#pens hockey injuries

[reavenedges-lies]

[4axel4loop]

"the task of being alive is a sacred one" / Book of Ancestors, Margaret Atwood

[sassyfrassquatch]

Succeeded in keeping my phone away to avoid Canucks doom scrolling while I was out.

Failed at actually avoiding Canucks doom news because I live in Vancouver.

[pierremcguire]

I think next season there should be a cameo from a pens player in the pitt

[martyrbat]

i already miss rusty and rakell :(

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 9)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3178

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Notes: ughhhh. i don't like this part. fml

_________________________________________

Annoyance courses through your veins when Rhys’ phone buzzes against the tabletop again. The devilish device has been blowing up with messages since before your tutoring session had even begun, as soon as Rhys walked into the room with a mumbled greeting, fully immersed in the device.

Each vibration has slowly chipped away at your feeble concentration. You quickly lost focus on studying, and you’ve had to re-read the same paragraph three times over, restarting every single time he received a new message. Not a single fact has clicked in your head, and the urge to collapse in defeat is all too tempting right now.

Rhysand is in no way phased by your unpleasant aura and blatant glares. His laptop is open, eyes glued to the screen as his fingertips fly across the keyboard. He has a paper due at nine in the morning, and although he’s known about it since the end of last week, between tutoring you, the Halloween party, hockey practices, and games, he’s up to his ears busy.

But he wanted to see you.

He’d spent all week thinking about you. During practice, he’d found himself glancing up into the bleachers, looking for you, hoping he’d catch a peek of you in that sinfully butchered jersey of his. That reminds him, he needs to get you a new one because you’re more than distracting in that scrap of fabric.

He’d searched for you the same way at the away game the Bat’s had this week, even though he knew you weren’t in the building at all, weren’t even in the same city.

And psychology is fucking ruined for him. He thinks about you the most when he’s sitting in class, staring at the lecture slides he should be copying down. It’s a good thing that the information comes so easily to him, otherwise he’s pretty sure he’d be fucked with the amount of time spent daydreaming about how your lips felt on his, soft, shy, intimate.

“You know, if I’m keeping you from something,” you finally say, snapping Rhys from his paper. It’s hard to keep the annoyance out of your tone but the surprise on his face, the way his brows knit together in confusion has a pang of guilt stabbing you in the chest. Clutching your pen in your grasp only helps a little. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

You refrain from admitting that you really do need his help tonight due to the quiz you have coming up later this week. It’s the only night he’s available to tutor you, with his hectic schedule. Right now, his presence is more distracting than it is helpful, and from where you sit across the table, you can tell that he’s stressed.

It’s in the way that he runs his fingers through his jet-black hair, tugging on the roots when whatever he’s typed doesn’t make sense. You know this is his tell because it’s followed by the prominent clicks of the backspace key for each letter he removes. Clack. Clack. Clack.

You can fully see the exhaustion written on his face, the circles beneath his violet eyes, and how every so often you’ve caught him rubbing his fists into his eyes. The bruise on his jaw looks better than it had the last time you saw him, splotches of yellow-green dust the area instead of the deep purple coloring it was when the injury was fresh.

He must see your frustration on your face because his shoulders drop in shame.

“What? No, I’m here,” he insists, shoving his computer away from him. Yeah, maybe a break is what he needs. Shame crawls up his throat. He’s supposed to be your tutor, and he’s been so caught up in his own work that he forgot that he’s supposed to be helping you.

Rhys frowns when his phone jolts against the desk again. You take a calming breath, closing your eyes, but they still prickle with frustration. You’re just as frazzled as he is. If you don’t pass this quiz, you’re not sure there’s hope of salvaging your grade.

You’re arguably just as exhausted as Rhys. Your other classes are also on the verge of kicking your ass, and you can only blame it on the fact that you actually have a semblance of a social life this year and aren’t holed up in your dorm room 24/7 outside of your classes, studying your ass off. No, you’re hanging out with your roommates more, meeting new people, going to hockey games and parties, both of which are things you never thought you’d be into.

And trying to keep up this façade as Rhysand’s fake girlfriend isn’t easy. Amarantha seems like she’s everywhere. You can barely count the number of times last week Rhys messaged you about her. You meet up with him when you’re close and able, in the commons, the food halls, you even met him between the stacks of bookshelves in the library while she pretended to peruse the non-fictions, but you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s a lot. Just last night, Amarantha was at the hockey house when Rhys arrived home. She had sunken her blood-red claws into one of the freshmen who’d been invited over for a few beers with a small group of players. Azriel had warned him of the devil under their roof, and Rhys had showed up at your dorm with a sheepish smile and a box of cookies from the convenience store he passed on the way over.

If he didn’t have those sweets in hand—and if your roommates hadn’t gone to a movie that you wanted to see but couldn’t because of the amount of studying you had to do—you would have slammed the door in his face.

You spent the night studying alright, but it wasn’t the words in your psych textbook. You couldn’t help but examine Rhysand, who sat across from you on your couch, the way that his hair fell from his brow when his chin tilted down to his own work. The way that he held the chocolate chip cookie in his mouth between his teeth as he wrote in his notebook. The zip of excitement you felt when your fingers brushed against his rough ones in the cookie box.

Your cheeks warm at the memory. You swear you can still feel his touch, the sheepish smile he gave you when he pulled his hand away, letting you pick whichever cookie you preferred. You wanted to lean over and taste that soft smile against your lips. You managed to find the restraint, offering him a gentle smile in return before stuffing a bite of the chocolatey goodness in your mouth as you ripped your gaze from his.

“No, really,” you try to insist politely. “If you need to go, you should. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” It’s difficult to hide your cringe. You really do need his help.

Rhysand stares. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, and when he opens his mouth to ask what has you so on edge tonight, his phone pings with another message, and realization sets in like a boulder in the pit of his stomach at the way your gaze drops back to your book.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, snagging his phone from the table. It’s Cassian, again. His roommate won’t let the fuck up in the group chat, demanding mandatory attendance from every single member on the team at the party he’s hosting at the hockey house the night before team plays the Springview Wolves.

Rhys would be worried about the potential jinxing Cassian’s text puts into the universe if he didn’t know that this is the one superstition his defenseman has. The past two years, the entire hockey team had attended one of Cassian’s pre-celebration parties. It was the last party before their meet with the Wolves, who they’d then slaughtered in a 6-2 game. The following year, they’d beat them in nail-biting overtime with a snapshot that could’ve broken the plexiglass had Azriel missed. Safe to say that this party has become as much as a tradition as it is a superstition, and Rhysand needs to be there.

But right now, he needs to be here, focusing on you and the psych class you’re bombing.

“Look, if you’re too busy to tutor me I’d rather you tell me now so that I might have a chance at finding a new tutor before this quiz.” It’s difficult to mask the disheartened etch to your voice. Who are you kidding? There’s no way you’ll be able to find a tutor when the quiz is two days away.

Yep, you’re officially screwed.

“I’m not,” Rhys protests, shaking his head. Something about the idea of another person tutoring you has annoyance flaring in his veins. He silences his phone, something he should have done as soon as he walked over the threshold of the study room. “It’s just Cassian, anyway.” Rhys slides his chair around the corner of his table so close that your knees knock into each other. The touch sends a shockwave up your thigh and you try not to recoil at the surprising feeling. “Sorry. I’m done texting. Remind me what you’re working through, and I can help with any questions you have.”

You’re apprehensive to let this tutoring continue. It’s become very clear that Rhys has other priorities. He’s the captain of the hockey team for fuck’s sake; he probably has more on his plate than you think he does.

At your hesitation, he questions, “What?”

You shrug, feeling completely defeated. All you want right now is to crawl home with your tail between your legs and curl into a ball in your bed. You’ve pretty much accepted that you’re going to fail this class, tutor or not. There’s no way you’re going to admit any of this to Mor’s cousin right now, so you deflect, lamely. “I don’t know Cassian that well, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that likes to be ignored.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, and your breath hitches as the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. Sadly, a grin doesn’t break through, but it lights a fire under your ass. You want to see that smile, and you’ll do just about anything to make it happen.

It’s sad, almost, how much effort you’d put into earning that grin, but not apply that same energy toward studying.

“He’s going through our roster in the group chat, calling every single person out by name to make sure their schedules are cleared for the party we’re throwing this weekend.”

You catch yourself before your eyes roll into the back of your head in what might possibly be the most dramatic, epic eyeroll ever.

“Wow,” you feign an amused laugh. “That sounds dramatic.”

“That’s Cass for you,” Rhys says, amused. He crosses his arms and places them on the table. It takes effort not to watch the way his muscles pop beneath his t-shirt as he leans in closer. You’re only a foot away from each other. If you wanted to recreate the kiss you shared on Halloween, all you’d have to do is angle forward, tilt your head, and his lips would be on yours. You wonder for a fleeting moment if Rhys was as thrown over the kiss that night as you were. If he still thinks about it, can still feel the phantom sensation of your lips pressed together.

You remember that you shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss at all, and you sit back in your chair.

“You know,” Rhys starts, and you don’t like the telltale signs of a scheme that lines his tone. You almost groan out loud but settle on shooting him a warning look. “Since you’re my girlfriend—”

“Fake girlfriend,” you correct instantly.

Rhys rolls his eyes and tips back onto the back legs of his chair. “Fine. Fake girlfriend,” he mimics and you toss your pencil at him. He catches it against his chest and the smile you’ve been waiting to see finally cracks his face. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he does that. You’re even gifted those pearly white, straight teeth of his. You’d keel over in your chair like one of his many conquests if it wouldn’t give him an ego. You almost miss the end of Rhys request with how entranced you are. “You should probably make an appearance at the party.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Realization strikes you like a fist. Rhys all but preens in his seat. You blink as his words settle, frows knitting together. “Wait, no, I can’t.” His face immediately falls. Rhys’ face scrunches adorably and you’d really like to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows right now.

There are more than a handful of reasons that you should not show your face at the hockey house party, the most prominent being that you’re his cousin’s best. She doesn’t want you anywhere near him, and you can’t break that promise even more than you already have.

Well, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. His words echo in your head and you shove them away as quickly as they arrive.

The second reason you shouldn’t be going to his party is that you’re barely even friends, you’ve somehow been sucked into a mess of a situation, pretending to be his girlfriend in exchange for tutoring. Tutoring that right now isn’t helping improve your grade at all.

“Why not?” He challenges. “What if Amarantha shows up?”

“Because I have other plans,” you answer plainly. You don’t need to give him a reason. You press, “I can’t be your buffer between Amarantha forever, Rhys. You’re a big boy; you can fight your own battles.”

He looks awfully like he doesn’t want to fight his own battles, with his lips pressed into a pout. If you thought that he was distracting before, this is an entirely new level of diversion. A much better kind, to be honest.

“You’re seriously not coming to the party?”

“No,” you respond, packing up your things.

“But what if she corners me and tries to kiss me or give me a hand job or something?” He asks.

Your eyes almost bug out of your head. “Then you tell her no, Rhys,” you state. “It’s really that simple. And don’t guys enjoy hand jobs? When was the last time—” He opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No, nope, I don’t even want to know.” You glare until he shuts his mouth, but the amusement lingers in his eyes.

He huffs. “Those nails are sharp,” is all he offers.

You wince. Amarantha does keep her nails long and pointed at the tips, crimson red, like blood. You almost look down to admire your own hands but catch yourself at the last second. You do not need to be thinking about how your fingers might look like wrapped around Rhys’ eight inches.

Your cheeks burn and Rhysand raises a brow in question.

He must read the plea on your face because he thankfully changes the subject. “What could you possibly have going on that’s better than free booze, good music, and seeing yours truly?”

“Wow, Rhys,” you scoff. “Your ego is unbearably suffocating tonight. Did you get your dick sucked recently?” You ask sweetly, then busy yourself by turning to a fresh page in your notebook.

His answering grin is fucking smug.

The muscle of your jaw twitches with how tightly you clamp it shut.

“Hoping it happens at the party,” he answers, suggestively.

You fake gag. “No way.”

“Didn’t say it was going to be from you,” he teases. “But if you want to, you’ll know exactly where I’ll be.”

Gods, this boy and his fucking filthy mind. You certainly haven’t forgotten that he’s your best friend’s cousin, but the fact that you’re his cousin’s best friend has either slipped his mind, or he doesn’t care.

Either way, this isn’t a good situation to be in.

You divert, pulling your focus back to the books splayed out on the desk. Studying. Right, that’s what you need to be doing instead of whatever…this is.

“I told you; I can’t go.” You try and reach for your pen that’s in Rhys’ grasp but he pulls it out of reach, ignoring the glare you send his way. Fine. You search your backpack for a backup but come up empty. Ugh.

“Can’t, or won’t?” He shoots back.

“Both,” you sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s well past nine o’clock in the evening, and you really thought that you’d be back at the dorms already, curled up on your bed with your laptop overheating on the sheets as it played a movie. “Can we get back to studying?”

“In a second,” Rhys assures. Why does he want you to come to the party so badly? Besides the obvious. Amarantha surely can’t be that much trouble. She is a little bit of a nightmare and you could see how Rhys wants her to take the hint that he’s moved on, but if he��s that worried about her in the first place, why doesn’t he tell her that she’s uninvited? Or make the hockey team aware that she’s not allowed in the party? Why is flaunting you around the only answer? “What if I said please?”

“That wouldn’t magically cancel my plans.”

“What plans?” You frown. You wonder why he’s pushing this so hard.

Studying for this quiz is going to be impossible. You and Rhys might as well pack up and vacate the room so that people who are actually trying to study can use it. You’re almost positive that the group lingering by an overcrowded area of the library keep shooting you scathing looks every time you open your mouth.

“Gwyn is turning twenty-one and since Mor and I don’t turn twenty-one until next year, we’re planning on ordering in and getting a little tipsy at the dorms.” Rhys gives you that seriously? look that makes you glare. “Not that I care about your opinion, like, at all, but is there something wrong with that?”

“Only the fact that you’re ditching a party whose halls aren’t patrolled by snitches?” He explains, and he would think that the resident assistants live for getting college kids in trouble. “It’s the dorms! How freshman of you.”

“Whatever, Rhys. Some people don’t want to drink until they can’t see straight in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I’d be your eyes for you,” he winks, as if what he said was comparable to a knight in shining armor defending a princess.

“Good,” you retort. “Because I’m about three seconds away from gouging them out if you keep hassling me about this. Come on, I really need to study.”

Luckily, Rhys relents. His shoulders fall and the feet of his chair meet earth again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, and cranes his neck to see what you’re reading about. “Let’s get you nice and ready for your quiz.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

[nickeverdeen]

Blades | Hockey player!Vi x figure skater!fem!reader

Pairings: Vi x reader (mutual crush), Caitlyn x Vi (platonic), reader x Caitlyn (strangers)

Type of fic: Comfort, Light Angst

Warnings: Injury

Summary: Vi tends to go to your skating practices a lot lately, but today when she came it wasn’t just a practice - it was something much more, something that might decide about your future and when you get injured Vi is there to help you.

———————

The ice rink was alive with motion, figure skaters gliding effortlessly across its surface. Vi leaned against the boards, her sharp blue eyes fixed on one skater in particular—you.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here yet. Hockey practice wasn’t for another hour, but for weeks now, she’d made a habit of coming early. Officially, it was to “prepare mentally,” but anyone with eyes could tell it wasn’t the drills or strategy she was thinking about.

No, it was the way you moved. Each jump, spin, and glide seemed effortless, like you belonged to the ice in a way no one else did.

Today, though, the atmosphere felt different. The rink was quieter, more focused. Judges sat at a table by the boards, clipboards in hand.

Vi furrowed her brows and turned to a figure skater resting on the bench. “What’s going on today?”

“They’re deciding who’s going to the country finals,” the skater replied, not looking up from tying their laces.

Vi’s gaze snapped back to you, her heart tightening. She didn’t need to know much about figure skating to understand how important this was.

You were aware of Vi’s presence, as always. She wasn’t exactly subtle, leaning against the boards in her hockey gear, her undercut great and her arms crossed. But you didn’t mind. If anything, the thought of her watching added a little extra spark to your routine.

You took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice, your movements fluid as you began your program. The judges watched closely, their pens scribbling notes as you executed each move with precision.

Then came the moment you’d been preparing for: the Axel.

You’d landed it countless times in practice, but this was different. This was for the judges, for the finals. You pushed off, spinning through the air, and for a second, it was perfect.

But the landing was anything but.

Your skate hit the ice at the wrong angle, and a sickening snap echoed through the rink. Pain shot up your leg, but the adrenaline coursing through you dulled it enough to keep you moving.

Vi’s heart dropped. She knew that sound too well—she’d heard it before on the ice, in games, and it never meant anything good.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes fixed on you.

Despite the injury, you continued, your movements growing shakier as the pain began to seep through the adrenaline. Vi’s jaw clenched. She’d watched enough of your practices to know the next jump you had planned was dangerous even on a good day.

When you began to set up for it, Vi didn’t hesitate.

Grabbing her hockey skates from her bag, she laced them quickly and stepped onto the ice. The trainer yelled something at her, but she ignored it, skating straight toward you.

You barely registered her approach until she was there, gripping your arm gently but firmly. “You’re done,” she said, her voice low but commanding.

“What? No, I can—”

“You can’t,” Vi cut in, her gaze piercing. “You’re hurt. I’m not letting you make it worse.”

The protest died on your lips as the throbbing in your ankle became undeniable. Slowly, you nodded, leaning on her as she helped you off the ice.

In the locker room, Vi helped you sit down on one of the benches, kneeling in front of you. “Alright, let’s see how bad this is,” she muttered, reaching for your skate.

She hesitated for a moment. “This is going to hurt,” she warned.

“Just do it,” you said through gritted teeth.

She carefully removed the skate, revealing your swollen, broken ankle. Her brows furrowed as she inspected it, her rough hands surprisingly gentle.

“How are you not freezing in this outfit?” she asked, glancing at your light skating dress. Without waiting for an answer, she shrugged off her hockey jersey and draped it over your shoulders.

You gave her a small, grateful smile, clutching the warm fabric. “Thanks.”

The locker room started to fill as her teammates trickled in, their curious gazes flicking between the two of you.

“Uh, Vi?” Caitlyn asked, raising an eyebrow.

Vi didn’t look up. “Tell the coach I’ll be late,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The girl nodded, exchanging a knowing look with another teammate before leaving.

Vi turned back to you. “We’re getting you to the hospital. This needs to be looked at properly.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Not a debate,” she said, helping you stand. “Lean on me.”

You sighed, but the warmth in her eyes made it hard to argue. With her arm securely around your waist, you let her lead you out of the rink.

As the hospital doors came into view, you glanced at Vi. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

“Yeah, I did,” she replied, her tone softening. “You’re important.”

[fangirlmermaid]

Teach him a lesson

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!reader

Summary: Quinn is acting like a brat

Warning: Mention of masturbation, cursing, light bondage, handjob, blow job, p in v, Sub!Quinn, RAW (next question), pet names: baby and pup, Puncuation and Grammar mistakes.

Little to no plot. I'm still new to writing smut. Quinn gives me brat vibes, but only if his partner isn't giving him attention.

Sorry that it's long!!

I'm sorry if this is bad. I've only ever written smut once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your job was taking all of your attention away from Quinn; a deadline for an important project was approaching. If you tried to spend time with your boyfriend Quinn, you would always fall asleep.

Of course, Quinn understood the importance of the project, but he missed spending time with you. He missed being close to you, telling you about his day, feeling your kisses on his skin, your fingers running through his hair, and hearing you tell the same stories repeatedly.   

The more you worked, the more Quinn started to misbehave. If you asked him to get you something, he would refuse, except if it was to get you a snack or a drink. Just because he’s mad doesn’t mean he won’t still take care of you. He’s also been talking back to you.

One day, when you returned to the apartment you shared with Quinn. You entered the bedroom to find Quinn touching himself without your permission. 

Your eyes darken towards Quinn, who is looking smug. You knew he did this on purpose to make you snap. If you weren’t so tired from finishing the project, you would’ve given him what he wanted, so instead, you decided to play the waiting game. Quinn looked like a deer in headlights; he was sure that would get you to break. You never reward bad behavior. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You took the next few days off to relax, and it just so happens that Quinn is off the same days you are (what luck 😉). 

Quinn woke up before you and left you in bed alone because he had to watch some hockey recap. What made you break was that Quinn didn’t kiss your forehead before he left; he knew that was your favorite way to start the day.

You put on the dark blue contrast lace mesh slip and thong Quinn bought you. 

You entered the living room, where you found Quinn with his back to you, his eyes glued to the TV studying the previous hockey games. A smirk formed on your lips as you grabbed the pen from the table next to the couch and tossed it in front of the TV, knowing it would steal his attention. 

“Morning, sweet-” Quinn blushed when he saw you walk around the couch. You flashed him a smile, acting like everything was normal. “Don’t mind me. I just knocked over this pen,” you said. Quinn knew that you did it on purpose. Of course he did, but you wearing your lingerie put him in a trance.

You bend over to pick up the pen, you feel the slip rising exposing your ass exposing your thong. Quinn was an ass guy, so you knew that it would drive him crazy.

“Fuck, baby” Quinn hissed, you turned around to see him adjusting his buldge in his sweatpants. You bend your index finger, signaling him to come towards you. Without hesitation, Quinn stood up and took a step towards you; he thought he would be in control today. You placed your hand up, making him freeze in place. A mischievous grin grew on your lips when you saw a hint of fear in Quinn's eyes, probably thinking he ruined this “crawl, pup” you ordered, pointing at the floor. A shiver ran down Quinn’s spine.

Quinn got on all fours and crawled towards you. Looking down at Quinn, who was sitting on his knees in front of you, was a sight you could never get tired of. Quinn was staring at your mesh covered cunt licking his lips, you grabbed the hair on the back of his neck and forced him to look up at you Quinn gasped “Aww did I hurt you, pup?” you teased knowing that Quinn had worsed injuries on the ice. Quinn tried to shake his head, not trusting his voice. “Words,” you scolded, tugging his hair again. “N-No, nev-never,” Quinn whimpered.

 Quinn looked pathetic, his lip quivering, his eyes blown and begging you to do something. This side of him, the one where he’s completely at your mercy, always caused a jolt of pleasure to course through you. You removed your fingers from his hair, causing Quinn to whine “ah ah ah.” You mumbled, placing your fingers to his lips. Quinn stopped. You leaned down towards him, your lips meeting his ear. “I’m going to count to ten, and when I get into the room, you better be lying on the bed,” you muttered, seeing that your breath caused goosebumps to form on Quinn's skin.

You pulled back and started to count. Quinn scrambled onto his feet and ran into the bedroom. Now time to fuck the attitude right out of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You entered the bedroom to find Quinn lying in bed, waiting for further instructions. Your eyes connected. “Clothes off now,” you ordered before heading into your closet to grab something. 

You hid the item behind you as you straddled Quinn's stomach. Quinn knit his eyebrows, curious to what you have behind your back. You bite your lip as you present him the fuzzy pink handcuff. The only time either one of you takes out of the handcuff is if either one of you is in trouble. You cuffed Quinn's wrist to the metal bar on the headboard. Quinn looked up at you with pleading eyes. “Baby, please, no. I want to touch you! Please.” Quinn tugged on the handcuffs, hoping that he could break free. 

You gave Quinn a smug smile. 

“You should’ve thought about that before acting like a brat.”      

“Wanted your attention”

“You thought that was how to get it, pup?” 

You sat on your knees, admiring your boyfriend in front of you, helpless and at your mercy. The way he’s trying to squirm his way out of the handcuffs so he can touch you. Grabbing his hips to keep him still, “stop or I’ll leave you here,” You sassed. Quin shook his head as his body became still. You pressed soft kisses on his stomach, and when you looked up, you noticed the hint of lust in his eyes that showed you he wasn’t ready to surrender.

Your fingers wrapped around his cock, Quinn released a moan from his pretty lips. “Please, b-baby. Please,” Quinn whined more desperately than before. You spit on his cock and watch it slide down before moving your hand fast. “Fuck” Quinn panted throwing his head back into the pillows. 

You noticed his stomach was tensing up, meaning that he was close. You slowed your pace, still had to teach him a lesson. Quinn groaned, his hips bucking up into your hand, trying to relieve himself. “No, pup,” you grumbled, your other hand pinning his hip to the bed. You moved your hand in an agonizing, torturous pace. Quinn was on the verge of tears; he couldn’t take it anymore. “I want you to think about this next time you touch yourself without my permission,” You muttered. 

“I’m sorry, baby! ‘ll be good, I can be good. Promise. Just ‘lease fuck me” Quinn plead trying to break free from his restraints, you kept you slow pace “I don’t think you mean it” You teased. Quinn shook his head. “I am! I’m s- so fu-cking sorry! I can be good! Please, baby!” Quinn’s voice was rough, you saw some tears escaped from Quinn. Satisfied with that answer, you moved your hand faster.

Quinn came, your hand kept moving your hand, smearing his cum all over his cock. 

“Th-ank you, baby,” Quinn panted, flashing you a small smile. You smiled at him, happy that he remembered his manners.

You stuck out your tongue and licked off his cum right off him. You were nowhere near done with him yet. 

“You're lucking that I’m so forgiving,” you taunt. Quinn nodded. You gave kitten licks to his length. Quinn bit his lip to keep a moan in. You smack his ass not know why now he still chose to be a brat Quinn gasped his back arching off the bed “No” you warned softly rubbing the red mark you left.

You pulled your hair into a ponytail. “I ‘anna touch you. Please baby! I’m always get to touch you.” Quinn mumbled. You placed a gentle kiss on his tip before looking into his eyes. “No, pup. Now, all I want to hear are those sounds from your pretty lips.” You ordered. 

You wrap your lips around the head of cock sucking it, Quinn hissed. The grip your hands had on his hips were hard, definitely going to leave a bruise.

You took his whole length into your mouth, your nose leaving little Eskimo kisses against his skin. You began to suck his cock “F-fuck!” Quinn moaned, thrusting up, making him hit the back of your throat, you gagged. 

You swirled your tongue around his length “Yes, baby. ‘onna cum!” Quinn moaned, closing his eyes in ecstasy. You bobbed your head knowing it will make him cum faster.

You let some some of his cum be slide down your throat, the rest you once again smeared on his length. 

You gaze at Quinn panting, his eyes still closed. “You still with me, pup?” you wondered in the first gentle tone you’ve used with him, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his shaky thigh. Quinn nodded his head. A smirk grew on your lips. “Think you can give him one more?” you wonder. Quinn opened his sleepy eyes and gazed at you. “Yes,” he told you without hesitation. Normally, he has the stamina to go all night, but not today. 

You straddled his legs, tugging your mesh thong to the side before sinking down his length. You threw your head back in please, both of you released a moan. You sat there for a few seconds to adjust to him. “Pretty like this,” Quinn mumbled, you smiled, placing your hands on his stomach.

You slowly bounced; you noticed the glassy look in his eyes showing you his brain is turning moosh. Fucking Quinn till he’s dumb sparked pleasure within you. 

“Please,” Quinn begged, lazily thrusting his hips up. You hummed in satisfaction. You leaned down, now being face to face with Quinn. “Since you said please.” You smiled before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. You pulled away. Quinn chased your lips.  

You bounced faster. Quinn kept moaning your name like a mantra. You dug your nails into his stomach, leaving angry red crescent moons. Quinn hissed, arching his back. “Feel so fucking good, pup” you pant moving rapidly, “‘m so close” Quinn moaned. You felt his body trembling beneath you. You fingers played with your clit.

Your hips began to slow down. “Let go for me, pup,” you moaned circling your clit faster.

His cum panted your walls “fuck” Quinn moaned, you felt his cock twitching inside you. Quinn’s shaking body under you; it was a sight you could never get tired of.   

A loud, violent moan was released from your lips as you reached your earth-shattering orgasm, leaving your body shuddering. 

You collapsed against your boyfriend. The both of you are trembling, trying to catch your breath.   

Once both of your breathings became steady, Quinn tugged on the handcuffs, reminding you that he was tied up. You lazily grabbed the key from your nightstand drawer and unlocked Quinn, who threw the handcuff onto the floor next to his clothes.  

You sat up about to get off of Quinn so you can clean the both of you up. Quinn grabbed you by the hips, keeping you where you are. “Stay… this…‘lease,” Quinn mumbled. “Of course, pup.” You smiled softly at him, happy that you fucked him so dumb that he wasn’t acting like a brat.

You both flipped over. You felt Quinn litter you chest with wet kisses. You strands of his hair off his sweaty forehead before placing a soft kiss “‘m sorry, baby” Quinn apologized finally, you were filled with glee “it’s alright pup. Just don’t do it again,” You mumbled into his hair. Quinn buried his face into your chest. “Won’t…promise,” Quinn murmured before falling asleep. You began to drift off as well, knowing that Quinn’s promise was total bullshit.  

[raplinesmoon]

Breaking The Ice (KNJ x F!Reader) - teaser

pairing: hockeyplayer!namjoon x f. reader

genre/au: ice hockey au, college au, roommates au / smut, fluff, slow burn

rating: explicit/18+

summary: after last season, namjoon knows he can’t afford anymore mishaps. when you show up on namjoon’s doorstep looking to share his apartment, he thinks it couldn’t be more perfect. medical school has you even busier than he is, but what happens when what used to be the perfect arrangement turns into a bigger distraction than either of you bargained for?

word count: 911 for this teaser

warnings: clumsy Joon, injuries, lots of swearing, Joon gets a boner, OC is pretty and way too nice

a/n: *taps mic* is this thing on? happy Joon day! (i hope i made the deadline). I remembered I had this sitting on the bench (get it lol) as a scene from my wip for the 🏒on ice: for the boys collab that was announced a long time ago! I decided to spruce up this little scene and publish it, even though the final fic is nowhere near complete. This can probably even be read as a standalone (a cute moment between roomies)! I hope you enjoy this piece and happy bday again to Joonie! credits for the banner go to @joheunsaram!

You okay, Namjoon-ah?

Namjoon wants to deck Kim Seokjin and his stupid pretty boy smile into the boards just for asking, when that motherfucker knows he’s at fault for Namjoon’s current state. He feels a painful twinge in his side, sucking in a sharp breath. Practice had barely ended before Namjoon was hobbling out of the arena, the rough-housing that normally accompanied Bangtan’s practice going a little too far today.

When he sees the steps of his building come into view, he nearly wants to sob with relief. Cursing, he stumbles up them, skipping two at a time in the hopes that it’ll get him up and able to faceplant into the couch faster. Knowing his luck though, he’d probably eat his words and end up with his face straight into the ugly grey shag carpet instead.

As he limps down the hallway, he’s struck by dueling aromas – the earthy, nutty mellowness of freshly brewed coffee, and the warm, spicy cinnamon scent of cinnamon. Both coming from his door, propped open slightly, where he can hear the faint lilt of classical music escape. 

Anatomy must have been whooping your ass again.

Namjoon takes special care to slip inside quietly, wincing when he puts weight on his knee. He glances down to see that it’s swelled to an alarming size. Fucking Seokjin.

He knew he should have probably gotten it checked out by the team medic. Yoongi’s nagging is already echoing in the back of his mind, reminding Namjoon that if he wanted to be clumsy, he had to stay on top of his injuries. For the sake of his team.

But somehow getting his limbs checked by a crusty old guy who was past the retirement age didn’t seem nearly as exciting when there was you. 

You who always wore the comfiest sweats, ones he was half-tempted to steal from your closet. You and your penchant for always looking for a pen, when you always had one tucked behind your ear or in your hoodie pocket. You and your stress baking, winning the adoration of his teammates (Stupid Seokjin and his flirting), but most of all him. Your damn cinammon rolls were worth every extra minute he had to spend in the weight room keeping them off.

“Hey Joon, I was just finishing up the cinnamon rolls, they’re on the cooling rack— what happened?” Your smile falls when you take him in, knee as red as his jersey, and a nasty cut under his eyebrow, skin turning purplish underneath.

Namjoon thinks he might pass out, either from the pain or from the way your face falls in disappointment, and the plush cushions of the couch seem like a great place to bury his head into right now.

He’s given a few quiet moments to stew before he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. Lifting his head up, he swears when your face nearly collides with his, noses bumping with such force that you have to take a step back, rubbing gingerly at the bridge.

Great fucking impression you’re making on your pretty roommate, Namjoon. She’s totally into getting clocked in the face. The little devil on his shoulder must be having a ball right now.

“Fuck, ___, I’m so sorry, fuck–”

“It’s okay, Joon, I know you didn’t mean to. But we only have the resources for one injured party in this apartment, yeah?”

Namjoon feels his face heat, not sure if he’s just embarrassed or you’re too close close to him. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when you pick up his knee, studying it with a furrow in your brow.

What a day to decide to wear grey sweatpants. His dick-print was so happy with him right now, and he silently prays that your eyes remain downwards.

“We need to wrap this up. Give me a sec and I’ll help you.” 

Is he dreaming, or does your face look a little flushed? If you notice his boner, he’s happy you don’t say anything, humming softly s you disappear into the hallway, rummaging around in the closet for the first-aid kit.

You re-appear moments later, a roll full of medical tape in your hand, and you’re back to prodding at his knee again. Namjoon sinks into the couch, body relaxing at your gentle touch.

Only to jolt a few seconds later when he feels something cold hit his aching joints, nearly whacking you a second time. God, he had to be more careful.

“Shhh,” you put a finger to his lips, and Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. “Gotta put some ice on it.”

“You should really increase your fees, doc. I’m pretty sure at-home care isn’t included in the job description.”

Is he flirting? Fuck, okay he’s flirting. He’s doing this.

“Maybe I like knowing I’ll always have a patient who keeps me in business,” you wink, fingers lingering longer than necessary on his knee when you finish wrapping it. Your hands move next to the cut underneath his brow.

“Now what are we gonna do with you?”

Oh fuck, abort, abort mission! Namjoon shoots straight up, grimacing at your shocked gasp.

“YouknowIjustrememberedIhaveanassignmentdueatmidnighttoday! I should really go work on that!”

You say nothing as he limps into his room, smiling widely at him the whole time. Namjoon collapses on his bed, groaning into the pillows.

Maybe getting banged up wasn’t so bad after all. Not when he always had you around to patch him up.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

[pittsburghpenguinsaffirmations]

CODY GLASS TOO ???? WHAT IS THIS GAME

FUCK WE CANT LOSE MORE DEFENDERS

[reavenedges-lies]

The tag in question? "like pens jerseys make men out of tissue paper sometimes"

News broken in the GC by @robindrake13 and tag request by @coffee-at-annies

[intheupside]

• Penguins sources said multiple teams have made strong pitches for Bryan Rust, who owns a full no-movement clause until July 2025. Rust is injured and has dealt with three separate injuries this season, all of which have caused him to miss time. However, he’s been excellent this season and has a deserved reputation as one of hockey’s best big-game performers.

The Detroit Red Wings have shown the most interest in Rust, perhaps not surprisingly. Rust is a Michigan native, and the young Red Wings are on the verge of making their long-awaited return to the postseason. Rust, a wonderful two-way player whose trademark speed remains, would be a veteran presence who could make the Red Wings better this spring.

However, Dubas did not ask Rust to waive his no-movement clause.

It remains to be seen if Rust will remain in Pittsburgh for the entirety of his contract, but don’t expect him to be dealt this week. The Penguins greatly value him, and, while much is rightfully made about Crosby’s preference for Guentzel as a linemate, the same can be said of Rust.

• While it’s not a certainty that Guentzel will be traded, it’s very likely.

A bidding war is ongoing. The Edmonton Oilers have aggressively inquired about Guentzel and would love to add him to their already potent top-six forward mix.

The Vancouver Canucks are also interested. They don’t have a first-round pick to offer this season, but again, that’s not necessarily a dealbreaker if the right young players or prospects are included.

Rutherford, now the president of hockey operations in Vancouver and Rick Tocchet, the Canucks head coach, have obvious Pittsburgh ties and have a particular affection for Guentzel.

The Vegas Golden Knights and Florida Panthers also have interest in the 29-year-old forward.

This time of year, most teams inquire about players. General managers aren’t doing their jobs if they don’t at least gauge the market. But the interest in Guentzel is very significant.

• It wouldn’t come as a surprise if the Penguins were to deal a goaltender, with Alex Nedeljkovic being the most likely to be dealt.

It’s not inconceivable that Tristan Jarry could be traded, but that seems unlikely unless a team blows Dubas away with an offer he can’t refuse.

pens trade chatter from the athletic

[smellrain]

𝐧𝐡𝟏𝟑 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭

in which: nico and you had met years ago in a cold rink in canada but then lost touch for several reasons. It's hard, growing and correcting mistakes of your past but you try anyway.

tags: written, angst, hopeful ending, mentions of: depression, injuries, hospitals, doctors, etc. (masterlist)

notes: [5.1k] I have no idea what this is? I woke up, wrote the entire thing and passed out again for 2 hours. Tried polishing it through editing? Yeah. It turned out a lot different than the rest of my stuff so far, so it's scary posting this. Come & tell me if you liked it.

The ice was as harsh as it was unforgiving. 

The cold air of the rink has seeped into your bones years ago and the reddend tips of your fingers went numb a while ago, but you were used to it by now. Nothing really mattered when you got like this, too caught up in your head for anyone to reach. 

Not even yourself. 

You had been home and then suddenly not, your body already knowing what you needed before your mind caught up to it. 

The rink wasn’t open, not yet, but you had gotten a key years ago. The owner, David, had been the only one that had looked at you the same back then. There had been a knowing sort of look in his eyes when he had seen you waiting for him at the front door stepps, eyes red. 

He had given you a key, because he had seen you for who you were: a girl whose entire life had collapsed around her. 

Bronze at fifteen, silver at sixteen, gold forever out of reach. 

You could still remember the red pen tucked into your doctor’s coat. The ‘my condolences, but’, the white light, the letter in your hand, the sinking realisation that this was it. 

That you were going to be one of the several girls that had pushed their body too far.

The same way you had done everything back then you had followed the instructions of your therapist to the letter. Stretching, compressions, different exercises. Still, there was no full recovery, no chance of ever skating professionally again. 

That might be the worst part, still being able to skate but knowing that you will never be able to feel it anymore. That you were cursed to be in this limbo, never letting go of it but never being able to live for it anymore. 

The harsh sound of your blade cutting over the fresh ice was as pleasant as it was torture. You wanted more, but you had to settle for this. You had to learn that this was all you were ever going to get. 

These select few hours in the early morning, just before your classes started, before you had to start living your life. 

You could feel yourself drawing harsh breaths, but it didn’t matter. You had pushed through worse, hunger, hurt and feelings just to stand here for a bit longer. The ringing in your ear accumulated when you thought about all that you had lost, that you could never regain.

Suddenly the heavy door of the entrance fell closed. You slowed down, curious who it might be. The clock in the corner of your vision reflected a red 05:57 back at you. It was too early for it to be anyone aside from David or another person with a key, someone like you.

It was a guy, a bag in his hand and another slung over his shoulder. 

You would recognize the equipment anywhere, familiar with it in a distant way. It must be a hockey player that David had picked out out of the hundreds that frequented this place. 

For some reason you already didn’t like him. Maybe because unlike you, he had the chance of actually archiving his dreams. Bitterness was an annoying but frecent emotion that stained the back of your mouth. 

You wanted. You wanted more than this. You wanted the early morning practices, the ones after school, the rigidous schedule, the heavy monitoring. What were you without all that?

The static in your mind had been interrupted by his arrival but you hardly noticed, more focused on the way he walked down the stairs, casually like he had done so hundreds of times already.

It was almost six, which meant it was time to get off the ice anyways, so you circled a few laps, rotating your wrists and shoulders to feel if anything was off, and then made your way towards the outside of the rink. 

“You look pretty,” said the boy from where he was tying his shoelaces up on the benches. “Out on the ice, I mean.”

Something in you hurt at that, as if your heart started pulling at its own strings. It’s been a while since anyone has watched you skate,, since you let someone else watch you. There was a sharp kind of anger rising up in you that it had been him watching you which dissipated as soon as you looked back at him.

It wasn’t his fault. There really was something wrong with you.

You knew your parents didn’t approve of you being here, but they couldn’t look at you anymore when you skated, disappointed that this was how it had ended. Disappointed in you.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice completely scraped raw. You hoped he didn’t notice it. 

“I’m Nico,” he said, approaching you. He held out his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves yet but his dark shirt had thumbholes that his thumb peeked through which was weirdly endearing on him. 

You looked back up to his face. There was a tired but polite smile plastered on it but you didn’t have the energy to give him one. Instead you simply told him your name and took his hand. Even through his layer of fabric it was warm beneath your icy fingers.

He didn’t flinch at the cold of your hand and instead started genuinely smiling which took you by surprise. People didn’t react to meeting you like this, not anymore. 

Then, without saying anything else, he took off his guards and stepped on the ice, skating around to warm up. You watched him for a bit while scraping off the excess ice and putting your skates away. 

His skating was differentthan yours; not as delicate. The beauty of it had been hammered into you from an early age on which didn’t seem to be the case form him. It was weird, not being on the ice, being the one to watch instead. 

You changed back into your shoes and walked up the steps. 

From the top, which wasn’t all that high because this rink wasn’t that big, he seemed small. You wondered if you looked like that too, if anyone had thought that when you fell down, when they had seen you sprawled on the ice at fifteen, not being able to get up again. 

A sick shudder passed through you. You wondered if you had ever gotten up from that ice.

Then you turned around, your back to him and left without saying goodbye. 

~*~

The next time you saw him again, was two days later, just after six. 

You knew you were going to be late for class but didn’t really care. Today you weren’t as cooped up in your own head, but it was still hard to let go of these stolen few hours of freedom and face reality. 

“Hey,” Nico said, “it’s you again.”

“Hello,” you said in return. He stepped on the ice and you fought off the urge to leave immediately. That would be impolite, a voice reminded you in your head, even if you didn’t want him to be here right now.

“Are you here every morning?” he asked you, falling into step beside you and therefore joining you on your cooldown laps. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Couldn’t he just do his own thing? Did he have to come talk to you? “Yes.” 

"Dedicated. I only come every second day,” he said as if it mattered to you. You might have to leave early every second day now to avoid talking to him, which made your scowl even worse. 

“Okay.” You said instead. 

He hummed in reason but dropped the conversation after. When you took a look at him from the corner of your eye he didn’t seem deterred at your attitude, seemingly just satisfied that he got a response.

After another lap in, you hated to admit it but companionable silence, you left, without saying anything but this time he waved back at you from below. You didn’t return his gesture. 

~*~

Despite your early judgement, the two of you formed some kind of routine over the next few weeks. You came early, and sometimes you left a protein bar for him in the stands and sometimes he brought  you a hot tea for when you got off the ice. 

Still, always without fail, he joined you for a few laps. He talked about his life and sometimes asked you a few questions. Sometimes you answered him, other times you didn’t. He never pressed for answers. 

Nico told you that he was from Switzerland, which explained the heavy accent. He just joined Halifax, and he came early to work on his technique, preferring to do so in silence without his teammates chirping at him. You, in turn, told him that you had skated, professionally, before your injury. He didn’t ask for details about either of these things and you didn’t share of your own accord. 

Slowly, so slowly that you didn’t even notice, you realised that he had become your friend. 

It was strange. You hadn’t made friends in a long time. Before, you had had school friends, but because you never hung out outside of it, always training, it never deepend. 

A weird sort warmth seeped in under your skin at the thought of the two of you being friends like a steady fire that kept you warm at night.

The friends you had made while skating splintered along with your knee. 

It was hard, you knew that, to see their worst fear reflected back at them, but it was still hard for you to reach out, so you simply stopped talking to each other. 

On your bad days you thought that it was all their fault, on your good you knew that it was a mutual mistake. 

The thing about Nico was that he was hard to pin down. He was hardworking, thrived under pressure and loved hockey. He was also afraid of falling and failing, he loved sitting under the sun in the summers, feeling his skin heat up and his favorite colour was green, but he admitted that it changed every few weeks. 

You knew that this friendship wouldn’t last, not really. Neither of you had any way of reaching out to the other, and neither expressed the desire to do so but it was still nice, this tentative kinship.

~*~

“Have you ever played hockey?” he asked you, once. 

It must have been a Saturday or Sunday because you were in no hurry to get off the ice, instead basking in his company. 

“No,” you answered, simply.

He grinned, “you are missing out.”

“Really now?” you asked, teasingly, when you turned around to skate with your front to him.

“Really. I wanna teach you,” he said, leaving the choice up to you without outright asking. If you wanted to you could just brush it off and the conversation would continue. 

Instead you said, “yeah, sure, why not.”

His smile was blinding, the adoration for his sport bleeding from every inch of his skin. It was a good look on him, happiness. Distantly you wondered if anyone had ever thought that about you.

It was different, skating with a stick in your hands but it was fun. He taught you how to shoot and aim at a certain spot which you weren’t half bad at if you stood still.

Hours later when the two of you stepped off the ice your tea was cold but you hardly noticed it.

~*~

Another day you asked him what he was reaching for. 

“Olympics,” he had answered immediately but after a beat of silence he looked up as if the lights in the ceiling were stars he could wish upon. “I think I want someone to look at me and think ‘I want to do that. I want to start playing hockey.’”

You looked at him and the only thought that crossed your mind was that he was the reason you could step off the ice again, that you knew you would always be able to come back, just one more time. 

“I like that,” you said because it was true. 

He tilted his head back to you, and the way his eyes glimmered with a rare vulnerability made your breath catch. Or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, standing still, alive and just in reach.

Oh. 

That was that feeling in your chest. 

~*~

Yet another day he joined you on the ice and you immediately kicked him off again. 

“What did I say about injuries?” you asked, frustrated in a way only he could make you. 

“That they were not to be ignored,” he parroted back, his gaze between his feet as if staring at his ankle would magically heal it. 

“Exactly,” you said. Then, gentler than before, “you need to give yourself time to heal, otherwise you will never get better.”

He looked back up to where you were hovering above him. “Okay.”

You didn’t want him to have the last word. “Okay,” you said firmly and sat down next to him. 

The two migrated up to the changing rooms  where he sat on a bench with his ankle elevated while you worked through your stretches, your knewww aching in phantom pain.

~*~

Today your mind was quiet.

It was your last time and you had wanted to take it all in again, one last time. You were moving, your father had gotten a new job somewhere in New Jersey. You knew it was good, a new start away from everything, a chance to start over. 

But still, you were going to miss this. The rink, the quiet, the place you had grown up in. The place that was your prison as much as it was your salvation. 

As you looked up towards the ceiling, the lights shining down on you, the dark gary that seemed black in contrast, you thought you should cry. This was the perfect moment to, and you hadn’t yet. 

Then, the door opened. 

You were surprised because he wasn’t supposed to be here today. Nico had been here yesterday and the two of you had argued about your favorite brand of cereal, and you selfishly had wanted to leave it at that. 

To leave your friendship without having to say goodbye, without having to ever really let go of him. 

“Nico,” you breathed, before you could stop yourself. 

“Hey you,” he said, as he came up to you. You didn’t even realise that you had stopped moving. 

“It’s late,” he stated. You looked up to the clock and sure enough, it was almost twenty past. 

“Ah,” you said, uncaring. It’s not like you had school today. You wondered when he went to school, if his just started later than yours had. In all your talks you had never actually talked about it. 

And you never were going to anymore, you had to remind yourself. Suddenly it was a lot harder to breathe through the ache in your chest. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you knew he meant it, “you look, I don’t know, sad?”

“I’m moving,” before he could ask anything more, “like tomorrow. This is the last time I’m going to see you in a while.”

“Oh.” The expression on his face was hurt, because he must have realised that you had intended to leave without saying anything. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “for everything.” You weren’t really sure for what, but it seemed like the right thing to say. For your intentions, the way you acted, maybe.

“It’s okay,” he said, but it wasn’t, not really. You knew that and he knew that you knew.

“I’m moving to New Jersey.”

He was quiet for a bit.”America,” he started. Then, “do you want to exchange numbers?”

You ignored the sting behind your eyes. “I’m probably going to have to get a new simcard, but you can give me yours.”

The two of you skated back to the door, from where you had stood still in the middle of the open space. He got a piece of paper and a pen from his bag and then somewhat messily tore off the corner of a worksheet and scribbled down his number in blue ink and signed it with his name.

He looked up at you but neither of you said anything for a while. What was there to say, anymore? 

“Don’t forget about me,” he ended up telling you and you reached out to hug him. He was warm under your hands, steady and you were going to miss this, him.

“Don’t forget me either,” you murmured into the crook of his neck. 

Still, in the back of your mind, you knew that you were never going to use his number. You were going to cut off your old life before it could follow you to your new one. But for once you had told him the truth, you weren’t going to forget about him, probably ever. 

And that was that. You said goodbye, waved and you left him there. He returned the gesture, face unreadable and you were sad that the last time he looked at you he wasn’t smiling.

From the top you looked down at him one last time. He seemed bigger now, compared to that first time you had looked down at him, still filled with bitterness.

Maybe that was just your imagination, or maybe it was his confidence after playing with his current team, after seeing his results pay off. 

You turned and let the door fall closed behind you. 

Then, and only then tears started to well up in your eyes. You ignored them and moved on. Always looking ahead, never back. 

Still, you kept the number tucked away safely hidden in a small corner of your wallet. A piece of him that you would always carry with you. 

~*~

You made new friends, graduated and decided to attend college. Got diagnosed with chronic depression and mild anxiety, got a boyfriend and broke it off again after three months, cried, laughed and finally lived. 

But there was part of you hidden in the corner of your wallet, too.

~*~

If you were being honest, Nico didn’t really cross your mind when your friend asked you to go to a hockey game with you. 

In a way he did, because he had been one of your few friends that played hockey, but it was more of an oh yeah, the sport Nico loved and not oh yeah I’m going to a hockey game and I wonder if Nico is still playing, I wonder if he made it to the big leagues. 

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a lie, but still. You hadn’t expected this. 

The two of you went to the Prudential Center and you were excited despite your earlier apprehension. Your phone with the blocked tags of icehockey and nhl seemed to burn a hole in your pants but it’s not like anyone would know. 

Your friend had told you a bit about the team, but if you were being honest, you could not remember any of their names, much less which position and line they played. 

When the players got announced, the home team first, you froze. Suddenly the noise of the cheers around you were completely quiet until they flooded back to you, a harsh reminder of reality.

Because it was him. That was Nico. Your Nico. Or like your past Nico.

There, with a red thirteen and a small C over his chest, was Nico. He was all grown up now, and instead of thinking wow, he is kind of attractive when he smiled at the camera, you thought, holy shit, he is really, really handsome. 

Your friend picked up on your strange behaviour. “What's wrong?”

I know him, you wanted to scream. I think he saved my life without meaning to, and I think I loved him but I never told him. What came out instead was, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly even more worried, “do you need fresh air? Or do you just want to leave?”

You wanted to stay. You wanted to shoot a puck at his head and tell him to look up at you, the way he had done back then. 

“No, don’t worry about it,” you said and when didn’t change at your reply, you added, “I’m just going to get some water. I think it might be the crowd or something.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to come with?”

You knew how much she had been looking forward to it, and besides there was nothing she could help you with anyhow. “No, really, it’s all good. Just need to breathe for a second.”

She gave you a look, and you smiled despite wanting to curl up in a corner and cry, “if you are sure. But if anything,” she took your hand in hers, “if anything is wrong call me. I’m gonna have my phone in my hand the entire time.”

You squeezed her hand the same way your heart did at her words. “Thank you, really, but it’s okay. I'll be right back.”

Then you fled up the stands and you couldn’t help but think about the first time you had seen him, how you had left without saying anything. You looked down, just once, and spotted him immediately, as if he was the north pole to your south, your eyes drawn to him. 

He seemed even bigger now, as if he had finally grown into the steady confidence he had had, even back then. 

You smiled. He deserved it, genuinely. You were glad that he did end up making it to the big leagues, even if some part of you hurt at that. You still missed ice skating, your rink from back then, David, but most of all you missed what could have been if you hadn’t been scared. 

What could have been if you had just texted him. 

Regret was a useless emotion to feel, but all of a sudden you felt yourself drown in and you coughed once, just to ease that feeling in your throat.

Then you turned your back to the ice and walked up the rest of the stairs to the stands to get yourself some water. 

It was useless trying to think about any of it now, so you pushed the thoughts aside for later. 

~*~

A week later you were drunk. It was a Friday evening and you had finally finished the gruelling lab you had worked on for the entire day. 

You were hanging out in your friend’s room, the same friend that had taken you to the game a week before. Two of your other friends were sat ob the floor, leaning gainst the opposite bed and a warm, content feeling spread through your chest. 

You had friends now. 

“What’s wrong?” she suddenly asked from where she was sat next to you on her bed, her back against the headboard, yours against the wall adjacent to it.

“Nothing,” you answered because nothing was. 

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, tell me,” she said, “you've been quiet ever since we came back from the game a week ago and I’ve waited long enough for you to say something, so now I’m going to.”

Had you been that obvious? Or did she just know you that well? Either way, she deserved the truth, the full truth.

“I just,” you began and stopped again, starting to peel off the sticker on your beer with the blunt edge of your nail. 

“When I was younger, I skated.” You started. You knew that she had never expressed any kind of interest in skating so you elaborated further, “really well.” Wow, you were really eloquent tonight.

“Okay,” she said, no doubt wondering where you were going with this. 

Your mind was fuzzy around the edges because of the drinks which made harder than usual to focus on your words, but it made it easier to talk about it, too. These people didn’t know about anything that had been, only what was. “I was good enough to win. Olympics, I mean.”

Suddenly one of the other two friends from the other side of the room joined in. “The Olympics?”

“Yeah,” you said, staring firmly at the bottle in your hands, not looking at any of them. “I won bronze and silver, fifteen and sixteen.”

“Holy shit,” she said, as did your other friend, but one of them remained quiet, so you looked at her. 

From the look in her eyes you knew that she knew. “And then I fell, badly. Tried to get up again but couldn’t. Went to the doctor and you know,” you trailed off, “retired. Started physiotherapy, got a lot better but…”

“Not enough to ever compete again,” she finished for you. 

“Yeah,” you said, voice hoarse. “But I couldn’t let go of it, you know? So sometimes, before school, I snuck out to the local rink and skated around just because I didn’t know anything else.”

Your friend that was next to you on the bed made an encouraging noise, and laid a hand on your knee, so you continued. 

“Then I met a guy. I was in a bad mental place, not really talking to anyone unless I had to, but we somehow became friends.”

Then you looked at them, “I don’t know, it was a weird friendship because we only ever saw each other at the rink every few days, but I felt something for him anyway. It wasn’t quite love but could have been, maybe.”

The others were still listening, and the words rushed out before you could stop yourself. “Then I moved. Wanted to leave before saying goodbye because that would hurt too much. On the day I was leaving I saw him anyway. He gave me his number but I never used it.”

“You wanted to make a clean cut?” your friend asked. 

“Yeah. It was sefish, because it wasn’t just about me, you know? I should have told him how I felt, but I didn’t.” You shook your head, “but that’s not even the point. I saw him again at the game.”

“Oh,” your friend that had dragged you to it, said. 

“Yeah,” you answered, and your other friend asked, “why didn’t you talk to him?”

The other friend, the one that had never asked you about your skating, even though she had known, even though she had every opportunity to, said, “because he was playing, right?”

“Yeah,” you said and you wanted to cry. You could still hear his name announced by the speakers. “Funny, all the time we spent together and I never knew his last name.”

“Who is it?” she asked, gentle, and you knew you could just not answer. You could bury it deep down, once and for all. But that’s not what you wanted to do, not anymore. 

“Nico Hischier.” And your friend laughed. 

“Of course it’s the captain,” she said and you couldn’t help but join in, the effects of the alcohol cursig through your veins. What were the chances, really? That he ended up in the state you had moved to all those years ago.

The others joined it. “He changed his number by now, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” one of them said. 

All of you were quiet for a second. “Wait, I have an idea,” she said and moved her hand from your leg and grabbed your phone. 

She gave it to you and made a motion for you to unlock it. You did and gave it back to her. From where you were sat you weren’t able to see your screen, much less what she typed on it. 

After a few seconds she gave it back to you. 

It was Nico’s instagram profile. You hesitated before clicking on his most recent post. Your other friends that had been sitting on the floor climbed up to join you. 

“Follow him,” one of them said. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest. This was not the account you had used to document your wins and training back then, but it still had your first and last name in the username, but it was on private. 

Underneath your thumb the button changed colour. “Fuck,” you said.

The other three laughed at your exclamation. “Wait, do I text him?” you asked, turning to the others. 

They all looked back at you, and one of them asked, “do you want to?”

You did. You really fucking did, but you had no idea what to say. “But what do I say? Hey, sorry for being a dick to you when we were like seventeen, I was half in love with you and didn’t know how to tell you, so I just cut you out before anything could possibly hurt me.”

One of them leaned her head on your shoulder. “If you leave out the half in love part, it’s not too bad.”

“You should also ask if he wants to meet and talk in person,” the other said. 

You opened your notes app and the four of you composed a message to him. 

Your hands were shaking and your heart was beating too fast. This was it, this was your chance and you weren’t going to let go again without a fight. This time you would stay and he could make the choice: to stay or to leave. 

Then, you hit the small blue icon and sent it and let out a quiet scream. You wouldn’t be able to take it back, not anymore. 

You threw your phone away from you onto a small patch where the blanket you were sitting on was still visible. 

Over an hour passed and you still hadn’t heard back from him. Soon after you pased out, but a quiet acceptance had settled in your stomach. He forgot. Or maybe he didn’t see the message or maybe he didn't want to talk to you again, which you couldn’t blame him for. 

But when you woke up the next morning, you had a single notification from him. 

For a second you debated not clicking on it, but that would mean standing still. It would be different this time. You would be different this time. There was an unfamiliar, new kind of determination that flickered up your spine and it reminded you of the steady ice under your skates, of the final hug the two of you had shared. Harsh, unforgiving, certain. 

You clicked on it and there was no going back now.

Nico Hischier Hello, it’s been a while.  Of course I remember you, didn’t I tell you?  For sure, I'd love to meet up and talk. Does next weekend work for you? I have a home game which makes it easier for both of us. 

notes: So. How are we feeling? Thoughts? Part 2? Please talk to me about this one because this lives in my mind rent free.

[swanhurrem]

Imprint: Chapter 8.

Embry Call x FemReader (no use of y/n)

Summary: You were best friends with Embry, Jacob and Quil. And you saw how each one of them walked away from you. What will happen when out of nowhere they try to fix their relationship?

A/N: Im sooo back, don't worry, I will keep updating all my series and I promise I won’t leave any unfinished. Enjoy!

Twilight Masterlist

Imprint Masterlist (this serie)

<Chapter 7 | Chapter 9>

When the Jeep parked in front of your house, you shouted at Chris to leave and let you be alone while you hobbled as quickly as you could to the porch. Upon entering the house, you slammed the door shut behind you and leaned against it while grabbing the hockey stick your father used to play with every weekend. Your mother hated that he left it lying by the entrance and always scolded him for it; right now, you were grateful he hadn’t listened those times.

You tightened your grip on the stick and began to crawl around the house with your back against the wall, turning on all the lights as you entered the rooms. Once the ground floor was clear, you did the same on the second floor, and when it was equally empty, you locked your door, placed a chair under the doorknob, and dragged your largest piece of furniture in front of the window, completely covering it. You spent the rest of the night sitting in a corner and managed to rest only when you heard your parents’ voices.

You were on your fifth day when you finally reached your breaking point. You had endured the incessant pain in your arms and head, but your back simply couldn’t bear your weight for another second. Your body was still full of foam when you wrapped yourself in a towel and called Sue Clearwater, asking her to please come to your house with her medical supplies. Sue was a specialized nurse, and many people in the reservation called her when there was a minor accident, as her expertise was in demand. You told her it was urgent because you knew otherwise she wouldn’t come to see you.

The people in the reservation were quite... gossipy. Whatever happened there spread like wildfire and was on everyone’s lips for months, so the breakup between Leah and Sam a few years ago kept everyone on edge for several months. It was a spark that only reignited when the town began to notice that Leah’s very own cousin, Emily, was meeting Sam in the woods almost every day. You remember how your parents talked about it even at the market with people they knew, how everyone told Sue how "sorry" they were.

After that incident, most of the calls to her were for minor injuries, accompanied by awkward questions about her daughter’s state and her niece’s terrible attitude, so she had given up on the idea of helping. She did so at a good time, as just a week later, Emily and Sam's relationship became official.

“I hate men” Umma declared holding her head.

Embry, Quil, Umma and you were in the library preparing an essay for history, when your classmate suddenly spoke.

“What are you talking about?” you asked distractedly.

“About Emily and Sam, silly” Quil replied, taking the blue pen from your hand that you were working with. He wasn’t doing anything important, really; he was just drawing shapes in one of the books.

Embry, who was picking up some books from a shelf, jumped next to you and whispered in your ear “The new gossip in town, aren’t you paying attention?”

You snatched the books from his hands while he smiled from ear to ear; annoying you was his favorite hobby, and any reaction you gave simply fueled him “I only pay attention to things that concern me; what strangers do in their private lives doesn’t interest me”

Embry took a chair from another table and sat next to you. He stared at you for a few seconds when suddenly touched your forehead with his index finger “You’re going to wrinkle” he said, pointing at your furrowed brow.

You swatted his hand away and sat up straighter, crossing your arms in front of you “Can you explain what their relationship has to do with your hatred?” you asked your classmate.

“Because everyone can leave you for someone else” she emphasized, pointing at your friends. “Like Sam, leaving his girlfriend for his girlfriend's COUSIN” the last part was a loud whisper, accompanied by a horrified expression directed at the boys.

“Don’t look at me; if the girl is hot, it’s reason enough” Quil commented, still focused on whatever he was writing.

“You're disgusting” you and Umma said at the same time, both throwing erasers at him. You could hear the other people in the library asking for silence over the laughter of your friends at your table.

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. You turned your neck so quickly it cracked, and you swiftly grabbed the hockey stick that was on the toilet, still carrying it with you. A stupid move considering that if someone were going to attack you, they wouldn't knock on the door.

"Who is it?" you asked.

"Sue, darling. Can I come in?" Her voice made you feel at ease, and after putting the stick back in its place, you let her in.

When Sue entered, she scolded you for not having called her earlier, for being so underdressed in the bathroom with the skylight open, and for leaving the front door key in a flowerpot on the porch. Then she handed you a robe she had taken from your closet and guided you to your bed.

"Alright, what's my diagnosis?" you asked with humor in your voice, receiving a disapproving look in return.

"You're fine, darling. You were very lucky not to have broken any ribs or suffered a lumbar pinching with everything you've been doing since the day of the hit until today" she said while jotting something down on a paper you couldn't see. "But you pushed your body beyond its limits, and that's why you're in so much pain. So from now on, you'll be in bed for several days, and if you want, I can come help you on the days your parents can't be here" She finished speaking and placed the paper on your nightstand, her hand lingering there for a few seconds until she spoke again, this time more quietly than before "You can always... call Embry, I'm sure he—"

You interrupted her with clear disdain in your voice "I'm sorry for interrupting you, Sue, but you should know that I’ll be fine. I have someone to call anyway"

Days had gone by without thinking about Embry, and this wasn’t exactly the best time to bring him to mind. Ever since you saw him that day at the beach, you hadn’t been able to shake the immense guilt you felt over your feelings for him, considering your stable but deceitful relationship with Chris.

Sue let out a sigh as she stroked your arm "Alright... I’ll leave you the things to keep in mind on the paper, and I’ll talk to your mother later" She got up and grabbed her bag, giving you a smile. You returned it until it slowly faded, overshadowed by the one thought that filled your mind.

__

Taglist:

@ ravenclaw-hoe  

@ b-tchymoon

@ rosebud1510

@notperfect-justme

@kenqki

@felinegrate

@bimbotinkerbell

@bookishbabyyyy

@tinyminxie

@babygirl097

[swissboyhisch]

Little Miss Klutz

Pairing: Carter Hart x Reader

Summary: Despite you hating your pain link to your soulmate, he had a tendency to look on the brighter side.

Word Count: 746

Warnings: Swearing, injuries, long-distance relationship

Request: Yes Soulmate pain au with Carter Hart where the reader is a player and plays forward on a different team ( like Calgary) and she is very accident prone

A/N: I hope you like it. It's not super long but I enjoyed writing it.

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

You loved your job, but it didn’t help that you were accident-prone. And your team loved to remind you. Your teammates laughed while your soul mate suffered the consequences. You shared pain as your soul link. If you bruised, he bruised. When you got hit with a puck, he felt it. 

Today was another practice where you got dressed and were first on the ice. You skated around momentarily, doing some stick handling as a little warm-up, shooting a couple of pucks to the back of the net.

“Heads up, Klutz!”

You were a good player and had a good reaction time, but the puck came at you too quickly. SMACK! The icy, hard rubber hit your jaw, taking you down to the ice. Luckily, you couldn’t feel or taste any blood—this time. 

“Dude!”

Your teammate rushed to you, apologising profusely. “I’m sorry! I thought you’d dodge it.”

“You know me better than that,” You groan. 

Your best friend and one of your linemates, Lila, came out with what looked to be your phone to her ear. “Yeah, she’s good. You good, Klutz?”

One of your hands stayed where you were hit on the jaw; the other threw a thumbs up towards Lila. You slowly climbed to your feet, skated to the entrance, and took the phone from her. 

“Hey, C.”

The familiar, heart-warming chuckle floated down the line, “That was a nasty one.”

“Not as bad as the one you took to the cheek against the Pens,” You retorted, taking the ice pack from Meave, who still was apologising. 

“Still felt pretty bad,” Carter hums. “You haven’t even started your morning skate.”

You grumbled lightly, annoyed you had taken a hit before this morning’s practice began. The boy on the other end of the line could tell you were frustrated, so he went on, telling you how his morning had been so far. He kept your mind occupied while you waited on the ice. 

“Come on, Klutz,” The coach called as she stepped on the ice.

“Have a good practice, babe,” Carter replied, hearing your coach in the background.

“I’ll call you after practice, C. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You took more than your fair share of pucks and bumps through practice. You couldn’t be bothered counting after five pucks. But it was a good skate otherwise. All ready for the game later that night versus Toronto. The team had worked hard this season, and it was paying off. 

You finish training and shower before returning to your apartment to go through your pre-game routine. As soon as you climbed in the car, you called Carter. It was one of the many rituals you and Carter had come to love throughout your long-distance relationship. 

“11.”

“Huh?” 

Carter laughed, “You took 11 pucks to the body after the one before training. So I mean, you took 12 overall but 11 during training.”

“You counted?!” You gasp jokingly. You pull out of the rink car park and head towards your apartment. “I can’t believe you counted.”

“You getting hit before training even started indicated to me it was going to be one of those days,” Carter admitted. 

The two of you laughed, talking about how you both were on the journey home, which was not very far. You found your parking spot, grabbed out your bag and made sure you had your phone, still on call to Carter. 

“You make it back?” 

“Just making my way into the lobby.” The doorman smiled as he opened the door for you as you neared. “Thank you, John.”

After several flights of stairs, you made it to your apartment. You unlock the door and step in. You were too busy talking to Carter to see that your cat had left one of his toys in the middle of the hall.

“Fuck.”

Carter was silent for a moment before laughing. “Did you just trip?”

“...no.”

Your boyfriend knew you too well. He could tell you were lying to save you the embarrassment. But you also knew he could tell you were lying. To be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you,” Carter chuckled, “Despite you causing more than 50% of our shared pain.”

“Whatever…”

“Say it.”

You were teasing at this point. “I don’t think I will.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Klutz!”

You laugh at Carter’s tone before replying affectionately. “I love you more, Carter. Even though you tease me about my clumsiness.”

TAG LIST:

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings

[jackhues]

moments from the benny interview/podcast: mitts off with luke gazdic

source

i don't really watch sports interviews/podcasts but i actually really enjoyed this one! the host knows benny and is a leafs fan, so you can actually see how happy he is for the guy. i recommend watching it because benny's accent's so agjshlgslj in this. also this was supposed to be moments but i got carried away and it's become more of a summary

he and the host, luke gazdic, know each other from their san diego days. gazdic said at first when he saw benny he was thinking "this guy's not that good", but he also recognized that he had the build and passion to play hockey. he worked hard too, he just needed to find his role

benny used to fly through his physicals, and he still does. that's the reason a lot of coaches kept him around, he was so fit even if he wasn't amazing at the game. he was 7th/8th dman usually, and trainers/coaches would tell him "you might not see your first game for months" but he was happy to be there and would work his ass off to get the chance to play.

he pronounces familiar like "fam-iliar" (like it sounds like he's going to say family, but it becomes familiar)

benny's enjoying toronto, living just outside of downtown. he's been getting to know the city: exploring restaurants and cafes. he likes trinity-bellwoods and ossington (as a toronto native: those are some nice places, not as sketchy as the heart of dt)

he has two dogs, one from his san diego days, a rescue from his anaheim days, and he got a cat from his gf's friend. he jokes saying "i call it a zoo at home. my gf's the zookeeper, and i'm the bank".

he said "i don't know if i'm a cat guy, but i have a cat". he's just surprised at how different cats are

benny admitted he had an awful camp with the leafs, and he wasn't really mad that brad sent him down. he knows he "just didn't play good, and they [the team/management] don't really know me". he just told himself to work harder. he was battling an injury through camp and his first thought was to get that solved, the time in the minors helped him.

he kept a positive mindset in the minors saying "if you're going i don't belong here, it doesn't help anyone".

while in la's dev camp years ago, he though he was good, but he wasn't called back for rookie camp. in the q, the team finished last, around -35/-36.

then he got a call from anaheim, he destroyed the physical testing and was hitting a lot during that camp. joked about how "he didn't make any friends that week". but anaheim liked that kind of dman, so they gave benny a shot on a one year a-deal, but halfway through the season, he signed his nhl entry level

he considers himself naturally athletic, but he works his ass off to outwork people and make the spot. in juniors, they didn't expect him to play, but ppl got injured, he got a shot and then he was never out of the lineup after that.

he credits his coaches who pushed him to be better. he believes that made him much better, getting on the ice 15 minutes before, etc.

the way his parents raised him was huge to him, he was taught to work for what he wants. he said he was never "spoon-fed" and then asked if that was the right expression, which made gazdic laugh and agree 'yeah you're picking up on all these phrases. that's perfect'

he has a dfm cap : doesn't fucking matter. they had t-shirts and other stuff too

the first time mackinnon cut back on benny, he was like "... this guy's good", he couldn't really defend the move, it was just such a shock.

they talked about a time in sd when benny threw his stick and just went after a guy with both hands, and how he did it again during a game against seattle. benny explains "the stick part, i think my stick was broken and i didn't want to get a penalty" (he pronounces it pen-aal-ty asfjdsfns).

he talks about hitting too saying "it's a simple thing to do, but it's hard to bring it every night and be good at it." he says you have to be careful with your timing, on not getting penalties, on the toll it takes on your body, etc. he says he "always enjoyed hitting, not to hurt guys" but to let them know he's there kinda thing.

he said "if you miss your hip check you just miss the guy" which can lead to breakaways, etc. you can't really miss those. he's been doing those hip checks since bantam, and if you miss it you just look stupid.

"if i do something stupid, i'll answer the bell" in response to his hits. if it's a clean hit, it's clean, but if it's not, he'll answer. he'll stand his ground on either side

gaudreau (cbj) tried a superman punch on benny, and benny tried one right back.

he has some "big names under his belt" - he fought wilson twice, which surprised gazdic

"probably not my smartest decision in life" <- talking about fighting wilson

he once saw an injury during his sd days, where someone's wrist tendon and part of their artery was cut - like he was near the bench door seeing it happen clearly. after that, the team got wrist and achilles protection, which he still wears. he didn't wear the neck guard then bcz it didn't 'look good' and it wasn't common then either. but after what happen to adam johnson, he decided "fuck it. i'm gonna protect myself."

benny goes no tarp, but he has socks on. gazdic didn't wear socks which benny finds crazy. but benny only wears socks, boxers and a jock, which is also crazy. he says it gets a bit hot, esp with the neckguard, so he mainly only wears the padding

his shoulders get scratched up bcz of no tarp

he used to use sakic curve sticks, but they stopped those. p28 is one of the curves he uses. he also has 95 flex, started at 105, but went down. says it's good for crosschecks

luke gazdic is such a big fan of benny, he talks about how he watched leafs games and was just cheering him on the entire time. he's a really genuine person and i love that.

benny talking about 'the big guys' -> "it's impressive to see how they're working so hard, constantly. working on their edges and their skills, it brings out the best in the rest of us"

specifically brought up willy and auston^

"you have to be smart [when defending auston]. if you just dive at him, he's gonna toe drag you, make you look stupid."

when asked which player surprised him in a good way, he said calle jarnkrok immediately. "i love him.... he's so effective... always smart with the puck... in every situation he just does the job"

luke gazdic brings up the older guys like darcy tucker, wendel clark, tie domi and compares benny to them, saying : if you play hard in this city and you work your ass off, they [leafs nation] will love you. they will embrace you for all time... if you just continue the way you're playing now, they'll love you" (which, as a leafs fan, is very true. once you're in, once you're embraced by leafs nation, you will forever be loved. you could have zero points, but if the fans decided to adopt you, you will be loved a hundred years from now - there are ppl i grew up hearing about, old games i watched, and those guys were gone and retired before i was even born. some of them were gone before my dad was born. but once you're loved by the fans, there's no leaving)

gazdic goes "[every time there's leafs coverage] i love it, i have a big smile on my face. [the reporters/articles going] i love this benoit kid... it makes me so happy"

benny stays away from social media to try to focus on his game, but he has noticed some of the loves the fans give him. "if the fans love me... it touches my heart. you know, it's not every day the fans love a simple, stay at home d-man. you know, the fans usually love those skills guys. but if they do love my game, i'm touched by it. i'll just keep to do it, i'll stick to it." (i wish i could show benny the lb's comments)

he was recognized twice in public. he didn't get that in anaheim and can tell just how different hockey culture is here.

he loves milk.

seriously, he drinks a big glass of milk before bed or else he can't sleep (gazdic thought he was trolling, but he wasn't)

gazdic joked saying 'milk' the leafs jersey sponsors, should get benny in an ad

he has a glass bottle of (3.8%) milk in the fridge - no bagged milk, no carton milk

"that's the real stuff" - benny referring to 3.8% milk

he loves the milk sponsorship on the jersey

had to break bcz of character limit

benny tries to have a smile on his face. his parents never pressured him to play hockey, so he's always played because he loved it. now it's his job and he thinks "if i don't love it, i can do something else" but he takes a lot of pride in playing that game and he loves it. so he's got a smile on for everyone - for the fans who come and cheer for him, for everyone who's watching. "my smile's a reflection of the joy the game brings to everyone"

his mindset when he'd been cut on other teams was "i need to learn from the situation and grow". "you need to miss some stuff, you need to make mistakes to learn"

"if you think too far you won't be present in the present" <- talking about playoffs

"go crush it man, keep doing what you're doing" <- luke gazdic to benny