pulling a hat from seemingly nowhere and throwing it at him lightly.

"Fuck, why didn't I get 2 more goals," Connor groans from the closet, probably changing into something more comfortable.

"Go sit," Leon commands and Connor obeys, but grumbles the entire time, "And I swear to god if I catch you doing anything I didn't explicitly tell you to do then you won't be coming for a year."

Leon grabs your foot from where its perch on Leon's chest. He debates taking of your heels but he decides against it. He kisses your calf, slowly sinking down to his knees. He trails up to your inner thighs, biting the soft skin to hear the little gasps. He spreads your legs apart and slides the jersey over your hips. His heads falls forward with a groan when he realizes the panties you're wearing are crotchless.

"Baby," He groans, "You're going to be the death of me."

You laugh, lowering yourself onto the bed, "I thought you'd enjoy being able to fuck me with all this on."

And he does, he really really does want to fuck you with his jersey on, and rip your stockings to pieces. He pulls your legs over his shoulders, nipping your inner thighs again. He wants to leave marks all over your body. Watch the hickeys bloom onto your dark skin, a subtle reminder that you're his.

He pulls you down so your pussy, is right over the edge of the bed. He kisses your clit, and you sigh contently. Leon pulls your clit into his mouth and your hands run through his hair. He licks a stripe up your pussy, groaning when he realizes how wet you are.

"God, baby have you been thinking about me fucking you this whole time," he asks, slowly pumping one finger into your pussy.

You nod, "Your hockey gets me so hot, Leo."

Leon wants to make fun of you for that but he can't find it in himself to do so. Instead he adds a second finger, slowly scissoring the two to open you up. Your back arches, pushing your pussy into his face and he Leon resists the urge to fuck you then and there.

When he looks up at you he realizes that you've pulled your jersey up and are pinching your nipples. He moans into your pussy, causing a loud gasp to be ripped from your throat. Leon doesn’t waste his time, devoring you like a man starved. He switches between his tongue in your pussy and his fingers, alternating pressures on your clit, teasing.

“Leeeee,” you groan, digging your nails into his scalp. Leon relishes in the feeling, pressing up against your hand.

Finally he gives you exactly what you want. Curling his fingers in your pussy the way you like, and his lips attached to your clit, humming softly to sens a shudder up your spine.

“Leo,” you cal, breasts heaving as you near the end, “let me cum please.”

Leon deattaches his mouth momentarily, long enough to say “Cum,” and before winking up at you.He feels your pussy convulse around his fingers. As soon as you ease up he’s throwing his belt on and jacket on the floor, he hardly even remembered he was wearing clothes at all, before pulling his cock out and slipping into you.

You wheeze, almost as if you’d been punched in the gut, as Leon doesn’t give you time to adjust. He’s got one of your wrists locked in each of his hands as he ruts into you. His head ducks down to kiss your the space between your breasts, traveling up to your neck. His beard tickles your throat. Eventually your lips connect, his hips keeping a steady rhythm.

Leon knows when you’re about to cum, knows every tell your body has. He grabs your leg, hiking it up to his hip, using calculated thrusts to get your toes curl and to get you to scream his name.

He doesn’t wait for you to recover, flips you over onto your stomach and hikes up your jersey. He jacks himself off quickly, using your slick to slide his hand quickly. He’s been so amped up from the game it doesn’t take long for him to cum all over your back, the bottom of the jersey getting drenched in his jizz. He stays there for awhile, catching his breath before he turns his head to Connor.

Speaking of, Connor’s face is red, way more red than Leon’s ever seen before. There’s a noticeable tent in his pants and the veins in his arms are bulging with how tight he’s gripping the chair arms.

Leon beckons him over with one finger, and unbuttons his shirt with the other. The fabric is sticking to his skin and he definetly needs a shower, but he’s got one more thing to do before he can change.

You shift underneath him, trying to worm yourself free but Leon puts a and on your back to keep you still. Connor kneels on the bed over your shoulders, careful to keep his weight off you. Leon pulls Connor in by the shirt collar, smashing his lips against his before reaching into his sweatpants to pull out his dick.

“No boxers,” Leon notes, slowly rubbing his cock slowly, “slut.”

“Says the man who sucked my dick in a parking garage.”

“Don’t sass me,” Leon gives the base of his dick a hard squeeze, and Connor lurches forward.

Connor is usually pretty quiet during sex, except when he’s tired. His constant string of moans is strange but not unwelcome as he thrusts softly into Leon’s hand. He would be embarrassed by how quickly he cums, but watching you and Leon always gets him hot. He adds to the pool of jizz on your back before carefully lifting himself off you and padding to the bathroom.

He grabs a washcloth from their stash in the cupboard and runs it under warm water before heading back. Leon has helped you get out of your jersey, which was probably ruined, and is sliding your shoes and stockings off your feet.

By the time Connor’s finished washing you up, Leon’s leaning back against the pillows and you’re getting up to use the bathroom. Connor throws the damp towel in the laundry bin before cuddling up to Leon.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” Leon mumbles.

“Because you didn’t want to fuck me,” Connor responds. And Leon just grunts.

“Hey, Leo, wake the fuck up,” you say poking him in the inner thigh until one of Leon’s eyes pops open.

“You still haven’t checked my message,” you hand him his phone and he sighs, holding one hand behind his head as he opens your text.

Oh man, if Connor weren’t so tired he’d probably get hard again but instead he just looks at the picture your sent Leon. You’ve got your jersey on, and your ass is perched on the counter, looking spankable and wrapped in lace.

The next picture is of you with the jersey pulled up past your boobs. You’re playing with your clit, panties and stockings in full view, and Connor wants so badly to fuck when you’re wearing his jersey.

“Baby girl, you’re so lucky that I’m about to pass out or I’d make you her on your knees right now.”