#luck of the puck fic exchange anon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tyonfs · 3 years

Note

hi<3 i love your fics they are super good! i wanted to ask something hehe . could you (if you want to ofc!!) make a fic about mark? i mean like you are enemies with him but eventually u fall in love with him and the u guys dating but its almost full of angst then fluff and smut? its ok if you dont want to! i just wanted to ask this<3

author’s note: hello anon !! i’m sorry for getting to this so late 🏃‍♂️ but omg i hope you enjoy this little bullet fic tho! AND TYSM i’m so glad you like my fics 🥺💞

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

summary: competing with the bane of your existence, mark lee, for a letter of recommendation from the dean was bad enough. on top of that, he was now the manager at your new job.

genres: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, smut, crack, slight angst, coffee shop au, college au

warnings: profanity, sexual tension!! bc what’s e2l without sexual tension, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap!), hate sex, making out

finding out the dean only wrote a letter of recommendation for one student every year was probably the third worst news you could have received today

the first being the realization that the dean had to pick between you and mark lee

the second being that you were against mark lee

mark lee: the captain of the ice hockey team, the student body president, and the top student in the english department

he was also a smidge too attractive for his own good which made you want to pull your hair out

hot people with shit personalities should be a federal crime

but your gripe with him right now was that damn letter of recommendation

how Canadian Shakespeare was all buddy-buddy with the dean was beyond your understanding

maybe it had to do with the fact that he was the student body president and a perfect all-rounder student but you were appalled when you walked into her office to see her laughing at something mark said

this was just unfair; she didn’t laugh at your jokes

mark wasn’t even funny! he was just a kiss-up and you were infuriated

“take a seat, y/n,” she said, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “mark was just telling me the most hilarious little tid-bit about edgar allen poe.”

ah, yes. edgar allen poe. what a riot.

mark smiled at you as you took a seat next to him, but you saw past his fake smile

“hey, y/n,” he greeted cheerily

you returned the stiff smile. “hey, mr. president.”

douchebag, you thought bitterly. who was he to say hi to you? clearly he’s working against you. this is his evil plot to watch your downfall.

“so, as you two know,” the dean interrupted your delusional thought process, “i only can give one student a recommendation and you two are my top candidates.”

you were practically on the edge of your seat, hanging onto every word the dean was saying

“so i came up with the perfect solution to decide,” she said. “write me a short paper by the end of next week on why i should pick you, attach your resumé, and then i’ll decide.”

you and mark turned to each other, exchanging a look

this was war

“end of next week? you got it,” you replied, fired up

you were confident you would get it

plus, you could add your new job at the coffee shop to your resumé—the timing was perfect

when you and mark left the room, it was like a switch flipped in him

“good luck getting the recommendation,” he said, raising his brows at you. “you’re gonna need it.”

“oh, please.” you scoffed. “save the attitude for when i get it. now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m gonna go to my first shift. have fun with your hockey pucks!”

you stormed off, enraged

you were not taking shit from a dude named after someone from the old testament

okay, so maybe the world hated you

“what are you doing here?” you sneered

it was very clear what mark was doing here, actually

above his name on his name tag read manager, and you’ve never wanted to die more

“i’m here for work,” mark replied with a smirk. “excited for your first day, y/n?”

“not anymore.”

“come on, don’t be like that,” mark cooed. “sora here is gonna show you the ropes.”

the perky girl mark gestured to was enough to slap you out of your brooding nature and manage a smile for her

she looked you up and down and grinned. “let’s get you an apron.”

you sighed as she disappeared into the back room

mark leaned close until his lips met your ear before he turned to leave

your stomach twisted from what you thought was hatred, but it felt odd

he whispered, “by the way, don’t think i’m going easy on you today.”

you groaned when mark walked off

your day couldn’t get any worse

newsflash: your day got worse

who knew making a coffee could be so complex? what the hell was steamed? did people enjoy making their orders longer than the declaration of independence?

mark sighed heavily when he saw you struggling with the whipped cream

“let me show you how it’s done,” he offered

instead of demonstrating like a normal person, mark walked up behind you so that you were caged against the counter, and he placed his hand over yours

this isn’t weird, you tried to convince yourself even though it was very, very weird

“gentle,” he murmured in your ear, pressing against the nozzle to create the perfect dollop of whipped cream over the drink. “got it?”

your heart was going crazy. screw mark lee

“mmhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself to speak coherent words

you had to remind yourself that this was your mortal enemy, and he was clearly playing mind games with you right now

“so what’s going on between you and our manager?” sora asked once mark had gone to work the register. “i could feel the sexual tension all the way from the blenders.”

“nothing at all,” you replied coolly. “we hate each other’s guts. he’s just trying to break me down, but i won’t back down.”

“that’s a bit dramatic. i think he just wants to fuck you.”

you choked on air, backing away from the drinks. “no way in hell.”

sora laughed. “i’m just saying,” she said, “he doesn’t do things like that to the other girls.”

“trust me,” you replied. “we hate each other. whatever that was is just him trying to get into my head and mess with me.”

sora shrugged. “if you say so.”

you honestly weren’t quite so sure yourself, but if this was just mark’s plan to throw you off your game, you weren’t going to fall for it

and if this was how he wanted to play, you had a few tricks up your sleeve as well

“i thought you said you weren’t coming to the party,” renjun said as he watched you apply lipstick. “what changed your mind?”

renjun and jaemin were currently sitting in the middle of your room while you were putting on your makeup to go to a party with them

it wasn’t everyday you dressed up this good, but tonight you were ready to kill

but nothing too severe because you still wanted that letter of recommendation

“mark lee,” you replied, eyes practically burning holes in your mirror with how intense your gaze was

“i thought you hated him,” renjun said. “now you want to go to a party for him?”

“exactly, renjun. he thinks he can mess with me so i’m going to fight back.”

“sounds concerning, but you look great, y/n,” jaemin replied, giving you a thumbs-up

you beamed, turning around and placed your hand on your chest in gratitude. “why, thank you, jaemin.”

“but, y/n, what makes you think mark’s trying to mess with you?” jaemin inquired

you raised a brow at him. “you two are his best friends. you know better than anyone that we hate each other.”

“right.” renjun snickered. “and that’s why you’re wearing that low-cut dress?”

“i plan to make my revenge sweet, huang renjun.”

“oh god, they’re gonna fuck,” jaemin muttered

“we’re not gonna fuck, jaemin!”

jaemin and renjun were under the impression that your target was mark

and he was, but you weren’t going to get to him directly

your plan was to get to him by other means: his friends

there was nothing mark hated more than his friends getting along with his foe

he already had to deal with sharing jaemin and renjun with you, so you figured his breaking point would be if you got closer to jeno or hyuck

but you didn’t even get to carry out your evil plan because mark walked over to you himself

well, that was easy, you thought

his eyes were on your dress, examining the way the material hugged your body

you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were a little intimidated. being under his gaze was a little nerve-wracking

“you’re up to no good,” he observed

you batted your eyes innocently. “what makes you say that?”

“you look stunning.”

that would usually be a compliment but mark made it seem like you needed to be behind caution tape

“thanks? i guess.” you scoffed. “i just dressed up more than usual today.”

“yeah, okay,” mark drawled and looked back over his shoulder, which you assumed was him checking to see if his friends were around. “can i get you a drink?”

hook, line, and sinker

“i’m not drinking tonight, but we can dance,” you offered, slipping your hand into his

mark raised a brow at the physical contact but pulled you over so that you both were closer to the mosh pit

mark didn’t let go like you did; his eyes were serious and studying you like he was trying to calculate your every movement

his lips brushed against the shell of your ear when he leaned in. “i have a feeling you’re up to something, y/n.”

“oh yeah?” you taunted. “like what?”

“i can’t tell if this is about the letter of recommendation,” mark said, “or if you’ve already noticed how badly i want to fuck you.”

maybe it was a good thing you didn’t go get drinks with mark

because you surely would have spit it out all over him

“you want to—what?” you asked, cheeks heating up when your voice started to fail you. “did i hear that right?”

no way. there was no way in hell mark lee thought about you in that way. not after the constant bickering and teasing and—

wait

yeah, no, that just sounds like sexual tension, y/n, you realized

maybe you were stupid for intentionally ignoring all the signs, but that didn’t change much because the guy still pissed you off

even though the feeling of his lips against your skin was absolutely sinful

and the way his thighs looked in those jeans made your head a mess

and his hands on your waist left his touch lingering and left you wavering

the moment was ruined, though, because someone had to bump into you and spill their drink all over your perfect dress

“i’m so sorry!” the person apologized profusely

“it’s fine,” you replied

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t frustrated. how were you going to mess with mark’s head when you looked like this now? plus, you were sticky and felt gross

mark tutted. “look at you.”

something about his tone, about the way he was looking at you, made your stomach flip

mark grabbed your arm and continued, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

you could only follow after him as mark pulled you into the bathroom, closing the door behind him once you were in

“okay, now—fuck,” mark hissed and averted his gaze when you started peeling off your stained dress. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“isn’t that what i’m here for? to clean this?” you asked with a scoff

mark grumbled something incomprehensible and simply manned the door

“you don’t have to keep looking away,” you added with a smirk

“you’ll be in danger if i look at you right now.”

your breath got caught in your throat at his words, but you huffed and continued, “mark, why the fuck do you think i even wore this dress?”

a muscle in his neck flexed and his eyes darkened. it was all so incredibly attractive to you so you didn’t mind when he locked the door and made his way over to you, taking in the way you looked in lingerie

“you’ve been messing with my head these past few days,” he growled. “showing up to work and then dressing like this.”

mark snapped the strap of your bra and traced the fabric down, running his finger over your nipple

you shivered, even more so when he pressed the lower half of his body up against you and placed his large hands on your hips

“you’re one to talk. do you know how i felt when i found out you were the person i was up against for that damn—” you were cut off, gasping as you felt mark’s hand slip into your underwear and slide two fingers against your slit. “h-hey! that’s not fair!”

“you’re wet,” he observed, “and you talk too much.”

“fuck you.”

“it’ll be my pleasure,” mark murmured before he leaned in, kissing you with a vigor you had never seen in him before

you were caught off guard but before you knew it, you were wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to pull him impossibly closer

mark was a good kisser, and it didn’t help that he knew all the right things to do that got you turned on

he held the back of your neck, tilting your head up so he could reach you better, and his fingers wouldn’t leave your slit alone

when his thumb moved to rub small circles against your clit, though, you had to pull back for air, whimpering at his touch

mark smirked and took this as his opportunity to kiss down to your neck

“i should’ve done this a long time ago,” he whispered against your skin before planting kisses along the column of your neck

mark’s hands moved to the back of your thighs and picked you up so you were sitting on the counter

“just fuck me already,” you groaned out, running your hands through his hair

“beg for it.”

“you’re such a prick.”

“i can stop.”

you whined and gripped his shoulder. “please, mark,” you begged, heat rushing to your cheeks at what he was making you do. “please, please, please fuck me.”

mark’s lips curved into a smirk. “that’s more like it.”

before you knew it, mark was ripping off your panties and unbuckling his belt

he must’ve noticed your shocked look when you saw how big he was because he grinned, grabbed the back of your neck, and pulled you in for a deeper kiss

you were so dazed from the taste of his lips, but snapped out of it immediately when you felt him push himself into you

“mark!” you gasped out, breaking away from the kiss to catch your breath once again

“f-fuck, you’re so tight,” mark moaned out, waiting for you to get adjusted and groaning whenever you clenched around him

when you got adjusted to his size, you met his eyes and mark immediately understood

he held your hips tightly and started thrusting, his merciless pace making you moan uncontrollably

“i fucking hate you,” you whined. “stop making me feel so good.”

mark moved one hand to clamp over your mouth. “quiet, kitten. we don’t want people hearing us, do we?”

you nodded, tears springing to your eyes and running down your cheeks as he hit that perfect spot every single time

your moans were muffled by mark’s hand but he got aroused each time regardless

his hand on your hip crept to press his thumb against your clit again, aiding his thrusts by stimulating you more

“c-close,” you whimpered out against his hand, and mark removed his hand just to hold your hips steady so he could go faster. “fuck.”

“you gonna cum for me?” mark cooed, leaning close to nip at your neck. “come on, y/n.”

you were at your limit

your climax washed over you and you came, crying out into mark’s shoulder as you were hit with intense waves of pleasure

mark was at his limit shortly after, groaning and pulling out so he could cum over your thigh

the both of you took a second to process what you had just done, and mark simply stared at you as his ragged breaths turned shallow

“you asshole,” you started, “we came here to clean me up and you made an even bigger mess.”

mark grabbed the dress you had strewn aside to slip over you again. “round two in the shower then?”

“this shower?” you asked, nose scrunching up in disgust

“my shower,” mark said. “let’s go to my place.”

you wanted to outright refuse him, but the sex was so good that you complied

mark’s driving was a bit concerning with most of his attention on you, but the both of you managed to make it to his apartment in one piece

he was ignoring his texts from his friends and you were ignoring yours, but you had no time to feel guilty because mark’s lips were on yours again

and round two was even better

now you found yourself in a dilemma

hooking up with mark once was fine and all

you both had your fun and sure, you didn’t follow through with your initial plan, but the sex was good

the problem was that it was too good

too good as in you hooked up with mark for six days in a row after that party

and you were currently making out with him in the back room of the coffee shop

too good as in you were starting to soften up to him

like he had gotten you both takeout the previous night

and you kissed him to say thank you

literally who does that?

and later he sent you a picture of his dog because he thought you’d like a picture of his dog

and fuck you, mark lee, you really did like the picture of his dog

you liked it so much that you added a heart reaction

and the night before that, he asked, “are you pissed off with me because we didn’t cuddle?”

he wanted to cuddle? he knew you wanted to cuddle? you wanted to cuddle?

you wanted to cuddle mark lee?

you also had to explain your whereabouts to renjun and jaemin

your friends were hellbent on finding out if you got together with mark or not, but you and mark had to keep your hookup under wraps

but that unfortunately didn’t stop you from accidentally blurting out that sex with mark was really good

but, to be fair, you were drunk so it wasn’t really your fault

plus, mark forgave you after you kissed him

this was a syndrome called Down Bad and you were not happy with it

what was this? rivals with benefits? acquaintances with benefits and downsides?

whatever it was, you were not happy

and you ended up pushing mark off of you

“what’s wrong?” he asked, looking concerned at how you withdrew

“what are we doing?”

mark straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “uh, making out?”

“no, like, are we just having fun until we go back to hating each other or what?” you asked. “because if you’re stringing me along, i don’t want to be part of it.”

“stringing you along? how am i stringing you along?”

“i don’t know, maybe you’re trying to get in my head because of that letter—”

mark cut you off with a frustrated sigh. “why is everything about that damn letter of recommendation?”

anger bubbled in your stomach. “how can it not be? that recommendation determines if i can apply to my dream grad school.”

“and you think it doesn’t make a difference to me?” mark asked. “why would i fool around with you right now when i could be writing my paper right now?”

“i don’t know!” you exclaimed. “i don’t know what you want from me. you already have the upper hand.”

mark put his hands over his face and groaned. “god, you really think i just want to play with your feelings and drop you? you know better than anyone else that i take what i deserve and leave behind what i don’t deserve.”

“what?”

“forget it,” mark grumbled. he backed up and made his way to the door, adding, “you’re working register.”

screw mark lee

screw mark lee for being against you for that damn letter of recommendation

screw mark lee for leaving you like this

and more importantly, screw mark lee for making you cry right now because you cared about him more than a stupid letter

you did a lot of thinking that night

well, you had to, because your letter was due the next day

but you thought a lot about mark said about deserving things

and frankly, you didn’t deserve this letter

you tried to cheat your way into knocking out your competition

even though that completely failed and you ended up catching feelings

but that was besides the point

you did a lot of thinking

and you weren’t sure if you came to the right conclusion, but it felt like the right thing to do

so you sat down and you started writing

it had been a week since you submitted your paper

you hadn’t spoken properly to mark since your argument at the coffee shop

sora had asked if there was something up and you ended up telling her everything

she assured you that he’d come back once he was done blowing off steam, but now you had to walk into your meeting with him and the dean

and you were nervous as hell

she was going to announce her decision and you had a feeling you knew who was going to get it

it was bad enough you had to sit through a meeting with mark during that, but did you really have to run into him outside her room?

“hey,” he greeted awkwardly

you froze for a second but greeted back, “hey.”

“hey,” the dean spoke from behind the both of you, a brow raised at how distant you two sounded

you balked and she walked past the both of you. “come inside.”

you and mark exchanged a wary glance before walking inside and sitting in the two seats in front of her desk

she grabbed two letters on her desk and handed one to each of you

“congratulations,” she said with a smile. “two letters of recommendation for the both of you.”

“what?” you and mark exclaimed, taking ahold of your respective letters in disbelief

“i’ve never had two students write papers on the other student, but i was impressed so i decided to give you both a recommendation this year,” she said

you turned to mark in shock. “you wrote your paper about me?”

mark was equally as shocked. “you wrote yours on me?”

“i had a feeling you didn’t plan to bring up each other’s achievements,” the dean said. “that’s all i have for you two, so again, good job.”

you thanked the dean before saying your goodbyes, but mark writing about you was still bugging you

“i told you i didn’t think i deserved it,” mark said once you two walked out of the dean’s office

“i didn’t know—god, i feel like such a bitch right now.”

mark smiled. “well, you kinda redeemed yourself back there. i didn’t see that coming.”

for the first time, you could confidently say mark lee’s smile made your heart swell

“hey,” mark started, a touch nervous, “do you maybe wanna grab dinner sometime? and go see a movie or something?”

“is that a date?” you asked

“it could be.”

“mark,” you warned

“okay, it is!” he admitted, smile widening. “go on a date with me, y/n.”

you broke into a smile, too. “well, how could i say no to mark lee?”

mark laughed and swooped in to peck your lips

you could practically feel the happiness radiating from him

“this calls for a quickie in the bathroom,” mark said

“absolutely not.”

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i-got-these-words · 5 years

Text

Okay, so this isn’t the first time that Tumblr has eaten up a post of mine and I’m seriously considering taking my business elsewhere (especially since the Tumblr Management Community seem more baffled than me about this).

Rant over.

Thank you, anon. This was fun to draft.

And, guys, lemme know your thoughts - either about Tumblr’s disappearing posts issue or the ZhanYi fic below ;)

A/N: There is a brief glossary of terms at the end of this post.

~~~

The vertiginous passage of spectral city lights, vivid and voracious. The near-silent hum of a hybrid vehicle as it navigated through three am traffic. The taste of victory at the back of his mouth like the inside of a sports cup at halftime.

Brooding and unblinking, his cell phone was a polished brick in his palm. Holding its breath for a text that was never going to come. But holding anyway. Hoping.

Zheng Xi repressed a sigh, feeling spent and sore. Nailing his first Stanley Cup did nothing to cushion his come-down from a post-win high – a come-down that was more a crash-down, and a high that made him question the quality of what he was shooting up with. Except, if he was being honest with himself, Zheng Xi knew it wasn’t about quality; there was nothing more raw or unadulterated than being the youngest NHL team in the division and defying all odds to reign as this season’s champions.

But raw did not compare to piquant purity, and unadulterated had nothing on divine defilement; the kind of drug that had Zheng Xi tripping at first sight, and intoxicated at first taste.

“Third building on the left,” he intoned as the Prius steered towards a bank of high-rise apartment complexes.

The Uber driver caught Zheng Xi’s gaze in the review mirror. A question in his close-set eyes. A trace of recognition. They’d barely exchanged two words during the ninety-minute drive, plenty of time and opportunity for the driver to study his sullen profile, the wide-set of his shoulders, the square of his jaw – unmistakeable even through the carbon shell of a wire-caged helmet.

As the car slowed to a stop, Zheng Xi snagged a crisp fifty out of his wallet.

“Congratulations on the Championship,” the driver hedged, hesitant. Likely because the dejected customer in the back seat was nothing like the fierce D-man in the rink, or the fervent player at the postgame conference a few hours ago. “My son is a huge fan.”

Quelling the urge to wince at being recognised, Zheng Xi mumbled a thanks. Realised what a dick he was being. Slipped another fifty out of his wallet. “Do you have a pen?”

With a nod and a fumbled affirmative, the driver pulled a ballpoint out of the breast pocket of his lined shirt. Zheng Xi uncapped the pen and scrawled the Chinese characters that corresponded to his name onto one of the bills.

Handing the tip and the autographed fifty-dollar note to the other man, Zheng Xi thrust the car door open. “Have a good one.”

“Thanks, man,” the driver beamed. “And, uh,” – a pointed glance at the tall building to their left – “good luck with everything.”

Zheng Xi flinched. If only. But all the luck in the world wasn’t going to smooth this over.

He let the door slam shut behind him, teetering slightly because, after a game, his feet were more accustomed to balancing on a set of blades than swaying in an unfamiliar pair of Futurecraft 4Ds. As the Prius rolled away, he swiped a thumb across his phone screen. Hit the last number he’d dialled.

“This phone is currently switched off. Please try –” He hung up, swallowing jagged-edged knots of despair and disappointment down his dry throat.

Strides sluggish, he made his way towards the black glass of the front door, his reflection looming and growing larger with each step he took, his sense of self-worth growing smaller. He let his fingers hover over the metallochromic buttons of the intercom mounted on the wall, debating for a minute. And then thumbed through his phone for the app with the electronic passkey – the one that was issued to him back when the flat on the fifteenth floor was like a second home to him, when the man who lived in it was more than just home.

Zheng Xi flashed his phone over the digital reader and a musical little ding announced an approval. As he pushed through the unlocked door, his cell jolted in his grip with an incoming call. Zheng Xi’s throat constricted and cut off a breath mid-exhalation.

But it wasn’t him.

The name illuminating his screen reminded him of the late hour. Of how it was way past curfew. Of how, right now, he should’ve been tucked in a hotel bed, trying and failing to get some shuteye, because tomorrow was another long bus ride back to the capital, a champions’ ceremony, a team interview, a fans’ meet. All the things that had once meant something. But he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember what.

Slinking past the elevator, he pocketed his phone – Coach could chew him out later – and took the stairs two-by-two, the drumbeat of his heart dissonant and deafening. When he finally reached that familiar door on the fifteenth floor, he was a little winded, not from exertion or exhaustion, but expectation. The expectation that this was all going to go to shit.

But I gotta know for sure.

Zheng Xi took a deep, steadying breath before gently rapping his knuckles against the smooth wood. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d knocked like a guest. A stranger. Maybe at the very beginning, once or twice, before he was spending more time here than at his own bachelor pad in the next city over.

A long moment of silence followed his knock. And, so, he rapped again, harder this time. More urgent. Desperate.

A muffled thump indicated movement in the apartment and Zheng Xi stepped back, panicking because the speech he’d prepared on the journey here now sounded ponderous and pathetic. He wet his lips as the door handle rattled slightly. And cursed the way his own hands rattled even more.

The door opened just enough for the man on the other side to peek through the gap.

“Zheng Xi?” Jian Yi’s voice was a seraphic solo made sweeter by the sleep underscoring his cadence. “What… What are you doing here?”

What was he doing there?

“Hey,” Zheng Xi croaked. Cleared his throat. Crammed his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket. “You weren’t at the press conference.”

A puzzled purse of strawberry-pink lips. “I don’t… I cover baseball now.”

Yeah. Don’t I fucking know it.

A soft squeak as the door swung wide open. A sibilant shuffle as slim, bare feet brushed a little closer. An audible swallow as Zheng Xi took in the sight before him.

Jian Yi in nothing but a creased, oversized nightshirt, his compact toes painted a frosty-periwinkle, his mussed hair sleep-curled and longer than had it been when Zheng Xi last ran his fingers through it six months ago.

“Why are you here, Zheng Xi?” The little wrinkle between fair brows made Zheng Xi want to reach out and smooth it down with his fingers. With his mouth.

I fucked up.

“You know I’m not… good with words,” Zheng Xi began, the weight in his chest growing heavier with every passing second.

Jian Yi tilted his head, perplexed but patient.

“Maybe we could talk inside?” Zheng Xi asked, daring to hope.

Stiffening, Jian Yi looked away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Zheng Xi nodded like he understood, but all he really understood was how big a mistake this was. He knew it then; Jian Yi was going to say no. And the rejection was going to kill him.

“It was all for nothing,” he confessed, because, at this point, he didn’t have much left to lose. “Week after week of drills til we were dead on our feet, skating til we couldn’t stand straight, playing til we passed out.” The vile taste of victory was back in his mouth again, and Zheng Xi’s stomach heaved. “NHL Champions but I’ve never felt less like a winner.”

A small, sad smile on those pink, pearly lips. “I watched the game. It was solid, D-man. You deserve the title.”

I don’t fucking want it.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Beseeching, broken, he scanned Jian Yi’s bright gaze. “Not without you.”

A flutter of motion as Jian Yi hugged himself. A flutter of pale lashes fanning downcast eyes. A flutter of Zheng Xi’s battered heart as it braced itself.

“Jian Yi. Please.”

Shaking his head, Jian Yi staggered back. “No. I’m done being your dirty little secret.”

The words kronwalled into Zheng Xi, and the weight in his chest bottomed out.

That’s how he made Jian Yi feel?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

“You don’t need to apologise, Zheng Xi,” Jian Yi softly interjected. “I know how much hockey means to you – so much that you can’t even be seen out in public with me, an openly queer sports journalist.” He shrugged or shuddered; Zheng Xi couldn’t tell. “I respect that you don’t feel ready to come out, and I would never ask you to do that for me. But all the lies and the secrets and the sneaking around… made me feel like a bad habit. Not a boyfriend.”

A prickling wetness pecked at the corners of Zheng Xi eyes. With a sharp nod, he turned on his heel. But Jian Yi closed the distance between them before he could walk away. Run away. Hide.

Tugging him down by the front of his jacket, Jian Yi wrapped his arms around Zheng Xi, the embrace tight and tender all at once. “Own it, Xixi. All of it,” he whispered.

It was over before it began, Jian Yi pulling back before Zheng Xi could snuffle those layered locks one last time.

A glint and a twinkle in a gold-flecked eye. “That’s different. After a win, you usually smell like a bar,” Jian Yi tittered. “Or eau de puck bunny. Tonight you just… smell like you.”

Zheng Xi’s lips lifted with a loose smile at that teasing tone. And fell again as Jian Yi waved a farewell and sidled back into his apartment, the resounding snick of the latch loud and lasting.

As he stumbled back down fifteen flights, Zheng Xi tapped away at his phone, searching for nearby Uber cabs. He ignored the searing sting behind his eyes, just like he ignored the missed calls and the multiple notification icons at the top of his screen; he wasn’t ready to deal with the aftermath of posting the Instagram video he had recorded at the back of the Prius. All the inevitable the ‘D’ in D-man jokes. Not yet.

But, as he huddled outside the building waiting for his ride, he thought back to how the Uber driver had treated him despite overhearing him come out to the world.

Just another pro athlete his son looked up to.

A sportsman. Not a sexuality.

And the crash-down slowed down to a free-fall til it almost felt like he was floating.

Knowing the PR team was already going to ream him out come morning, Zheng Xi hit the Twitter app on his homescreen and typed out: ‘Lacing up my rainbow skates. See you on the ice. #NHL #LGBTQAthlete #OwningIt.’

~~~

Glossary ~

Stanley Cup: The NHL championship trophy.

D-man: Defenceman; blueliner.

Kronwalled: A signature back-pedalling hit made famous by pro hockey D-man Niklas Kronwall.

#19 days #19 days fic #19 days fanfic #zhanyi #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble #ask-box

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