selfindulgentpoorlywritten

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

one thing about sports rpf that sets it apart is that these aren't about supernaturally beautiful people like actors and musicians and kpop idols are which is practically a criteria for any media facing job; made to be aesthetically beautiful and trained to be charismatic. athletes are often charisma vacuums because they start so young and are hyperfixated on their sport and have no personality beyond it. most of them are actually quite plain looking. there's some notable exceptions of genuinely stunning face cards but most are pretty average and the ones that are considered hot are actually hot for An Athlete. now I know some of you are disagreeing vehemently, blorbo from sportsball is the prettiest of them all, but really it's cause sports fans have so much exposure therapy to them, seeing the same faces all the time over a year and engaging in media about them, that they start finding beauty in the mundane where when you get to know someone you realise they're actually beautiful to you. now there is a notable scale where the more popular a sport/team/athlete is, the more they have entire hair and makeup departments for magazine shoots and interviews where they are styled or at least aware of what hairstyle or way to carry themselves looks good on them, and that adds to their overall attractiveness. scale down and you'll see someone calling a male cyclist with fucked up teeth who looks like a product of balkan incest a gorgeous girl. and that's how you get novel length and often better quality written rpf about dudes who look like in every other life were destined to the local town's convenience store cashier bored out of his mind at a gas stop in between your road trip you'd never spare a second thought of again. and I think that's beautiful <3

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

i know what this situation needs…explicit fanfiction

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Fandoms stopped being a fun escape from reality when people started spreading the belief that you should prioritize purity over pleasure and the art you create must be a reflection of your moral standards at all times.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

oh hi, A — it’s your summer fic exchange anon here! ☀️ i have a couple of questions for you, to help make sure i write a fic that you’ll absolutely love.

from your player list, do you have a top three for me to pick from: Nico Hischier, Jack Hughes, Miro Heiskanen, Cale Makar, Sidney Crosby, Quinn Hughes, Matthew Tkachuk, Andrei Svechnikov, Leon Draisaitl

what are your favourite tropes to read?

what songs have you been playing on repeat lately?

dream holiday destination?

are there any personal traits or easter eggs you’d like to see me work into the fic?

Hi anon!! Pleased to make your acquaintance

1. Top three would be Nico, Jack, Sid!

2. I love friends to lovers, friends-with-benefits to lovers, idiots in love, sharing clothes, everyone knows but them, and much more! There are very few tropes I dislike

3. NOPE! by New Rules, Just Friends by The Strike, I Want to Be With You by chloe moriondo, like I do by Nightly, I’M IN LOVE!! by Sub-Radio

4. I've always wanted to go to Aotearoa/New Zealand (I want to see the Shire set so badly) and Germany!

5. I always love to see alt style like piercings, tattoos, short/dyed hair, because I feel like it's rare to see and that's what I look like lol also I like taller readers- just things that aren't common in fic! Also if you end up doing Jack, you could have a little Quinn Easter egg if you wanted :)

Let me know if you have any other questions!!

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

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[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

HOW did I miss the notification for this??

This is so good, I’m actually obsessed with it. I've read it like three times now; I wish I could go back and read it for the first time again oh my god

So cute, so fun, so in character for Matthew. Absolutely adore this

Thank you so much dear!!!

I Wanna Meet You But It's Too Soon (Matthew Tkachuk)

a/n: once again, under the wire, this is for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten by way of @wyattjohnston 's winter fic exchange! apologies for the delays but January has been kicking my teeth in. I hope you enjoy, the title is from "Dance Class" by Good Kid which I do recommend listening to for the Vibes.

Weddings were exhausting.

Didn’t matter if you were in them, attended them, or working them, it was almost a truth universally acknowledged that weddings were exhausting. Why weren’t we all just getting married in courthouses and running away to the honeymoon? Why the pomp? The circumstance? I suspected I could blame the Victorians (and if not them, then the industrial revolution), and if I wasn’t trying to lose my mind in this reception hall I would pull my phone out to google it. 

Traditionally, I wouldn’t have been here, just sent a gift from the registry and a personalized note. But college roommate pacts were hard to escape. Jenny, my college roommate from freshman year to the day we graduated and perhaps the person who knew me best outside of my childhood friends and my dog, and I had made a pact our junior year to attend each other’s eventual weddings. Even though I’d tried to argue that I was highly unlikely to actually have one, she had insisted. The provisos had been implemented to dodge my eventual excuses, that “knowing me too well” coming back to bite me as she stated that barring world ending natural disasters, genuine travel hang ups, or cruel bosses to be fed to crocodiles, I couldn’t skip.

So when she held her ceremony in Orlando in April, essentially dodging any potential world ending disasters, the planes not having been delayed, and my work giving me the weekend and change off, I had no choice but to attend with my best formal clothing and a pair of sensible shoes.

It’d been a beautiful ceremony, Jenny being a borderline Disney Adult since graduation had shelled out the massive bill to book the wedding venue at The Grand Floridian at Disney World, the reception, and the catering. It was only by a miracle (and her having too many cousins) that I wasn’t in the actual wedding party and was just allowed to attend as a guest, saving me from any of the other mayhem that would’ve come with the day. For that I thanked her, because I am not the person you want in a “dealing with cold feet because you don’t want to deal with emotions” sort of person. Mostly because I had the same problem. People who advised you to “listen to your gut” have never had their gut tell them they were being hunted by slow tigers anytime they left the house.

The reception on the other hand was a beast, Jenny and her new husband (a guy who I’d never met and probably would’ve sold for a corn chip, but in a boring way) thanked me for coming with all her usual enthusiasm and brightness that I expected. It made me feel younger and lighter than I expected, whipping me back to college the way that some friends could.

“Thank you for hanging up your introversion for an evening,” she said as she held me by my forearms and beamed with a smile that could only be her teasing. 

“For you of course,” I replied with a fake posh tone and a laugh. I had missed her, moving away for work for the both of us had been killer and we both swore that if a job popped up in one another’s city we would be there in a heartbeat.  

“Drink, get around, find someone cute,” she squeezed my arms and I managed to hold back an eye roll. I knew that this was going to be the situation since I RSVP’d without a plus one. Jenny was constantly the one at a party pushing me to talk to the person across the room who I would on and off stare out over the course of the night. It was practically tradition when we were younger. Her success rate of actually getting me over was lower than she’d like, but she still tried everytime. I tapped her arms and smiled.

“Don’t worry about me, go greet your other guests, your mother looks about ready to burst,” I said, noticing Stacy, Jenny’s mother, looked like she was trying to reel her daughter in with a fishing line if she didn’t get over in the next minute and a half. Jenny mouthed pray for me as she took her husband, who’s name I still didn’t remember, over to her.

As I watched them go over and soothe Stacy’s panic, my eyes continued to drift around the room and landed on someone who might’ve looked familiar but I couldn’t remember why for the life of me. With curly hair that looked like it was maintained on a technicality, a smile that was somewhere between mischief and humor at the expense of the person they were talking to, and a glass of amber liquid that I had to assume was probably scotch, he was appealing. In the way that one would admire a stranger at a bar who’s off limits. My only partial recognition meant it was possible that he was one of Jenny’s guests, but it was hard to tell. Maybe I’d seen him in one of her once a month Instagram photo dumps? Again, my desire to fish my phone out of my pocket to check was strong, but I resisted. I was trying to be better about not retreating into it in social situations, even if it was all that kept me from bailing into the bathroom to hide from overstimulation. 

I hadn’t noticed I was staring until as I tilted my head trying to wrack my brain as to where the hell I recognized him from, he caught my gaze with that mischief humored grin turned to me. I had the decency to grin in what was probably on par with my internal embarrassment. He raised his glass to me and I managed a half wave and turned back to my table and studied the intricacies of the table cloth, trying to see if I could spot the hidden mickeys in the pattern. Ignore me, please ignore me, I do not need to get into an argument about manners with a complete and utter–

“Trying to check the thread count?” A masculine voice asked next to me. My head shot up and sure enough it was curly with the amber liquid smiling at me. Checking the thread count was actually probably a better excuse in literally any other situation, but here we were.

“Uh… no. Trying to find hidden Mickeys actually.” I said turning back, wishing I had a drink of my own to throw back and at least give my hands something to do other than mess with the fidget ring on my left hand. He took the seat next to me and looked down at the table cloth, joining me in my probably fruitless endeavour. 

“Any reason as to why?” He asked, setting his glass down in my eyeline as if to signal he wasn’t immediately interested in getting back up and moving again. Which… could be promising in my favor? Maybe? Oh who the fuck am I kidding, this guy was handsome but radiated an energy that wasn’t promising on my end. This was something he did a lot, chatting up people in social situations; whereas I was much more of a fantasize via the human version of the treachery of images.

“I uh… didn’t mean to get caught staring and figured it was a good enough line to get you to pass me by?” I answered just a dash too honestly.

“Well, that’s fair, but I didn’t mind,” that got me to actually look at him proper, cataloging details you couldn’t see from across the room like bright blue eyes, a small gap between his front two teeth, and a smidgen of scruff growing in.

“Would it be unbecoming of me if I called you a liar about that?” 

“Eh, no, but it’s true.” He said. He finally offered up his hand, calloused and bigger than mine, “Matthew, friend of the groom.”

I shook it and offered up my name, “friend of the bride.” This still didn’t explain his vague familiarity but maybe he just had one of those faces.

The DJ had swapped tracks to something a little more retro than his previous offerings and I almost blessed Jenny’s crops forever as the opening riff of This Charming Man began to play through the speakers. Matthew seemed to notice me perk up and offered his hand again.

“Wanna dance?” He asked, a bright grin tempting me more than the actual words. Well, Jenny did say I needed to mingle.

“Yeah alright,” I said, taking his hand again as we both found our way to the dance floor. Unfortunately for Matthew I knew every word to the song (a Smiths phase in late high school and early into college I wasn’t completely proud of) and couldn’t help but sing along as we spun and got into each other’s spaces. It was warm, it was fun, I once again managed to try to forget that Morrisey was a shit human being as Johnny Marr’s guitars did most of the heavy lifting. To his credit, Matthew didn’t seem to mind, laughing alongside my craziness and keeping up with some amount of surprising vigor. By the time the song ended I was pulled in closer to him than we’d started and everything felt like it was buzzing. I’m not one for love at first sight, but affection? Attraction? Those I could account for and I felt it, even if I did also feel a large portion of my body and brain also want to sprint to the other side of the room. 

“Is now a good time to posit the theory that wedding receptions are just… prom for adults?” I posited to try and distract from the everything else my brain was trying to contend with.

Matthew just laughed, “I could see that, what’s the after prom?” He asked.

“Probably everyone dividing off and ending up in the wrong hotel rooms.” I replied.

“True, with about as much caution.” He joked along. 

The DJ, in his infinite wisdom, slowed the floor for the following song. I took a step back from where I’d ended up and prepared for the inevitable thanks for the dance, see you around, instead I got another offered hand. 

“Don’t you think it’s too soon?” I teased, “I mean, I don’t know if I’m one to slow dance on the first… encounter.” Calling it a date would be far too forward, and even if I was to make a joke out of it, that could end up backfiring spectacularly. 

“Consider it part of that lack of caution that comes with pretending it’s all adult prom,” he said. So, with no better offer in sight, I bit back my anxiety for one more song and took his hand again, where we quickly fell into an acceptable enough dance form. As close as we were now, I found myself again stumbling over why Matthew looked so familiar. If he was one of the groom’s guests, did I actually know the groom better than expected? Shit, was he a reconnected college boyfriend I forgot about? Childhood friend who moved when I was still forming cognitive memories? Guy I met in a hotel pool once while on vacation where we bonded as if we’d always known each other only to never exchange more than names?

“I can see the gears turning in your head, what’re you thinking about?” He asked just loud enough to be heard over the music but not enough to eavesdrop on, which was a courtesy I appreciated if nothing else.

“I’m trying to figure out why the hell you look familiar,” I said as he carefully maneuvered us from running into another couple, a quick glance over his shoulder revealing Jenny and her husband, Jenny winking when she caught my eye. Matthew let a low chuckle escape him and the proximity allowed me to feel it too and I tried not to feel a little flustered about that. It’d been since I was like… nine and at summer camp since I’d danced with someone like this. My childhood friends and I skipped homecoming and prom was spent mostly dancing with ourselves as one big group. So sue me, I was a bit out of practice when it came to this.

“I don’t know, do you live in the area?”

“No, but I used to vacation here a lot as a kid,” my parents were Disney Adults before Disney Adults were even a thing, so I practically knew parts of the resorts and parks like the back of my hand.

“Hm… are you into sports?”

“I picked up hockey a few years ago as what my mom calls a “water cooler topic” so I didn’t risk outing myself as a complete nerd to coworkers and to have something to talk about other than the weather and politics,” I said. That said I was more of a casual fan, knew a couple of players, had a tee or two gifted to me by people who knew nothing else about me, could not tell them apart without their names and numbers on their back.

“Who’re your teams?” He asked, again with the smile of mischief and humor and definitely in on something I hadn’t caught onto yet. I narrowed my eyes at him as his grin got a bit toothier and immediately felt embarrassed. There it was. I just barely managed to avoid dropping my face into his shoulder, a gesture that felt too familiar for the current situation and my hands around his neck were about the only thing that kept me from hiding my face in them.

“Tkachuk right? I think I caught some of the Cup run games,” I said trying to not crack up at my own face blindness.

“I’m just impressed you didn’t notice sooner,” he said as his own laugh leaked into his tone. We’d been doing a lot of that together huh? It was a positive sign for someone like me who put a smidge too much of their self worth into being able to make people laugh. “Honestly, I’d be sick of my face if I wasn’t acclimated to it.” 

“I don’t know, it has its appeal,” I remarked, somehow mustering up half the courage to be bold and actually try complimenting the arguably attractive guy who’d chosen to take an interest in me for the evening. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t say anything sooner because like… let’s face it, it'd be very embarrassing if I was wrong right?” I said with a tilt of my head, the song we were dancing too was probably going to wind down any minute and then we’d be really in a pickle. 

“Probably yeah,” he said with a half shrug, “hopefully I’ve now made enough of an impression for future encounters.”

“Future encounters?” I asked. Not being presumptuous was one of my notable features, and yet…

“Well, when do you head out of here?” 

“Like, out of the wedding or out of Florida?”

“The latter,” he said with a playful grin and a small stroke of my lower back with his thumb. Did he know that I needed to be grounded to avoid lying? Or did I just look more like a spooked deer than I was trying to let on.

“Two days from now? I didn’t know how long I was going to be hungover so I don’t fly back until Tuesday.” I said. Open bars and I were actually pretty okay, I was what one college friend called a “control drinker” meaning I usually cut myself off before I got even the faintest glimmer of tipsy. But I had hoped it’d eased up with age and by having better taste in alcohol. But seeing as I hadn’t had anything since the champagne and cocktails with dinner, that plan wasn’t going as I expected. Matthew seemed to mull something over before nodding to himself once and trying to pull me just a smidge closer. 

“Pick a park and we’ll go,” he said. 

“Seriously?” I asked with more of a raised eyebrow than even I would’ve liked, but I couldn’t help it, I wasn’t the type of person to get asked out at a wedding let alone by someone I actually found attractive. It was unheard of, bordering on unbelievable, that I almost looked to see if there were new fake plants I hadn’t noticed before for people to jump out of. But I steadied myself, taking a deep breath, knowing that this rabbit hole wasn’t healthy in any capacity. “Yeah alright, Hollywood Studios. And you will unfortunately learn too much about Star Wars by the end of it.” I said with a laugh.

“I think I can live with that.” Mathew said with a grin. 

We navigated ourselves off the dance floor and exchanged numbers for the following day and I had to stare and wonder at the whole ordeal as he walked off to talk to his friends with the agreement he’d text me in the morning.

Maybe weddings weren’t the most exhausting thing.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Alive (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

My fic for @thewintersoldierdisaster for the Winter Fic Exchange by @wyattjohnston !

Okay so first of all, I'm so sorry that this is late! Between getting called into work, my computer deciding to act up, and having pneumonia, I got a little behind schedule. It's also a shorter fic- I hope that's okay! Fic is inspired by the song If Only for Tonight by Vacation Manor.

Rating: G

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/Reader

Words: 1835

Warnings: none

Summary: Sometimes the world feels a little too small. Sometimes you don't feel real. Matthew helps.

The stars are bright above, and the road is empty for miles ahead.

It’s an occasional occurrence, going on a special drive with Matthew. You know that this kind makes him a bit nervous. So you only ask for it when the restlessness really settles in. When you start to itch down to your bones, when your skin feels too small for your body, when this city feels too small for your life. Your legs feel tight with the urge to run, your hands yearning to grab the wheel and drive far away.  To go to a new place, somewhere no one knows you or expects anything from you or asks when you’re going to settle down. You don’t want to settle, you want to run, to feel your heart pound and leap into your throat with adrenaline. You want excitement, want the rush, want to feel something again– to feel alive for once.

It all feels fake sometimes. The city a cardboard cutout, the people passing by all extras on a film set. Your job just a way to pass the time between now and death.

Being with Mattthew helps. His presence makes things seem more solid; the touch of your hands making your heart skip a beat, even after all this time. You know that it’s not the same for him, that you’re just a friend to him, that hugging you doesn’t feel the same for him– like you can feel again, like you’re being brought back to life from a year of living in a painfully boring dream.

But when you call, he answers. He hops in his car, picks you up with a smile that’s both sly and soft. Like he knows how you feel, like he’s intimately familiar with the need to go, now, and he feels bad that it’s come back. The look tonight like– like he’s feeling it too. Like he needs this as much as you do.

He’d been nervous about it at first. He was convinced that he would mess up, would spin out and hurt you, or crash and kill you both. You’d gone back and forth about it, until you’d looked at him with a steady gaze and your chin raised high.

“You trust me, right?” you’d asked, waiting for his affirmative response before continuing, “And I trust you, and have full confidence in your abilities. So if you can’t trust yourself, you can trust me.”

“Believe in yourself by proxy,” you’d finished with a smile. His eyes had widened for a second as you spoke, then scrunching up with his smile as he lightly shook his head.

“Okay,” he finally agreed, the gap between his front teeth showing as he grinned at you, “Okay.” you don’t add the second part that echoes in your head. The part that says even if we crash and die, I’ll die doing what I love most: holding your hand.

That part is best kept in your mind.

He’d given in and tucked you into the car, playfully smiling at you as he pulled on your seatbelt and let it snap back against your chest. Gotta make sure that you’re safe, he’d said. You’d just beamed back at him, snapping his seatbelt in return, making him laugh. Precious cargo, you’d quipped, taking his right hand in your left as you took off at a reasonable speed, making your way to the quiet country roads outside of the city.

You’ve gone on a few of these drives since then, the pressure in your chest getting so heavy that you worry your ribcage might collapse every few months. Matthew is always there, bundling you into the car and testing the seatbelt. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you, he says, I’ll always keep you safe. You believe him. The only time you’ve ever felt safe in your life has been when you’re by his side.

The city lights have faded away, revealing a sea of stars painted across the inky black sky. Matthew squeezes your hand once and it’s all the warning you get. The car jumps forward, jerking you back in your seat. Zero to sixty in half a breath, the car manufacturer should advertise. Your heart rate skyrockets as your head is pressed into the upholstered rest behind it. The warm air turns cool as it rushes in through the lowered windows, rushing across your face and whipping up your loose t-shirt. You clutch the handhold  above the window, letting out a pure, elated scream as you come back to your body. You laugh, loud and wild and free as your ecstatic mind repeats– I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.

The road is winding, throwing you back and forth in your seat as Matthew expertly weaves around corners. He blows through a dilapidated stop sign, the tires screeching as he takes a hard right. He slams the gas again as he comes out of the turn and you laugh, hysterically happy.

Matthew is smiling too, bright and endearing, laughing loudly even as his eyes are sharply focused on the road. His laugh is the best thing you’ve ever heard, better than any song in history. You could die happy, you think, as long as you got to be the one who made him laugh for a little while.

He’d dropped your hand as he approached the intersection, needing both hands to turn the wheel so sharply. Your hand had fallen to his thigh, gripping his quad tightly, holding on for dear life and for once, allowing yourself to enjoy the feel of the unyielding muscle under your fingers, the warmth of his skin against yourself where two of your fingers have landed below the hem of his shorts. Usually you don’t let yourself think about it too much when you touch, not willing to face the way it makes you want. Want his skin on yours, his hands and lips pressed onto every inch of your body. Want him wrapped around you so tightly that you meld together, become one being, kept in stasis by love. Want to crawl inside his chest and curl up around his heart. Is there a place for you there?

You try not to think about it.

There’s a field to the left up ahead, acres of dirt and tall grass, and you know what’s about to happen. Knowing doesn’t stop you from jumping as Matthew jerks the wheel, careening off the road into the empty space, zooming out toward the middle of the field. The car rattles as it runs over rocks and dips in the ground, shaking the anxiety out of your body. Matthew throws the wheel in the opposite direction, the car losing grip and spinning wildly. Nothing could stop the laugh that bursts out of you as the centrifugal force pushes you over into Matthew’s space, your seatbelt locking up just in time to keep you from crashing into his side.

You spin once, twice, three times before Matthew turns the wheel again and you skid to a stop. You slump back in your seat once the car settles, letting your head fall all the way back to rest on the shoulder of the backrest. Your heart is pumping so hard it almost hurts, your heartbeat evident down to your fingers and toes. Breathy chuckles escape you as the vibrating under your skin fades, the need to run evaporating with the adrenaline.

After long moments, you turn your head to look at Matthew, finding his eyes already on you. His lips are stretched around a fond smile, his eyes so bright and soft in the low light of the full moon. Your traitorous heart jumps at the look he’s giving you. Hazy yet somehow sharp, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you in this moment, trying to burn your relieved smile into his irises. He’s looking at you like– like he feels the same as you. Like he loves you.

“The stars are beautiful out here,” you say, knowing you haven’t looked up since meeting his gaze. His smile turns soft. He doesn’t look away from you.

“Yeah,” he says, low and quiet, “Beautiful.” You can feel the heat in your cheeks, down your neck. You look away, unable to bear the sight of him for another second. The stars are actually beautiful, a million pinpricks of light splashed across the sky. The moon is huge and bright, and you know how it looks brushed across the planes of Matthew’s face, even without looking at him.

The want to run has passed, banished for at least a few months, hopefully. It’s replaced with a different want, a persistent yearning that’s lived in you for years. To reach out, to touch, to hold, to take and pull close and never let go.

You’ve been trying not to think about it.

“What are you thinking about?” Matthew asks. He places his hand over yours on his thigh, grips and twists until he can thread your fingers together. Warmth spreads through you and you look back to him. His skin is silver with moonlight, dark with shadow like the sky, freckles dotted across his cheeks like stars. You’re not sure if it’s bravery, or foolishness, or absence of mind that makes you say it.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend that I don’t love you,” you confess. It’s easier than it should be. Feels like an exhale, a warm cup of tea, laying down after a long day. Letting it out. Letting go.

Matthew’s eyes widen, jaw dropping open. He stares at you with those beautiful blue eyes, two spots of daylight in the dark. He inhales deeply, lips turning up at the corners as he lets the breath out.

“You love me?” he asks, face splitting into a wide smile when you nod.

“You love me too,” he says, awed, as if he’s trying to convince himself of this face, Your brain sticks on the last word. Too.

“You love me too,” you repeat in turn, inhaling sharply when he looses a disbelieving laugh.

“Of course I love you,” he says, squeezing your hand so tightly that the bones shift. The sting of it is the best thing you’ve ever felt.

“Of course I love you,” you parrot. You think for a second that your face will break open from the force of your smile. But at least it seems that his might as well. That both of you might break open together.

“Of course,” Matthew says, leaning into your space as you pull yourself up to meet him.

“Of course,” you whisper against his lips.

On the way home, he drives normally. Holding your hand, looking over at you every few seconds, as if he can’t believe that he’s going home with you. Going home with you.

Your heart beats a steady rhythm, a mantra: I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.

The stars are bright above, and the road is empty for miles ahead.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Here's to another year of rpf

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

once again my spotify wrapped is humiliating because it’s just a reflection of what ship i was into this year. “you listened to this song 171 times” yeah it’s because someone wrote it about my blorbos. i thought about blorbos kissing while listening to it. i had to listen to it over and over in order to properly contemplate the kissing. there is no algorithm that can understand my beautiful mind.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

the winter fic exchange 2k25

important dates

sign ups close Wednesday November 27 at 11:59pm AEDT (what time is that for me?)

you���ll receive your match no later than December 2

the final day to post your finished fic is January 31 at 11:59pm Anywhere On Earth

guidelines & sign up link below

this is a hockey imagine exchange, meant for reader insert or OC fics (not player/player)

if you signed up for the summer fic exchange 2k24 and did not finish a fic you are not eligible for this exchange without chatting to me first

if you signed up for the summer fic exchange 2k24 and did not reblog the fic written for you, you are not eligible for this exchange. you can go reblog said fic and show your appreciation right now, and then sign up

the minimum word count is 1500 words

no multi-chaptered fics allowed. whatever you do with the fic after (i.e. if it becomes a series) is fine, but the fic posted for the exchange must be a standalone fic.

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my DMs and ask box are always open (anons welcome!) if you have any questions.

you can sign up here.

explanation

this functions like secret santa/kris kringle, where people sign up and are then provided a person they will be writing a fic for.

on the google form linked above, you will fill in a bunch of information including players and genres/themes you like to read about and players you like to write about—i then do my absolute best to match these up with each other so that people are receiving what they want and writing within their comfort limits.

there are also spaces to tell me genres and players you want nothing to do with, so that i won’t pair you up with a person who exclusively writes things you aren’t interested in.

after you’ve received your match (the person you’ll be writing for), you can then head into their inbox anonymously and really drill down into what your match would like to receive.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

lovers rock *fic is archive locked

nico hülkenberg/kevin magnussen rated explicit - no archive warnings apply tags: au - tccc (@jusst-you-race), smut, identity porn 1/4 - current wc: 10.2k

summary:

There’s a pause, enough to let Nico form a coherent thought. “You do this for everyone?” he asks, breathless, but not lacking the teasing tone he was going for. Kevin grins up at him. “Don’t think you’re special.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nico mutters, mirroring the half-smile.

Somewhere between heated football matches and ugly shoe racks, vows get exchanged.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

does anyone know how to get rid of this aching hole in my chest. please say sports rpf

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

new ask game send me a ship and i'll tell you where it lies for me

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

man if I gotta write bad fics, it should at least be easy! But it’s not! It is also hard to write this bad fic

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Princess Cake 42. “Is this okay?”

i think this is the longest one of these i've done yet... these two are really fun to explore honestly... thank you for the prompt!!!

“Is this okay?”

Can I get a hand? Room 5023

Jenson checks the text again, and then triple checks the number on the door, before raising his hand to knock gently. 

“It’s open!” Comes Nico’s muffled voice. Slowly, Jenson pushes the door open and pokes his head inside. He spots Nico, sitting on his bed, shirtless, and Jenson sucks in a quick breath. Nico waves him in.

“Come, come. I need your help.”

Slowly, Jenson steps into the room, and carefully closes the door behind himself. Once inside, he awkwardly loiters by the door until Nico rolls his eyes.

“God, JB. It’s like you’ve never seen a shirtless man before.” He huffs.

Not you, Jenson thinks, not like this, but he shuffles over dutifully. 

“So what can I help with?” Jeson asks, looking around the room curiously. Nico’s expression goes a bit sheepish. 

“Well I may have started getting ready a little too late.” He sighs at himself, a pout tugging at his bottom lip. “My nail polish isn’t dry yet.”

“Nail polish…” Jenson squints at his hands, confused, and Nico rolls his eyes again.

“It’s clear coat, obviously,” he says haughtily.

“Obviously,” Jenson repeats, only a little bit sarcastic. Nico looks to the side, avoiding eye contact. Jenson panics, because the eye contact is the only thing keeping him from looking at everything else, and he really should not be staring at the blond tuft of hair on Nico’s chest right now. 

“I just need someone to help me get my shirt on. You seemed like the best option.”

Jenson desperately wants to tug on that thread, find out exactly why he’s apparently the best option, but he knows Nico. Knows that sort of information is not the type of thing Nico gives freely. 

Instead he approaches the bed and scoops up the shirt laid out nicely in preparation. It’s a sort of soft, floaty material that he has no hope of identifying, but it’s nice, and he runs his fingers across the silky surface. Nico watches him. 

“This shirt, yeah?” And he knows it’s this shirt but he asks anyway. There’s a different question hidden within, one he knows Nico will pick up on. Are you sure? 

“Yes.” He says it softly, gently, and Jenson is relieved and terrified all at once. He clears his throat before holding the shirt out like a jacket.

Nico laughs at him. 

“No you need to–” He mimes scrunching the sleeve up. “Like putting on stockings.”

Jenson rolls his eyes but does his best to copy Nico’s hand movements.

“What would you know about putting on stockings, princess.” Jenson says, half mumbling under his breath, while he concentrates on getting the sleeve scrunched up just right. He senses Nico pause and looks up. Nico quirks a brow at him, and it’s like all the moisture in Jenson’s mouth evaporates all at once. 

Do not think about Nico in stockings, he tells himself, resolute. It half works. He holds the scrunched sleeve out for Nico, who carefully slides his hand through. Their knuckles brush, and Jenson feels like he’s been shocked. Nico looks up at him, through his eyelashes, expectantly. Jenson blinks before he realises Nico’s waiting for the other sleeve. 

They repeat the little ritual, and then Nico turns around, back to Jenson. 

The slope of his bare shoulders looks sinful, and Jenson wishes he didn’t have to cover them up. He slides the fabric up Nico’s arms, slowly, watching as goosebumps break out across his pale skin. The moment hangs in the air, neither of them wanting to break the silence. Nico turns around to face him. 

“Buttons?” he whispers. 

Jenson doesn’t even think about making a stupid joke. Just reaches out for the bottom of the shirt, hoping Nico doesn’t notice that his fingers are trembling. Carefully, button by button, he makes his way up the shirt. He can feel Nico’s eyes on his face, but he doesn’t dare look up from his task. Not until he’s finished. 

When there are two buttons left, Nico stops him, fingertips gentle on the back of his hand. Jenson swallows, steeling himself, then looks at Nico’s face. They’ve drifted dangerously close in the time it took Jenson to do up the shirt, and now he can make out the shadow that Nico’s eyelashes cast on his cheek. 

Nico chews his lip, and it’s like a magnet, sucking Jenson’s gaze to follow the motion. His lips are pink and wet and Jenson starts to feel a little like he’s losing his mind. He looks back up. There’s a hint of pink dusting across Nico’s cheeks that wasn’t there before and, entranced, he brings his fingers up to glance across Nico’s cheekbone, barely touching. Nico inhales, and it catches in the back of his throat. 

As Jenson brings his hand under Nico’s chin he watches carefully for any sign of hesitancy in Nico’s eyes. He does;nt find any. Before his fingers touch, he pauses.

“Is this okay?” It comes out as barely a whisper, but there’s so little space between them that Nico hears anyway. He nods minutely. Oh so gently, Jenson hooks his fingers under Nico’s chin and tilts his head up. Nico’s pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, and that’s all the encouragement Jenson needs to duck down and capture them with his own. 

Immediately, he feels Nico’s hands scrabbling at the back of shirt. The kiss is hot, and desperate, the tension in the room snapping with all the force of a rubber band. Distantly, while he lets Nico slip his tongue into his mouth, he thinks that the nail polish has probably ended up ruined after all.