#thank u mcjesus

[fishinabluetank]

Binner better get the biggest applause

[babygirlboeser]

CONNOR MCDAVID I HAVE NEVER SAID ANYTHING BAD ABOUT YOU EVER (i’m gonna go back to hating u after this) I LOVE U SOO MUCH MCJESUS THANK U THANK U

[satrnretrnsintrlude]

THANK U MCJESUS FOR (probably) HITTING SOME OF UR TEAMMATES IN THE HEAD AND GETTING UR SHIT TOGETHER 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 tkachuk’s save was pretty cool tho…..ig…

[thesuninperigee]

For the hockey asks, I gotta know 20

20. Favorite: Bromance

is it cheating to say all of them?? probably. I especially love the pure garbage energy of TK and Nolan. They got lost in the goddamn parking deck of their apartment building. TK has to tie Nolan's ties. Nolan is a grumpy bastard and TK publicly said he's always working for a NolPats smile. I'm weak as hell my dude

[alternatejersey]

star fruit & strawberry!

star fruit: favorite sea creature?

minke whales man!!!!

I did strawberry already :)

[olllmaatta]

Hi I'm Kes and I love hcokey. Soggy Crispy could punch me in the face and I would thank him. Connor McJesus owns my entire ass and I would Die for Him. I refer to Patrick Maroon exclusively as Daddy Maroon. Fuck the h*wks, fuck the ducks, and fuck the caps (except like... Burakovsky maybe). What the fuck is going to bed at a decent hour? Haven't heard of her

(Part 2) oh yeah and also I would do Anything™ for Olli Määttä and the fuckin half dozen dots on his last name. I would kill for him. I would kill Gary Bettman for him. Actually I'd kill Bettman either way but Still. His face makes me cry like I've been chopping an onion, but when you look down it's actually a picture of Finnish hockey player, number 3 for the Pittsburgh Penguins, Olli Fucking Määttä, that I've been looking at the whole fucking time. Kes out

finally getting around to publishing this but this is,,,,,aCTUALLY ME WOW IT’S ALMOST LIKE UR MY BEST FRIEND OR SMTH

(can’t believe u forgot olli the first time around tho my Brand is fucked)

do an impression of me

[valencing]

hockey opus part two

dear @disarmd, it is i, your esteemed hockey bnf. last week, i started writing hockey fic based exclusively on your brilliant and inspiring primer/prompt post. as we discussed, any additional hockey knowledge would only interfere with my Art. for example, you wrote: 

this is connor mcdavid… he was like super extra special talented, got given Extraordinary status (like as an official designation) so that he could play with kids much older than him, and then they called him McJESUS and expected him to SAVE THE OILERS…so like you’re young and talented and everyone has crazy expectations like CRAZY and he’s like “okay, like i do want to be the best, but obviously that is a lot of pressure but it’s fine i’m… fine.” Saviour!! Pressure!! Try hard!! 

this is dylan strome. he’s like not that good in the face just if we’re being super honest, so i chose a picture where you can’t see his face…he was drafted the same year as connor and they played together on the OHL team SO THAT’S LIKE STEVE AND BUCKY, BASICALLY, aaaaand just like with Steve and Bucky, AND ON AN EQUALLY SERIOUS LEVEL, while Connor has gone on to do GREAT (like this year he has the most points scored of anyone in the whole entire league at this very moment), Dylan Strome was DRAFTED AND THEN SENT BACK DOWN TO THE AHL (like the minors) because he’s not a good enough skater and BASICALLY EQUAL TO BEING KIDNAPPED AND TORTURED BY HYDRA, THAT’S AN OBJECTIVE FACT…So Dylan is s u f f e r i n g...but like!!!! being surpassed by your bff. mAYBE A DARK SPIRAL? maybe someone needs to be saved. maybe it’s connor who crumbles under the pressure and needs to be saved!!! so many things!!!! 

which tells me all i need to know to write connor/dylan. here's the fic, in faithful accordance with your vision, not to mention content warnings for alcohol, depression, violence, and suicidal ideation. 

*

The first time Connor maybe saw Dylan again, he was in a cab on his way home from an afterparty. He'd started levitating a few inches off the ice halfway through the game and then scored literally hundreds of points. As a result, he'd had kind of a lot to drink at the party, which was why it seemed likely that Dylan wasn't really there.

Connor's cab was stopped at a light when he heard something outside in the street. It sounded like Dylan saying "There you are!" but in kind of a mean way. Dylan was his friend. His best friend. His––never mind. Connor would know that voice anywhere. But he hadn't heard it since that terrible day when he and Dylan were torn apart. When they took Dylan away. 

Filled with a sudden, desperate hope, Connor lowered the window and peered out into the darkness. Dylan was wearing a uniform Connor didn't recognize. He didn't look too friendly.

"NHL," snarled Dylan. "Oiler. Watch out."

"Dylan?" Connor didn't understand, but he stretched out a hand to his buddy anyway.

"I'll kill you," said Dylan. Then the light turned green and Connor, helplessly, left him behind.

*

"It wasn't him," said Connor's original character teammate Joey, when Connor told him what happened. "Come on, bro. Dylan's in the AHL now. We're never gonna see him again."

"You don't know that!" Connor said. "Sometimes people get out…I've heard stories."

"Santa Claus ain't real, pal," said Joey.  "Now listen…how many points are you gonna rack up tonight? One thousand? Two thousand?"

Being reminded of the game made Connor's heart sink. That was the problem with hockey. First you played a game, then they made you play another game. Sometimes weird shit happened on the ice, like the players on the other team would temporarily turn into swine or whatever, and people would go nuts as if Connor did it on purpose.

"What if I didn't score at all? What would happen then?" Connor tried to keep his voice steady.

Joey just laughed loudly and slapped him on the back. "Good thing we'll never know."

Connor closed his eyes. Only one person had ever seen him as a full person and not just a hockey saviour. "Oh, Dylan," he whispered. "I miss you."

*

"And the winner is CONnorrrrrr McDAAAAAAAvid," said the announcer after Connor scored the final goal of the game. "McDavid five THOUSAND points, Other Guys ZERO."

"Oilers five thousand points," called Connor, but the shouts in the arena were already drowning him out.

"CONNOR! CONNOR! CONNOR!"

"Oilers! Oilers! Oilers!" mumbled Connor, but it was no use. He skated slowly and extraordinarily over to his teammates.

"Nice work, McDavid," said Joey. "Guess we'll let you stay on the team for now. Haha!"

"Good move with the flock of doves," said Connor's coach. "That really got in their faces."

The doves had just randomly appeared, like all the other inexplicable crap that started happening after he and Dylan began playing for different teams. "That wasn't me," said Connor.

"You don't have to pretend around us," said Coach. "We know who you are."

"Who?" asked Connor, trying to follow.

Coach winked. "Let's just say we're all counting on you. Canada is counting on––"

The sound of machine gun fire cut him off. "Get down!" Connor yelled. He hurled himself on top of several of his teammates to protect them. The shots were coming closer and closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see black skates, clomping closer and closer, cracking the ice with every step. Connor looked up. It was––

"Dylan?"

"Shut up!" Dylan growled. He stamped down on the ice again and took aim.

"No, Dylan!" Connor yelled. "Shoot me first!"

A shot rang out, and Coach fell. Drops of blood hit the ice and froze. Connor crawled over to Coach. He was still breathing. Connor pressed his hand to what seemed like an unimpressive shoulder wound and looked up at Dylan. A mask obscured half his face. Dylan had always been a little insecure about his looks.

"You don't have to do this, bro!" Connor said.

"I do though," said Dylan. He whipped out a knife. But at that moment, there rose a mighty storm, and the wind blew Dylan back across the ice, and Dylan fell, because he wasn't a good enough skater, and then the wind lifted him up and bore him away.

"That wasn't me," said Connor immediately, because all his teammates were staring at him like what the fuck.

The medics were converging on them. Coach groaned softly.

Joey said, "Do we have to cancel tomorrow's game now? Justin Trudeau and Queen Elizabeth were gonna come."

Connor felt a stress headache coming on.

Coach grimaced as he was loaded onto the stretcher. "Gotta figure out what's going on. No game. We'll take a week off."

Connor's headache lifted. A week off! All of a sudden it felt like there was more oxygen in the arena. "Thanks, Dylan," he whispered gratefully. Then he saw how everyone was looking at him. "Sarcasm! I was being sarcastic."

"If that was your buddy, he's a goddamn psycho," Joey said. 

"Good point," Connor agreed. Dylan always did have his back.

*

During the investigation, no one had to go to hockey practice. Connor kept his phone off so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. Once he tried to leave his house but when he looked up from the front porch, an airplane was skywriting WHAT WOULD MCJESUS DO overhead, so Connor decided to go back inside.

By the second day, Connor was getting worried about letting everyone down, so he went into his workout room to do his hockey exercises. Sooner or later the break would be over and he'd have to be in top form so no one would get mad at him. Just thinking about messing up on the ice made him feel sick to his stomach. It was almost a relief when Dylan crashed through the window, tackled him from behind, and rolled them over and over until they came to a stop by the treadmill with Dylan on top.

Connor reached up to pull at Dylan's mask. Dylan glared at him. "Oh, Dylan," said Connor. "To me you are beautiful."

Dylan let Connor pull the mask off. His face was gaunt. He looked like the ghost of the man Connor once knew.

"Bro…what have they done to you?"

"Everything," said Dylan hoarsely. 

"Was it the AHL?"

"Ssshh," said Dylan, looking from side to side as if someone else was listening. "I can't trust you. You're the target."

"I'm Connor!" said Connor. "Don't you know me?"

"I only know suffering," said Dylan. "That and death. Nothingness. The void." He looked searchingly into Connor's eyes.

Something about what Dylan was saying sounded appealing. "They don't play hockey in the void, do they?"

"No," Dylan growled. "They don't."

"Good," said Connor. "Take me there."

"What?"

"Deliver me," said Connor. "I'm ready." He smiled up at Dylan and waited for his final release. How lucky he was, to leave this terrible world. How grateful he was to go with Dylan's body pressed close to his.

Dylan raised his knife. At that moment a gentle breeze wafted the scent of flowers into the room, along with the sweet sound of distant harmonies. Dylan blinked down at Connor in confusion. The knife dropped from his hand. "Connor? Davo, is that you?"

"Duh," said Connor. "Of course it's me."

"Oh my god, Davo," babbled Dylan. "I dunno what I was doing. Did I hurt you?"

"No," said Connor sadly. It looked like he wasn't going to be murdered by his true love after all.

"I'm so sorry, bro. I'm gonna show you how sorry." And then Dylan's mouth was on Connor's, and it was almost everything Connor had ever wanted. Dylan kissed him desperately, touching him everywhere as if trying to make sure he was still whole. "I can't believe I almost destroyed your hockey career," he whispered. "I can't believe I almost ruined Canada."

"Not your fault," Connor muttered.

"Now you can still save the Oilers!" said Dylan. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying," said Connor. "Everything is fine."

THE END

[deuxmp3]

tagged by @nanase thank u serene 💜💜

tagging: @jeonmi, @fakedeepchanyeol, @claudeqiroux, @mcjesus yall dont have to if u dont wanna

rules: you can only say guilty or innocent. you are not allowed to explain anything unless someone messages you or asks you.

#1

asked someone to marry you: innocent kissed one of your friends: innocent danced on a table in a bar or tavern: innocent ever told a lie: guilty had feelings for someone whom you can’t have: guilty ever kissed someone of the opposite sex: innocent ever kissed someone of the same sex: innocent kissed a picture: innocent slept in until 5pm: innocent fallen asleep at work or school: guilty held a snake: guilty been suspended from school: innocent stolen something: guilty done something you regret: guilty laughed until what you were drinking came out of your nose: innocent caught a snowflake on your tongue: innocent sat on a roof top: guilty sang in the shower: guilty been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on: innocent slept naked: innocent made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry: innocent been in a band: guilty (??) shot a gun: guilty donated blood: guilty eaten alligator meat: innocent eaten cheesecake: guilty still loved someone you shouldn’t: guilty have/had a tattoo: innocent been too honest: guilty ruined a surprise: innocent ate in a restaurant and got so bloated you can’t walk after: innocent erased someone in your friends list: guilty dressed in a man’s clothes: guilty dressed in a woman’s clothes: guilty joined a pageant: innocent been told you’re beautiful by someone who meant it: innocent still have communication with your ex: innocent cheated on someone: innocent got totally drunk the night before an important exam: innocent a total stranger treated you by paying your fare: innocent got so angry that you cried: guilty tried to stay away from someone for their own good: innocent actually murdered someone: innocent thought about mass murder: innocent actually committed a mass murder: innocent rode in a stranger’s vehicle: guilty stalked someone: innocent had a girlfriend: innocent had a boyfriend: innocent totally drunk during a holiday: innocent

#2

RULES: Answer all the questions, then add one of your own, and tag as many people as there are questions

1) Coke or Pepsi? coke 2) Disney or Dreamworks? disney 3) Coffee or Tea? coffee 4) Books or movies? movies, but only bc i’m always too lazy to read (same) 5) Windows or mac? windows 6) D.C. or Marvel? dc 7) Xbox or PlayStation? i have an xbox but i dont use it lmao  8) Dragon age or mass effect? i dont play video games 9) Night owl or early riser? night owl 10) Cards or chess? cards 11) Chocolate or vanilla? chocolate 12) Vans or converse? vans 13) Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash, or Adaar? idk what this means lmao 14) Fluff or angst? angst as long as it’s resolved by the end 15) Beach or forest? forest 16) Dogs or cats? both but lately im more on the dog side 17) Clear skies or rain? rain 18) Cooking or eating out? cooking (i’ll cook for u serene) 19) Spicy or mild food? honestly,, i dont handle spice well but i’ll go w spicy anyway 20) Halloween/Samhain or solstice/yule/Christmas? christmas 21) Would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot? cold 22) If you could have a superpower what would it be? telekinesis or teleportation 23) Animation or live action? both 24) Paragon or renegade? refer to q no. 8 lmao 25) Bath or shower? shower 26) Team Cap or team Ironman? ironman 27) Fantasy or sci-fi? sci-fi 28) Do you have 3 or 4 favorite quotes, and if so what are they? i had a few but i dont remember  29) YouTube or Netflix? youtube ig netflix doesnt really have anything good  30) Harry Potter or Percy Jackson? harry potter 31) When do you feel accomplished? when i finally get around to doing the thing i’ve been meaning to do whether it be life stuff or even just finally watching a movie from my ‘to watch’ list 32) Star Wars or Star Trek? stark trek but only bc i like the newer movies i never watched the old stuff 33) Paperback books or hardcover books? hardcovers 34) Fantastic beasts or Cursed child? havent seen either 35) Rock or pop music? both 36) What is the most important thing in your life? idk music??? 37) Mountains or sea/ocean? sea 38) How do you express yourself? i don’t really lmao 39) What’s the first book/film that really counted to you? uhh the girl with the dragon tattoo for both 40) What’s your element (air, water, etc.)? air 41) If you could travel anywhere, where would you go? seattle, toronto, nyc, berlin, stockholm, prague, somewhere in france, somewhere in italy, dubai, shanghai, tokyo, seoul, everywhere lol 42) If you had any job in the world, what would it be? ceo of my own record label or film production label (maybe both) 43) If you were granted three wishes, what would they be? to be successful, to be rich, the erradication of all n*zis and white supremecists like,, im Tired 44) If you had to eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? anything w cheese is fine 45) What’s your spirit animal / patronus? according to pottermore, a deerhound 46) Go to your music library and write the first 3 songs that came up on shuffle: sorry i changed it that q was a bit loaded i didnt want anyone to feel uncomfortable dangerous- roy woods, andromeda- gorillaz, wonderful- travis scott 47) An instrument you play or want learn to play? the clarinet and the bass guitar kinda. i wanna learn piano and the drums. 48) At which place do you feel most relaxed? my room 49.) What is your go-to comfort song? i dont have one?? ig whatever im in the mood for that day 50.) What are your favorite fanfiction tropes? bffs to lovers, pining, uhh idk certain type of aus

[arbores--loqui--latine]

dylan larkin, wayne simmonds, evgeni malkin, carey price, tyler seguin, connor mcjesus !!!

do the sexy love™ with : Geno of course, moon of my life, my sun and stars, my big Russian bear 💕😍sacrifice myself for: Wayne, I can't explain it but I have some sort of soft spot for that babkick: Segs. He's???? Too pretty????? I must fight him.take to prom: Pricey!!!!!! He'd be the best date!!! Could u imagine him picking u up in his truck and bringing u a corsage his mom made and he'd be the most respectful little man I love him so much god blessabandon in jurassic park: sorry Connor babe. You'll find your way out if you live up to your second name, it'll just take you 40 days but w/epush off a bridge: Dylan. No reason I just ran out of options 😬thank you!!! xxx

[mcrackers]

my dad got me a little mcdavid cardboard standee at the hockey hall of fame and its sitting on top of my shelf...... It Watches... now everytime i go to do something #questionable i look at it and Rethink 

[olllmaatta]

hang an anchor from the sun

connor didn't expect to leave the world cup as jack eichel's friend, yet here he is.

and it keeps on snowballing from there.

(this is for @dyllarkin i’m sorry this took me so damn long lmao hope you like it anyways fam)

ao3

Connor finds out about the ankle sprain from NHL.com, picking up his phone after a cooldown cycle in the gym after morning skate. Immediately, he goes to compose a text, something like that sucks or I’m sorry or hey, if you need to talk, just let me know because apparently they’re that kind of friends now. (The World Cup was weird.) But then he remembers how much he wouldn’t have appreciated texts like that back when he broke his collarbone, how much they reminded him of all that he wasn’t doing. And sure, they’re not rookies anymore, but both of them do still have the weight of failing franchises of their shoulders.

So instead, he googles o shit i’ve fallen and i can’t waddup and texts the resulting image to Jack, captioning it is this you?

He doesn’t wait for a response, resolutely putting his phone away and going to shower. If Jack doesn’t text back, that’s fine. He’s probably hopped up on drugs anyways, and Connor is almost definitely not high on Jack’s list of priorities. That’s fine. It’s fine. As long as Jack will be back on the ice in a month or so, everything will be fine.

Jack still hasn’t texted back by the time he wakes up from his pregame nap, but Connor tells himself again that it doesn’t matter. He’s got to get to the rink and focus on his own game, the weight of the C on his chest feeling like more than just a letter and a title. Last year, he was the prophesied saviour, the Next One, but now? Now he’s supposed to be the leader, and he’s not sure if he can do it.

All that fades away when he steps onto the ice, however, blood rushing and skates cutting through the fresh ice. This is their season opener, and hell if he’s going to waste it thinking about a friend on a different team who sprained his ankle. He’s got bigger fish to fry tonight.

And the game itself might not be the prettiest he’s ever played, but he comes away from it with two goals and an assist and his first win as captain of the Edmonton Oilers under his belt, so that’s good and all. He also gets Johnny asking him if he’s heard anything from Jack, as if Connor’s supposed to be keeping track of him just because – well, just because he’s Connor McDavid, he supposes. “He hasn’t texted me back,” he had said, shaking his head.

Johnny had looked surprised, as if he had expected something more from their relationship. “Me neither,” he had settled for saying, however. “If you hear anything, let me know, okay?”

Connor wonders about this, because if Jack was to text either of them back first it would definitely be Johnny, who was a. exclusively Jack’s liney throughout training camp and the first game and b. not Connor McDavid, whom Jack had apparently only very recently stopped hating. But then he’s finally on his way home, having passed on requests to go out tonight in favour of – honestly, he doesn’t know.

His place is quiet and empty when he gets back, just like he expected, but he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if there was someone here waiting for him, maybe sitting on the couch aimlessly watching whatever plays after postgame or snacking on the chips he keeps hidden from himself. But there’s nothing waiting for him at home but the darkness and the chill of heating that somehow still hasn’t kicked in.

Shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie, he plugs his phone into the charger on the countertop and rummages in the fruit up drawer of his fridge for a snack, looking to get an early night. His phone buzzes as he rinses an apple, and he ignores it for a moment, thinking that it’s got to be someone texting to congratulate him or something. He’ll deal with that later. But then it keeps on going, telling Connor that he’s got a phone call from someone that evidently will not be dissuaded by his not coming to the phone. With a sigh, he picks up without looking at the screen. “Hey, this is Connor,” he says.

“Hey, it’s me,” Jack responds. “I – I got your text.”

Connor laughs despite himself. “Did you appreciate it?”

��You’re a few months behind the times,” Jack says. “But yes, I appreciated it anyways.”

“Good to hear,” Connor says.

Jack’s silent on the other side of the line for a moment, the two just listening to each other breathe, but then he finally says, “It sucks, you know? That it happened at practice and all.”

Connor hums in agreement, taking another bite of his apple. “You’ll be back soon,” he says despite knowing just how little statements like that actually do to help.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says. “Good game tonight, though.”

“You watched it?” Connor asks, pleased despite himself.

Jack laughs. “Caught a few minutes in the third. You looked good.”

“Thanks,” Connor says. “You – get better soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack says dryly. “Whatever the great McJesus says. You sure you can’t lend me some of those godlike healing powers?”

“Healing powers my ass,” Connor responds. “You think I wouldn’t have used those when my collarbone got fucked up?”

He can hear Jack’s grin through the call. “Man, you probably just wanted a break. Lazy-ass motherfucker.”

“Fight me, see if I’m lazy,” Connor shoots back.

“Dude, you have no idea how much I would’ve paid to fight you a year ago,” Jack responds.

Connor smiles even though he knows that Jack can’t see him. “Yeah, well, what about now?” he asks before he can stop himself.

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Connor’s worried that he’s misstepped, somehow, and Jack’s going to hang up on him and ghost him and fade out of his life and the very idea is terrifying.

But then Jack laughs again. “You’ve got the worst taste in everything, of course I’d still fight you,” and Connor breathes a sigh of relief.

(He lies awake thinking about this when he finally hangs up and goes to bed half an hour later. It scares him how much Jack’s insinuated himself into Connor’s life, made himself indispensable and irreplaceable. But he accepts it – he has to accept it, because now that Jack’s slotted himself into a hole in Connor’s life, Connor doesn’t know how to let go.)

(And that’s okay.)

Jack texts him even more than he used to while he’s in the middle of recovery, something that Connor most definitely did not expect but embraces wholeheartedly. It seems that he wakes up practically every other day to some kind of complaint about how PT fucking sucks or to some dumb meme that he found while browsing Reddit. It’s strange, this easy friendship they’ve somehow fallen into together. And, sure, this may have been what Connor was looking for when he asked Jack to hang out that one night during the pretournament games, but he can say with some certainty that he never expected to be this successful.

When Buffalo comes to Edmonton, Jack’s not on the plane (for obvious reasons). Connor tries not to be terribly disappointed by this, but it was still one of the few chances he had to hang out with Jack and it’s a shame to let it go to waste. Wish u were here, he texts before he can stop himself, and then forces himself not to avoid his phone for the next forty years. It’s completely normal thing for a guy to text his friend, right? It’s not going to – Jack isn’t –

Me too, Jack responds.

Connor’s heart swells with fondness, even when Jack adds, we’re still gonna beat ur ass tho.

“Who’s got you making such a stupid face?” Nursey asks, leaning in in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Connor’s phone screen.

“Your mom,” Connor shoots back automatically, pocketing his phone.

(He’s informed by three separate people in the next five minutes that he’s still grinning like a loon.)

Connor sends Jack a few Snapchats of his latest attempt at cooking after a game one night. He forgets about timezones, however, and doesn’t get a response until the next morning. It’s Jack, just woken up, hair messy and face still creased from the pillow. Connor thinks he’s beautiful.

He also spends too long staring at the picture to actually process the caption.

So instead of responding generically, he chooses to leave Jack on opened and call Stromer instead. “What do you want, Davo?” Stromer says, mildly miffed. “I have to leave for practice in five minutes.”

“Jack Snapped me as soon as he woke up and he looked so good,” Connor says bluntly.

Stromer cackles right into the phone, forcing Connor to pull his ear away from the speaker. “Jesus Christ, that’s why you called me? I thought you were like dying or something!”

“I am dying here,” Connor whines, flopping back on his bed, dropping his phone next to him.

Stromer probably rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re being so dramatic over Jack fucking Eichel, man, what the fuck happened to ‘he’s objectively hot but also an asshole so I’d never fuck him’?”

“Fuck you, I don’t sound like that,” Connor protests halfheartedly.

“You’re completely stupid over him,” Stromer laughs, completely ignoring Connor’s misfortunes. “I can’t believe this, oh my god, this is fucking gold.”

“Shut up and let me pine in peace,” Connor says.

Stromer laughs. “If you wanted peace, you wouldn’t have called me.”

“You’re right,” Connor sighs, rolling over onto his stomach. “Distract me. Has Brinksy done anything supremely stupid lately?”

“You don’t even know,” Stromer laughs, staying on the line even as he gets his stuff into his car and drives to practice. It’s comfortable, feels like home, and Connor can pretend that he’s not thinking about Jack at all.

When he finally gets off the phone, though, there’s another Snapchat waiting for him. Can’t believe you’re leaving me on opened, Jack says against the backdrop of an unknown road outside a car’s windshield.

Sorry, Connor responds, retaking the picture five times before he’s finally satisfied.

Amidst all the talk of another McDavid-Matthews matchup (which Connor for one thinks is dumb – Auston’s a pretty cool guy and they played on the same line on the World Cup, so the media should maybe stop), Connor gets a text from Jack that simply says I’M CLEARED!!!

And that means that Jack’s going to be playing against him when the Oilers go to Buffalo, and sure, that should be exciting, but then Auston gives him the most shit-eating grin from across the faceoff dot and says, “Got any plans in Buffalo?”

Connor may or may not shove him out of the way with a little more force than is necessary.

(Honestly, Auston’s one to talk. Connor can see the way he and Mitch look at each other. It’s disgusting. He shouldn’t be forced to suffer like this.)

(I swear to God matts and marns are trying to get into each other’s pants, he texts Jack after the game. If he has to suffer through this, Jack’s going to too.)

(Not something I want to b thinking about, Jack responds.)

Jack looks good across the faceoff dot in Buffalo. Connor wants to tell him as much, but the ref is still looking between them like he’s afraid they’ll start fighting or something, so he swallows the words and goes for the puck. But it’s good, though, all clean hits and exhilarating races for the puck, and Connor feels at home in his own skin.

He’s still mildly bitter about the OT loss, though, especially since he didn’t manage a goal of his own and the Oilers choked at the last second again, but at least he put up two points to Jack’s one so that’s something. He can work with that.

And Jack appears at the visitor locker room after the game, freshly showered and back in his game-day suit, wide grin and stupidest hair and all. Connor’s fairly certain that he’s got the dumbest look on his own face just by the way Nursey’s barely holding in his laughter in the next stall over. “Yo, Davo, want to come get dinner with me?”

“Sure,” Connor says, smiling despite himself.

Nursey wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously. “Be back before curfew! No funny business!”

“We can’t cover for you if you miss team breakfast,” Ebs adds with a shit-eating grin. “So try not to go home with him, okay?”

Connor sighs. “Get the fuck outta here,” he says, but without any real heat.

(He’s thought about it.)

(He’d never tell Ebs that, though.)

Jack takes him to get wings, because they’re in Buffalo and they’re both huge fucking clichés. No one in the restaurant pays them any mind, which Connor is supremely thankful for. “Let me order,” Jack says as soon as the waitress leaves them to pore over their menus.

Connor shrugs. “You know what’s good,” he agrees.

They’re quiet once their waitress has taken their orders and left. Both their phones are out, but it’s not as awkward as Connor might still have expected. Instead, it’s comfortable, an easy companionship, and Jack keeps on wordlessly getting his attention just to show him funny Instagram posts or dumb videos.

Then he suddenly says, “They asked you about me again?” He slides his phone across the table to show Connor an article on nhl.com about the game that they just played.

Connor shrugs. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them about all the time you’ve wasted on Reddit when you should have been napping or the ridiculous number of dumbfuck memes you send me.”

“Excuse you, those are good memes,” Jack shoots back, mock-offended.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘good meme’,” Connor insists, complete with air-quotes and all. Nevertheless, he slides Jack’s phone back to him. “But I didn’t throw you under the bus, is what I’m saying.”

“So what did you say? ‘A good guy’?” Jack reads, laughing. “‘Always kind of talking’? ‘Always kind of the centre of attention’? Wow, what a stellar review.”

Connor laughs along with him. “Hey, they asked what you were like,” he responds.

“‘I definitely enjoyed my time with him’,” Jack continues, voice softening. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, quieter this time. “Always.”

“I – ” Jack obviously doesn’t really know what to say here, and Connor is content to let the moment stretch out between them, taut with some kind of strangely comfortable tension.

Their food comes, breaking the silence, and Connor makes the appropriate noises about the deliciousness of the food, but in all honesty he can barely taste it. He’s too busy staring at Jack’s freckles and the way he licks sauce off his fingers.

“Hey. Hey. McDavid. Connor. Earth to McJesus.” Jack snaps his fingers in front of Connor’s nose, startling him out of his reverie. When Connor blinks in surprise at him, Jack’s voice softens and he adds, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Connor responds, turning back to his food. “Just – thinking about shit, y’know?”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Because Jack has a media façade and apparently also a “friends” façade, because the Jack Eichel Connor used to think he knew back before the draft would never have asked anyone if they wanted to talk. Not even Hanifin.

Probably.

But Connor would probably die of mortification if he actually told Jack what he was thinking about, especially since there’s a spot of sauce on Jack’s chin and all Connor can think about is licking it off. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Thank you, though.”

Jack finishes another wing, wiping that smudge off his face, and grins. “So anyways, did I ever tell you about the time Reino went to Walmart when he was drunk off his ass and blew like a thousand dollars?”

“Hey,” Jack says quietly when they pull into the hotel’s parking lot, pausing the music. “Mind if we – park for a moment?”

“Yeah, sure,” Connor says, confused but willing to roll with it. Once Jack’s parked and turned off the ignition, he unbuckles, turns to Jack and asks, “What’s up?”

Jack sighs. “This – I – thanks for letting me take you out to dinner, I guess. I had a great time.”

“I’m glad I could bless you with my presence,” Connor says, grinning. Then, because he hates himself, he points out, “You didn’t – take me out, though. It wasn’t a date. We just – got dinner together.”

Jack mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “would’ve been nice if it was” but Connor really isn’t willing to take that chance, so he ascribes it to wishful thinking.

He also really doesn’t want to get out of Jack’s car, though. It feels �� safe, somehow, like everything outside waiting for him, pressuring him, can’t reach him while he’s sitting in companionable silence with Jack Eichel. And when he looks over at Jack, the lights of the passing cars fly over his face and play off his hair and make him look ethereal, and Connor –

Connor wants to kiss him.

(Okay, fine, Connor always wants to kiss Jack now, but now? Now he can’t think about anything else, caught up in the barely-visible fan of Jack’s lashes and the bow of his lips and how much he wants.)

Suddenly he notices that Jack’s been watching him this entire time, and he thinks that – maybe – he seems some of what he’s feeling in Jack’s eyes. And he doesn’t want to say anything about it, because what if he’s wrong, but his traitorous lungs decide to breathe out a “Hey”.

Jack says something at the exact same time, maybe “So” or “Well” or another superficially-meaningless word, but it doesn’t really matter because they both burst into laughter a second later, the moment broken.

And Connor thinks that – that maybe this is it, that Jack’s going to turn the engine back on and go drop Connor off at the loop and that will be that, and there’s something inside him that rebels at the very idea of leaving Jack again like this, everything unspoken. But – but it’ll be fine, he thinks as they calm down, reduced again to dopey dumbass smiles.

Then Jack sighs, mutters “Fuck this shit”, and unbuckles his seatbelt. Before Connor can tell what’s happening, Jack’s leaned over the centre console and –

and is kissing him.

One arm tight around Connor’s shoulders, the other one cupping his face, and Connor could melt.

But by the time his shocked brain has finally processed all of this, Jack is pulling back, and Connor already misses the weight of his arm. He grabs blindly at Jack’s hand before he can get too far away. “No, please – c’mere – ” he stutters out, before pulling Jack back into him – or himself into Jack – it doesn’t matter.

They fall together like gravity this time, drawn to each other and feeling the weight in the way Jack sucks at Connor’s lip, the small sound Jack makes when Connor works a hand into his hair, the desperation with which they’re clutching at each other, trying to get as close as possible.

And it’s not perfect, the gear shift digging into Connor’s thigh and the awkward angle straining his back, but it’s also everything he could ever want. Jack is warm, his lips are soft, and his fingers are scrabbling at Connor’s dress shirt, trying to untuck it. Just the thought of skin against skin sends shivers down Connor’s spine.

They break eventually, but it’s not a sure thing, Jack darting in to kiss Connor again like he can’t help it. When they finally stop, lips tingling and hearts racing, Jack rests his forehead on Connor’s, still cupping Connor’s cheek.

He leans into the touch. “I didn’t – I didn’t think – ” he says in disbelief.

Jack smiles, and it’s stupidly charming. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

And Connor can’t help himself, pressing back into Jack’s mouth again, because now he’s allowed. He’s allowed, and Jack is solid and real and here, not just a name at the top of his phone screen or a voice at the other end of the line, and Connor wants to be lost in this moment forever.

He can’t, though, and that hurts more than anything else. He tastes the lingering sweetness of Jack’s Diet Coke on his tongue and feels the breath stolen from his lungs, and he doesn’t know how he’d ever let this go.

But he has to when his phone alarm goes off, telling them that his curfew is fast approaching. It’s so hard to tear himself away from Jack, though, when Jack’s lips are so red and kiss-bitten and inviting and who knows the next time they’ll see each other.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Jack whispers, breath ghosting across Connor’s lips.

“Yeah,” Connor agrees shakily. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses Jack again, one last time, and then forces himself to open the car door and get out, refusing to look back. If he did, he’s not sure if he could still make himself leave.

“– so dumb, Jack, Jesus Christ, why did you ever think this was a good idea?”

“We’re in fucking Aruba,” Jack says, sticking his head out of the bathroom. “No one’s going to recognise us. It’s going to be fine.”

“What if they do?” Connor demands, almost hysterical.

Jack sighs and puts his comb down, reeling Connor in with his other hand. Connor goes willingly, tucking himself into Jack’s side like he belongs there (because he does). “Then they do. We’ve got a plan, remember?”

“Yeah, but – ” Connor starts, before turning to bury his face in Jack’s shoulder. “I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Jack says firmly. “No matter how hard it gets. I just – I just want to hold your hand in public, okay? And if we can do that here, I’m going to do it here.”

Connor can’t find his words. The only thing left for him to do is kiss Jack, so he does, backing him into the bathroom counter. It’s familiar, now, but the way Jack’s tongue feels against his is not something he’ll ever get tired of.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever said it to Jack.

“I love you,” he says again, and it feels like a revelation.

“I love you,” he says a third time, and it’s something he’s always known.

Jack says “I love you too,” breathes it into his mouth and speaks it with his lips and hands and body.

They lose track of time like that, pressed up against the bathroom counter and lazily making out, but it’s all good. It’s all good, because it’s the offseason and they’ve got time, and they love each other and that’s –

It’s all that matters.