#not hockey but hockey

[kensatou]

make men slutty again.

HEAT STROKE | GQ CHINA Photographer: Wintam; Editor & Image: Shawn Gao Ding; Makeup: Lucas; Hair: Tao Liu; Art: Grade 2 & Lei Min; Art Assistant: Jiang Mi; Models: Kim; Ye Hao, Yu Hang, Ho Jun; Fashion Assistant: Yiyi, Coco; Photography Assistant: Li Zhenxi; Song Luanyi

bonus as rightfully added by @polyabathtub:

[nando161mando]

Pro-homosexual forces stay winning

[callisteios]

i made a character uquiz. i 100% promise you that you will get a character you know AND like

[tojisun]

call it bad porno plot but blue collar simon coming to your house cuz you rang, saying you needed some plumbing done, and you, well, you didn’t expect this hulking mass of a man to come greet you with an accent so thick you can feel yourself getting wet :(

he calls you maam and missus—you say “just miss,” with a little cough because you’re not married, and he pauses and goes, “oh, is that so?” with this little pleased smile tugging at his lips.

he checks whatever’s going on in your kitchen sink and says it might take a while, and you can barely reply to him when he begins to shrug his jacket off, leaving him in this skin-tight black shirt that literally looks so beat up with overuse but unbelievably hot on him.

“reckon little ol’ me can have somethin’ to drink, maam?” he asks, crossing those thick arms over his chest, and you can barely rasp out your reply before you’re turning around to rummage around the fridge.

you don’t notice the way simon eyes you down, tracing your body and barely biting a pleased hum at the sight you make, all doll and pretty, so easy to read with your blown wide eyes staring up at him with such palpable desire.

you haven’t been fucked right, huh darling? probably never had a real man treat you well—fold you over the counter, make you squirt with only fingers, yeah?

well, he thinks, rolling his shoulders and grunting his thanks to you when you give him a glass of OJ, maybe i can be that man for you, isn’t that right petal?

(it takes a purposeful hit at the pipes for things to pick up—you came running back to the kitchen with a confused yelp, and the next he’s got you on your kitchen table, legs thrown over his shoulders, and his head buried in your cunt.)

-

ext

[dadvans]

“and the fans are throwing celebratory rats on the ice” god I love hockey

[gyudons]

a sequence of Events. not crosby. not mcdavid. just one nhl player with no “reputation” and everything to lose.

[saucingitup]

the nhl said we won’t let the mlb have all that ripaway jersey fun

[pyladeshungover]

[nicohischier]

it’s fine

[kensatou]

the h in nhl stands for homoerotic

bonus intricate rituals:

[cpericardium]

[savagegood]

enemies to lovers? and they were teammates - and roommates? men’s sports have nothing on women’s sports

and this particular guy... cry harder (imagine if women's sports had the funding, visibility and accessibility men's sports are gifted):

[tojisun]

head hurts owie owie but fixating rn n

thinking about hockey player simon sneaking you in the locker rooms pre-skate and just. fucking his nervousness out of his system—his words. he clamps his hand on your mouth when he hears someone fiddling with the door.

“what the fuck? why’s it locked?”

that was mactavish, you realize with sharp horror.

your eyes widen, anxiety building up in the base of your spine, and you stare up at simon because shit is it time for pregame skate already? but he just shrugs his shoulders like the bastard like he is, as if the team couldn’t just ask their captain—garrick—or their coach to open the doors for them.

“jesus, why,” that was price, your favourite player. “y’know where garrick went?”

the reply is too faint for you to hear and you pray, god you pray, that it’s because they’re moving away.

simon lets out a quiet laugh, apparently following your train of thought.

“don’t worry, sweets,” he murmurs, but with the sudden silence in the locker rooms, it could very well be reverberating from wall to wall. “they really won’t mind.”

you glare at him, still unable to speak—and unwilling too—with his hand clamped on your mouth. and simon just grins, one that is so utterly charming even with his missing tooth from eight games ago.

he ruts his cock into you again and you swat at him, willing him to stop, at least until the team leaves but the door is wiggled again, as though maybe this time around it’d be unlocked, and simon groans before blindly reaching towards his duffel and picking his phone out.

he taps on it, and shit you think you know what he might’ve sent and—

“ohhhhh!” the mob outside all collectively yelled before smacks resound on the door, this time mixed with wolf whistles.

“get it, riley!” someone you distinctly remember being sasha says and you feel your cheeks burn because what the fuck—

“yeah, now get!” simon replies like the bastard he really, truly is.

more laughter, more cheers, more banging noises, before it all peters into thundering footsteps leaving the locker rooms. that was—

“okay, now we can focus,” simon purrs, pulling his hand away. you just glare up at him again before reaching up and tugging him close for a kiss to finally shut him up.

[mythosphere]

Every time I see a hockey goalie with their helmet propped on their head I'm like omg...just like pericles....