#reminder to never think certain hockey players are “the good ones”

[readingbythestreetlights]

oshie’s post just makes me all sorts of uncomfortable

[lyinginmeadow]

Breakaway pt I. | hockey!Azriel × reader

Summary: You're not a fan of a kiss cam. And neither is your boyfriend.

Word count: 1,8k

Warnings: swearing, miserable knowledge of hockey (sorry yall), Rhys being a protective asshole over his sister

A/n: Anyone a hockey fan? No, just me? Okay. Another thing is, that I described university as I know it in my country haha. I hope no one will be confused

Also yes, I did take inspiration from tiktok. I just loved that scene <3

>> Pt 2

Leaves started to fall which meant your favorite season was starting. You loved anything and everything that came with autumn. The pumpkin spice, moody weather, sweaters, and books. With autumn knocking on your door, the new semester has begun. You didn't mind studying, you actually enjoyed it to a certain degree, but the stress is what always got to you during exams. You were just starting your second year of university, so you knew what to expect. To many that was all. Just endless studying and partying to get their minds off things. You? Not really. Ever since you could remember, fall meant the hockey season started. Were you a hockey player? No, not at all. Ice skating was your passion, just not hockey. That didn't matter, because your brother was the golden child. Rhysand played because your father used to. You would never say it out loud, mainly because it would inflate his ego even more, but Rhysand was a star player. He was so much better than your father and you knew that if he wanted to, he would make it far. 

 Rhys never acted towards you with any malice other than just a bit of sibling rivalry. He was actually quite protective of you, given the fact you were his little sister. But whatever you did was never good enough for your father. You might study medicine, but Rhys was finishing law. You might figure skate but you were no hockey player. And most of all, you were a woman. And your father despised you for it. You were expected to make it to every game, but no one ever wanted to attend your competitions.  You enjoyed watching the games, especially when Rhys met his best friends and teammates at university. The games became so much more interesting when Azriel entered the ice. Rhys might be the captain and the center, but Azriel was a force to be reckoned with, the fastest player in the rink. You became friends with both Cassian and Azriel quickly since you often visited their house to get away from your parents. Rhysand of course was glad but you knew you were off-limits to his friends. Not only was it obvious in how he glared at both of them whenever they made a comment he didn’t appreciate. But the first time you met, Cass basically undressed you with his eyes. From what you heard he reminded them often to not mess with his sister.

It did not stop you from developing feelings for him the moment you laid eyes on him. For a while, it did seem he viewed you only as his best friend's little sister. Which you had a hard time accepting. Your relationship changed when you sneaked into a party they had thrown in celebration of a victory last year. You were a first-year, and your first semester at university had been hectic, but living close to your brother and away from your parents was a long-awaited blessing. Having a taste of freedom made you bold. Azriel couldn't take his eyes off of you, you had been like a magnet. He hadn't been the only one as you attracted the attention of another freshman. Azriel might not have acted on his attraction towards you before but seeing you with another man changed that. One thing led to another and you were sneaking out together whenever you found time.

It had been a year and your brother still had no clue. And you intended to keep it that way. You loved your boyfriend, you didn't want to worry about his teeth off the ice as well. Cassian on the other hand suspected, thankfully as you introduced him to your friend, Nesta, he became preoccupied and dropped the matter. 

''So who do you think will win? And be honest, they're not here, you can't hurt their fragile egos.'' Nesta disturbed your train of thought. You laughed shaking your head. You loved hanging out with her because of how direct she was, always saying exactly what was on her mind. You met Nesta when your university did a charity ballet on the ice of Nutcracker. You got the role of Clara and she was your ballet counterpart. You did not expect to establish a friendship with her, but she was exactly who you needed in your life. You knew she would call you out on your bullshit anytime and you liked her for it. She also happened to be the first person you told about Azriel. She was not surprised, saying that you weren't being as secretive as you thought you had been.

''You know I am still biased since I really want our team to win. The Cavaliers are good and they play dirty. But Cass will probably try to kill Eris on the ice. Given the history and all.'' You gave her a pointed look. Shifting your gaze to the rink, you tried to find number 38.

''They’ve got no chance against VU.'' Said a guy next to you. You hated when someone butted their way into a conversation. But given the fact, that you would be spending about two hours in close proximity, you had decided for a polite smile. ''I guess so.''

''So how come you've got such good seats? Know someone on the team?'' He chimed in again.

''You could say that. My brother is the captain.'' You answered keeping your eyes on Azriel as he warmed up.

''Rhysand is your brother?''

''Unfortunately.'' You nodded, and his eyes grew in size. ''That's so lucky! I wish I was a hockey player or just knew them. You see, I got these seats because I'll be writing an article about the game.'' You smiled politely again shifting your gaze to the rink when the puck was just about to hit the ice.

As the game progressed, the crowd became electric. All the fans were shouting and your ears began ringing. Velaris Bats were in the lead, but only by one goal and everyone was nervous. To make the game even more enjoyable, there were games for the fans as well. Students competed against one another to win points for their university and win the competition of the tribunes.

The competitions were fun and good entertainment during breaks. But while the game continued the camera was turned on. You laughed at a random do a meme moment, but quickly turned your head back to the ice. You didn't want to miss a second of Azriel's game. Fully focused, you didn't realize that the camera switched to a kiss cam. A guy sitting next to you turned his head to face you and pointed to the TV earning your attention. ''I mean when in Rome, right?'' He laughed as he tried to close the distance. ''Yeah, no, thank you.'' You laughed nervously shifting in your seat.

''Oh come on, it's just a kiss.'' He pressured, and you gave a panicked look towards the ice. You heard Nesta taking a sharp inhale to give the guy a piece of her mind. You were interrupted by shouts of the fans and loud banging on the glass. 

''Back the fuck off.'' You couldn't hear Az properly, but the message was quite clear, making the guy shift his gaze between the two of you uncomfortably. Az got two minutes for stalling the game which made the crowd boo and your brother yell obscenities as he often did when one of his teammates was sent to a bench. Thankfully during the power play the Cavaliers didn't get a goal in, but it was close. It only enraged Rhysand more which was abundantly clear when he almost broke his stick as the second period came to an end.

Azriel was sending daggers to the guy sitting next to you who looked like he wanted nothing more than to leave. He relaxed when the players left for their locker rooms. You just hoped Rhys didn't look much into Azriel's possessive behavior.

''What the fuck was that?'' Roared Rhys as he entered the locker room.

''I don't know what you're talking about.'' Azriel continued to take off his gear.

''Do not play with me! You could have cost us the game.''

''I was thinking I did you a favor. He had no right to touch her like that.'' He finally faced Rhysand.

''It was a fucking kiss cam.''

''She didn't want to be kissed. And he didn't back off.''

''So what? You made it your mission to help her while you were supposed to pay attention to the puck?'' Spit Rhys. Everyone in the locker room was silent watching the two stubborn players go head to head.

''Yes! And I would do it again.'' Azriel retorted.

''I could have you off the team for this.'' He hissed.

''Rhys-.'' Cassian signed. ''Be my guest.'' Azriel interrupted starring Rhysand down. He wouldn't back down. He couldn't. He knew you could have handled yourself back there. Hell, Nesta was there, too and she wouldn't let some guy do anything disrespectful. He just acted on an impulse. When he looked up and saw your panicked gaze, something shifted inside him. Rhys kept watching Azriel, staring right into his soul when suddenly his eyes grew larger as if recognizing what he should have seen from the very beginning.

''You've got to be kidding me.'' When Azriel didn't answer, Rhys continued, ''Tell me you don’t have a thing for my little sister.’’

''Azriel, I swear to everything that is holly, I will fucking punch you if you don't give me an answer.''

''We are together. Have been for almost a year.'' Azriel never saw anyone have an aneurysm. But if he could guess, Rhysand was a textbook example of how it looked like.

''I take it back, I will punch you anyway.'' And he might have if Cassian wasn't there to catch Rhys. ''Easy there killer. The game is still on. And you might not like it but Az is an asset.''

''I don't want to see you anywhere near her, understand? I know how you are with girls!'' Rhysand snarled.

''You know I can't do that.''

''Then you're off the team.''

''Fine.''

As they returned to the ice, the tension between Velaris Bats was palpable. Cassian was looking between his teammates probably trying to find a quick solution to the problem at hand. Azriel wasn't paying you any attention keeping his gaze on the ice only. You frowned slightly. When you looked at Rhys you found him staring back at you anger oozing out of his every move. 

He knew.

[butgilinsky]

i should’ve fought harder | tj

warning; language, mentions of drinking, mentions of violence (its hockey babe)

summary; What happens when you both find out that your messy breakup was the biggest mistake of all?

word count; 5k+

this is for @typical-simplelove as a part of @wyattjohnston summer fic exchange💓i hope you enjoy it bb

You’d be lying if you said you cut him off entirely after that night. It was nearly impossible to cut him out of your life after all you’d gone through together. Sure, it only spanned over a year in all actuality, but it felt like you had spent an entire lifetime by his side. Now you were expected to do a complete 180 and pretend like none of that ever happened? It didn’t feel possible.

You’d also be lying if you said you wanted to cut him out of your life. You weren’t the one that wanted to end things in the first place. You tried to work through all of your differences, tried to work through the different lives the two of you led. You tried everything you could possibly think of, but none of it was enough to save the life you’d built with Tyson.

It also didn’t help that you had heavily intertwined your lives before breaking things off. You were one of the first things that grounded him in New York. Too many nights were spent with him expressing gratitude for your presence helping him adjust. Despite your many reminders that he had friends on the island and in the city, his appreciation was always given to you.

You still got questions about him, despite all of your friends knowing that you weren’t together anymore. It didn’t matter that the break up was messy, nothing was enough to get people to stop asking. It probably didn’t help that you still hung out with mutual friends.

He experienced the same thing to a certain degree. It was a weak spot for him. His teammates only used it as fuel when he was having an off day. He'd never admit it, but it was the one thing that really set him off when he was on the ice.

He was always able to step away from his personal life when he was on the ice. He used to be the best at it, but with the newfound ammo, there was something that would set off Tyson Jost every single time.

It's not like he advertised it, telling every other team in the league that the only thing they had to do to rile him up was mention your name. Once one person caught on, it felt like every hockey player in North America knew about the boy’s soft spot.

He'd gotten into two fights this week alone, which wasn’t like him. It might have been more than two if Jeff hadn’t been there to talk him down from the ledge on more than one occasion.

He didn’t know you still watched his games. In fact, he thought you’d rather drop dead than show up to another hockey game. He didn’t know that you’d asked Jeff to get you into the first few games after the breakup, since you’d sworn the winger to secrecy each time he helped you.

Eventually you resorted to watching their games in your living room, wrapped in the last sweatshirt he left at your apartment, a bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table at the ready. You didn’t even bother to pull out a glass.

The first fight, although confusing, was written off by you initially. He played hockey, fighting was practically inevitable. It wasn’t a part of his game usually, he wasn’t the most violent player, especially in New York. The second fight of the week, however, raised some concern in your chest.

Jeff had texted you after both games, assuring you he was okay and that the game just got the better of him. You weren’t sure it was true but appreciated the sentiment anyways. Tyson had been on edge for weeks, but Jeff wasn’t going to tell you that. He didn’t think it would do either of you any good.

Then there was the night that he was on the end of a nasty hit, one that had him hunched over on the ice for longer than anyone wished he’d been, gripping onto both sides of his head after violently ripping off his helmet.

You were at work, hand over your mouth as you stood at the bar, frozen in place. There was a tray of drinks sitting in front of you, getting warmer with every passing second, but you couldn’t move.

“Y/n.” Reyna, your best friend at work, gripped your elbow gently to tear your focus away from the screen. “I'll take these. You go check your phone.”

You mumbled the table number to her quickly before flying to the back room, fishing your phone out of your bag quickly and trying to think about how to go about this.

You couldn’t call him. He'd be confused at best. He probably wouldn’t answer. You couldn’t call Jeff, he was still on the ice. In fact, every other person you thought of calling was out on the ice. Even Mat was in the middle of a game. You’d have to wait for intermission.

So you texted Jeff, knowing you wouldn’t get a response quick enough, but figuring it was better than any other option you had.

i’m at work, but i saw the hit. just please tell me he’s okay.

You had to go back out and clear the rest of your tables. It weighed heavily on your chest for the rest of your shift. Two more grueling hours had passed by, and when Tyson never came back out onto the ice, you knew something was wrong.

You lunged for your phone after clocking out, ripping it out of your bag and fumbling to punch in your passcode.

minor concussion, massive migraine. he’ll be alright, but he’s out for a few weeks.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily both out of relief and in slight distress.

You remembered a time where you’d spend nights running your fingers through his hair gently, massaging and softly scratching at his scalp to soothe his migraines. You’d sit in the dark for hours, barely even speaking while soft music filled the room.

His head would sit in your lap or on your chest, your nails running up and down the span of his back. Then there were the days where he was so sore he could barely move. You’d spend hours rubbing out knots from his muscles and doing anything you could think of to help him relax.

You couldn’t do any of that anymore. It wasn’t your job anymore.

You thought it would get easier. You thought that it would get worse before it got better, but as weeks turned into months, you began to realize that things may never get better. You couldn’t let go of him.

His words would replay over and over again in your mind, a loop that had no ending, it seemed.

“I’m tired of fighting, Tys.” you sighed, your shoulders slumping as you watched him lean back into the couch.

“Maybe if you didn’t stick your nose in my business all the time, we wouldn’t have to fight.” He lifted the hat off of his head and ran his fingers through his hair, not missing the way your eyes followed his hand before he placed the hat back onto his head.

“I'm sticking my nose in your business? You haven’t spoken to me in almost three weeks!” your voice raised again, earning a guttural groan for the boy as he rose to his feet, standing just above you.

“Talking to you is exhausting sometimes.” His voice was calmer than yours, and he didn’t have the same wall of tears built up in his eyes that you did. He was angry at you for whatever reason and your heart was breaking. This might be the final nail in the coffin of your relationship.

Your bottom lip wobbled as you looked down at your feet, feeling him brush past you as he headed towards his bedroom. There wasn’t a single touch or glance as he hurried by.

“I don't think this is working out.” you shook your head, sniffling in an attempt to suppress the tears that threatened to spill over.

“You don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. What don’t you understand, Y/n? I don't want to be with you anymore. I don't want to deal with this shit anymore.” The venom dripping from his voice was hard to shake off. He never sounded like that with you. Disbelief flooded your senses as you stared at a boy you weren’t even sure you recognized anymore. “Just go, y/n.”

“Tyson, please-”

“Just get the fuck out, y/n!”

It seemed like a bad dream every time it replayed in your mind. The way he slammed the door shut behind you. The way he waited two weeks to call you, only in search of a sense of comfort that he knew you’d be willing to give him.

You ended up in Tyson’s bed three times after that, each one breaking your heart even further as you neared the realization that he wasn’t going to change his mind. It was a hard pill to swallow, and the void was still a large hole in your chest, but you had come to the understanding that you and Tyson needed to be separated in order to get through this.

He returned back to the ice as soon as he was cleared to play, throwing himself into it more than he ever had before. He barely talked to anyone outside of the team, and people were running out of ways to reach out to him.

The first time the two of you ended up in the same room together was completely accidental. Tyson had made sure he didn’t end up at your restaurant on nights out, always too scared that you’d be working the same night. even on days he knew you never worked, he didn't risk it.

You let your friends pick the bar that night, which seemed to be a mistake now. You should’ve just picked one. You would’ve picked one you knew he never went to. But as your luck ran out, you found yourself pressed against the bar, flagging down the bartender when a hand landed on your back.

You turned over your shoulder, not being able to stop the wide grin that spread across your lips. You threw your arms around Mat’s neck, hugging him tightly and listening to him chuckle beside your ear.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Though you hadn’t seen him in a few months, you had heard from him just last week.

“I know.” You stopped yourself from scanning the bar over his shoulder and settled on letting your eyes settle on the boy in front of you.

Mat and Jeff were two of the only mutual friends you shared that still reached out. The rest of the sabres had taken obvious sides to “keep the peace”. Jeff knew you better than they had so it was difficult for him to cut you out. Especially when he knew how your brain worked when you were alone. He knew you needed some line of connection to Tys.

Mat’s situation was a little easier. Though New York wasn’t all that large, being on a different team made it easier for Mat to separate you from Tyson in his mind. It wasn’t often that he saw Tyson between their schedules, and he’d never stop pointing out the obvious.

Mat introduced the two of you when Tyson moved to Buffalo. He knew he needed good people around him after his hectic years since Colorado. You l didn’t live far from Tyson, and Mat’s raving review of your restaurant put the final stamp of approval on it all.

“You can ask, you know?” you shook your head, chewing on your bottom lip nervously.

“I don't need to ask, Jeff. I know he’s here, and I know that he probably knows that I'm here. It’s not like I can ban him from stepping foot into the same building as me.” Even if you wished you could. Your head snapping back to the bartender as he sets four cups on the counter in front of you.

You reached for your wallet just as your wrist was caught in Jeff’s grip. He told the bartender to put it on his tab that he had started not too long ago. You thanked him and he waved you off quickly.

“How is he?” Your curiosity got the best of you, seeing as you hadn’t spoken to Tyson in so long that you weren’t sure how he was truly doing off the ice.

“Awful.” Jeff offered you a sad smile, letting a heavy sigh pass his lips. “He fucked up, y/n. Maybe beyond repair, but he hasn’t been the same since the two of you split.”

You took a sip of your drink, hoping that the alcohol would wash away the nerves growing in your chest. You knew Tyson had at least some regret from the way things ended. You had drunk voicemails to prove it. That didn’t mean you were ready to jump back into something that ended the way it did. Part of you never believed it was entirely genuine.

“I have to go back to my table, but it was nice to see you, sunshine” he nodded, letting you wander off with one last smile.

You flung yourself into the empty seat at your table once you returned, throwing your head back against the wall as you let out a heavy sigh. It caught the attention of your friends, who were quick to ask what was wrong before you heard a gasp from beside you.

“Out of all the bars in the fucking city?” you nodded, following her line of sight only to be filled with instant regret.

He was laughing, a wide grin on his lips as his head tilted back ever so slightly. You felt your stomach twist, nausea mixing with nostalgia as you longed to hear the sound he was creating.

“Drink this.” you turned to your friends, head slightly foggy as you pulled yourself out of your current headspace.

You don’t know when they got shots, but you were quick to throw one back, and one more before Selena was gripping onto your hand and pulling you out of your chair.

You could barely hear the song, just feeling the bass in your hips that moved sensually. You laughed loudly at your friends around you, pressing themselves against you in an attempt to distract you. It had been slightly successful and you almost forgot about the boy’s presence at the bar.

You hadn’t thought much of it as you told your friends you’d be back after a bathroom break. They stayed in the middle of the crowd, though they did keep their eyes on you as you slipped into the hallway with the bathrooms.

When you walked out, wiping the excess water off onto your jeans, you almost ran right into someone, eye level with their chest as you almost sputtered out an apology.

Almost.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, right in front of you for the first time in months. He clearly didn’t know what to say anymore than you did, because it took a minute for you to spit out a coherent thought.

“Hi.” you spoke softly, wanting nothing more than to kick yourself for being such an idiot.

“Hi.” his voice was just as soft, barely reaching your ears over the loud music.

You froze then, your mind void of all thoughts you previously had. You didn’t know what to say, and you didn’t know if you should say anything. You hadn’t spoken to him in months, what were you supposed to say now?

“Y/n, listen-”

“Y/n!” you turned to the sound of your name being called, eyes landing on selena who stood at the other end of the hallway with hands on her hips. “We ordered shots!”

Selena knew what she was doing, and you and Tyson both knew that. She wasn’t trying to be all that discrete, her eyes burning holes into the side of Tyson’s head as she silently tested him. She expected Tyson to try to fight back against her, fight to keep you in front of him for just a moment longer, but he didn’t.

You nodded, glancing at Tyson one last time before walking towards your friends and grabbing your savior’s outstretched hand. You squeezed it softly, thanking her for helping you once you were out of earshot.

You probably had three more shots before the boys saw you again. You were level headed enough to walk, but your filter had completely left you as you let your muscles finally relax.

Your night had taken a turn for the better until you felt an unfamiliar set of hands land on your hips, gripping you tighter than you wanted to be held. You turned over your shoulder, moving out of the grip of the man you were unfamiliar with.

“What's wrong, gorgeous?” you rolled your eyes, annoyed with the fact that he felt entitled to a reason why you didn’t want his hands on you.

“Don’t touch me.” you shouted over the music, turning back around towards your friends when you felt his hand back on you.

This time his hands were off of you before you had even moved, confusion flooding your system as you turned around. You were drained of any intoxication you currently felt as you jumped to pull Tyson back, not wanting him to get caught in a bar fight just after he returned to the league.

“Tys, stop.” you moved in front of him, your hands flat on his chest to keep him away from the other guy. His nostrils flared in anger, his eyes not even looking down at you as he looked over you to glare harshly at the guy behind you.

“You can’t get into a fight right now. You just made it back to the league.” his eyes snapped down to you then, his face draining of any anger he previously felt as a soft smirk inched up his lips.

“You’re keeping tabs on me?” you rolled your eyes then, huffing in newfound annoyance as you dropped your hands from their place on his chest.

You took a step towards your table, only to be pulled into a familiar pair of arms. you avoided his eyes until he brought a hand underneath your chin, tilting your head back far enough to look up at him.

“Come home with me.” you sighed softly, eyes fluttering shut when his hand moved from your chin to your cheek.

He smiled when you leaned into his palm, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of his hand before looking back at him. The phrase of denial sat on the tip of your tongue, threatening to fall past your lips despite you wanting to give in more than anything.

You looked over his shoulder, catching sight of your friends who had different expressions adorning their faces. Selena clicked her tongue in disapproval, shaking her head gently at you and watching your shoulders slump in defeat.

“I can't.” you pulled his hand away from your face slowly before walking past him, towards your friends but not stopping to address them.

You gathered your things from your table and grabbed your card from the bar before walking out of the bar, leaving your friends and Tyson back in the bar behind you.

You shouldn’t have been all that surprised when he ended up in your restaurant just a week after that, letting profanities slip underneath your breath when Reyna gave you the heads up that they were in your section.

She offered to take their table, but you told her you had it under control. Besides, it’s not like he came alone.

You couldn’t help but smile when they clapped at the sight of you. The loud interruption wasn’t all that surprising for the tables around them, given that it was a sports bar in New York. There were always people screaming and clapping from tables.

Tyson sat in the aisle seat, which you noticed within seconds of seeing their table. Jeff sat beside him, offering a warm smile when you finally reached the table. Mat and Anthony sat across from them, and you noticed another table of hockey players just beside them, another table in your section.

“What did I do to land all of you guys in my section?” Your smile was refreshing for Tyson to see.

He hadn’t been able to get you off his mind for the past however many months, but the last week was brutal. After having you right in front of him, leaning into him like you used to do, he knew there was no going back. Any progress he made, which wasn’t much, was lost the second you pressed a feather soft kiss against his hand.

“We asked for you.” Owen beamed at you from the next booth over, hissing out in pain when Jeff reached over the back of his booth and hit the back of his head.

“You weren’t supposed to tell her that, idiot.” you laughed at the interaction between the boys before your head fell to the side.

“Can I get you drinks?” they all fired numerous drink orders at you, but you took mental note of them before smiling warmly and telling them you’d be back in a minute.

You tended to your other tables as well as theirs, bringing everyone drinks quickly before you stood in front of their table with a pen and a notepad, writing down their orders with ease.

When your eyes landed on Tyson, a corner of your mouth curled up gently.

“Same thing?” he nodded, smiling when you scribbled his order down from memory.

You didn’t notice that every time you’d check on them, you’d set a hand on Tyson's shoulder, the other resting on your hip as you looked over the eight of them. It was usually quick, but Tyson felt a fire underneath his skin every single time.

You had expected him to ask something similar to what he asked you the week before. It shocked you to find two empty tables, multiple checks left on the table with various different messages written across them.

The only thing he left you with was an uneven heart at the bottom and a tip that had your eyes practically popping out of your skull. It was something he jokingly did when you were dating, but that was then, and this was now.

In theory, you should’ve probably called him. You should’ve reached out, even if it was just to scold him about the tip that he left you. He was hoping you’d call, checking his phone every five minutes for the rest of the night while his leg bounced in anticipation, but you never did.

He was disappointed, but he thought that was selfish of him. You didn’t owe him a phone call. He'd broken up with you, after all, and you were the one that made this entire process easier than it should’ve been.

You should’ve screamed, should’ve pushed him away after all he’d put you through. The two of you had ups and downs, riding an emotional roller coaster all the way to the end. but you couldn’t push Tyson away. You couldn’t cut him out even if that had been what you wanted.

You couldn’t get rid of him, and you didn’t want to.

Jeff had practically choked on his drink when you told him you planned on coming to their next home game. He had to drop his phone into his lap in order to finish coughing up a lung, assuring his teammates he was fine and the liquid had just gone down the wrong pipe.

Tyson gave him a hesitant look, not exactly believing that nothing had triggered Jeff’s coughing fit, but didn’t push the subject. If Jeff wanted to keep things from him, he would. There was no breaking that boy once he told himself he’d keep a secret.

Tyson had no idea you were sitting in the crowd. You were a few rows away from the glass, the jersey you’d usually wear still stuffed in the back of your closet. The hoodie you wore, however, did have the familiar logo on the front of it, with the same name and number that you used to wear every other night draped across your back.

It wasn't until he had scored a goal with two minutes left in third period, screaming at the top of his lungs and skating around the back of the net that he saw you. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes locked on you even while his teammates tackled him with massive hugs.

Jeff turned to follow his line of sight, smiling widely and waving at you. you waved back, watching Tyson turn towards Jeff and mumble something before the shorter boy shrugged, laughing when Tyson shoved him playfully.

He turned back to you, eyes filled with a slew of emotions you weren’t able to unpack in the short moment. His lips moved, mouthing a desperate ‘please don’t leave’. You nodded, assuring him you’d stay put after the last buzzer filled the arena.

You kept good on your promise, staying in your seat even as the people around you filed out of the arena. you expected to wait for a while, given that he’d no doubt have to do a media run before he’d be given the chance to shower and change, so you were surprised when he came barreling down the stairs not even twenty minutes later.

You laughed gently when he almost flew right past you, his momentum making it difficult for him to stop on the right row of seats. He watched you stand up and make the short distance over to him, his jaw dropped and mind reeling too fast to form a coherent thought.

“Hi.” you spoke first, seeing the mental roadblock he was currently facing.

He didn’t know why talking to you right now was so difficult. He has just spoken to you two weeks ago, sitting in your restaurant for hours, and that didn’t seem as daunting as this did. maybe it was because you were wearing his name across your back. maybe it was because this is the first game he’d seen you in months.

Maybe it was because he was still head over heels in love with you.

“Hi.” it came out in a breath, almost like he couldn’t believe that he finally got a single syllable past his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Skinner.” you shrugged your shoulders, waiting for a second before a wide grin spread across your lips, a similar one finding a home on Tyson’s.

“I thought I’d never see you in here again.” it shouldn’t have knocked the wind out of you, shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

“Well, here I am.” he nodded, unsure of where to go from here. He didn’t know what this meant, but he was desperate to find out. “Tys-”

“I’m so fucking sorry. About everything I ever said or did that crossed the line. I'm sorry I wasn't the boyfriend you needed me to be, and that I didn't love you hard enough when things went to shit. I’m sorry I fucked it all up, because I swore U wasn’t going to. I told you I was going to be there for you even when it seemed impossible, and I didn't follow through with that and i’m sorry.

“Not a single day passes by that I don't think about you, that I don't miss you. I love you with everything I have and I should've shown you that when we were together, but I didn't. I don’t know how to make up for all of that time, but I need you to know how fucking sorry I am.”

He barely even realized he was rambling, shooting off at the mouth too fast to think about what he was saying. He missed the smile inching up your lips as you listened, letting him get everything off of his chest.

“I should’ve fought harder. I shouldn't have let hockey get in the way of it all. We both had our own shit we were dealing with and instead of trying to help each other through it, I thought isolating myself and shutting you out would make it easier. I was an idiot, y/n, and I know that’s no excuse, but-”

Your hands reached for his head, holding it between your palms and bringing him down to meet you halfway. His lips felt familiar, a sliver of home that you had been missing for months. The rhythm came naturally, moving against each other like you had never been apart to begin with.

You were both slightly out of breath by the time you pulled back, foreheads resting against one another as you both smiled like idiots.

“I love you. I always have, and I always will.” you whispered softly, leaning up to place one more kiss to his lips. This one was softer and shorter, but it was enough to have Tyson’s heart beating at a mile a minute.

“I don’t think I'll ever be able to love another person the way I love you.”

You tilted your head back, just enough to disconnect your foreheads so you could look up at him properly. Your thumb ran across the skin of his cheek, and he leaned into your hand just like you had done at the bar. His lips were soft as they pressed to the pad of your thumb, sending a jolt of electricity down your hand and through your arm.

“Take me home.” you whispered softly, watching his lips turn up in a smile wider than one he’d ever worn before.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want me to.”

[claraxbarton]

hi :)) just wanted to stop by to say I appreciate you for your decision re: MT as someone who was also disappointed but not totally surprised by his implicit/explicit support of Trump. Wondering if you could speak a little bit more on your thoughts about engaging with hrpf knowing that the majority of players are conservative (at best, fascist at worst) even if they never outwardly share that on social media. It’s something I’ve been struggling with lately in the wake of the election, and I’m curious what yours (and others) thoughts are on this? I’m personally finding it harder and harder to separate the art from the artist of it all. thanks in advance bc I really do admire you and your writing (hrpf and beyond !!)

Hey friend,

So I’ve gotten a few asks along similar lines. I’m not going to answer all of the asks in my inbox about this because, well, it’s going to be repetitive. So me choosing this one over others- I’m not ignoring you, other ppeople who asked, I’m just responding here.

I want to start by saying I don’t have an answer. Truly, I don’t have a good response to this. But you asked for my thoughts so I will share those.

-I try to think of hockey as another tv show - one I get to very rarely see in person - and to that effect, these people are characters in one of my favorite tv shows. I’ve said previously that my approach to hrpf if is ‘inspired by’ - none of the characters I write have more than a passing resemblance to the real hockey humans.

-my hockey background is weird. As an American, I didn’t grow up around it except that my childhood babysitter played in the AHL (he never made it to the NHL, but he taught me how to skateboard and became a mechanic). I didn’t give a shit about hockey for years and then in the last few got back/into it. I didn’t care about the Panthers at all until summer 23 when I learned about MT - by which I mean I learned there was a guy who said my locker room is for everyone and was also a agitator. So, maybe I’m taking this as more of a hit because my favorite character turned out to be a fascist when he was presented to me as an ally.

- I think it’s fair to assume malicious negligence from all rich people. That’s the end of that thought.

-I recognize that I’m in a position of privilege and that allows me to extend a certain amount of grace - if someone has presented themselves as an ally (anti-homophobic, ant-racist, anti-sexist, anti-ableist), then I’m going to think of that ‘character’ as a n okay person until they prove me otherwise.

-I think it’s worth reminding folks that Braden Holtby, Devante Smith-Pelly and Brett Connolly exist. There are probably more genuinely good guys who use their position of privilege to actually take a stand but those are top of my mind for the obvious reasons.

-I mentioned this in my note on the fics, but it’s the same as with JKR and Harry Potter things in some ways - engage with it because you want to give her a big fuck you and because you find joy and comfort in the thing and don’t want her to take that away from you.

-I don’t want to imply in any way that there is a right or a wrong way to engage with hrpf or rpf. There are people for whom rpf is a hard nope, there are people whose favorite genre of fiction is rpf. As long as we can all agree there is a separation from reality and fiction.

-I think these people’s real, private, personal lives should be treated as such and every human deserves privacy and respect and sympathy as a human navigating this trashfire late-stage capitalist world. But when someone uses their public brand (the one they make money from, the one they present to their fans for monetary reward) - then that is using their privilege for good or bad and that’s something I have strong opinions on.

-someone left a comment to one of my fics that related the thoughts of another hrpf author who stopped writing a certain character. In summary: they stopped writing ovechkin fic because someone commented that their stories made them like ovi more. So yes, there’s the dissociation of fiction and the ‘inspired by’ character from real life - but there’s also the reality that fiction can influence our perceptions on reality. And I think this is where I’m coming to rest with all of this - I’m not comfortable putting time and energy into a fictional MT and have that in any way encourage anyone to shrug off or ignore or excuse a fascist who is using his position and fame to make money off of people via endorsements and other direct means while his politics lead to the disenfranchisement, harm and deaths of others.

-and just… seriously, supporting fascism because of ignorance is still supporting fascism. An ignorant fascist is still a fascist.

So. Those are my thoughts.

Tl;dr : I don’t know. Fascism is bad. I’m not going to write characters based on fascists ( or racists or rapists)

[bennygotmilk]

so i started reading beartown recommended by @girljeremystrong thinking it was a feel good hockey story. three chapters in and i'm not sure i can handle this much emotional rollercoaster during playoff season 😃 i can't stop picturing the characters as leaf players. some notable quotes less than 20 pages in:

"they say i'm too little to play. be a good player anyway!" - tell me this doesn't remind you of a certain apple sized player doing his bestest

"this sport only demands one thing from you. your all."

"...firing puck after puck, with the weight of an entire community at his shoulders..."

"when his first wages reach his account he'll grab that cleaning cart from his mother and never let her see it again"

"she will never find anything in her life more unfathomable than the fact that the boy she gave birth to in a place that has never seen snow was born to play a sport on the ice" - what in the actual AM34 life story is this?

"...but we've taken blow after blow a long time now. we need to feel just once that we're the best. I know it's a game. but that's not all it is. not always" - rip my heart at this point why don't ya

[tapejob]

Could i be the only one who noticed that Jim Matheson doesn't like certain oilers very much? Besides Drai with that heated postgame, i've noticed he criticizes Puljujarvi at every single opportunity even tho he's made the team better wherever line he plays for like his tweet today. He's bringing more than scoring, i don't get it. I don't think he hasn't said good things about Brass since he got traded there either. When he got traded all he tweeted was a list of players he was traded for as if he's responsible for their success while reminding everyone that the oilers are his 10th team (Brass doesn't like to be reminded about this stuff afaik). After one of the recent Kings games Jim was calling to scratch him, he's singled him out for his low ice time when he has been decent on the fourth line and he's not the one dragging his lines down in recent games.

[ID: tweet from Jim Matheson (@jimmathesonnhl) on April 11, 2022 at 1:36 PM which reads "Jesse Puljujarvi does lot of very good things--puck possession, fore-checking, going to tough areas with McDavid--but since when did goals scored become an outdated statistic for forward? He has 3 in 30 games. That's a fact, no more, no less, folks...even if you're a fan". End ID.]

hey. hey jim. why are you so pissy

i honestly know very little about the media and even less about edmonton's media so i pretty much only know this guy from his little piss incident (was he the guy that davo called to the principal's office? or is edm media just like that all the time). hope one day he crawls out of that old ass geriatric dinosaur pit of hockey consumption that only cares for goals and points. idk if his tactic is like "if the fans take on mike smith and the d and i take on the other boys we make a complete set of aggregate hatred" which... ???

either way, very glad that the comment section on that tweet is nothing but bloody and ravenous defense for puljujarvi sjdhgsj. brass i never had you that long but i'm sorry you're being singled out by an old fart 🤧 stunt on these hoes boys god bless

also,,,, wha

[ID: a tweet from Rex Codex Libris (@CodexRex) on April 11 which reads "It's entertaining watching Oilers twitter rally to the cause of Puljujarvi as a fan base puts it's foot down to say "not this time". Watching Petry, Hemsky, Hall, Eberle and Bear get run out of town on the same rail has left some scars." Jim Matheson (@jimmathesonnhl) on April 11, 2022 at 8:51 PM has quoted the tweet, and adds "Run out of town by whom? Not the media". End ID.]

[flameoutfics]

We’re Only Young and Naive Still Chapter 1

Summary: Nora is the first woman in the NHL, a recent call-up to the Calgary Flames, who has her own reasons for being there, much to the hesitation of her new teammates. As they get to know her though, she’ll find the family she never knew she wanted and sparks fly with a certain-future-captain.  *This fic will update every Monday. 

Nora waited outside the locker room for the rest of the team to join. She had been waiting for them to head out on the ice, knowing that they were in various states of undress behind the other wall. She had scrambled to get changed in the small bathroom that a member of the Avalanche’s front office had led her to. He’d sheepishly told her that this was the best that they could do and Nora had just nodded. She’d had to change in supply closets before in the absence of a women’s restroom close to the ice level. 

Waiting in the empty corridor for the team allowed her anxiety to fester. Nora could only imagine what was going to await her once she got out onto the ice. There were some who were excited for her to become the first female NHL player to ever play a professional game. She knew they had clambered to get tickets, to show the little girls that anything was possible and that they, too, could join the NHL some day. Nora was nervous to step into that role of a role model, but she didn’t mind. It was the other faction, the one who had already mentioned her on Twitter and caused her to change her Instagram settings that worried her. They didn’t want her to play, they didn’t want a woman in the NHL. Nora could only imagine what they would say after her first game, that anything she’d do wouldn’t be good enough, that she was proof of why women didn’t belong in the NHL. Nora was so lost in her thoughts that she was jolted by the sound of the locker room door opening. 

Jacob Markstrom readjusted his goalie mask on his face and headed out to the ice for warm ups. Nora followed close behind until they got to the ice’s edge. 

“You first,” Jacob nodded towards the ice and gently tapped her on the back of her legs with his goalie stick. Nora sighed. It was tradition for players playing their first game to skate the first lap solo, but she’d rather forgo it. Nevertheless, she gritted her teeth and took her first steps onto the ice. For a moment, she hoped that with her hair tucked into her helmet, people wouldn’t recognize her, but as she started to gain momentum the crowd ignited. It was like everyone had an opinion. Sure she heard the cheers, but intermingled with them she heard the boos. To be honest, she wasn’t sure which there was more of. Much to her relief, after the first solo lap, the rest of the team piled on the ice and joined her for warm ups and she felt herself relax as she began to blend in with the other red jerseys. 

Nora played 5:43 in her first NHL game. It wasn’t a lot, but it was a first. Nothing remarkable happened, and the Flames lost 3-1 in the end. It wasn’t an Auston Matthews level debut by any means but it wasn’t bad. She’d completed most of her passes and she’d made all of her line changes. Sutter didn’t play her much, nor did she expect it. She knew how he felt about having her on his team. She’d been great in the AHL racking up points and causing the hockey writers to wonder if she was going to break the glass ceiling and play in the NHL. Then she was brought up to the NHL and started practicing with the team, always being a healthy scratch when the final line up was decided. But the Flames kept losing and Nora knew that there was pressure on Sutter from the front office to play her. She wasn’t naive to the press that would surround her debut, neither was Brad. So, when Sutter finally announced that she was going to play her first NHL game, it wasn’t completely a surprise, but the timing took her off guard. The rest of the team had acknowledged it with polite cheers, but Nora knew that they weren’t thrilled to have her there either. 

She’d sat in the locker room after the game, still fully in her gear while Sutter reamed them. “None of you played well today. Fuck, she played better than half of you and it was her first fucking game,” Sutter said as he pointed Nora out. She felt the cold gaze of the other players turn towards her as Sutter had pretty much just put a target on her back. She drowned the rest of his diatribe out and as she snuck a glance around the room, it looked like the rest of the team was also ignoring him. When he stormed off, Nora finally felt like she could breathe and retreated to the bathroom where she’d gotten dressed. 

She’d only been in there for a few minutes before there was a knock on the door. 

“Nora, they’re going to want you for post-game interviews,” Tanya, the PR rep said, from outside of the bathroom where Nora stripped out of her gear. She was sweaty from the game but knew she’d have to wait until she made it back to the hotel room before she could 

“Okay,” Nora agreed, even though she knew that she was going to be the focus of the interview, “is anyone else going to be there?” 

“Matthew will be too,” Tanya said. Nora sighed to herself but nodded. 

“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute,” Nora said. She wished it was Jacob or even Johnny doing the interview with her instead of Matthew. She didn’t hate him, but she didn’t like him either. Since she’d been called up to practice with the team, he’d coolly ignored her. Most of the guys treated her that way too, with Jacob and Johnny being two exceptions. 

Matthew was already waiting at the table that had been set up for them for press availability. He glanced up at her and nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything. Nora didn’t know what she was expecting. Did she think he’d say ‘hi’ or ‘great job today’? They weren’t friends, they were barely even teammates. 

“Alright, let’s start with the first question,” Tanya said. 

“Nora, how did your first game in the NHL feel?” a reporter asked. It was a softball question and one that Nora appreciated. 

“It was great. It was a dream come true, honestly,” Nora said, “and I’m really fortunate to be able to be here and on such an amazing team to share the game with them.”

“It’s not the result that I’m sure you wished for, though,” the reporter followed up.

“No,” Nora conceded, “I definitely thought that I could have played better, especially in the third period, but Matthew had an amazing goal in the second period, and really it’s just an honor to be here and play a game in the NHL. 

“Any family here today to celebrate your first game with you?” A different reporter asked. 

Nora pasted a smile on her face, “No, unfortunately they couldn’t make it, but I know they were watching from home.” 

“I have a question for Nora…” another reporter started and Nora wished that just one of them could direct their attention to Matthew. 

“Why aren’t you in the NWHL?” a reporter asked. That caused Nora to pause. The answer caught in her throat. She knew that was the question that thousands of people had on their minds. There was a league for female hockey players, a great league, so why wasn’t Nora playing in it? Nora had rehearsed the answer to the inevitable in the mirror for what felt like hundreds of times, but here the words failed her. 

Tanya looked over at her and watched as she floundered for a response. “Sorry,” Nora said as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “would you mind repeating the question?”

“Sure, Nora, why aren’t you in the NWHL?” the reporter repeated. 

“I- I-...”

“Alright, I think our time has wrapped up,” Tanya said as she closed out the interview, saving Nora from answering. Once all the reporters left, Nora turned to Tanya. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I couldn’t answer that.”

Tanya smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Don’t worry, we can discuss some possible answers and better prepare you for media availability in the future.”

“Thanks,” Nora said. Matthew hadn’t said anything except for the one question directed towards him about his second-period goal. All Nora wanted to do was go back to her hotel room and take a nice warm shower. She didn’t give either of them a chance to say anything and instead headed out and grabbed her coat, knowing her gear would travel with the rest of the team’s. She walked the couple of blocks back to the hotel. She kept her head down, hoping to remain unrecognized by fans who were still lingering by the arena and made it back to her hotel room without running into anyone. She stripped out of her Flames-branded gear and headed for the shower. In the mirror, she could already see bruises starting to develop from where she’d been checked into the boards.  She should have been ecstatic to be playing in the NHL; most people in her position would be, but she didn’t. She just wanted the day to be over and to go to bed. That was what made her sad, that she didn’t care that much about being in the NHL, it was just a means to an end. Before she went to sleep, she took one more look at her phone and reminded herself why she was doing this. She knew why she was playing in the NHL; she just couldn’t say it. 

Nora glanced around the dining room for breakfast the next day looking for a place to sit. It felt like high school all over again. Ideally, she would have sat near Jacob or Johnny, but their tables were all filled so instead she sat in an open seat with some of the other newer players, Elias, and Matthew. They were happily chatting about some football game that Nora knew nothing about. She tried to follow along for a while, but after realizing that she didn’t really have anything to contribute, she hurriedly ate her breakfast and wanted to rush back to her room. She cleared her plate and offered a faint excuse for something she’d forgotten in her room, hoping to leave. It wasn’t like any of them would notice that she was gone anyways. She’d only made it a little ways before she heard footsteps follow her out. 

“What’s your problem?” Matthew asked as he cornered Nora. 

“I don’t have a problem,” Nora said. 

“You could at least try to pretend to be interested in getting along with the team,” Matthew said.

“What are you talking about?” Nora asked. 

“You didn’t come out with us last night,” Matthew said. 

“I wasn’t invited,” Nora answered.

“Everyone was,” Matthew said. 

“Well I wasn’t,” Nora insisted. 

“It was in the group chat,” Matthew said. 

“I’m not in the group chat, so I didn’t see the message,” Nora said. 

“Oh,” Matthew said. 

“Yeah,” Nora said.

Matthew fished out his phone and fiddled around with a few buttons. “There, you should be added now.”

“Thanks,” Nora said. Matthew looked like he was going to say something more but reconsidered. 

“Ready for the flight?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah,” Nora replied, “I’ll be back down soon.” She headed back up to her room and collapsed on the bed, with just a few minutes before she’d have to pack her things for the flight. Against her better judgement she scrolled through the group chat back to previous messages and saw messages from when it had been announced that she’d been called up to the Flames.

Johnny: That girl from the AHL’s being brought up. 

Peter: Really? I didn’t think she was that good.

Elias: She’s on a five-game goal streak.

Matthew: We’re getting a girl on the team? Are we really that bad that they need to bring her up? 

Nora sighed and put her phone away. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried to blink them away. There were other comments like that in the group chat that they hadn’t bothered to delete and Nora read them, wanting to know what her teammates really thought about her. Reactions ranged from ambivalent to disgust, with most somewhere in the middle. There was a knock on the door as a warning to head downstairs and Nora tried to compose herself. 

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked when Nora arrived downstairs with her bag. 

“Yeah, I’m ready to head to Detroit,” Nora replied with a fake smile on her face. 

[extratragic]

birthday girl

warning: blood, mentions of an injury. nothing graphic but the mc gets injured.

summary: Joel ends up taking care of you on your birthday

word count: 2.5k

a/n: i felt like i needed to post a sweet joel fic after the not so sweet thots i’ve had today :) anyway this is my first hockey fic so pls don’t be mean lol i’m sensitive. also i went through like six gifs cause i couldn’t decide on one lolol

Being with Joel was weird. Not a bad weird, but your relationship was difficult to explain. The quick version was that you were dating without the labels. That was your choice, though, not Joel's. If he had it his way, the two of you would be coming up on your eight-month anniversary.

You were the massage therapist for the Flyers. Well, the assistant massage therapist. It was more like being an intern, but you got paid. Becoming certified wasn't hard and it didn't take long, and it really did help that Martin Roza, the Flyers massage therapist, was a family friend. You’d been with the Flyers longer than Joel had been in the NHL, and you didn’t want a relationship to mess with your reputation. You were older than Joel by four months. Today was actually your twenty-second birthday, and Martin, along with the training staff, decided that your present was going to be you staying with them on the bench that night.

Everything was going great until halfway through the second period.

Travis was a few feet in front of the boards separating the guys from the ice, and one of the Buffalo players skated up to him. You couldn't tell who had the puck or where it was going until it hit you.

You didn't even process it until your hand was on your jaw and you were facing Martin. You could feel the blood on your palm.

"Tunnel, tunnel!" You said, stumbling over your feet as you tried getting away from the bench.

Raffa quickly put his arm around your shoulders and helped you walk away. You had to get out of Joel's sight, at least. He worried about you a lot and he wasn't shy about letting you know how much he hated seeing you hurt. When the two of you were out one night, someone bumped into you and made you fall, ending up with you scraping your knee. You were almost certain that if Claude wasn't there, Joel would've gone after the guy who accidentally caused the cut. As soon as you knew you were out of sight from fans and cameras, you stopped walking and took your hand off of your face.

"Oh my god, I'm bleeding!" You exclaimed, looking up at Raffa.

"Hold this to the cut, okay? That's a pretty good gash," he said, putting a towel on your face. You whined and held the towel, walking with him until the two of you were in the trainer's office.

“How bad does it hurt?” He asked.

“It hurts. Like, I can feel it but it’s not processing yet,” you told him.

The actual pain didn’t hit until you were sitting down.

“Fuck!” You yelled, pulling the towel away from your face.

"No, no. Keep the towel on your face until I'm ready to clean it. Do you wanna get blood all over your shirt?" He asked as he moved around, grabbing a few things from the cabinets and drawers.

"No," you whined, holding the towel to your jaw again. The white Gatorade towel was slowly being stained with your blood the longer you held it to your face. "Can you hurry up? This hurts," you snapped.

"Well, yeah. A puck hit your face at a high speed. It’s gonna hurt, but I’m gonna help,” he said.

You glared at him and he turned to face you, setting a few things on the table next to you. The next few minutes were silent as he cleaned your jaw and neck, eventually stitching the gash.

"How are you this bad with pain?" He asked.

"I message people. I don't do the whole injury thing," you sighed.

He hummed and nodded, feeling around your jaw, neck, and cheek. “I think you're good, just pretty bruised. Does it hurt to talk?” He asked.

“A little bit,” you answered. “I’m just happy you can move your jaw. And I don’t think you have a concussion. You can go to the hospital if you want to, but you seem okay,” he said once he took his hands away from your jaw.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“Of course. You wanna go back out or do you wanna stay in here?” He asked, taking his gloves off and throwing them away. “How much time is left?” You asked.

He held up his finger and walked out of the room, looking at one of the televisions in the hallway. “Three minutes until intermission,” he answered once he was back in the room.

“I’ll go out next period. I’m gonna stay here until then if that’s fine,” you said.

He nodded and grabbed a new pair of gloves, slipping them on. He left after telling you that he was going back to the bench. You leaned back in the padded chair and sighed, closing your eyes. You had no clue how the hell the guys went back to playing when they got a puck to the face. This hurt like hell.

Halfway through intermission, the door swung open and hit the wall loudly. The noise made you jump and nearly drop your phone. You looked at the door with wide eyes, seeing Joel looking at you.

“Oh. Hey, Bee,” you said nervously.

“‘Hey, Bee?’ Your face is bruised and that’s all you say?” He asked.

“Hey, Bee. I got hit in the face with a puck. I left 'cause I knew you’d freak out like you are right now. I’m fine, though. Nothing but a bruise, according to Raffa,” you told him.

After the last fifteen minutes of sitting by yourself and scrolling through social media, the pain had gone down some with the help of the pain pill Raffa gave you, and you were feeling pretty calm about the whole thing.

He huffed and walked over to you, getting down on his knees to cup the uninjured side of your jaw. “I didn’t think it hit anyone. But then I saw that you were gone and then Raffa was gone, and I was so fucking worried. I’m gonna beat the hell out of whoever did this,” he said and you gave him a small smile.

“Raffa said it was Teeks. you can’t beat up a dad-to-be,” you giggled.

Joel groaned and stood up, kissing your head before walking out. “Konecny!” he shouted. You stood up and walked out, watching as he walked over to Travis.

“Holy shit,” Nolan said.

“Shh. Joel’s attempting to be intimidating,” you told him.

The two of you, along with half of the locker room, watched as Joel scolded Travis for a few seconds until he started talking.

“You-- watch where you swing your stupid stick. That flying puck? It hit y/n,” he said.

Travis’s eyes went wide and he looked around the room until he saw you standing across from him.

“I’m fine,” you said, waving your hand to the side.

“You sure? That thing’s huge,” Nolan said and you glared at him.

"I’m fully aware. Thank you for pointing it out, Patty,” you said.

He cracked a smile and shrugged. While Nolan was smiling at you and you were glaring at him, Travis walked over to the two of you.

"I'm sorry, y/n. Is it bad? Like, did it do more damage than that?" He asked.

“It’s fine, Teeks. Seriously. It’s just a bruise and a few stitches. You didn’t mean to hit me,” you told him.

“It’s fine? Just like that?” Joel asked, looking at you with wide eyes.

You raised your eyebrows and looked up at him. “I told you that I’m fine, J. I need you to chill out. Travis would never purposely hurt me,” you told him.

He scrunched up his face and you grabbed his hand, pulling him closer to you to put your hands behind your back. Everyone knew about your relationship, and they stopped questioning it and giving the two of you looks after a few months.

"I’m good. Travis is fine,” you said quietly. He nodded and you looked at Travis. “I’m fine, I swear. Raffa said it’s just a bruise. No concussion, nothing broken. You don’t have to apologize,” you told him.

Nolan and Travis left you with Joel, but Claude and Kevin were quick to take their spots in front of you. They were both there to check on you and make sure you were okay, but Kevin was also there so he could talk shit on Travis. Joel went along with the shit-talking and you rolled your eyes, tugging on his hand. Once Kevin and Claude walked away, you pulled Joel out of the locker room so the two of you were alone.

“You’re sure that you’re fine?” He asked, gently holding your face in his hands.

You closed your eyes and smiled softly, nodding. "I’m okay, J. You have another 20 minutes of hockey to focus on, though,” you reminded him.

“You won’t be out there, right?” He asked.

“Of course I’ll be out there. You’re gonna kick ass and I gotta watch,” you told him.

Joel argued with you, of course, but he gave in when you pulled the birthday card on him. He loved spoiling you and hated telling you no, so it was easy to make him accept that you were going to watch the game from the bench. This time, though, you wouldn't be the one closest to the ice.

The Flyers ended up winning 4-1, and now Joel could finally get you to his apartment so he could be the one taking care of you.

"How about a bath?" Joel asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand as he drove towards his apartment.

"That sounds amazing. You have the stuff that I like, right?" You asked.

He smiled and nodded, making you smile. "Do you wanna eat?" He asked.

"Nothing that I have to chew a lot. I'll just snack on things, but you can make whatever," you told him.

Joel scoffed softly and squeezed your hand. As if he'd let you snack on things alone. Sure, he was hungry, but he would just snack on whatever he had in his apartment with you.

"I'm not eating a whole meal without you on your birthday. I'll snack with you. At least we had breakfast together," he said.

"Thank you, J," you said softly, bringing your hands to your lips and kissing the back of his hand.

"Always, baby," he said, kissing your knuckles.

When the two of you got to his apartment, Joel went straight to the bathroom to get the bath ready while you made smoothies for now and snacks for later.

"What are we eating?" Joel asked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"We're having smoothies while we're in the bath. You know that I hate eating in the bath," you said.

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder, watching as you put together two plates full of fruit and whatever food you felt like you could eat on one plate, putting the fruits and some different snacks on the other plate. It was obvious that Joel's plate was the second and he smiled when he realized that you weren't going to let him eat the same thing as you. If you were at Joel's place, he was never hungry. You even bought groceries sometimes since you were over there so much, and he eventually caught on to everything that you bought for him and for you, and he'd do the grocery runs when food was running low.

Once you finished making the plates, you put them in the fridge and went to the bathroom with Joel. While you stripped and got into the tub, Joel only took his shirt off.

"Aren't you getting in?" You asked, pouting at Joel when he turned to walk out.

"Give me a few minutes, okay? I'll be right back," he said, softly pecking your lips before leaving the bathroom.

He was gone for about five minutes before he walked into the bathroom and got into the bath with you. He sat behind you, happily letting you rest against his chest. The two of you sat in silence for a little bit, just soaking in the hot water together.

"Thanks for winning, by the way," you mumbled, playing with his fingers.

He kissed the crown of your head and hummed. "Good birthday?" He asked.

"Top five, easily. Would be top three but I got a puck to the face," you said and he chuckled.

You grinned and tilted your head back, puckering your lips. Joel leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He kissed your cheek next, placing multiple kisses on your skin and over your bruise, careful to avoid the stitches. You giggled when he nuzzled his face in your neck and placed a few kisses there.

"Want me to wash your body?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. "I did that while you were gone. But I could wash yours," you offered.

"Oh, for sure. Switch me," he said, putting his hands on the sides of the tub.

You laughed and slid back, taking his spot after he got out of the tub and quickly climbed back in, laying back against your chest. You grabbed the soap and one of the washcloths, washing his upper body.

"Didn't you do this at the rink?" You asked.

"Like, a basic shower. This is so much better," he said.

You smiled and shook your head, kissing his shoulder when the soap was rinsed off. "Can I lay on you?" He asked. You didn't answer him verbally, choosing to pull him back instead. He sighed when he laid back on you, closing his eyes once his head was on your shoulder.

Once the smoothies were gone, the two of you got out of the bath. You went to get the plates from the fridge while Joel drained the water. You got to his room right before him, your eyes lighting up when you saw what he had done.

"Joel," you said softly, looking around his bedroom.

The soft blanket that was usually on his couch was on the side of the bed that you slept on, along with a heating pad and one of his many extremely soft pillows. Your pajamas- one of his shirts and a pair of boxers- were laid out on your side of the bed. There were two candles, ones that weren't usually in his room, on his nightstand and dresser. All of your skincare products were sitting in front of the mirror. Once you started spending more time at his place, he went out and bought everything that you had in your bathroom so you could have everything at his place, too.

Joel wrapped his arms around your waist, careful to not let your towel fall, and kissed your jaw, the side that wasn't bruised.

"Happy birthday, princess," he mumbled against your skin.

"I'm about to get down on one knee and propose," you said, making him laugh. 

“You'd have to be my girlfriend first, y/n," he said.

You leaned back against his chest and he kissed your cheek. "Will you be my boyfriend, Bee?" You asked. You could feel him grin against your skin.

"Always, y/n/n," he said softly.

“Good, now let’s eat. I’m starving.” 

[whoacanada]

Zimmerbro AU

Summary: Andrew Phillip Rowe could skate before he could walk, and it wasn’t until he was almost twenty and well on his way to becoming a Las Vegas Ace before he knew why.

a/n: that’s right we’ve got a secret zimmermann brother au based on the fact that Bob was an active pro athlete for almost 15 years before Jack was born and almost definitely had relationships before Alicia. This particular one resulted in a secret love child.

When the call finally went out that year —  a request for players willing to billet the incoming draftees —  Andrew had been the first in line.

His already sparsely decorated guest room had been primed for a new tenant since he’d learned Las Vegas’ abysmal season had earned them the first pick of the 2009 draft. In his mind, Andrew had envisioned a tearful confession. A family reunion nineteen years in the making where he’d finally get a chance to connect with a half-brother he’d grown up learning about through news articles and stats pages.

He wasn’t ready for Jack to pull out of the draft days before the ceremony; wasn’t ready for the claims of an overdose or speculation about suicide attempts. He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to open his home to a young man with limp blonde hair and deep circles under his eyes with the same enthusiasm he’d promised he’d offer to a son of Bob Zimmermann.

Andrew was hoping for a little brother. 

He got Kent Parson instead.

______

“You remind me of my boyfriend.” Kent slurs one night, completely gone on Johnny Walker Blue borrowed from Andrew’s wet bar. “It’s your . . . face.”

“Shouldn’t talk about things like that,” Andrew cautions gently, covering his own surprise. “Never know who might be listening.”

“Who fucking cares? He won’t talk to me,” Kent continues, ignoring him and sniffing like he’s on the verge of sobbing or puking, both options equally unwanted. “They wouldn’t tell me if he was even alive.”

Another unwanted puzzle piece locks into place.

“Jack?” Andrew suggests softly, and Kent begins to cry.

“You won’t tell right?”

Andrew shakes his head no, long enough for Kent’s bleary eyes to focus on the gesture and take it seriously.

Things are different, after that conversation. Not worse, or better, just different.

________

“He’s my brother.”

Andrew admits this one night, for no reason other than that he can.

Kent is across the room, backlit by lights from the Strip, his legs dangling off the arm of his favorite couch as he scrolls through his phone looking for distractions. Parse hasn’t lived with Andrew for almost two seasons, but he still turns up like a bad penny whenever he needs to commiserate with someone who knows his more lascivious secrets. Truthfully, Andrew’s grateful for the company. He’s a pretty genial guy, but he’s always kept his distance, a personality trait he likes to think he shares with an unassuming sibling, but there’s no way to know for sure. The farther Andrew gets from the 2009 Draft, the less faith he has in a reunion that won’t just bring crippling sorrow to everyone involved.

A secret Zimmermann son who actually made it in the NHL. Who has his name on the Stanley Cup, not once, but twice, largely thanks to the spitfire forward lounging in Andrew’s living room.

“Who’s your brother?” Kent asks, not looking up from his phone.

“Jack Zimmermann.”

Kent barks a laugh and rolls his head lazily to smirk at Andrew.

“That’s funny. I guess you kinda have the same chin. Was Marky digging for chirps?”

Andrew has no idea what that means, but he sets down his tablet and says, “No, he’s actually my half-brother. My mom dated Bad Bob in ’84 and got pregnant.”

The lackadaisical smile on Kent’s face falters as his gaze sharpens, like he’s actually looking at Andrew for the first time. Andrew responds by gesturing at himself lamely.

“That’s not funny.”

“No.” Andrew agrees. “It isn’t.”

Kent swings his feet down off the couch and braces himself against the overstuffed leather. He doesn’t look mad, but there’s something too close to disbelief for Andrew to convince himself everything’s okay. It takes a moment, but Kent must find what he’s looking for on Andrew’s face.

“Does Bob know?” Kent asks with that familiar overfamiliarity, as if they both still have some personal relationship with the living legend.

“Yeah. When Mom got pregnant she told him she didn’t want the attention since it was only a fling — ”

“Who the fuck doesn’t lock down Bob Zimmermann?” Kent breathes. “Also, why the fuck did she tell you that?”

“No shit, right? She got him to sign away parental rights, set up a trust, never spoke to him again as far as I know. I didn’t find out until after I signed with the Aces. She didn’t want me to get blindsided if it all came out, but the story never broke.”

“I mean, does Bob know who you are?” Kent questions. “Does Jack?”

Andrew shakes his head no, because he doesn’t think so, and Kent flops back against the cushions, face slack with disbelief; it doesn’t take long for his features to shift to anger.

“You knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me? Even after I told you —“

“Okay, there’s a whole-ass difference between you fucking dudes and and me being ‘Bad Bob’s bastard’,” Andrew bites, curtailing Kent’s imminent hissy fit. Appropriately, Kent closes his mouth, almost pouting.

“Fine. But that’s fucked.” Kent says after a loaded moment of silence. “I’m sorry you’re . . . you.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry you’re you, too.”

“You know Jack’s signing with the Falconers, right?” Kent offers like the worst kind of olive branch, unintentionally telling Andrew exactly what he was up to during that stretch of time between New England games a few months prior. “It’s not public but it’s happening. Ink’s dry.”

“I know. That’s why I told you. It’s gonna be weird,” Andrew swallows, thinking about playing Providence in the coming months.

“Fucking right it’s weird.”

_________

For the most part, the Las Vegas Aces are decent, stand up guys. Even with the accusations of gambling debts and mob connections with the ownership group, Andrew’s never been asked to hit a certain player a little too hard, or to take a dive so the other team gets a shot at a power play. A lot of talk, a lot of conspiracies, ‘Typical Aces hockey’, but there’s no malice. Not really.

Andrew thinks it’s hilarious he plays the game a lot like his estranged father, but he’s not a legend in the making, hell, at this point he’s barely regarded as more than a mid-level, reliable center that can bring home 40 points a season.

Carly whips behind Zimmermann’s back to clip his skate with a stick, dropping a ill advised chirp that sets every player in earshot on edge. Parse is close enough to catch the quiet slur, stiffening like he’s been hit, and Andrew watches Zimmermann recover quickly, steely and resolute. 

Jack has his mother’s eyes — not the warm brown Andrew catches every time he looks in the mirror.

“He’s a fucking goon,” Andrew breathes, gliding up to Jack’s shoulder in lieu of an apology. Zimmermann doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking to Andrew with the quiet rage of ‘who gives a fuck’. Andrew admires his commitment to the game. Coming back after so much, after so long, to willingly subject himself to the same kind of treatment that Andrew knows likely led to his original fall from grace.

“Hey,” Kent ducks his head as he slides up a little while later, mouthguard clenched between his teeth, and asks, “You see his twink?”

At Andrew’s obvious confusion, Kent jerks his head toward the glass behind the Falconers’ bench, to a raucous group of fans all sporting fresh Zimmermann jerseys. Andrew’s gaze drifts along the row of faces, lingering longer on the familiar, handsome couple beside the blonde young man. He may be imagining things — the stadium lights catching a bad angle —  but for the briefest moment, Andrew holds eye contact with his father.

“He’s cute, right?” Kent says bitterly, like he doesn’t have a partner of his own back home.

“Yeah, he is. You gonna do anything about the slurs, Captain?” Andrew counters, earning a stern look from Parson.

“I’ll deal with Carly.”

“Oh, you will? Because I’ve never seen you shut him down before.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Kent’s expression goes stormy, and he gives Andrew a hard shove before skating off to set up for the next shift. To his credit, he does grab Carly by the arm and tell him something that earns a look of displeasure from the larger man, but Andrew knows a verbal warning won’t curtail someone as dead-set in his conservatism as Carly.

The next play, Carly flashes Andrew a toothy smile over the lineman’s shoulder, as if they’re in on the same joke, and his vision goes red.

__________

__________

“Bad Bob’s outside,” Scraps rasps, like whatever brief interaction he’s just had has physically winded him. “He wants to talk to Flip.”

Andrew blinks up from the water bottle in his hands, previously concerned with the pink-stained gauze wrapped around his knuckles. A few of the guys start chirping, but most of them remain silent, still processing the fact that Andrew assaulted one of their own without clear motivation, in defense of an opponent.

“That’s what this was all about? You gunning for a trade?” Sorenson spits from his stall. “Needed to impress Bad Bob by beating the snot out of Carly?”

“Maybe I am,” Andrew sighs, pushing himself to his feet, wincing at the way his jaw aches from the few good hits Carly had managed to squeeze in before he went down. “What the fuck are you gonna do about it.”

_______

Andrew’s grateful he kept his skates on. He needs the boost of confidence that comes with the added height, especially when he finds Bob Zimmermann waiting patiently in the corridor like he’s just another staff member and not the second most recognizable figure in modern hockey.

“Hey kid,” Bob greets, casting an approving, overly-familiar eye over Andrew’s padded bulk and sweat-slick hair. “You can throw a hell of a punch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy beat the piss out of a teammate before. Off ice, sure, but never during a game.”

His accent is just as thick in private as every interview Andrew’s ever caught live — but his tone is unexpectedly warm, even grateful — when Bob laughs at his own recounting of Andrew’s assault attempt, the sound is light and joyous like nothing in the world comes easier to this titan of a man.

Andrew wonders if Bob can recognize the chin they share beneath a his playoff beard; if there’s any resemblance left in a nose that’s been reset a half-dozen times.

Andrew grew up loved and never wanted for anything. His step-fathers, both of them, had been good men who never left him looking for a father figure. It wasn’t until his twenties that Andrew even realized there was hole where his bio-dad should have been, and not just a regular hole, a yawning sinkhole threatening to devour his entire sense of self, because his biological father turned out to be a man he grew up idolizing as a personal hero.

He’s not mad at his mother, but when Andrew struggles to find his voice — which is bullshit seeing as he’s almost thirty-five and a god-damned professional athlete — he can’t stop himself from feeling like a misplaced child.

“Do you,” Andrew swallows, looking over Bob’s shoulder to see if anyone’s watching them. Finding they’re alone, he rallies quietly, “Do you know who I am?”

Bob’s jovial expression softens into something remorseful, but unfathomably kind. “I do, buddy,” he acknowledges, somehow squeezing three decades of affection into one term of endearment. “I’ve known for some time, now. The whole time, actually.”

That hurts more than expected.

“Does your wife? Does Jack?”

Bob shakes his head, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Alicia knows, and Jack has some idea he’s got a half-brother, but it’s all in the abstract. No specifics. Definitely doesn’t know you play. I wanted to respect your privacy and your mother’s wishes. She let me know she’d told you the truth a few years back and I wanted to give you the space you needed if you decided to reach out. When you didn’t, well, a man makes assumptions.”

Andrew looks down at the concrete beneath his skates and sniffs hard, fighting nasal drip from the smelling salts he’d needed in the third period; or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. “I had a plan, back when — ” he stops himself, looking down at his skates. Bob’s eyebrows lift in curiosity, leaving room for Andrew to gather his thoughts, but he doesn’t take the bait, unable to bring up what could have been just yet. Bob seems to grasp the context after the moment.

“2009,” he acknowledges softly. “Hell of a year.”

“Yeah. It was. Is he okay?”

“What, Jack? He’s leagues ahead of where he was then —”

“No, I mean, tonight. Carly clipped him pretty hard before I got in there.”

“Oh, a little bruised up, but he’ll live. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Okay.”

Andrew looks down at his bandaged fist and realizes he’s completely forgotten how gnarly his face must look.

“Trainer says I’m alright, but I’m gonna get leveled with a wicked fine, I know it.”

“Was it worth it?” There’s a look of guilty pride on Bob’s face, like the man’s enjoying himself a little too much when he leans in and whispers, “You just did something I’ve wanted to do since Jack was in mites. Fucking lay out one of those fuckers that’s got nothing better to do than bitch because they can’t play,” there’s a moment of hesitation, as if he’s worried about pushing a boundary, before he adds, “How’d it feel to look out for your little brother?”

Pride, it turns out, in contagious, and Andrew feels like he could go back on the ice and do it all over again. “Pretty fucking great,” Andrew can’t help a smile, wincing when the gesture pulls at his split lip.

Bob slaps a hand on Andrew’s shoulder pads, then gets a grip on the back of his head, heedless of his sweaty hair.

“Crisse, you’re a fuckin’ beaut, kid. I’ve wanted to tell you that for years.”

Andrew can’t blame the smelling salts anymore.

__________

Jack clearly doesn’t see his father standing there with red-rimmed eyes, or Andrew in an equally unkempt state, and has no reason to think anything untoward has happened when he offers a handshake and pulls Andrew into a hug, bouncing his free fist off the back of Andrew’s pads. “I owe you a drink,” Jack says decisively when he pulls back, shooting a grin between his father and Andrew. “Can’t believe you did that.”

“More than a drink, I think,” the blonde guy Andrew saw behind the bench pipes up. Jack’s ‘twink’. Boyfriend. Whatever. “Dinner at least.”

“A pie,” Bob suggests tightly, keeping his voice even as he turns to quickly scrub his fist over his eyes. Andrew recognizes the statuesque woman who strides up beside Bob, and one quick look tells him she definitely knows who he is.

“Hello, Andrew,” Alicia greets softly, genuinely. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” he says, the tightness in his throat coming out as gruffness rather than emotion. “This is great, but I should go shower and, uh, it was nice meeting you all.”

Bob’s hand whips out and fists the sleeve of Andrew’s sweater, keeping him in place.

“You have plans tonight?”

Andrew debates lying, because he doesn’t know how to move forward from this point, but they’re all looking at him. Waiting. Expectant. There’s too much at stake, and yet somehow — A sharp whistle drags Andrew’s attention back to the locker room. Kent is peeking his head out, and god knows how long he’s been eavesdropping.

“Yo, Zimmermanns. Bittle.”

“Parson.” The blonde says curtly, earning a wry smirk from Kent.

“Flip, we got a presser if you feel like putting a bow on the evening,” Kent’s gaze drifts to Bob’s flushed face, and he adds, “Or, you can shower and slip out the loading bay while I cover for your aggro ass because this is not going to be fun. Your call.”

Andrew looks at the small family surrounding him, his family, and says, “I don’t want to explain.” Kent shrugs and ducks back inside while Bob’s brow furrows in confusion. “I can do dinner, but I don’t want to,” Andrew holds his hands out in front of him, trying to gesture what he means, and Bob snaps his fingers in understanding.

“Ah, ha, I got you, kid.”

“Neat. I’m gonna go shower.”

“We will be here when you’re ready,” Alicia offers. “Take your time.”

“Oh, I will,” Andrew replies before he can stop himself, cringing the second his back is turned because what the fuck could he be any more awkward?

Time will tell.

_____________

.

[theringers]

V-card anon: hi sorry about that first ask i kinda went into a fugue state (spelling?) altered state of reality maybe when i wrote that and damn near outlined a fic in your inbox

The way we played hot seat was either part of a larger drinking game when a certain card was pulled from a deck, or just on it's own. You sit in a circle, everyone has a drink, usually a beer or cider. In the card pull version, the one who pulls the card gets asked a question by every person playing and if they refuse to answer they drink from their drink. In the standalone, you do that but everyone gets a turn being asked until people get bored and leave. Fun way to find out shit about people. Usually the unwritten rule is that you can't lie. I imagine everyone sitting on shitty chouches and chairs in a semi circle around a table full of cups and bottles playing it

Questions i have been asked: are you a top or bottom? Do you like anal? Wheres the weirdest place you've fucked? Body count? Favorite position (sexual)? Fuck marry kill/ignore people in this room (EVERY TIME I PLAYED I GOT THIS QUESTION)? Tits or ass or other? Favorite non sexual body part ex. Thigh? Ideal fuck buddy? Sex regrets? Etc

Also more weird details i have head cannoned out for some drivers and most likely does not fit with irl personalities, do with this what you will, use it or don't i just have feelings. Also everyone is like compressed in age to like 20-27ish except for some of the grid who i will just think of as younger alumns who come back:

Danny R: social chair, owns a jeep he takes the doors off of in the summer, walks girls home at night to make sure they're ok, tries to DJ house events and is rebuffed by literally everyone, has like 30 pairs of vans you trip over in his room, stolen roadsigns everywhere, masters in something arigcultural or physiological, cutoff frat shirts for days, fuckboy but nice, a bit cringe, will drive around with you at night so you can scream, met reader bc she had a band tee on and wanted to talk to her about it (no gatekeeping)

Charles: some kind of engineering or math degree but no one has any idea how the fuck he's gotten so far, 4.0 never studies, games with other house members, will show up at events randomly you will have no idea how he gets on your couch but he is there, the best and worst taste in clothes, is the only one allowed to play the piano in the house, sweet, cannot help you with studies but is always down for helping you out after, has to be reminded to clean stuff, disaster bi, reader met his gf first and they probably met through that

Pierre: good fashion and music taste, shirt is gone halfway through the night, also fuckboy but wholesome, actually studies, plays a sport for sure probably soccer in some way either club or Division he's too good for rec, will hold your hair back so you can throw up, will tell you your outfit sucks, good at math, also part of the squad that games, econ major, workout buddies with reader anday have taken a math class together

Max: is part of the hockey team he will go pro, also actually studies, got into gaming because of Charles, has the nicest car, is serious until he gets a couple drinks in him, he and Daniel are close and roomed together at some point, owns like 30 sets of the same outfit a white tee and jeans, knows reader through Dan and they get dragged by him to some of the same stuff

Lando: is a pledge or new member his big is Carlos, undeclared major, just happy to be here, gaming squad, used to play lacrosse or something equally obscure, king of knowing where the good snacks are, weirdly good at beer pong, growing into a fuckboy wholesomeness level tbd, probably sweet with reader as she helped him through a blackout or something, met her because she's basically house mom for some of the new boys (the kind of mom who will teach you to do laundry or iron ONCE)

Carlos: hockey flow but does not play hockey, actually studies and is smarter than what people give him credit for, came from a private high school and uni really opened his horizons, also good study buddy, gets along with most people, goes to office hours the most out of the actually studies gang, fun at parties, owns the frat dogs, he and reader met at Office hours (they were the only students) and found they had mutual friends too

Lewis: is/was president of frat, great grades greater bod, did full evolution from fuckboy to good man, has the back tests and the moral support, up for late noght talks about life, definitely was a D1 athlete, best fashion game, implemented no hazing policy, fits into notable alum or PhD category

Mick: undergrad like Lando, also plays soccer or something, too sweet, also walks girls home/holds your hair back etc, cleans parts of the house that aren't his responsibility, higher alcohol tolerance than you expect, everyone is bizarrely protective of him, legacy member (his dad was a legend), drives a motorbike around campus and can't decide between law and psychology, actually studies, met reader through the frat and she would die for him, brings her to class on the bike sometimes because the bike is faster

George: business major, frat treasurer, three ring binder business casual in class kind of guy, nice enough, shirt comes off when drunk, runs marathons and a podcast about investments, best notes in the game and great study partner, actually studies, is drinking monster at 6AM but not because he stayed up late, he and reader met through the frat and sometimes drink wine and bitch together

Lance: hockey player, legacy member, studies sometimes, sarcasm on point, great at stack cup, very chill, knows every good nap spot on campus, also has high alcohol tolerance, is the kind of person who does well in the cold but does not like it, wears headphones so people don't talk to him, great one on one but not in crowds, business major and minor in computer science, probably also met thru Lance's gf but vibe as more introverted people and will cover for each other if one does not want to go out

Nicky: a good boy, part of the walks people home squad, sets up designated drivers for parties, good snack game, future in medical field, good listener, pretty good study buddy, midnight snack enabler, met reader through frat and his gf he and reader are on babysitting duty together sometimes when others get too drunk/high

Yuki: also a pledge or new, majoring in games or computer science as they gave me the same energy as him, games squad, bit of a mad lad, has several stolen street signs, good, met reader through frat and Yuki is the only one patient enough to explain some games to reader, they cuss people out on mic

Esteban: good man, has a full ride scholarship, actually studies, also good study buddy, Dan's little, plays soccer but maybe on a rec team because he prioritizes school, very sweet guy as well, probably chose a really practical major/dual major, met reader through Dan and are also dragged similar places by him

Antonio: manbun, philosophy or classics major possibly business dual, generally good natured but can be seen supplying his own wine at parties, used to be really into metal but kept the hair, does not know that people find him attractive, soccer boi, met reader through frat and she's the only one who will (pretend) to listen to him rant about philosophy

Alex Albon: another full scholarship guy, somehow gets along with everyone, switched majors due to an asshole professor, electrical engineering or computer engineering, actually studies, helps with frat pets,will show you pictures of his cats at home, sweetie, another contender for will hold your hair or walk you home, probably met reader through a class or club and found they had mutual friends and that reader is friends with his gf

Notable alums:

Checo - dad, successful in finance somehow (he looks like an really successful accountant of CFO to me idk why)

Kimi - dad but people forget he is, holds the record for most drinks in 24 hours that will never be come close to by anyone else, shows up on random alum weekends with 2 kegs, legally cannot tell you what he does or he would actually have to murder you

Valterri - was good at a sport when he was there, now a very effective lead engineer at an architectural firm

Seb - environmental or mechanical engineering, all around good guy with someone the best grades in frat history

Alonso - legendary for sexual exploits (consensual)

Anyone I put as actually studies is probably the type reader would hang around for more serious stuff/schoolwork and would probably be closer to, with the exception of Dan bc I feel like he'd be like we're friends now :)) we shall hang or Charles bc he will just show up. I also imagine she has a pretty good friendship with any existing gf, however if a driver does have a gf and he is the love interest sorry bb girl u gotta go for the purposes of this fic

Sorry this is so long hahaaaaaaa glad you liked my Charles thoughts ilu

i honestly wasn’t going to share this like the rest of the anon asks i’ve gotten that i keep close to my heart but this was just too good to keep to myself.

LOOK! AT! THIS!

f1 drivers as frat bros/college students headcannon

i’m writing a series - each “chapter” will be a smut with a different frat bro and i’m hoping to post a sneak peek this week some time but here’s something to hold you over and give you some ideas

to my vcard anon - i appreciate this so much. my inbox is always open for ur thoughts bc they are SO GOOD !! can’t wait for you to read the first part of the series bby

PS if some of this doesn’t make sense to u feel free to send in asks (i know a lot of this is focused on american college culture so if u don’t get it i’m happy to explain)

[kevindayscrown]

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 7 Night Lights

(TW: Awkward first dates with Andrew watching from a distance)

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Head over to the directory to find the previous parts.

Kevin knew that wherever they went in Palmetto, someone was bound to recognize either one or both of them. It didn’t matter where their date would take place, as long as people saw them.

He’d been to dates before. With Thea, after he left the Nest and whenever the two of them had time. It had been less than ideal. But, being the only experience that he had, Kevin used it as an example and booked a table at a restaurant.

It was obvious that Eric was hesitant about it but he agreed nonetheless.

“I think I might have a suit buried somewhere.”

Of course, he had to book two tables, seeing as Andrew and Neil would be joining them. He’d told Andrew that he didn’t need a fucking chaperone, but Andrew had ignored him completely.

Eric offered to pick Kevin up at the parking lot, half an hour before their reservation. Kevin had gone with the suit he’d worn at the last banquet, figuring this wasn’t something he should put too much thought or effort into.

Kevin realized, upon meeting with Eric in the parking lot, that he had had a different idea.

Suit brand new, hair brushed back, freshly shaved, the goaltender looked less like the jock he was and more like the proper date for someone like Kevin.

That thought made Kevin halt. Obviously, his ideal date would have been a woman. Obviously. He wasn’t even attracted to men.

“Come on Day, give me that one million-dollar smile all those fans of yours go crazy over,” Eric said and laughed as he opened the door so that Kevin could get in the car.

Kevin simply glared at him and got in the car. As Eric closed the door, Kevin watched Andrew and Neil heading over to the former’s Maserati.

“This is going to be a long night,” he muttered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The restaurant was packed, which made sense since it was Sunday night. Their tables weren’t as close to one another, which Kevin was grateful for. He sat down across from Eric an picked up his menu.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment all night?” Eric asked once they’d ordered.

Kevin looked at him and put his hands down on the table. He found himself wishing he had the puck, which had proven to be quite useful as a stress reliever.

“We have nothing to say.”

“I thought you loved hearing yourself talk.”

Kevin narrowed his eyes at him, but decided to let it slide. He almost clenched his left hand again but Eric reached for it and stopped him.

“I told you not to do that.”

Kevin would have pulled away, but the warmth of it reminded him of their night practices, when Eric would take his hand and guide him forward on the ice.

He wasn’t sure if Andrew would come out of nowhere and use the table knife to stab Eric’s hand, but they’d made a new deal and Kevin hoped he would keep it.

“Day, relax. You are too tense. We are supposed to be on a date, no?”

“Why are you enjoying this?” Kevin finally asked as he stared at him, although he tried to not let his anger show.

Eric looked surprised by the question, but quickly shook it off with a shrug.

“I don’t care what people think, Day. They can make assumptions about me all they want. That’s on them. I just want to have a good time.”

He said it so casually, that Kevin was almost jealous of it.

“Are you-,”

“Gay?” Eric completed the sentence for him and then shrugged his shoulders a second time. “I don’t like labels. And I’ve never thought about it really. I’ve only ever dated girls but honestly, who knows?”

Kevin stared at him as if Eric was speaking a foreign language but said nothing else as their food arrived. Eric pulled his hand away; Kevin’s own almost instinctively reaching for it until he forced it to stop.

They ate in silence.

Eric shifted in his seat when they were done.

“I have an idea. But you’ll have to trust me.”

Kevin didn’t like the sound of that so he only arched an eyebrow at him.

“Look, no offense, but this is kinda boring and I want both of us to enjoy this. Plus, we may manage to get rid of your legal guardian over there,” Eric said as he glanced at the table where Neil and Andrew were at.

Kevin thought for a moment but nodded. They both insisted on paying but eventually settled with each of them paying for what they’d ordered.

Sneaking out of the restaurant without being seen was easier than expected, but perhaps it was because Neil and Andrew unexpectedly ended up having their own date, which kept Andrew occupied.

Eric wouldn’t tell Kevin where they were going, but Kevin was just glad to be out of there and not have Andrew on his back, watching them.

The building they stopped at was not enough on the outside to alert Kevin of what was waiting for him. Eric looked excited, which scared Kevin further as they made their way inside.

“Seriously? A public rink?”

Children yelling and laughing as they slid and fell across the ice, couples holding hands, groups of friends messing around, amatueurs holding onto the ledge. It was loud and busy.

Eric grinned at him. “I brought our skates just in case,” he said as he held up the duffel bag he’d taken from the trunk of his car.

The goaltender seemed to know his way around. He found them lockers after talking with some people he was quite friendly with and Kevin removed the blazer of his suit and the tie, shoving them inside, with no care whether they’ll get wrinkled.

Eric handed him his skates and as Kevin put them on, the other reached forward and undid a few buttons from Kevin’s shirt.  

“It’s not ideal to skate in this but let’s make the most of it.”

People in and out of the rink instantly recognized them as they slid on the ice. Kevin told himself that that was the only reason Eric reached to take his hand again.

“Relax,” he whispered in his ear as he leaned closer to him. Feeling Eric’s warmth breath against his skin in an otherwise cold room made Kevin shudder.

He turned his head to look at him, but almost fell back at how close their faces were. Thankfully, he had practiced enough to keep his balance.

Eric smiled at him and then moved forward, taking Kevin with him. Kevin tried to dodge all the kids and anyone who was in their way. Some would come up to him on purpose, introducing themselves, saying they were big fans. Kevin gave them all his flashing press smile, saying he was glad to meet them, while still holding onto Eric’s hand.

“If you’d excuse us, we are on a date,” Eric eventually told yet another person who had approached them. Despite the words, the way he went about it reminded Kevin of how calm he was on the rink during games.

People mostly left them alone after that. Kevin was grateful for it. Sometimes, he got too lost in the persona, in the ‘who he was supposed to be’ that he lost the meaning of what he did.

Besides that, however, Kevin realized that he was genuinely having fun. The two of them would challenge each other as to who would skate a certain number of circles faster, and in the end, they’d banter about it while still holding hands.

Kevin forgot which part of it was an act and which was real, the lines blurred.

It dragged on long enough that they’d have to leave because the rink was closing for the night.

“The night doesn’t have to end here, you know?” Eric said when they were both in the car.

Kevin smiled. It was a genuine smile, nothing more than one of the corners of his lips quirked upwards. But it was still there.

“No. No, it doesn’t have to end here.”

[lovenhlboys]

From A Distance (E.Pettersson X Reader)  

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Get added to taglist

A/N: Hellooooo there!!! here is the next chapter, sorry it took me so long, I hope the others will not take nearly as long!! anyways, I really hope you like it and lmk what you think PLEASE!!! Also biggest thanks to Ash cause like, why not, she’s helped me with this and literally everything😂😂

ALSO this one is from both of their POVs, so the change in POV is signalized by:

Y/N= regular ELIAS= italics

(any other info is on the masterlist)

Warnings: lots of cursing, mentions of Pretty Little Liars, another attempt at Swedish (if its wrong pls lmk) I think thats it, if you think I missed a warning please inform me!!! 

Summary: Brock has a plan... he executes it.

Word Count: 2.7k

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< ———————— >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

---------------

PRESENT (thoughts) ---------------

For you, your hardcore crush on Elias was very secretive. Only you, Quinn, and Marky know about it and you are not about to tell anyone else. Elias, he’s so funny, his humor is the exact same as yours and he never fails to make you laugh, even though he barely talks to you. He makes fun of your brother, just like you, and is extremely quick-witted with his comebacks.

And as for Elias, he's the only one who knows about his feelings, because he has worked hard to suppressed them. She has the best laugh. Elias tries his hardest to make her laugh whenever he can because every time he hears it makes his chest fill with warmth.

He has the best style and it’s so fun to see what he wears. Every once in a while there are a few questionable items, but overall, he always looks great. You love to see that he’s willing to take those fashionable risks. It’s better than what every other hockey player wears. The go-to of shorts and a t-shirt with a beanie. 

She looks amazing in everything that she wears without even trying. She could be in a dirty sweatshirt and sweatpants and he would still think she was the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. Her hair, her shoulders, the curve of her hips and back, all of it was perfect. But his favorite thing had to be her legs, they went on for days and the contour of her muscles was so beautiful to him. Safe to say any day she wore shorts, Elias had to try extra hard not to stare.

He has the most beautiful face you've ever known. His jawline was immaculate, like nothing you'd ever seen. His light golden blonde hair was so unique and it reflected the light in the prettiest way, at every angle. His smile, while dorky, was also something you couldn't stop yourself from staring at, always making you smile too, at how adorable he looked when he was happy. 

She is totally off-limits.

He doesn’t like you.

---------------

PRESENT

---------------

You loved your brother, but my god could he be stupid sometimes. He’d texted you TWENTY minutes ago to meet him in the break room and he still wasn’t there. You’d texted him 7 times and he hadn’t responded. You had started to text him an eighth time when the door opened.

“There you ar- Oh. Hi Elias, what’re you doing here?” instead of your brother, like you had thought, it was the gorgeous swede, wearing a pair of glasses that complemented all of his features, a light blue sweatshirt, a backwards snapback, and a nice pair of black sweatpants...needless to say he looked quite sexy. Especially compared to you, you were wearing one of Quinn’s Canucks sweatshirts (that you definitely didn't steal), leggings, you had your hair up, you didn't have any makeup on so you looked, well, not sexy (in your opinion).

“Uh, hi Y/N, um is Brock here?” he asked as he closed the door behind him and looked around the room.

“No, he told me to meet him here like 20 minutes ago and he still isn’t here,” you said.

“Weird, he told me to meet him here like 15 minutes ago,” Elias explained.

You shake your head and laugh, knowing exactly what’s happening.

“What?” he asked, reasonably confused as to what’s going on.

“Elias can you do something for me?” you asked, he nodded. “Go try and open that door, please,” you instructed him.

He walked up and just like you were thinking, the door didn’t move.

You laughed again then shouted, “OH, FUCK YOU BOESER!!”

“What’s happening right now?” Elias said tugging at the door still.

“Brock is a FUCKING CHILD is what’s happening, he locked us in.”

“What? Why?”

“Who knows?” you, that’s who. You knew precisely why Brock would want to lock the two of you in together. Because his best friend didn’t like you and he wanted the two of you to get along. You pulled this trick on Brock and his friend Julia, in high school when they had a big fight. 

“Well, how long will he keep us in here?” Elias questioned.

“Why, do you have somewhere to be?” you asked him.

“No, I’m just wondering.”

“Don’t want to be alone with me that long?” You said with a laugh, even though you weren’t joking (he didn’t have to know that).

“What? No, why would you think that?” he seemed genuinely upset at your suggestion.

“I don’t. It’s just- never mind” you stopped yourself.

“Y/N, what is it?” he pushed.

“I don’t know,” you said, then you gave in to his request, “it’s just that you never want to be alone with me, and you never talk to me, I just assumed you didn’t like me”

Elias let out a loud laugh and sat down next to you on the couch, “Why wouldn’t I like you? You’re my best friend’s little sister.”

“Well let’s see the evidence shall we…”

You went on to describe the events of the summer party at Bo’s house in August of 2019. The night you felt confirmed your suspicions that the swede didn’t like you. 

---------------

FLASHBACK

---------------

It was early August so you were wearing a white short-sleeved blouse with pink flowers, and a white denim mini skirt. You and Brock had arrived late because Brock was trying to get his hair all “floofy and perfect”

As you walked in, you said hi to everyone, made your rounds of greetings. Once you finished, you ended up right where you thought you would, talking with Thatcher and Troy. As you were talking, you made eye contact with Elias across the room and waved at him. But he didn’t wave back or smile or nod like you were expecting, he rolled his eyes and turned around.

---------------

PRESENT

---------------

Elias stopped you there

“Wait wait wait, that’s is not what happened” he dismissed your details of the story.

“Yes, it is! I waved and you looked so annoyed!” you insisted.

“Ok, this is what I remember...”

---------------

FLASHBACK

---------------

Elias was talking to Brock about God knows what. Brock was in the middle of talking when he glanced over and saw Y/N, Troy, and Thatcher all talking to each other. He was looking at Troy who was pointing at Y/N and Thatcher making kissy faces. Implying what he was afraid of: Thatcher and Y/N were together in some way. So yeah, he rolled his eyes and turned around, because he was a little hurt and a lot jealous. (though that's not exactly what he told you)

---------------

PRESENT

---------------

“I rolled my eyes and turned around because I thought It was so ridiculous to think that you would ever like Dems,” liar, “like I thought Stech was being stupid, that would make no sense YOU liking HIM,” he laughed, he’s a lying liar who lies. Though he did think that wasn’t even possible. Having seen how annoyed she gets around Thatcher now, the thought that she’d ever like him in a way that was anything more than ‘annoying friend that I have to deal with’ Seemed inconceivable. She is so far out of his league it’s not even funny.

You didn’t say anything, just looked down at your feet. The boy you have a very hardcore crush on right now is talking about his good friend that you had a minor crush on back then. 

Elias could apparently tell you weren’t telling him something “...Y/N”

“Mhmm” you hummed, still no eye contact.

“What is it?”

“Uhh, so, here’s the thing,” you said sounding quite guilty, “I may or may not have, you know, hadacrushonthatcher… back then” you mumbled.

Elias was silent for about 5 seconds and it felt like you had died and come back to life within those seconds. “I’m sorry, did I hear that right?”

“I don’t know,” you turned to the door, “hey Brock, now that you’ve humiliated me, may we leave? I would like to go home and wallow in my self-pity.”

“No, wait Y/N. It’s fine, why does it matter? You don’t like him now?” he correctly assumed.

“God no, ew,” you scoffed.

“Ok, so why does it matter?” he genuinely wanted to know.

“It doesn’t, I guess. I just don’t want you to think I like him is all” God he’s going to figure it out.

“Yeah, no. I’ve seen how annoying he is'' Elias replied. Thinking the only reason she didn’t want him to know was that you liked a certain friend of his. The other Swede in the group. Since the incident at Brock and Y/N’s place, he has come to learn that they aren’t together, he’s familiar with the term “cuddle buddies” now which doesn’t make any sense. But he can’t deny how Y/N and Jacob act around each other. Sure, Quinn explained that they don’t think of each other as anything more than that. He even said that Marky goes on dates all the time. Even still, he knows he’ll never be the one Y/N has her eyes on, and even if she went crazy and did think of him that way, he could never act on it. Brock would kill him, and as he keeps having to remind himself: his friendship and on-ice chemistry is too important to risk. 

“Yeah well, Marky’s great too,” he said, pulling your attention from the way he looked in those glasses, and that hat...damn.

“...Yeaaaah?” you said, suddenly quite confused as to where he was going with this. You nodded your head, wordlessly telling him to continue.

“And, uh, I think he’s great… really…. great'' he almost seemed annoyed by what he was saying. More importantly, you were extremely lost.

“Elias, stop being vague. You're confusing me,” you said plainly.

“What Y/N, do you not know what I'm getting at?” he said, assuming you knew what he meant, continuing to stay all vague and Swedish.

“Obviously not,” you rolled your eyes and looked back at his still annoyed face.

“You and Marky? I think he's great...you know…” he paused and took a deep breath, then mumbled, “for you”

You burst out laughing, “Elias Fredrik Pettersson”

“Fredrik?” he whispered to himself with a smirk at the way you said his full name.

“I’m not dating, nor do I want to date Jacob Markstrom.”

“Yeah right,” he said in his classic sarcastic tone. 

“I don't! Our personalities clash so bad! Have you not noticed that?” you shouted trying to make it clear to him.

“I mean, I don't know” his face was turning red at his seemingly wrong and laughable accusation.

“Ok, Elias, look at me,” he did with his goddamn beautiful eyes, “Think about it,” you told him.

And he did as you said. 

---------------

FLASHBACK

---------------

One night, in particular, stood out, it was about 4 weeks ago and the Canucks were on the road. Quinn and Elias were sitting on Quinn’s bed. The door burst open, Y/N ran in, Jacob following close behind. 

Y/N sat next to Quinn and tucked her head into his neck.

“Woah, Y/N/N what’s wrong?” Quinn held her head and hit pause on the episode of Pretty Little Liars they were in the middle of watching. Elias turned and watched the events, knowing he’s most likely going to just be an observer for the rest of this interaction

She pulled her head out of Quinn’s neck. At this point all of them were sitting up, Jacob on his bed, the other three all on Quinn’s, “Marky is an ASS,” she said, looking directly at Marky.

“I am not, she’s being a drama queen,” he defended himself.

“I’m sorry have you met her?” Quinn laughed, “She’s literally the complete opposite of a drama queen”

“Fine, ask her what happened then” Jacob gestured at Y/N.

“Y/N/N” Quinn asked her to continue.

“Well” she started, “this dumbass Giraffe tried to get me to talk to the ever so beautiful Gabriel Landeskog.”

“How is that so horrible, he’s such a nice guy?” Jacob seemed genuinely confused.

“I’m not social Marky!! I don't do that, he so hot and I looked like an idiot.”

“No, you didn’t. oh my god,” Jacob said, rolling his eyes. “du är precis som Elias (you are just like Elias)”

“aj (ouch)”

“God, I hate it when you guys do that” Quinn whispered.

Y/N continued, “JACOB, I said, and I QUOTE, ‘Woah, damn’ and then stood there staring at him like an IDIOT”

“You did not?” Quinn said, laughing.

“Huggy, I swear to god, I will slap you” she turned and looked at Quinn with legit murder in her eyes.

“Ok, but yeah, Marky you don’t do that shit to Y/N. She’s just like me, we don’t socialize well.”

“I don’t get it, like I know you’d rather stay in when I want to go out, I just didn’t think it was this bad.”

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” she said, shoving her hands in her hair, “I looked so stupid. And did I mention HE’S HOT”

“Wow, you really have a thing for Swedes, huh?” Quinn quipped.

Her eyes widened. “Quinn Hughes, shut the actual fuck up” she shoved the giggling defenseman. Quinn just stayed laying down and continued to laugh, he then looked at Jacob with a knowing glance and a grin, and Marky giggled. Elias assumed it was because Jacob was aware of Y/N’s feelings.

Elias had been observing this interaction from afar, afar meaning about 2 feet away on the opposite side of the bed. He completely agreed with her, if he was shoved into an uncomfortable situation with someone he’s never met, he’d act just about as stupid as she did. And even he had to admit, Gabe Landeskog is hot as FUCK.

“Ok, Y/C/N/N, I’m sorry. But I didn’t know it was that bad. Side note, how come all of my close friends except for like 3 are super antisocial. I mean look in this room. You three are the exact same.”

“Wow… this right here, THIS is why you are only good for hugging” she gets up and walks over to the other bed where Marky is sitting.

“You’re so sweet to me, you know that?” sarcasm evident in his tone, he hugs her.

“Marky, you know I’m not sweet.”

---------------

PRESENT

---------------

Elias grinned to himself at that. She was right, she’s not sweet. She’s not mean but she surely isn’t sweet. Just like him. And she was the perfect amount of smartass, beautiful, loving, funny, antisocial, tough, and strong. She was literally everything he could’ve wanted.

Before he let himself get too lost in that thought of her again, he responded “ok, yeah I guess.”

“Didn’t Quinn tell you that I don't like Marky like 10 times?”

“Yeah, but I just- the way you guys act around each other. It just would make sense.”

“Well, now you know.”

Silence filled the room once more, you looked over at Elias. he was smiling and looking down at his hands. You continued to be mesmerized by just how beautiful the boy in front of you looked. With his backwards snap back and sweats, it seemed as though he had just thrown on a random outfit, and to anyone else that was probably what they would think. But that didn't matter to you, he was just so pretty and it filled your brain with too many thoughts. thoughts that you knew you shouldn't be having about him because he clearly wasn't your biggest fan. But that got you thinking even more (which is dangerous), he was acting different, it seemed as though he had let his guard down. He's never done that with you, in fact it felt like when you were around him, his guard was reinforced. He looked a little softer, sweeter, the guy you met at the Dice-and-Ice gala, you think. All you wanted was for that guard to stay down, giving you access to the guy you had a crush on, not just his hard outer shell. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< ———————— >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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[camilliar]

recs for someone new to omgcp

[February 2021.]

Reading, or not reading, OMGCP fics has come up in a couple of conversations I’ve had recently with artists newish to the fandom (ie. @jovishark; @decafffff), who are making OMGCP art (!!!) but haven’t started exploring fic -- but maybe want to? Which of course reminded me that I’ve never bothered to make an actual, concrete recs list for this fandom. So, I mean. Here is one.

The approach is, what do I think about when I think about OMGCP fanfic? What comes to mind, what stands out to me? I have excluded some very popular fics. Some of these I just don’t think are very good, and others I do think are good, and/or I enjoy them, but I don’t see why you’d need me, specifically, to recommend them. I am thinking of a story like maybe i’m waking up, which I discuss below because I link to a podfic of it. It has a lot of merits, to be sure, but it’s the second-most-read fic in this fandom by hits, and it’s got thousands of comments, and it’s by an author whose work is relatively widely praised and circulated. I am not sure what telling you more about this fic will add to the conversation; if you want to find and read it, you inevitably will. I’m happy to, say, answer asks about these kinds of fics, or talk more generally about them via DM or whatever. Feel free.

Also, I don’t think there’s a point to pretending to be objective about fanfic; this list has a perspective and that perspective is mine. In this fandom I largely read stories that navigate the tension around Jack, Bitty, and Parse, in various permutations. This is not to say that I’ve never read fic about the frogs, or that I have no interest at all in other pairings, but I am by no means an expert on Dex/Nursey and can really only speak to the one fic about them that sticks out to me because it goes beyond being merely Dex/Nursey and does something else. This is just to say that I am sure there are great and interesting fics about other things and ideas--but I’m not the person to hear about those from.

Likewise, I’m not super interested in stories that really reproduce that which is already in OMGCP. I like Zimbits--albeit maybe not in the ways or for the reasons most fans would--but I do not really need to see endless iterations of the same story about them falling in love and being cute together. I don’t think these stories are bad or they shouldn’t exist or that they have no merit by default. Still, I don’t need fanfic to give me more OMGCP. I need fanfic to complicate, to comment on, and to transform OMGCP. Many people don’t work like this! Totally okay! But I can’t rec you fics that do that.

What I have noticed, however, is that over time there appears to have been a shift in how people do write fic for this fandom. (Other than, you know, increases and decreases in activity pending the status of the comic, pairings going in and out of vogue, and so on.) Early on, say during Y1 and Y2, the comic was about the group of friends having a cool time at college together; about whether the burgeoning attraction between Jack and Bitty would manifest and, if so, how; and, especially, Jack’s past coming into fuller view for Bitty and how it would have to be dealt with in order for a relationship between them to work. YMMV on how great the comic executed there, but as Y3 went on these themes increasingly disappeared from the story. I think this means a lot of fic written over 2015-2016 or 2017 has one kind of tone, and was written mostly around these questions; after that, it feels like a new crop of writers and a new crop of ideas started circulating, that is, either embracing Jack and Bitty’s canon relationship and accepting its relative straightforwardness in text--or deconstructing it, imagining what readers aren’t seeing, or how problems not dealt with in the comic would manifest later. People who have read my fic know which of these I’m mainly interested in exploring.

All of which is to say, looking at what I’m reccing here, when the fics were posted or when I first read them probably has a lot to do with why they stick out to me so much. Because there’s no real culture of fanfic criticism--and I mean that in the positivist sense of broad evaluation not explicitly for fault and merit but rather, for context--I think it’s really hard to keep this in mind. But I’m obnoxious and I can’t just be easy about things.

Fic recs

In alphabetical order, somewhat unsorted; if a stand-alone fic has a summary I’ve included it, but in other cases I’ve recced a couple of conceptually related fics or series, which I’ve tried to just describe or explain as opposed to copying the summary off AO3.

There are so many more fanfics I think are great and worth reading! In an ideal world I’d come back and add more later, or create a secondary list that’s more along the lines of “if you like this, read these,” or whatever. But, being realistic, this is a starter kit. I’m open to talking about fanfic.

- - - - - - - - - - -

7-0-2 by Idday; Friends in Low Places and Sorry for the Blood in Your Mouth; I Wish it was Mine by blue_rocket_frost | I’m not sure it would be correct to say that I don’t like Parse/Tater, or that I’m not interested in Parse/Tater. I’m not interested in Patater a priori; I think it could be interesting, with teeth. These fics stick out to me when I think about this pairing, because they feel different. Accusations of a preference for just linking any two white men who happen to be hanging around have validity, but because of what hockey is and how it works and who’s hanging around it, it’s not exactly a leap to imagine what kind of gritty spark the friction between two closeted NHL players would create. A little violence in your sex? A little sex in your violence.

A Sight Worth Seeing by sadtomato | A four-fic Jack/Bitty/Shitty/Lardo explicit BDSM series. Either you want that or you don’t. It’s nothing hardcore, and not properly a four-way, really; more properly a kind of voyeuristic round-robin. There’s a more open and egalitarian view of sex here than I really get from the characters in the back end of the comic. It’s an expansive, propulsive view of sex and relationships that’s really nice to see. I love Lardo's detached coolness, and Bitty as a smooth operator; if you’re looking for some kind of Dom/sub dynamics world, this really isn’t it, but it’s a lively exploration into the sexual dynamics in a group of friends that’s super close to the good-times vibe you get from Haus scenes in the first couple years of extras.

call me son (one more time) by Summerfrost, Verbyna, and blithelybonny | This is a series, incomplete, and you will love it or be massively put off by it. I mean that as a compliment. I love it. The premise is, Bob Zimmermann and Kent Parson have been having sex since Kent was, like, 19. Everyone in this story has been chewed up: by themselves, by each other, by hockey. Plainly, this is a pretty bleak view of what OMGCP, as a story, is supposedly offering. If you want fic that is dark and glamorous, treading the toxic melange of substance abuse, sex-as-sublimation, and so much money you can’t possibly throw all of it away without trying, this series has that sick-inducing shimmer to it. But, again, its strength is its examination of Kent Parson, textually and meta-textually, as someone to be projected onto. Bob, Alicia, Jack, and Bitty all impute certain feelings of their own onto him, displacing their own issues to a character who’s centralized in every fic but defies neat or total comprehension. Some critiques I’ve read of this series feel it’s too dark, and I’ve also seen it argued on FFA that an overwhelming amount of praise heaped onto these stories has made it tough for other writers to make headway in writing Bob/Kent fic. But I’m also not sure you could engage with Bob/Kent fic without going down this road at some point? I’m sure there are ways to scale it back, but ultimately it’s a story about how hockey’s violent, homophobic, old-guard gatekeeping has continued to set the terms for a younger and ostensibly less toxic culture. I fully embrace PWP fics that tread on the power dynamic without fully excavating it, but buried within any PWP is the fact that a 53-year-old man is ensnaring a 19-year-old, no matter how much the latter is, realistically, into it, and legally empowered to consent. Not to mention the dynamics of it being a 53-year-old man who is the father of the 19-year-old’s ex-boyfriend, and a 53-year-old man who is an eminence grise in the field the 19-year-old is trying to make a career in  The sexual element--the vaguely incestuous nature of it--is making textual the subtext of how hockey works, actually: objectification of teenage bodies as older men’s capital.

Coach Z by thistidalwave | Just before the 2009 NHL Entry Draft, tp prospect Jack Zimmermann overdoses on his anxiety medication and is admitted to rehab. His future turns from a clear-cut road to the top into an uncertain path filled with therapy appointments, ignored text messages, a group of boys who aren't there to teach him a lesson about himself, and, of course, hockey. | I keep reccing this fic because it has 360 comments on AO3 but nobody, as far as I can tell, has ever read it; it never appears on rec lists. This isn’t the kind of fanfic I usually go in for, but I can’t help being charmed by it. This is a character study in the truest sense, a kind of Mighty Ducks-but-better view on what Jack’s time coaching peewee hockey might have been like. I have no interest in kids and my own aesthetic is maybe a little darker than this, but I admire this story because it injects vibrancy into a period of Jack’s life that OMGCP has left largely unexplored, and so has the fandom. We know nothing about what made Jack want to go to college, nothing about how he spent his days in between juniors and Samwell. It posits a very sympathetic and patient Jack/Parse dynamic, showcasing the exact kind of ragged teenage push-and-pull that would have led to the circumstances we see in Parse I-III. The outside perspective Jack needs is largely present in an OFC who’s not a love interest. Super unique, somehow both engrossing and low-key.

#dirtbags by angularmomentum | A series that is a Kent Parson/Claude Giroux fuckfest with feelings. I’ve long suspected that Parse is popular in part because he is the character who most easily elides OMGCP with the actual NHL, or rather, NHL fandom; I think he made it appealing to write OMGCP fics where the NHL is a factor. Case in point, this series, which is basically “what if Kent Parson was a real hockey player and therefore part of NHL RPS”? I have only read some NHL RPS, so I’m not the person to assess accuracy, but what I do know is superstar IRL hockey players take turns here as the caricature fanfic versions of themselves, and since Kent Parson is already that, it’s great how seamlessly he integrates into their social fabric. Rambunctious energy peppered with regret and loss, but ultimately this series is farcical, and it doesn’t take its sentimental ending too seriously--which, good.

fated to pretend by nighimpossible | 5 Jack/Kent fics that Ransom and Holster dramatically reenact for the Haus + the truth. | As a fic format, 5+1 doesn’t usually work for me, but this one isn’t just front-loaded with five too-knowing vignettes; it then wraps up by using its +1 better than you might expect. Sometimes I talk about economy of fic, and this one exemplifies it. A zero-waste fic.

go ahead and move along by originally | "Leave, Parse," Jack says. Again. Or: Kent finds himself stuck in a time loop. | Kent Parson is trapped in a Groundhog Day scenario on the day of Epikegster. I’m sure you can imagine, just from that, what happens. And yet I think this fic is super entertaining, reserving some key surprises. What this story is doing is something a lot, and perhaps even the majority, of great Jack/Parse fic wants to do: digging into the question of just why this can’t work in comic canon. Most often this is approached from the past, by writing teenage Jack/Parse deep-dives that examine their lives mid-juniors, or by writing AUs where enough circumstances are shifted that it does work, or via future fics that posit enough growth has happened, and enough things have changed. But this fic makes Parse live the same bad day again and again, testing multiple theories about just how dependent on circumstance and incident real life actually is. Another day, another tone, 10 minutes sooner, not at all--you just can’t know why it didn’t work until you exhaust every possible variable. I worry that this rec has sucked the life out of the story, though--it’s so fun!

I Saw a Life and Strange Lovers by @bluegrasshole | Most AUs in this fandom seem to retell the story in a new setting or with some big detail change, following OMGCP’s rhythm beat-for-beat. I think of this as, “It’s the plot of Check, Please, but” -- they’re doing high school football? They’re acrobats? They’re a/b/o? They’re in a DIY punk band? And so on. These two stories are not that! They’re both 1950s AUs, each deeply felt, and yet hugely different from each other. I Saw a Life is about displacement and fragmentation, two sides of a similar but incongruent social critique; Strange Lovers is a finely wrought social drama about coal mining in Nova Scotia in the 1950s, centered around historical events. I suppose a theme on this rec list is something like, “I don’t even like this, but” -- yes, okay, I don’t even like Dex/Nursey, but--! This fic is so overwhelmingly complete, the AU laid out so carefully that the story breathes with all the background details informing the writing that aren’t actually, in the story; you just know they’re below the surface. (With the exception of one investigation of Jack’s character in a short, separate fic.) I Saw a Life, meanwhile, really tests the limits of the notion that Jack and Bitty are soulmates--not by calling it into question but by asking, rather innovatively, how the setting and place of the comic itself activates that.

Les Hivers de mon enfance by staranise | What do you do when hockey is the language of prayer for your soul, and also the toxic thing that almost killed you? 2009: Jack Zimmermann takes a mental health year. God knows he needs it. | Here’s a fic by someone who’s no longer around so much, but she felt ubiquitous in 2016-2019 OMGCP fandom. Before any of that, though, she wrote this one lovely fic about Jack’s pre-Samwell recovery. The author is Canadian and really irritated by hockey culture, and I think this fic benefits greatly because she is clear-eyed about Jack’s being caught in an exploitative system; it’s hockey he’s in recovery for, in a way. There’s an epistolary element that works for me, too. I read this early on in my time in OMGCP fandom and it really stuck with me.

Lysistrata? I Hardly Know Her! (by which I mean everything) by @tomatowrites | It feels somehow like cheating to recommend OMGCP fanfics by my OMGCP BFF with whom I make an OMGCP podcast where we talk about OMGCP. You know the fics I really want to rec, like truly the ones that speak to some kind of shared depravity, are the ones where Jack is miserably mpreg for the second time and accidentally lets his kid see Kent Parson’s Long John Silver’s shrimp scampi promo spot, which obviously would get twisted into a self-hating three-way. How many times do I have to rec this fic? As many as I need to, is my feeling. If you don’t know, Long John Silver’s is an American fast-food chain that sells, like, fried pollock sandwiches; it is nautical-themed; I have never eaten there; I don’t know where there is one; I don’t eat fried fish. (Shrimp, on the other hand?) All of which is to say that it takes a real genius to investigate a premise that far out. And while a lot of people almost certainly will start reading this humanity’s depths-themed sex scene and back the fuck out, readers with refined taste will note that Kent, the point-of-view character, is right there with you, despairing that he can’t help himself. And so long as you’re in that story collection, honestly, you’ll love petite gems like Jack is transmasc, Jack and Shitty play hockey in 18th-century England, and oh, right, he’s from Georgia. Tomato holds the distinction of being probably the gamest author I know in this fandom, just really like fearless in her pursuit of any range of concept she’s pushed to. (I can push her to?) See, for example, a sublime bandom AU; Bitty is cancelled for buying a maybe-unethically exported Roman fragment of a youth’s torso; or, god, the masterwork that is this future fic series where Jack keeps relapsing and Bitty exiles him to their guesthouse. Do I think you need to read a fic where Bitty is snide about the teen prostitute whose baby they’re adopting? Yes, I mean, he would be snide, don’t tell me he wouldn’t. I could go on, but my main thing here is, if I have to pick just one, I’m going to pick this Lysistrata fic. The premise, literally, is that Bitty reads the Lysistrata and it gives him ideas. Like most of Tomato’s OMGCP fic, it’s a stripping away of the comic’s polite fiction that Jack and Bitty could possibly attain the ideal it reaches in the comic without some kind of messy, efflusive breakdown. Life is like that, you see! Tricky. Like a lot of people, although it’s tough to say precisely how many, I have always intuited that maybe Bitty is kind of a natural top? But obviously when you meet him, as a literal virgin, it’s hard to see how he’d go from zero to self-actualization so neatly. This fic floats a theory, and it has a fun little side plot for Whiskey, something I never thought about or needed before Tomato built it out herein. In conclusion, BONUS: Dex’s gay lobster novel.

only fools rush in and the light of all lights by decinq | This person wrote of the nature of the wound, one of the early, formative Jack/Bitty fics that was oft-recced when I was getting into the fandom in 2016. It forms part of a larger series that deals deeply with how Jack has been shaped by his struggles (? I hate this word) with homophobia and his own mental health. It’s a picture of the character as you might have imagined him much earlier in the comic’s run. The formatting is atrocious and he author’s flair is what Tomato would call “AO3 house style.” It’s a voice that works great for her writing. I think it’s at its best in these shorter fics; the former is about Parse and Shitty stumbling into a relationship almost accidentally; the latter, an eerie PBJ vampire fic. I had begun writing a fic where Parse is a vampire early on in this fandom, only to read this and immediately quit, because you only need one, and this one’s all I need. The Parse/Shitty rare pair fic shares its exuberance with hockey RPS when it’s good: here’s how fun it can be when you’re young, rich, and jocular. And I don’t even like accidental marriage AUs, they’re usually boring, so that says a lot. By all means, read the wound fic; read the entire series. But these are highly unusual.

OVERDOSE and Oomph and a little spin-o-rama by jedusaur | None of these are long, or plotty, and they’re all a little experimental. OVERDOSE is an AU set in a world where you know how you’ll die, but no details; Oomph, a little fic where Jack hears hockey pucks talking to him. This is the kind of stuff I used to think I’d find in fandom forever, coming out of Lotrips lurking in the 2000s: short, zany bursts of energy that surprise and delight. a little spin-o-rama peers at Kent’s character through the grim reality of being the hypertalented superstar stuck on a dead-last team. All three are sparse and stylish in a way that’s really smart, practically economical.

Sowing Season by @agrossunderstatement | Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. Kent Parson's life, from the Q, through his early years with the Aces, to Jack's senior year. Canon divergent. A story of love, loss, moving on, regressing, hockey, and found families of all kinds. | Effectively a novel, digging into Kent’s personal history, mostly concerning his life in juniors but expanding into his present, overlapping with the plot of OMGCP. I think there is room enough for endless speculations on what went down pre-canon; this one offers a fuller life for Kent than nearly any others, digging into him as a whole person rather than as a satellite to Jack or the plot of the comic. Which isn’t to say that the Kent/Jack stuff isn’t dealt with here; it explicitly is. But the fact of Kent Parson’s life, if we can begin to imagine it beyond mere text, would exist before, after, and alongside Jack; he gets to juniors without Jack, presumably, and he is the captain of a hockey team without Jack, and Pinkerton lays the foundation of Parse’s character within a junior hockey that Jack also inhabits, more so that Parse existing for Jack, so to speak. And I’m not implying this latter tactic is wrong; I have certainly employed it, and others have employed it to great impact and effect. But, still, the title of this series tells you what you ought to know: Kent and his story are the potentiality of OMGCP, up to a point; seeds being planted. Young hockey players, similarly. The question implied there is, what will be reaped? And the answer to the latter, in a sense, that reaping is a sort of violence. Which makes this series sound pretty heavy, but it’s not -- more like, realistic.

(tell everyone) you were a good wife by @queerofcups | The biggest problem with pretending that he doesn’t know that Kent Parson is fucking his husband is that Jack can’t tell Kent how grateful he is. | The ne plus ultra of PBJ triangulation; I’ve been squealing to the writer about how good it is since August, begging for behind-the-scenes insights, and I’d only do that if I really meant it. The precarious social fabric stretched across these three chapters is fraying before the reader’s eyes. The details are delicious, and I don’t want to spoil them, but they sing in chorus with the plot. My favorite OMGCP fics, honestly, remove the romance narrative guardrails that keep things in the comic itself humming along. I think Dann’s take is to ask who in this comic has power and what they would end up doing with it. (Or not doing, from another angle.) At one point, early on in its telling, OMGCP looked like it was going to be a story dealing with the compounded traumas of hockey’s discontents. Then, of course, it wasn’t. This is a fic that steps back and asks what the fallout of that oversight would be. But that’s just the moldering core of this fanfic; it’s actually embroidered, like I said, with glittering detail. The color of the suit Bitty wears to his wedding is burned into my brain. The gray manicure of a woman Jack knows. The ingredients in a cake. This is one of those fics I still haven’t reviewed because the thought of stacking everything I could say about it into mere AO3 comments is inadequate.

when you’re ready by megancrtr | The Aces’ director of communications gets the call at 3:13 a.m. Jack Zimmermann has withdrawn from the draft. | “What happened at the draft” is so mythological it gets asked in the comic proper, and I’ve never counted how many fics attempt to answer this question--from Kent’s point of view, even--but it’s gotta be, oh, hundreds. This story replays the situation from the perspective of an Aces staffer who just wants to do her job, and gets at the jarring discordance between the plot of OMGCP in its quest for social justice and the business of actual hockey. Important context is that this story was written around the time the comic was playing out the end of Y3 and start of Y4, and Bitty pointedly asked Jack the question, “why can’t we?” This story reframes the question as literal, rather than rhetorical. A sterling example of fanfic being a gloss on its source.

BONUS, podfics

hockeyed up | There are many things on Jack's mind. Namely: hockey, hockey, Bitty, hockey, anxiety, hockey, hockey, anxiety, Bitty, hockey, hockey, anxiety, and hockey. | A fic read aloud by its French-Canadian author. Also a relatively early OMGCP fanfic; composed while the first semester of Y2 was posting, the story suggests a version of OMGCP that was in some ways more and in other ways less complex than what it would turn into not long after. The real power of this podfic, however, is that it’s read by the writer, so you can hear the intended emphasis in every line. Also, because she’s French-Canadian, Sophie’s intonation is what I picture when I read or write dialogue for Jack.

maybe i’m waking up | It’s almost funny. All he ever wanted was to play hockey, to play in the NHL, to win the Cup. This—Samwell, the team, the Haus—was supposed to be just a detour, but now it feels more like a destination he failed to realize he’s already reached.(Or: Jack signs with the Falconers, graduates, and leaves. It's the hardest thing he's ever done. What comes after is even harder.) | Don’t get too excited; this isn’t finished. A podfic of probably the best-known, most-recced fic in OMGCP fandom. Striking for its use of metatext woven into the story, this is one of several early longform Jack/Bitty fics that posits that maybe Jack has a lot more development to undergo before he can really, truly, be okay--or be okay enough to be with Bitty? To be honest, this story strikes me now as too long, but the parts in it that work are effective beyond that which fanfic demands. Meanwhile, this audio version only covers six chapters, but it’s so slick, so well-realized, so true to the story. Podfic as art.

my own dear friends | Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.) | There’s previous little Jack/Shitty in this fandom and a lot less quality BDSM,

the city’s ours until the fall | Kent has been, historically, good at this—forgetting about things until suddenly he doesn’t, and then it’s like the scar has never been there in the first place, just the wound. (Or: Kent Parson lets himself be happy, after all this time.) | I’ve never read this fic and I never will. I cannot imagine how, no matter how good it is, it could compare to the version that lives in my head, with Kent’s voice so totally realized. Vocal fry and pathos, a languid energy that I still think about when I think about Parse.

the model home | It’s going to be better, and that’s great, but sometimes Jack thinks, why can’t it be good right now? | j/k j/k, this is a self-reminder to finally one day review this.

[morningfears]

Drag Me Down

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18!

Summary: You and hockey player!Calum have an interesting relationship. Is it flirting? Is it harmless fun? Regardless of what it is, it landed you an ice skating lesson that ends in so much more than a new skill. (Featuring prompts [yes, I’m still writing those] 1 and 3 for @thesubtweeter​ | Semi-public sex? (I mean, the rink is empty but in an ice rink)

Word Count: 6k

As unusual as it was, even for a Saturday morning, the campus ice rink was empty. It sat devoid of life and silent, save for the sound of your shoes hitting the concrete floor, and you clutched your jacket a little tighter to your body as you felt a chill rush over you. Though you’d only been in the building a handful of times, and only ever on game days, it was cooler than you’d ever felt - something you attributed to the lack of occupants milling about the vast space - and you almost regretted the outfit you’d chosen for your meeting (you weren’t sure that you could call it a date, though you desperately wanted it to be one) with Calum.

You felt slightly self-conscious, dressed in a black skater skirt with a white t-shirt tucked in and a jean jacket a friend had painted for you thrown over top, and wished you’d gone for something more practical - like jeans, maybe a nice sweater - but when you spotted Calum leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs, you didn’t have much time to agonize over your decision. He was dressed comfortably, in a pair of black jeans and the green Empathy hoodie you longed to steal from him, and watched as you crossed the empty space to meet him. It was then, the look he gave you - a slight raise of his eyebrows, a quick swipe of his tongue over his lips, a ghost of a smirk - that made you decide that, no, you didn’t regret your choice at all.

You wouldn’t admit it, not out loud, but if it got Calum to look at you like that, you would gladly put up with any amount of frozen limbs. 

You felt a slight charge in the air as you approached him. It was an ever present tension, always there whenever you were around Calum, and it was almost too much for you to handle. The air felt thick with electricity, an underlying current that made your heart begin to beat just a bit faster and the butterflies begin to swirl in the pit of your stomach as goosebumps pricked at your skin. It was instantaneous, the only response to his gaze you seemed to be capable of, and you were both aware of it.

Your head felt muddled with too many thoughts, all of them about Calum, and time seemed to slow as you closed the remaining gap between the two of you. You finally stood close enough to smell his cologne, a scent so heavily associated with Calum that you’d never again be able to smell it without thinking of him, and lost yourself in your proximity.

You hated the effect that he had on you, that he was able to turn you into a lovesick fool with one glance in your direction, because you honestly had no idea where you stood with him. Some days you imagined he liked you as much as you liked him, that he caught a whiff of your perfume and felt his heart pound in his chest and his cheeks heat with a bright pink flush. Others, you wondered if he was just enjoying toying with you because there was no way he could be as interested in you as you were in him.

On those days, the days where your thoughts ran in an unpleasant direction, you reminded yourself that Calum wasn’t like that. Though he was one of your university’s most well-loved hockey players, one of the team’s stars since his freshman season, and a well-loved figure on campus, he was genuinely a good guy. He had a big heart, bursting with love, and would never string you along. 

Not when you made it so fucking obvious just how head over heels you were for him.

Although Calum was friends with almost everyone, and at least respected by those he wasn’t friends with, you never imagined that you’d find yourself counted amongst them. You ran in completely different circles, lived completely different lives, but the universe had thrown you together in Chemistry 101 and, well, who were you to question the universe?

You were almost ashamed to admit it but when you first met, on the first day of your chemistry lab, you expected Calum to leave all of the work to you. Although you found him attractive - your friends joked that they’d never seen you stare at anything that wasn’t a textbook that long - you assumed he’d be like everyone else, quickly realizing that you were a stickler for good grades and taking advantage of that. You assumed he’d be another asshole, ashamed to be seen even looking in your direction, however, you were sorely mistaken.

Calum was smart, brilliant, even, and driven. He worked just as hard as you did on lab reports and put in an equal amount of effort every time the pair of you put your heads together to figure out a new set of problems. You divided the out of class activities evenly and met an hour before lab to finishing compiling the work into one cohesive document. He took his studies seriously, just as you did, and you felt guilty for assuming the worst.

What made you feel even worse, though, was that you’d assumed the worst of him as a person, too.

You’d been paired with athletes before, football and basketball and baseball and soccer players, that were all incredibly difficult to deal with. They never spoke to you unless it was to ask for the answers to the online quizzes and you felt certain that Calum was going to be the same. But, to your surprise, he was incredibly easy to get along with.

He was quiet for the first few classes, observing you as you worked and only really commenting on the lab work, but when he figured you out - you later realized that that was what he’d been doing, deciphering you as if you were some sort of puzzle - he threw you for a loop.

Your relationship began with teasing remarks, little jabs here and there about how cute it was to hear the good girl swear when you made a mistake or how much he liked flustering you whenever he sat a little closer than normal, and pet names. You wondered, briefly, if those were just because he’d forgotten your name but that thought was erased when he wrote it at the top of a lab report before tossing it into the pile on the professor’s desk.

He’d been doing it for months and though you couldn’t exactly say you’d gotten used to it - hearing him call you ‘pretty girl’ or tease you for saying ‘fuck’ wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you got used to -, you’d come to expect it. His words still made your heart race and your face heat, especially as he seemed to grow bolder and bolder with each week that passed, but you knew that you’d miss whatever the pair of you had the moment it was gone.

You wanted to believe that he was genuinely flirting with you, that the compliments and pet names meant something, and that he had a genuine interest in you but your insecurities sometimes got the better of you and you wondered if he just enjoyed watching you trip over your own tongue whenever he got particularly bold. He could’ve had anyone, anyone at all, so why would he choose you?

But, as you attempted to ground yourself in the present, you realized that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask that question and risk putting an end to him doting on you. So, whatever it was that linked the pair of you, you resigned yourself to simply settling in for the ride and letting whatever was going to happen, happen.

And spending the day alone with Calum was what was happening.

You liked to believe that ending up in an empty ice rink with Calum was the universe, once again, meddling in your life. You hadn’t planned this, you’d intended to spend your day off on your couch with a bowl of popcorn and a bad movie, but those plans had gone up in smoke (not that you really minded) when you mentioned wanting to learn to ice skate as you and Calum waited for your professor to hand out the week’s lab assignment.

He’d spotted the bruises on your knees from a fall you’d taken at the roller rink, a collision with an overly ambitious teenager, and spent a solid few minutes teasing you - “You sure that’s what happened? Hm. If you say so, pretty girl.” - before accepting your explanation. As your cheeks burned from the insinuation (and the few fantasies that managed to nestle into the darkest gutters of your mind), he’d asked, “Do you just roller skate or can you ice skate?”

When you lamented your inability to ice skate, or inline skate, and expressed a desire to learn, Calum wore the brightest smile you’d ever seen. It was beautiful, truly happy and almost giddy with excitement, and you committed it to memory without even noticing. “Meet me at the rink on Saturday,” he instructed, “I’ll teach you.”

You were rendered speechless, surprised that he wanted to spend time with you out of class, and didn’t register that it wasn’t a question (though you both knew your answer would’ve been yes if it was). You nodded dumbly, too awed to dwell on the fear you held for ice skating, as you watched him take the assignment sheet from your professor. “I’ve got a friend who has some skates you can borrow.” He paused then, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling into a smirk, before he added, “This’ll give you an excuse to hold my hand.”

Though he said it jokingly, you both knew that his words held nothing but truth; you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to touch him - or have him touch you - and here he was, handing it to you without a second thought.

The moment you left lab that day, you were a mess of emotions. You were ecstatic, thrilled to be seeing Calum outside of class, and surprised that he wanted to see more of you. But, beneath your excitement, you were petrified. You always had an out, a solid limit to the amount of time you spent together, and you were worried that with no clock ticking away the minutes, you would do or say something that broke whatever spell Calum had to be under. You were nervous, unsure of what you could talk about and what he was expecting of you. You were also nervous about being on the ice.

You knew that you were going to spend your morning falling on your ass, in front of the man who occupied most of your thoughts, as your balance was shaky even as you stood on solid ground. And this was the first time Calum would be seeing you outside of class and the occasional game. He was used to seeing you dressed down, casual and comfortable for a long day of classes or after work, so you wanted to make a good impression.

The knee high socks you usually reserved for street skating and the heeled boots that you’d only worn a handful of times weren’t exactly practical but practicality was not on the agenda for the day.

The silence between you only lasted for a moment but as your thoughts moved at the speed of light, it seemed to drag on forever. Calum took his time drinking in the sight of you, his eyes lingering on the exposed expanse of thigh, and you tried not to let him see how nervous you really were as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip and waited for him to speak.

“You didn’t have to get so dressed up for me.” His voice held the teasing lilt you loved to hear, an amused tone that told you he took joy in the way your cheeks heated and your eyes dropped from his chest to the floor. “But you look cute, pretty girl. I like the socks.” Your flush deepened as you snuck a look at him from beneath your lashes and caught sight of the smirk that looked like it belonged on his face. After a beat of silence, of waiting for you to retort with something witty - a feat that you had yet to manage, though you desperately wanted to throw him off his game at least once -, he reached into his bag and handed you a pair of skates. “Here. These should fit you.”

He watched, his eyes shining in the bright rink lights, as you studied the pair of strawberry red ice skates - Moxi skates, the same as your roller skates - in your hands. When you grinned, he breathed a quiet laugh before turning and gesturing for you to follow him down the stairs. You trailed behind him, your eyes on his back as he headed for the bench, and only sat beside him when he patted the wood to his left.

He dropped his bag to the floor and pulled out his own skates, the hockey skates he wore with a sturdier boot and blade than the ones you were borrowing, before making quick work of lacing them up. Lacing your skates was the only ability you felt confident in so you worked alongside him, your fingers yanking the beige laces tight around your ankles, and failed to notice his gaze on you as you secured them.

“You could’ve had me on my knees.” When you shot him a bewildered look, your eyes wide and lips parted in confusion, Calum grinned and gestured to your skates. “I was going to be chivalrous and lace up your skates for you but it looks like you don’t need me,” he teased, a laugh leaving his lips as he watched you return to the task at hand and tie your laces in a bow. “But that’s alright. I can still dream of getting you on your knees.”

You bit your lip, cheeks burning as you chose to ignore Calum’s teasing words, and shook your head to clear it as you pressed your feet into the floor to test the fit of your skates. “Lacing skates is the easy part,” you answered with a shrug. “It’s, well, everything else that I’m worried about.”

As he always seemed to do, Calum continued on like nothing out of the ordinary had been said and nodded as he stood from the bench. “I would lie and tell you that I won’t let you fall but you’ve been known to call me on my bullshit, so, I’ll try my best not to let you fall. How’s that?” He offered you his hand, a laugh leaving his lips as you wobbled upon standing, and you did your best to hide the pout you knew was coming.

“Doesn’t really make me hopeful that I won’t be leaving with a sprain of some sort or maybe a sliced off finger,” you mumbled, hands still clasped in his as you tried to find your footing on the mat by the bench, “but I appreciate the honesty. Alright, let’s do this. The faster I fall, the less afraid I’ll be. I think.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” Calum began, his hands loosening their grip on yours as he took a half step back, “I could just let you go on your own, then. You could get a few falls in while I take a few laps and warm up.” He offered a nonchalant shrug, sparing a quick glance out at the ice, but you could tell that he was joking by the look in his eyes when he met your gaze once more and how his grip on your hands loosened but didn’t let go completely.

“Absolutely not.” You tried to sound stern, firm in your insistence that he remain by your side, but the words came out in a laugh as you tightened your hold on him. “If I go down,” you began as you lingered near the entrance to the ice, “I’m taking you with me.”

Calum laughed at your comment and shook his head as he watched you stare out at the ice with a concentrated frown on your lips. That was still fairly new, you were still finding your footing when it came to teasing him back, but it was welcome. He enjoyed it almost - but not quite - as much as making you blush.

He’d asked, as soon as the comments and little jabs started to veer into flirtier territory, if they made you uncomfortable. You’d assured him that they didn’t. When he asked for your permission to keep the comments coming, to keep flirting and teasing, you gave it to him enthusiastically.

You wouldn’t admit it, not out loud and not to Calum, but you loved the feeling his teasing brought you. You loved the burn you felt in your cheeks and the butterflies you felt in the pit of your stomach. You loved the way his shoulders lifted and he smirked after making you look away or lose your train of thought. You loved being left speechless, unable to do anything but giggle or bite your lip, and you knew that Calum loved it, too.

It was the best part of your week, and his, and you were both content with it being nothing more than a bit of fun - for the time being, anyway.

“If you wanted me on top of you, all you had to do was ask. Would’ve been much easier than all of this,” he said, gesturing out at the ice as he sent a teasing wink in your direction. He bit back his laughter as your gaze dropped to your feet and stepped out onto the ice, your hand still firmly in his grasp.

“Who says you’ll wind up on top?” It was said beneath your breath, a huff of words that you didn’t even have time to think about until they were already out of your mouth, but Calum heard you loud and clear. He raised his eyebrows, surprised by your retort, and laughed as he watched your eyes widen and your mouth drop open. “I… that’s not what I, I didn’t mean - fuck.”

“You didn’t mean fuck? Sure sounds like you did.” He knew what you meant, the smirk on his lips told you as much, but he was clearly enjoying watching you attempt to clarify your words. When you opened your mouth once again, only to find yourself unable to speak, he shook his head. “Relax, pretty girl.” His voice was soft, soothing but with an underlying hint of amusement, as he gestured for you to step out onto the ice. “I’m just messing with you. Come on, out on the ice. Don’t go stiff. Try to relax and don’t watch your feet.”

You tried to push the burning embarrassment you felt out of your mind as he pulled you out onto the ice, your hands intertwined as he skated backwards. He remained quiet, his eyes trained on you as you furrowed your brows in concentration and desperately tried to remind yourself not to stare at your feet. You tried to watch him, instead, and tried to copy his footwork but he made it look so effortless.

You struggled to stay standing and you were certain that you were holding Calum’s hands tight enough to cut off the circulation but he didn’t seem to mind. “Keep your knees bent and try to put your weight on the balls of your feet,” he instructed as he watched you attempt to shuffle your feet.

Calum bit back the teasing comments he wanted to make as he watched you attempt to keep your balance. You looked so focused and desperate to get it right that he didn’t want to shake the little bit of confidence you were managing to build. Instead, he said, “You missed the game last night.”

You nodded, slightly distracted as you tried not to lose your balance, and offered an apology. “I was planning on coming but I had to fill in for a coworker. Didn’t figure you’d miss me.” You shot him a smile, glancing at him from beneath your lashes, and he shook his head fondly.

“Can’t help it when the loudest supporter in the building isn’t here,” he teased. You felt your cheeks heat and you dipped your head to return your gaze to the ice as you allowed him to continue pulling you along. 

It was no secret that you got into the games. It was almost expected that you and your roommate would be the loudest fans in attendance, ready to yell at any player or official or fan who stepped out of line, and he was right. It would be hard not to miss the pair of you. 

“I just get passionate, okay?” You huffed a sigh, pretending to be annoyed by his teasing, but you’d heard from a mutual friend that he loved the support - and hearing you curse when someone hit him a little too hard - so you kept it up. “And, I mean, I need to get my aggression out somewhere.”

“Aggression?” Calum raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing that you were capable of any real aggression - your rants were never truly aggressive, never really angry, and always adorable to him, anyway -, and laughed as he nodded. “Sure. You’re aggressive and I’m the Queen.”

“Nice to meet you, Your Majesty.” Your words dripped with sarcasm but Calum’s face remained impassive as he watched your lips curl into a pout. “No one around here appreciates my sense of humor,” you grumbled, more for the sake of saying something than to actually complain.

“Your sense of humor is comprised of the worst puns known to man, jokes that only you understand, and sarcasm that you explain so you don’t hurt any feelings.” You gaped at him, feigning offense though you knew his description was accurate, and tugged your hands away from his grip.

“Wow. Okay, well, I think that’s my cue to try and skate without you holding my hand, thank you very much.” It was a struggle to keep a straight face, especially when he smirked as you started shaking the moment you let go of his hands, but you tried your hardest as you focused on the ice beneath your feet.

“Have it your way,” he hummed as he skated just far enough away from you to be out of your reach. “This’ll be a good time to teach you how to stand back up.” 

“Are my puns really that bad?” You hadn’t moved more than a few inches as you wobbled on your skates. Calum remained close to you, always out of reach but close enough to move in if you really needed him, and laughed at your question.

“Yes. They’re shit. But they’re cute coming from you.” It was high praise coming from him - he gave compliments but they were often shrouded in teasing jabs - so you took it for what it was and grinned at him. However, before you could thank him - and maybe tease him for liking your awful puns - you felt yourself beginning to fall.

“Don’t flail,” he reminded you as he moved closer to reach out and grab your hand and stabilize you. “You’ll break-“ Before he could finish his sentence, your panic took you both down.

True to his prediction, Calum ended up on top of you. He reached out to keep the full impact of his weight off of you and you both groaned as your back - and bare legs - hit the ice while his hands hit beside your head. You were both quiet for a moment, taking in the shock of the impact, before he laughed. “Don’t land on your hands,” he instructed you. “You could break something.”

You barely heard the words that left his lips. You were more focused on the fact that his lips were inches away from your own. He was checking to make sure you hadn’t hit your head, his hand freezing as he grabbed your chin and lifted your head to look him in the eye, but nothing - not even a potential concussion - mattered when you could feel his weight on you.

“You could at least pretend that you’re not enjoying this.” It was a joke, the words laced with the teasing lilt you would never be able to disassociate with Calum, and it was said as he shifted a little closer to you. You held your breath and let your eyes slip shut, waiting for him to lean in and press his lips to yours, but after a moment of silence, you had yet to feel anything.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with sight of Calum smirking at you. “We should get up. Don’t want you to freeze.” It took everything you had not to scream in frustration as he pushed himself to his feet and steadied himself before reaching out to help you up.

Calum didn’t hesitate to laugh at the pout on your lips when you finally managed to get back on your feet. You weren’t happy with him, clearly, but he loved seeing you squirm as you shied away from his gaze. He wanted to leave you in suspense, to make you wait until the very end of the lesson, but you’d suffered enough. He knew that your legs were going to be bruised - just as your ego already was - so he gave in. “Come here, pretty girl,” he laughed, using his hold on your hand to pull you a little closer to him.

You kept your hopes to a minimum, half-convinced he was teasing you yet again, but to your pleasant surprise, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. It was a quick kiss, a barely there press of his lips against yours, but it was enough to send your heart rate skyrocketing and set your blood on fire. Your skin burned where his fingers touched and you found yourself warm for the first time since you stepped foot into the rink.

All too soon, the kiss was over. Calum pulled away from you and grinned at the way you blinked away the stars you’d seen. He gave you a moment to compose yourself before he released his hold on your hands and began skating away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Your voice had a whining tinge to it, more desperate for his touch than you would like to admit, and you couldn’t seem to stop the words that were spilling past your lips. “We were in the middle of something!”

“You catch me, you get another kiss. You came for a skating lesson, didn’t you?” 

You both knew that you wouldn’t have said yes solely for the ice skating lesson and you both knew that you wouldn’t have worn the outfit you did without reason but it wouldn’t be Calum if he gave you what you wanted without getting something in return. So, you nodded.

Your pout slowly faded as you attempted to follow Calum around the rink. He never strayed too far from you, just far enough that you couldn’t reach out and touch him, and made conversation as you grew more confident on your skates. The pair of you talked about school and music, about movies and plans for your holidays. You asked about his friends and him about yours. It was casual, the easiest conversation you’d had in years, and you didn’t want it to end.

However, you finally saw an opening and decided that you’d rather return to the conversation later than miss your opportunity to kiss Calum again.

He’d been consistent in his speed, moving slow enough to remain near you but fast enough to put distance between you, but found himself slowing as he got lost in the conversation. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to notice how close he was but when you finally did, you grinned and moved in to grab his hand.

“I caught you!”

Calum glanced down at your hand in his and smirked, shaking his head when he realized that you had, in fact, caught him. “Well, I’m a man of my word.”

Just as he had done earlier, Calum brought his hand to cup your cheek and leaned in to press his lips to yours. This time, you were prepared. You pressed closer to him, desperately wishing you could feel his body heat, and lost yourself in his embrace. As your hands moved to tangle in his hair, his hands moved to grip your hips. He pulled you closer to him, pressing you tight against his body, and deepened the kiss.

You would’ve been content to remain there forever, desperate for a breath of fresh air but unwilling to take it as that would mean parting from Calum, but he knew that would be a disaster waiting to happen. It was hard enough to keep you both balanced, he didn’t think he could manage with even more of a distraction. So, he pulled away from the kiss and grabbed your hand.

Calum pulled you across the ice without a word, his hand warm in your own. You wanted to ask what he was doing but found yourself unable to speak. You felt tongue tied and fuzzy headed so you relinquished your control to him. When you made it back to the bench, Calum took a seat and pulled you down onto his lap. He immediately returned his lips to yours as his hands slipped beneath your jacket.

You sat there for what felt like a lifetime, your hands tangled in his hair as his moved from your waist to brush the tops of your thighs just beneath your skirt. You were content to remain there, just kissing him, but Calum had other plans.

Calum lifted you from his lap and gestured toward your skates. It took a moment for you to realize what he meant but when you saw him untying his own, you followed his lead. You made quick work of unlacing your skates and returning to cover to the blades before passing them to Calum. He shoved them into his bag, alongside his own, before he stood from the bench and slung it over his shoulder. He reached out a hand to you and guided you through the rink to the locker room.

It wasn’t ideal, and definitely not what you imagined your first time sleeping with Calum would be like, but you didn’t really have it in you to care as he dropped his bag onto the ground and crowded you against a set of lockers.

You didn’t care if you were technically in a public space where anyone could interrupt. You didn’t care that your body ached from your fall earlier. You didn’t care that the metal of the lockers dug into your skin.

The only thing that mattered was the feeling of Calum’s lips on yours, his hands on your skin, his body pressed against yours. You couldn’t focus on anything in particular, not when the feeling of Calum was so overwhelming, so you stopped trying to make sense of anything that was happening and just let yourself enjoy it.

You tugged at his curls as his hands dipped a little higher beneath your skirt. “This okay?” he asked, his voice muffled against the column of your throat. When you breathed your consent, he hummed against your skin and let his fingers explore the expanse of your inner thighs before his thumb brushed your slit over your panties.

“‘M glad you wore a skirt,” he confided, his voice quiet as he pulled away just enough to get a look at your face. “Makes this easier.”

“Glad I didn’t wear shorts under it,” you agreed, voice breathy and high as you gripped Calum’s biceps when his fingers nudged your panties to the side.

Calum didn’t bother to retort as he teasingly dragged his fingers along your slit. You took the time to return his kisses, pressing your lips to his neck and nipping at his warm skin. You felt like this was a dream and hoped desperately that you wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

Calum took his time teasing you, brushing his thumb over your clit and rubbing barely there circles before moving away. You weren’t surprised, it was just like him to tease you even as you were willingly giving him whatever he wanted, but you were frustrated as you begged him for something more.

He pressed his lips to yours to silence your begging - and the moan that he knew was inevitable - before he slipped a finger into your heat. He took his time, far longer than he should have given your location, working you open. You were grateful for his kiss as it kept you from making far too much noise as he worked his way to two fingers and began circling your clit with his thumb.

“Are you sure you want this?” He wanted to be sure, certain that you really wanted him, because no amount of flirting and teasing equaled consent.

“Yes, Cal. Please.” Your words came out as a whine, your lips parted as your hands desperately clung to his biceps. He nodded, glad that you were so enthusiastic, before he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled away to grab a condom from his bag.

It only took a moment for him to slip inside you. Once he bottomed out, he stilled for a long moment to allow you both time to adjust. When you started shifting, desperate to feel him, he began to move. It felt like hours passed, feeling Calum fill you in the best way, but you had no way of telling how much time passed as you felt yourself barreling closer and closer to your end. With his thumb on your clit and his lips on your neck, you found yourself unable to do anything but breathe his name.

Your orgasm hit you harder than any other ever had. You imagined it was the build up, the months of verbal foreplay that made the reality that much sweeter, and swore you saw stars as you cried his name. He followed after, his hips stilling against yours as he rode out his own pleasure, and he remained still against you as you both worked to catch your breath.

“That’s definitely not how I expected to spend my Saturday,” you informed him, your voice breathless as he pulled away from you and helped you steady yourself on legs that felt like jelly.

“If telling yourself that helps you sleep at night…” Calum tossed you a wink, his cheeks flushed from the exertion and his hair slightly damp with sweat. “But I don’t hear any complaints.”

“Shut up,” you huffed, biting back laughter as you adjusted your clothes. “No complaints, other than how sore I’m going to be tomorrow. Don’t know if you know this, but ice is really fucking hard and leaves a bruise when you fall on it.”

“Seriously? I had no idea. Come on,” Calum nodded toward the exit, his arm moving to wrap around your shoulders as his other held his bag. “There’s a diner near here.”

“Isn’t this a little backward? Sex and then a date?”

“Who said anything about a date?”

When you fixed him with a look, your eyes conveying the panic you felt in that moment, Calum grinned. “We’re not doing anything out of order. What do you call the skating lesson? Give me a little credit, pretty girl.”

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, Cal,” you huffed, your arms folding over your chest as you let him lead you out of the building.

“Get out of your head and live in the moment. Be aggressive.”

You huffed again, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as you reached out to playfully whack his stomach. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You have no idea, pretty girl.”

____________________________________________________

Author’s Note: .....this got way long. Anyway. I had an idea and ran with it. I really want to go ice skating, my dudes. And hockey!Cal just....does something to me. Also the inspo for this. Oof. I’m sorry.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!) : @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985, @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @mindkaleidoscope​ , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog​ , @333-xx​ , @thesubtweeter​

[jaskierswolf]

Born to Make History Pt. 1/3

Summary: Jaskier is preparing for his first Grand Prix Final. He's skating to On Love: Eros and his routine tells the story of the seductress that woos a certain silver haired hockey player. The only problem is Jaskier can barely stay on his feet whenever Geralt is in the room.

An Ice Skating AU (With Yuri on Ice references but you don’t need to have seen it)

Geraskier - AO3 __________

Jaskier cursed as he felt the edge of his skate catch the ice. He landed ceremoniously on his arse. The take off into the quad salchow had been perfect. He’d gotten enough speed and height as he hugged his arms to his chest as he span in the air. He’d spread his arms wide for the landing but his fucking skate had hit the ice wrong.

“Shit!” He groaned as he went flying across the ice on his butt. “Fucking, cock, balls!”

The grand prix final was flying towards them at breakneck speed and he was beginning to flail. No one had expected him to qualify this year. It was his fifth year in the senior division and whilst he’d done well in regionals and nationals, he was still trying to break into the international league, and this was apparently his year.

“Julian!” Yennefer snapped as she skated over to him. “What the fuck was that? You can land a Salchow in your sleep!”

Yennefer Vengerberg. The bane of his life, otherwise known as his coach and choreographer. She’d also hooked him up with a ballet teacher, Triss Merigold, and he had never been so elegant on the ice. She was still the bane of his life. She was an incredible teacher and was in her prime the best female skater in the world. She’d retired from competing three years ago following an accident on the ice that had injured her spine. She was no longer allowed to make the jumps but her skating and step sequences were still to die for.

She was also insanely strict and honestly scared the shit out of him.

“I fucked up the landing.” He moaned.

“Yes.” She said with a quirk of her eyebrow. “I can see that. Do it again.”

Jaskier scrambled to his feet and skated a loop around the rink to find his feet again.  He would have some lovely bruises but everything seemed to be in order. His ankles weren’t damaged which was the main thing. He sighed as he closed his eyes, picturing the music in his mind as he ran through the routine just before the quad salchow. He licked his lips as he took a deep breath before pushing up off the ice.

He soared through the air as the music sang in his head and then landed perfectly. He grinned and moved through onto the next part of the routine.

“Not terrible!” Yennefer called which was Yennefer speak for actually pretty damned good.

By the time he’d finished the routine he was panting slightly and there was a dull burning in his thighs. His butt was sore but that was probably more to do with his crash than the routine. He skated over to the edge of the rink and rest his arms on the side. “Better?” He asked Yennefer with a wink.

“Your triple axel combination needs work. Your arms were all over the place and would you please stop sticking your tongue out during the step sequences? You look like Roach.” Yennefer rattled off, counting each mistake on her perfectly manicured fingers.

Roach. That was her ex’s cat. He’d seen photographs whenever Ciri, her daughter, joined them at the rink. Ciri was an adorable young girl who was eager to join in once they’d finished up their practice. Jaskier would always guide Ciri around the rink by her tiny gloved hands and help lift her as she jumped from one foot to another. She had ice-skating in her blood. Her father, Geralt Rivia, was a professional hockey player and owner of Jaskier’s heart. Every time Geralt came by to pick up or drop off Ciri, Jaskier stumbled on the ice. He was just so gorgeous that Jaskier apparently lost control of his limbs and turned into a puddle of Jaskier goo on the ice.

He sighed wistfully as he pictured Geralt’s lovely amber eyes and shining silver hair. Of course he was an ice-skater. He even looked like he’d been blessed by some ice spirit or something. Jaskier had had many a dream about pair skating with Geralt, the feel of his strong arms lifting Jaskier high up into the air.

“Jaskier! Are you even listening to me?” Yennefer prodded him in the arm. She sounded completely exasperated, which Jaskier supposed wasn’t entirely uncalled for. He hadn’t been listening and he had no idea how long he’d been daydreaming for.

“Umm.”

“Give me strength.” She groaned and skated away from him with a roll of her eyes. “Can we go through it again with music? Lower the jump difficulty if you’re tired but I want to see your performance.”

He sighed and pushed off from the barrier, tossing his fringe from his eyes. “I. You… My, My performance is excellent!” He muttered.

“Your performance is shit.” Yennefer countered. “Remember your tongue is supposed to stay inside your mouth. Otherwise you’ll bite through it and I’m not taking you to hospital.”

“Urgh.” Jaskier groaned but moved into his starting position. “Just press play already.”

“Oh and Jaskier?”

“What?”

“Geralt is coming in with Ciri. Please do try and stay on your feet.” She smirked and clicked play. The strumming of a guitar filled the room as On Love: Eros began to play.

Jaskier stumbled over his first few moves. Stupid Yennefer and Geralt. He yelled with frustration as he settled into the routine. He knew this. He was good at this. The costume always helped his performance but he was Eros. He was great at seduction. He could charm just about anyone… who wasn’t Geralt. He moved with grace and elegance as he glided around the ice like the seductress that he was. In his mind Geralt was the playboy lover that had come to town and Jaskier was Yennefer. He would seduce the man who had stolen his heart. He had been doing it all season, not that Geralt had ever seen any of his performances but that didn’t matter.

He lowered all his quads to triples. They’d been training for hours and doing quads at this point was too dangerous. His muscles were tired and this run through was about the performance.

Seduction.

Lust.

Love?

The music stopped and the only noise that was left in the rink was the sound of his panting.

He’d done it.

“Yay! Jaskier!” Ciri yelled and clapped. He spun round to see her and Geralt watching from the edge of the rink.

“Oh fudge!” He muttered as he caught Geralt’s eyes. Oh good lord he was so handsome. At least Jaskier was already red in the face from his performance. He could pretend the way his heart was racing was solely to do with exertion.

“Jaskier that was amazing!” She shrieked and grabbed at the rails.

“Ciri, your skates aren’t tied up.” Geralt reminded her as he scooped her up into one arm.

Jaskier laughed and skated over to them. “Thank you, Ciri.” He smiled at the young girl. “Umm. Hi.” He muttered at Geralt a little awkwardly.

“Heard you got to the finals. Congratulations.” Geralt nodded.

“Ah yeah.” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thanks. What did you think?” He asked. “Three words or less?”

“Not bad.”

Jaskier pouted. Great. His first review from the unrequited love of his life and it was ‘not bad.’

“Right. Well.” He muttered. “Thanks for that.” He went to pushed off from the barrier but Geralt grabbed his arm. Jaskier’s eyes snapped up to meet Geralt’s. The blush on his cheeks only intensifying at the contact.

“It was good.” Geralt said in his gravelly voice that made Jaskier’s heart go wild.

God he should have chosen Agape to skate to. Never mind trying to seduce Geralt, he was completely gone on the man. “Oh.”

“I like the music.” Geralt continued with a slight frown.

Jaskier chuckled. “Three words or less, that’s four.”

“You skate beautifully.” Geralt smirked and Jaskier’s skate slipped underneath him.

“Oh sugar!” He groaned as he fell back but Geralt was still gripping onto his arm and he managed not to fall on his arse. “Shhh… Sherbet. Thank you, thanks.” He muttered. “I’m just… gonna.” He pointed to the other side of the rink where there was a gap in the barriers. “I think I’ve skated enough today.”

“But Jaskier!” Ciri whined. “You were going to help me with my toe jump.” She pouted at him with wide emerald eyes.

“Oh alright then. Get your skates on.” Jaskier bopped her on the nose.

“You don’t have to.” Geralt growled. “You must be tired.”

Jaskier waved his hands and scoffed. “Nonsense. I made a promise, Geralt.”

“Hmm. Can I join you?”

Jaskier’s heart stopped in his chest. He resisted the urge to pinch himself. Did he hit his head when he fell earlier? Was this all some dream? Oh god, he was definitely dreaming. “Oh, umm yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

“Might need someone to catch you again.” Geralt chuckled and Jaskier gaped at him.

“Geralt!” He whined. “I am a top figure skater!”

Geralt shrugged.

“Take that back!” Jaskier pointed at him. “Take that back or I’m not letting you on the ice.”

“Hmm.” Geralt shrugged again.

Jaskier huffed and finally skated away from him. His heart still pounding in his chest. When he turned around he saw Yennefer watching them with a smirk from the other end of the rink.

“Are you done? I have notes.” She asked, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

He groaned but reluctantly skated over to his coach. Ciri still needed to finish tying up her skates and Geralt could keep her entertained whilst he finished up with training. He tried not to zone out whilst she pointed out all his mistakes but it was hard with Geralt being so close, and now they were going to skate together. It was a dream come true. It was only Yennefer’s piercing violet gaze that kept him from drifting off into a daydream. Honestly he was thankful that she was so terrifying. He wasn’t sure any other coach would be able to keep him in line. His first coach, when he was still in Oxenfurt, had been too relaxed and Jaskier had often just fucked about.

It wasn’t his fault he was so easily distracted.

The scraping of blades on the ice pulled his attention away. Yennefer sighed and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Jaskier grinned and spun round to skate towards Ciri and Geralt. Ciri tried to skate away from Geralt towards him but stumbled as she reached him. Jaskier reached out to catch her with a laugh.

“There we go!” He said as he steadied her. “You’ll be a top skater in no time.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to play hockey!” Ciri grinned.

Jaskier pouted dramatically. “You won’t need me to teach you the toe loop then.” Ciri’s eyes went wide and she looked like she was about to cry. “But, seeing as you’re wearing figure skates instead of hockey ones.” He winked at Geralt. “I guess I will.”

Ciri grinned. “Thank you, Jaskier!”

They weren’t on the ice long. Jaskier was exhausted from training and Ciri was only young so she got bored quickly. Geralt mostly stayed out of their way, running laps around the rink whilst Jaskier and Ciri practiced her jump in the middle. After about twenty minutes Geralt joined them in the middle and caught Ciri in his arms.

“Enough now, cub.” He murmured. “Jaskier has a big competition coming up. Let him rest now.”

Ciri pouted. “Can we go and see him again?”

Jaskier froze.

Again?

What the fuck did that mean?

He stared at Geralt with wide eyes. Geralt was… blushing? Nah. It was probably just the cold air from the rink.

“Ciri likes to watch you skate.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier smirked. “Ciri didn’t call my skating beautiful.” He glided forward slightly putting himself Geralt’s space.

God if Ciri wasn’t here right now….

He bit his lip as he tried to push those thoughts out of his head. Geralt wasn’t interested in him that way. He’d thought that Geralt barely knew he existed before today, but apparently that wasn’t entirely true. Geralt had sneakily been watching his performances.

“That was a joke.”

Jaskier laughed and skated a circle around Geralt. “I don’t think so!” He sang and then before his confidence could leave him. “It’s getting pretty cold in here. Did you wanna grab a hot drink or something?”

“Hot chocolate!” Ciri squealed and wiggled in Geralt’s arms.

“Or coffee?” Jaskier suggested with a tilt of his head. “I was up before the sun today. Yennefer doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of beauty sleep, or course looking like she does, I don’t blame her!”

“Coffee sounds good.” Geralt nodded and skated over to the exit with an excitable five year old in his arms.

Jaskier watched the pair of them, his gaze dropping down to Geralt’s sinfully round arse before grinning to himself and following them out of the rink. 

____

Next

[percontaion-points]

Foxhole Court chapter 1

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions.

Chapter 1

Neil Josten let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag. He didn't want the nicotine; he wanted the acrid smoke that reminded him of his mother.

And we're starting off on such a good note.

If he inhaled slowly enough, he could almost taste the ghost of gasoline and fire.

I admit that I don't know much about cigarettes, but I'm like 90% certain that they don't put gasoline into them.

"I didn't see your parents at the game," Hernandez said.

"They're out of town," Neil said.

"Still or again?"

Neither, but Neil wouldn't say that. He knew his teachers and coach were tired of hearing the same excuse any time they asked after his parents, but it was as easy a lie as it was overused. It explained why no one would ever see the Jostens around town and why Neil had a predilection for sleeping on school grounds.

It wasn't that he didn't have a place to live. It was more that his living situation wasn't legal. Millport was a dying town, which meant there were dozens of houses on the market that would never sell. He'd appropriated one last summer in a quiet neighborhood populated mostly by senior citizens. His neighbors rarely left the comfort of their couches and daily soaps, but every time he came and went he risked getting spotted. If people realized he was squatting they'd start asking difficult questions. It was usually easier to break into the locker room and sleep there.

Literally not one single person in this town asked themselves “Hey, where did this child come from? Where are his parents?”

I find it more than a little difficult to believe.

Especially that not one single person with the school's administration wanted to see so much of a parent/guardian signature on SOMETHING.

Exy was a bastard sport, an evolved sort of lacrosse on a soccer-sized court with the violence of ice hockey...

How to get away with writing about sports when you know nothing about sports.

Millport boasted fewer than nine hundred residents. This was a place where everyone knew everyone's business.

LITERALLY NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON ASKED “WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS CHILD'S PARENTS”?!

It didn't matter how much he liked being Neil Josten. […] Twenty-two names stood between him and the truth...

Are you telling me that his name isn't even Neil Josten? HOW THE FUCKITY FUCK DID HE EVEN GET ENROLLED IN SCHOOL WITHOUT ANY SORT OF LEGAL DOCUMENTS AND PARENT/GUARDIAN SIGNATURES?!

Prison couldn't stop his father for long, and Neil wouldn't survive a rematch with him.

Victim protection services? LOL WHAT IS THAT?! (I say of a book that's already not understanding how even public schools need legal documents to enroll a student.)

"I already gave you my answer. I won't sign with you."

"You didn't listen to my whole offer," Wymack said. "If I paid to fly three people out here to see you the least you could do is give me five minutes, don't you think?"

So this is how they recruit for Exy players? By scoping out people that Neil says come from “broken homes”, and then lying in wait to ambush people who dare to say no?

If Neil wanted nothing to do with this before, he sure as fuck isn't going to join after having been beaten up just now.

"Coach already answered that question," Kevin said, a tad impatiently. "We are waiting for you to sign the contract. Stop wasting our time."

Neil already said no. Multiple times. And tried to leave.

So at this point, it's honestly their own damned fault over time wasted.

"Let's try that again. The reason I'm asking is because Coach Hernandez guesses you spend several nights a week here. He thinks there's something going on since you won't change out with the others or let anyone meet your parents. That's why he nominated you to me; he thinks you fit the line. You know what that means, right? You know the people I look for.”

I've seen enough Law & Order: SVU to the point where my mind is screaming this at me: GROWN-ASS MEN DON'T HARASS YOUNG, VULNERABLE BOYS FROM BROKEN HOMES TO JOIN THEIR COLLEGE SPORTS TEAM UNTIL THEY GIVE UP AND SIGN.

This man sounds like a groomer, but okay.

"Andrew's lot stays in town for summer break," Wymack said. "They crash with Abby, our team nurse. Her place is full, but you could stay with me until the dorm opens in June. My apartment's not made for two people but I've got a couch that's a little softer than a rock.”

[image description: a black and white screenshot from the original Lost in Space series. A 1960's robot is saying “DANGER WILL ROBINSON!” while Will Robinson looks at the robot.]

“Did you think I made the team the way it is because I thought it would be a good publicity stunt? It's about second chances, Neil. Second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you."

I'm all for giving people second chances. Especially children, who might not have known any better.

But the problem is that this guy is 100% refusing to accept Neil's decision. And he's honestly giving me these really strong “I groom people from vulnerable situations so that I can molest them and they won't say no” vibes.

He left the stadium and the Foxes and their too-good promises behind him, but the unsigned contract in his bag felt like an anchor around his neck.

Chapter 1 summary: Meet Neil, a rough boy who literally lives at the school because he's an orphan with his father in prison for having murdered somebody. He lied about every single thing about himself in order to get into a public high school, including his name.

Despite his now-dead mother's advice to keep his head down and not to play the fictitious sport of “exy”, Neil couldn't help himself and ended up playing at this school. But he was so good at it that the coach sent a video of Neil playing to the coach of a college team. The titular “Foxes”.

As I said in my earlier commentary, but the coach has an extreme hard-sell tactic, including having two members of his team waiting for Neil in the locker room to beat him up if he didn't say yes. The third member of the team is somebody that Neil knows personally... from before his father went nuts. He has memories of watching Kevin as Neil's dad apparently went nuts at a sportsball game when they were in little league and murdered somebody. Kevin is mainly the reason why Neil is saying no, but another big part of it is because college is more watched than high school, and he doesn't want his father to find him.

The coach eventually leaves the contract with Neil. Neil is sick in the toilet, and wants nothing more than to tear up the contract and slip away into another identity.