#hockey helmets are hell but i did it for YOU

[zimmerdouche]

one gay two gay red gay blue gay

some expression practice with my favorite defensemen

[lushrve]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader

cause who doesn't want the image of these boys all sweaty and bloody in hockey gear (also i haven't mastered writing in a scottish or manchester accent yet so don't come for me)

you’re a figure skater, something you’ve devoted your whole life since childhood to. over the years, you’ve honed your craft, becoming one of the best in your area. you do well enough at competitions; not olympic material, but skilled enough to bring home a state title every now and again. you take pride in the way your body glides across the ice, painting pretty pictures with each scrape of the blade of your skate. it’s methodical, structured, clean. if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you’re dancing on clouds.

it’s a small town and there’s only one ice rink for miles, so of course you run into the local hockey team practicing and warming up for matches. you don’t know most of them (don’t care to, frankly), but some are more notorious than others.

the team captain and center, price, the tactical mind behind their victories. from the few games you’ve watched them play, you can tell that he calls the shots. you watch as he sits on the bench, watching his teammates rush back and forth across the ice. it’s like he sees beyond the game. sometimes, you see him close his eyes, like he’s seeing a play take shape in his head, before calling out to the others and making it happen. they always listen, his booming baritone too compelling to disregard. (that voice made you feel something too, but you didn’t want to admit it.)

then there was a defenseman, simon. you just knew him as “riley” by the last name emblazoned on the back of his jersey. but if you listened closely (and you did), his teammates called him ghost. it didn’t take you very long to find out why. ghost was a large man, all broad shoulders and hard lines. he preferred the silent approach to taking down an opponent, slamming them against the boards before they could even register the sound of his skates scraping the ice. he played dirty, your eyes often meeting his when the referee threw him in the penalty box. (he winked at you once as he cleaned some blood from his lip, fresh from a fight. you pretended not to notice.)

left wing belonged to johnny, a scottish man they called soap. he got his nickname from his assist record, always coming in to clean up what price or ghost or another teammate had fumbled to lead his team to victory. he was quick on his feet, but brutal. while ghost was the primary muscle, soap wasn’t afraid to get physical if someone was coming between him and a goal. soap was also mouthy, chirping in his thick accent across the ice to get in the other team’s head. half the things he said, you don’t understand. hell, the other team probably didn’t either. but the tone was what mattered. (he leaned over the plexiglass after a solid win, personally inviting you back to their next home game. you blushed crimson.)

right wing was kyle. by far the prettiest one on the team, you thought. he’d take his helmet off as he skated back to the bench, running a hand through his sweat-soaked curls. the sight of him was like a work of art, a canvas brutalized by the nature of an aggressive team sport. he wasn’t as quick to get physical as the others were, but the moment everyone dogpiled on the ice, he was right there in the fray, throwing punches that landed just as loud and hard as the rest of them. the way he moved on the ice almost reminds you of your routines, careful and choreographed. he knew exactly where he was going, and he always hit his marks. (you wondered if he always moved like that, wondered if he danced through life.)

ghost and soap approached you after a win, coming up into the stands after they’d stripped themselves of their gear. while soap looked a bit smaller after shedding the heavy padding, ghost didn’t. still a hulking wall of muscle. “oughta sit in the stands mo’ often, birdie,” soap chirped, a smug smile on his face as he leaned on his hockey stick. “y’r like a good luck charm fer us.” you blushed pretty, averting your eyes and missing the way the two men looked at each other. you’d do just nicely, they thought. ghost cleared his throat, your eyes snapping up to him like he’d commanded it. (he could’ve. you would’ve obeyed.) “when d’you skate again?” he asked, arms crossed over his expansive chest.

“y’ve seen us in our element. now we wanna see you in y’rs.”

[delusion-mostly]

Regina George x Reader

Part 1/32 (yeah I know, right?)

Warnings: angst if you squint, name calling, suggestive wording

I wrote this a while ago, if you think I need to add anything else for this one, lmk!

Word count: 1,265

"What the hell are you doing on my ice, George? The hockey team already released the team list, we can't accept anyone else. Either way, we don't like drama."

"Actually, I'm not on the ice," Regina gives you a dirty look, pointing at the fact that she is right outside the ice, not on it, "and ew, this does not sound appealing. You look like a fridge wearing a knockoff dollar-store sports jersey. This also looks a bit rough." she makes a gesture at your outfit, and size.

Well, she was right. The school had a small budget for the women's team, and you tower over her. Your shoulder pads add to the size, you really are built like a fridge at the moment.

"Then what are you here for? To call me another slur?" You take your helmet off and lean your head down on your stick, smirking, "here for a good time?"

Regina fake gags, "Absolutely no. Gross. Quit speaking," she gives another dirty look, "I saw the poster that you needed a manager for the team. I can't play any sports and everything is so fucking lame. I can at least see fights here." She shrugs

"And why do you of all people want to be involved in anything  that doesn't involve pretty pink glitter and being a massive bitch?" Putting emphasis in the 'B' in bitch, you poke Regina with your stick.

"If I didn't have to I wouldn't," she shoves the stick off of her shoulder, "but my therapist is making me. I can't let last year consume me, and I have to be helpful or whatever."

You look at the clock and put your helmet back on then glide across the ground, your skates leaving gashes in the ice. Regina stands by the opening into the rink, dumbfounded that someone had just walked away from her. The clock makes a loud buzzing noise and pucks fly into the net and scatter the ice around it.

"Well, George, you gotta work up the food chain here," you get a smug look on your face, "Practice is over! We don't have to get the pucks tonight. Our lovely new manager Miss Regina George will get it for us. Won't you?" you skate up to the blonde, whose eyes sit wide.

The team leaves to the locker room before leaving the building as Regina nods. She could not believe that someone had actually spoken to her like that. You ask her shoe size, go to the locker room, and come out with a pair of skates. They are blue and gold, and old. Like, really old looking. The blade is sharp but the leather is worn and creased. You intentionally grabbed the oldest pair that would fit her. Queen Bee George wouldn't own the ice like she did the rest of the school. You drop the skates in front of Regina.

"You expect me to know how the hell to put these on?"

"Are you ACTUALLY kidding me right now George?" You don't get an answer, so you sit down in front of Regina, "wow you aren't. I will do this one time, and one time only." You hold up a one on your hand and Regina nods.

You lace the skates while Regina complains about how tight they are, then you describe why they had to be so tight, she finds some way to complain about your reasoning too. You lead her on to the ice, she isn't an awful skater, although she falls once. You teach her how to collect the pucks by scooting the net around the ice, then take her to the locker room.

"I really need to get out of these clothes, but as the captain it's my job to tell you what your jobs are. So I hope you don't mind," You start taking off your jersey, "so basically you will make sure the locker room and ice stays clean. You'll scrape the ice, make sure it's clean and pretty, get our stuff on the bus for away games, basic shit." you peel the outer layers of your gear off.

"So I don't have to drive the zimbabwe or whatever?" Regina asks, relief washing over her as she looks at you.

"No you will not be driving a whole ass country, honey," You look dumbfounded, "The custodial staff or our coach are the only ones who operate the ZAMBONI. And quit looking. I can't tell if you're jealous or you want me." You smirk over at Regina as she quickly rotates her head away from your direction.

You finish changing, she glances over at you one more time while your back muscles flex, pulling a shirt over your head. You throw on a pair of faded jeans and a red flannel. You pull your phone out and hand it to Regina on the contacts page.

"This by no means is asking you to ever speak to me outside of anything hockey related, or even hockey related, actually. Never text me," you smile and take the phone back from Regina, "this is just so I can add you to the team group chat."

Regina is left speechless, she has never ever been disrespected like that.

"You literally just met me, what the fuck is your problem? I will not let my year be ruined by your rude ass." Regina scoffs.

"My problem, Regina, is that my name was in that little book of yours. Right next to the words 'body count higher than points scored' and 'hockey lez'," you sit and stare at Regina, "I do not want to talk to you outside of this sport, and I will talk to you as little as I can here. I appreciate that you are getting better and working on your behavior after last years events, but this does not change the fact that words are mean. It didn't hurt, but I don't make company with assholes."

You walk out to your car, a 2015 Subaru Forester. You don't notice Regina's highly recognizable Jeep in the parking lot, and see her walk out of the building. She keeps walking past the parking lot, sprinkles of rain splattering the ground around her. You are an asshole, but not that big of one. You speed out of the lot and pull up next to Regina, who is walking down the side walk with her hot pink hood over her head, and roll your window down.

"Why are you walking? It's raining and you have a nice Jeep. This is ridiculous George." You shout.

"I still don't trust myself driving alone after the accident in case my back locks up, I like the rain, I'm fine." Regina keeps her head forward.

"Are you sure? As captain it is my obligation to make sure everyone get's home safe."

"Oh my God, you have already said you hate me, would you MOVE ON you fucking lesbo." Regina yells.

"Great choice of words when you are trying to better yourself Regina." You clench your jaw, roll your window up, and speed off.

This was going to be one great year, you can just feel it.

[shhh-secret-time]

Another request from A03! I am so very sorry this one took so long I actually had to start this one over a few times because I actually lost a big chunk of it when I first started writing it! Nothing takes the wind out of my sails faster.

Warning: NSFW, Dom!Stan, Sub!Reader, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Writer doesn't know shit about college or sports ball, Slight Voyeurism, Strong Language, Stan might be a little OOC

Pairing: Stan x Fem!Reader

Notes: Hey uh welcome to this week's episode of, "Writer don't know how to write conflict to save her life!" I'm very bad at coming up with a reason to fight people, it's not in my nature so I'm sorry if it seems forced!

You hated Stan Marsh

You hated him and most of the football players at your university. Them and their spotlight hogging, annoying, disgusting, sweaty, irritating habits! You and your girls bust your ass off at every practice, sports game, and pep rally South Park University places on your teams’ shoulders, and what do you get for it?

To hear things like, "Oooooh did you see how Cartman played center?" or "Clyde is so hot when he takes his helmet off and has that messy hair!" even, "Kyle plays football AND basketball with perfect grades? Why is he soooo perfect!"

But the one that got under your skin the most was Stanely fucking Marsh, the star quarterback. The man walks around the school with his little crowd of admirers everywhere he went, and for what? Just because he throws a stupid ball around and can run quick? Fuck him.

Your girls put in twice the work they do; you've been to every one of their games. You had to. Your group had to coordinate with the football players, the basketball players, the volleyball team, the hockey team, hell you even had to coordinate with the wrestling team. It was exhausting trying to keep up with it all.

And what did your cheer squad get? Perverted remarks and dismissive attitudes! The final straw was when the Cows mascot got more respect than your group did. You brought your complaints up to the school's councilor, to the headmaster, to anyone who would listen.

Word travels fast around the small town of South Park, people dating and breaking up. Who cheated on who, who's throwing the best parties, who threw up in who's car. Shit like that. Not much changes from high school to college, just a lot less sneaking around and more energy drinks and pain meds. So of course, when your complaints got to the one and only Stan Marsh, he confronted you about it.

"Hey! Hey wait up!" His voice rings out past the busy sounds of other students trying to get to their classes. "You're the captain of the cheer squad, right?" He all but corners you while you're walking with your friends, he doesn't have his little squad of goons following him around.

"Are you serious?" How could he not know who you are?! You've only been to every one of his stupid games! Only been sitting on the sidelines of every practice! "Yes! I am! What do you want?!"

Stan flinched back at the venom in your voice but that didn't stop him from shooting you a look. "Uh...did I do something wrong? I heard from one of the guys that you're not exactly...happy and I was just trying to figure out what we did."

"What you did. What did he do girls? Can anyone answer Mr. Marsh's question~?" The tone in your voice did not match the smile on your face. It sounded chipper but anyone listening could tell it was fake.

Your little group always had your back, most of them felt the same way you did. If anything, it just amplified that anger, knowing your girls were feeling underappreciated. It was your job as the captain to protect your girls, but every time you brought it up to them, they seemed to shy away from saying anything.

"Well, geez Stan, you gotta admit your team's been kinda hoggin' the spotlight. You know what I'm tryin' ta say don't ya?" It wasn't just your girls you had to protect; it was your sweet little angel Butters too. Although you guys called him by his first name when cheering with him, he was Leo to you. And right now, Leo was trying to bridge the gap between you and your rival.

"Veeery good Leo! That's right, Stan and his team don't seem to give a shit how hard we work to cheer his team on! The whole school would rather worship the ground their star quarterback walks on!"

"The school doesn't worship the ground I walk on! You can't pin this on me!" Stan shot back trying to defend himself, it was hard not to feel attacked even though you were the only one glaring at him.

A part of you knew that he was right, it really wasn't his fault that small towns in America went crazy for football.

"W-we're not pinnin' anything on ya! Just sayin' maybe, it wouldn't hurt to tell the guys to show us a little bit more respect! You know Eric's been pickin' on me ever since I joined the girls, sayin' some awfully mean things."

"Leo is right! You may not have a hand in the way people think but that's just the problem, you don't do anything to stop it! If you were really the captain of your little team you'd step up!" You took a step towards him, your face getting inches away from his face.

Ignoring the fact that you had to look up at him, you wouldn't let him leave without getting your point across. His eyes narrowed down at you, matching the energy you were giving out to him. Butters looked between the both of you with a nervous look, he could practically see the electricity bouncing between your eyes. The poor blond didn't mean to start a fight, he was just trying to help.

"If you had a problem with my team, you should have come to me then. Why did I have to find out from other people?" Stan's voice dipped to a low growl which almost made you give one in return.

"I shouldn't have had to go to anyone in the first place Marsh! Get your team under control or else!" You felt your face turn red; it was getting harder to argue with him when those ocean blue eyes were burning into yours.

That was new. Just going to lock that in your vault of things to not think about again.

Thankfully Butters finally stepped in, physically putting his body between the both of you. "C-come on now guys let’s all just calm down. We both said our peace and now we can work it out, right? Next time we practice we can be on the same page!"

"Sure Butters." Stan clicked his tongue as he looked at his friend, but that didn't stop him from getting one last jab in. "You better hope you don't slip up princess, because if you do. I'll be there and I'll be quick to remind you of your shortcomings." And with that he turned on his heel and started walking down the hallways.

"Princess?! Excuse me?!"

"Oh geez..."

Stan slammed his locker with a little more force than he should have, the rusty door screamed out and bounced back open. With an annoyed groan he pushed back on the metal with a little less force, but the damage was already done, the door was now on its last leg and would most likely not shut right. Just more fuel to the fire.

"Whoa dude what did that poor locker do to you? Don't you think it's been through enough." Kenny looked over from his locker with a little smirk.

One of the few times Kenny was without his parka, a towel wrapped around his waist and his bright blond hair clung to his skin. Stan could smell the smell of fresh soap and hints of pine in the air. He sighed in response to Kenny's teasing, clearly not in the mood for his friend's antics.

"Not now man, I don't have the energy." Stan grabbed his jacket and pulled it up onto his torso.

"Ah that's not good, wanna tell your old pal Kenny? I won't even charge ya, come on what's going on."

Stan pressed his lips together and he tried to focus on zipping up the worn-out brown coat he always wore, the zipper struggled to hold together. He cursed under his breath a few times before the thing finally zipped all the way up. For a moment Stan thought about not saying anything, but Kenny was never the type to judge or the type to let things go if he knew something was bothering his friends.

"You know the captain of the cheerleaders?"

"The really hot one?"

"Kenny!" Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, something he picked up from his mother when they were both aggravated, "That's not the point."

"Says you. She's a baddy for real. Take no shit kinda woman~! The feisty ones are the ones that bite the hardest. You got your work cut out for you if you're trying to shoot your shot. I heard she turned down everyone else on the team!"

"Dude! I'm not gonna ask her out!"

"You're not? Then why'd you bring her up? Is this about the fight you guys had in the hall?"

Stan stopped and looked up at him in shock. "You heard about that already?"

"Oh yeah, you guys's are the talk of the school. Everyone thinks you guys had a little lovers spat. I had to hear the whole story from Leo!" Kenny chuckled as he grabbed started getting changed, pulling the patchy orange pants up his legs.

"Even you're calling him Leo now..." Stan muttered but quickly shook his head, "but that's not what I was going to say! I was going to...talk about that but if you already know."

"Yeah, I don't really know what that's all about but Leo kinda spelled it out for me. She's not mad at you per say just mad at the position you're in. A jealousy thing maybe but honestly, I think she's just tired of taking the back seat so to speak."

"What am I supposed to do about that? It's not my fault!" Stan threw his hands up the irritation on face made Kenny laugh again.

"I didn't say it was dude. I'm just telling you what I think, but man, she really got under your skin." Kenny smirks over at him with a playful purr.

"No, she didn't! I don't even care."

"Yep, that totally looks like the face that doesn't care~" Kenny pulled his zipper up and adjusted the collar as he spoke. "Look, let’s pretend for a second you do care. If I were you, I'd just talk to her. Ask her what you can do to make things right, because I'll be honest man, she's the last person you wanna make an enemy of. She'll make your life hell." Kenny finished making his point by wrapping his arm around Stan's neck and pulling him in for a side hug. "Besides, it's not like you have to work close with her, just work around her."

"Yeah..."

But of course, it could never be that simple, could it? Every time Stan tried to catch you to talk to you something got in his way. Monday you were busy with your classes zipping around the hall, Stan could barely get a word in. Tuesday you had to help Butters with his outfit so of course you didn't have time for him. Wednesday was the big pep rally for Friday's game, so that meant Thursday was for practice.

Thursday was hell. Stan was supposed to be focused on getting his team ready for the game. They were practicing dodging other players and passing the ball across the field. Stan was supposed to be working on his throw, he needed the ball to go further than normal. Kyle was getting faster at running and if Stan fell behind their whole strategy would be thrown out the window.

But of course, you couldn't make it easy. It was getting harder and harder to focus on what he needed to do when you were being tossed in the air. The way your dark green and gold skirt caught the sunlight, and the way the puffy looking poms in your hands shook back and forth. Stan knew he was in trouble when he stopped paying attention for a moment when you laughed at something Annie said. Next thing he knew he felt the football knock him on the side of the head. And of course, that's when you looked over, he felt his face heat up when you giggled and covered your mouth.

He hated you. Hated your pretty smile, the way you laughed made his blood boil and his body turn hot. Your stupid lips curled into a gorgeous smile and the way your thighs looked good enough to sink his teeth into, what he'd give to walk over and kiss that smug look off your-

Stan let out a growl that came from deep in his chest as he threw the ball down the field hitting Kyle in the chest. The poor red head just took it, letting out a grunt as it managed to get past the gear meant to keep him safe. He wouldn't let his mind wonder there, not for you. Not when you're the one who attacked him and then started avoiding him every chance you got.

"Marsh!" He winced when he heard Coach Miles below his name, he didn't need to see his face to know he was in trouble.

With a sigh he took his helmet off and ran his fingers through his messy black hair, the helmet causing his hair to stick up. As he walked over, he could feel your eyes on him, and all he could do was scowl. Trying not to think about how you must be eating this up.

Stan's scowl dropped when he heard the coach call your last name and gesture for you to come over. Your eyes widened at the way the coach called for you, you'd never heard him so angry at you before. You gave your poms to Wendy as you ran over, walking behind him as he gestured for you and Stan to follow him.

Coach Miles took you both back inside through the gym, once the three of you were alone, he crossed his arms and glared down at you both. "So, the big game is tomorrow and some of the students have come to be with worries about the way you two were at each other’s throats." He paused for only a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let me make something very clear, we are not in high school anymore. So whatever problem you two have with each other, fix it. You’re adults, act like them."

"I've tried! She doesn't want to work this out!" Stan's mouth moved before he thought about the consequences, but he was just so tired of this whole thing. Even if he agreed with his Coach, this whole situation had him at the end of his rope.

"What?! No, you didn't! You just bitched to Kenny-"

"I didn't bitch! I was asking for advice!" Stan stopped and glared over at you again, it seems like that's the only look he gave you nowadays. "I tried to talk to you in the halls and you blew me off!" How did you even know about he talked to Kenny anyway?!

Fucking Butters.

"I told you what my problem was with you Marsh!"

"No, you didn't! All you did was-"

"Enough!" The Coach's voice boomed over your little squabble and echoed off the gymnasium walls. "I was hoping you two would be mature enough that I didn't have to do this, but I guess I was wrong."

You and Stan watched as Coach Miles stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out a folded-up piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed it to you and huffed. It was a warning slip, something he never gave out to you or Stan. "So, unless you both figure this out, you're both benched. Off the field and you can watch the rest of the students play without you."

"What?!" Your voices came out in unison, shocked at the very thought of not getting to be a part of tomorrows big game.

"I mean it! Figure yourselves out or you're out! I can have McCormick take your spot Marsh and Testaburger has plenty of experience leading!"

"But Coach-"

"No! I shouldn't have had to do this in the first place! I'm not your dad, I'm not your counselor, I'm a Coach! You both are lucky I'm even giving you a second chance! You have until tomorrow." Every word that came out of Coach Miles's mouth pierced like a sword.

You flinched and pulled back just as Stan did each time, he emphasized his frustration. It was a verbal lashing unlike one you've ever gotten, and you were grateful when he turned and left. You weren't sure if you could take much more.

An uncomfortable silence fell over you and Stan as you both just stood there. The slight buzzing sound of the fans overhead and Stan's deep breaths were all you could hear. Each time he inhaled through his nose he would exhale through his mouth, but it didn't look like it was actually doing anything to calm him.

You've heard when Stan got yelled at by Coach Miles, and not once did he look this angry. Your eyes trailed down his jawline watching as he started grinding his teeth together, the look on his face said it all. He was holding something back, he looked like a lit fuse ready to blow. You didn't know if that anger was at you, the Coach, the situation, or all the above. But a part of you really wanted to find out, and Miles did tell you to work it out.

"So... you wanted to talk. I'm here."

Stan's head snapped over towards you, the look on his face was a mix of anger and bewilderment. Shocked that you would break the silence like that. He felt his stomach churn, a feeling he hasn't felt since he was a kid.

It always felt like he was on a roller-coaster going too fast, that fluttering feeling one would feel when the ride would hit that high and then dropped to that low. Only this time it felt like the pit of his stomach was also on fire, his stomach was a cauldron ready to boil over. As he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out, he just let his mouth hang open for a second and then he shut it again. He was holding back still.

You rolled your eyes and jut your hip out, arms crossing under your chest. "Just say it. I know you want to yell, so yell. I'm a big girl I can take whatever you could possibly throw at me."

When Stan didn't respond but instead walked towards you, your arms dropped, and you took a step back. So caught up in the dark blues of his eye you barely registered when your back hit the wall, it wasn't until you realized he had you backed into a corner that you grasped the situation you were in. He slammed his arm over your head making your heart leap in your chest, and your hands come up in defensively.

You weren't scared that he was going to hurt you, you never got that from Stan, he never seemed like that type. But the way he looked down at you made your heart speed up and a shiver run down your spine. Never had you felt like a rabbit trapped in a pen with a wolf. Something about that excited you.

"What are you doing-"

"Shut.up." Stan's voice dips an octave as he whispers out the command.

The gravel in his voice is cut by the way he slams his lips down onto yours. You have just enough time to push back into the kiss when he pulls away and continues. "You...have made my life.... fucking hell...this entire week!" His complaints almost falls on deaf ears from the way he's kissing you in between them. "I don't know why I get so.... worked up with you!" He emphasizes the last part by grabbing your jaw and forcing your face up towards him.

It's only been a week and you've already got him wrapped around your finger, so tightly wound up that he was beginning to snap. And maybe you were wrapped around his, the smirk on your face was short lived when he bit your bottom lip. A small gasp escaping your lips giving him enough of an opening to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan against his lips and grip the front of his jersey by the collar. If he wanted to get handsy you could get handsy. You pulled him down into the kiss somehow deepening it further.

Your tongues push back and forth against each other, neither giving way to the other. His tongue was relentless but so was yours. It wasn't until you felt a bit of drool dripping down the side of your mouth did it click. You were making out with, what you thought, was the biggest asshole on campus. Yet you couldn't pull away, couldn't pull away from his hold on you.

On the other side of things, Stan's mind was going blank. With every twist of your tongue and lips he felt himself getting addicted. Hungry lips moving from yours to devour the soft flesh of your neck. He bites down with enough force to pull a cry from you and to leave a mark. Right where your shoulder meets your neck, teeth marks bright and red poked out of your cheerleading uniform.

"You fucking ass! That's going to leave a mark!" You hiss at him, but it just turns to another moan as he sucks on the patch of skin near your collarbone.

"Good!" He growls back coming off your skin with a pop. "I have tried all week to work with you! All fucking week to work with your bitchy attitude!"

"My attitude?! Fuck you! I was trying-"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" He cuts you off with a smirk, one that would give the devil a run for his money.

"What?!" You white knuckle his jersey with both hands now.

"You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid." His hands reach down to the back of your thighs, cupping them as he lifts you up and slams you back into the wall. Not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of the predicament you're in.

"Says the man who had his tongue down my throat!" Predicament be damned. He would not win this fight just because he slots himself between your legs and pushes his arousal against your thigh.

Those football pants left nothing for the imagination, the thought of leaving him with that hard on in those pants crossed your mind for a moment. But when he rolled his hips against your clothed sex you had to focus on biting back the moan instead.

"It shut you up, didn't it? You didn't seem to want me to stop when you were moaning against me."

You glared down at him and ran your fingers through his hair, giving the roots a firm tug; you smirked when he moaned. His face turned red making him lunge forward and bite your neck again. Your nails dug into his scalp which only seemed to encourage him to leave marks.

"Just shut the fuck up and...and fuck me already!" You tried to keep the moan out of your voice, but when he found that soft spot on your neck it just turned into a whimper.

That smug bastard lips turned up into a smirk, he pulls back just long enough to take a look around the gym. All he could hear was you panting heavily trying to catch your breath and the same dull fan buzzing. He looked down at you for a moment and for a second you thought he'd pull away. That he'd come to his senses and realize that maybe this wasn't exactly what the Coach meant.

But he didn't. Instead, he pulls your face back up for another kiss, this one was a lot less angry. There was still that heat behind each press of his lips, but it was more controlled, not like when he was trying to get you to stop talking. He presses his forehead against yours for a moment, the sweat from practice earlier dripping down his neck, it would almost be sweet if the situation leading up to it didn't happen.

"We have to be quick."

"Here?! Are you out of your mind, what if we get caught!?"

"Would you just let me-" You feel him move you to his forearm, where he pins you between the wall and his body. "You've got me so worked up! I don't know why I find your endless complaining and bitching so hot!" The confession spilled out of his mouth once again without a second thought as his hands move up your skirt.

His hands grope and squeeze at your thighs and then your ass pulling another sweet moan from your lips. "Don't act like you're free from it! You like to think you're sooooo much better than me but you're just like me!"

"I know!" He grunts as he pushes your underwear to the side making you shiver when the cold air hits your cunt.

Stan watches as your eyes flutter shut when he slams his fingers into your wet hole, his fingers coated with your sweet juices. He licks his lips when your mouth hangs open and a shaky gasp is pulled from you. "Look at you already so fucking wet for me. I thought you hated me huh?"

"Sh... shit. I-I do hate you!" Your weak attempt to bite back fall short when he curls his finger in you, slamming his fingers in and out of you.

His lips ghost over yours as he buries himself to the knuckle in your pretty cunt. He watches as you suck his fingers in further and further. The sounds you're making makes his cock throb in his pants, straining against the white material. "Yeah? Doesn't feel like you hate me. You were ordering me to fuck you earlier."

"I-I... oh fuck! Harder!"

Stan smirks down at you and there's no comment this time. How can he when you look so damn sweet, nails digging into his shoulders clinging to him for dear life. He stops his fingers and glares down at you. "Say please."

"B-bite me."

He does. He leans down and bites down on the tip of your ear, his husky voice laced with danger. "I'm not moving my fingers from your cunt until I get a please."

"G-God damn it Stan j-just.... ugh please! Please go harder!"

For a moment he looks up like he's thinking about it, pondering whether he should or not. You could have smacked that smug look off his face but when his fingers drill deeper into you all you can do is throw your head back. As if it wasn't enough, he finds that perfect spot, making you clench around his digits.

"Fuck you look so good when you're like this. You gonna cum around my fingers princess? Go ahead, let me feel you clench around them." He talks you through your orgasm with a steady tone, making you lull your head to the side as you reach your climax.

His fingers stay buried in you for a bit before he pulls them out, you almost whimper at the loss of them. But it was cut short when he wrapped his lips around his fingers. Sucking the slick off his digit while keeping eye contact with you. The telltale sign of a blush crept up your neck and across your face when he removed his index finger from his mouth.

"You're so gross..."

"Whatever." He clicked his tongue at your comment, even after he pulled an orgasm out of you; you still had something to say. His hands move across your ass again giving the flesh a firm squeeze. You slapped his shoulder when he chuckled at your little squeak. "Hmm~ I liked you begging. Let’s see if I can't get more of that out of you."

He moves his hands down to his pants and slips them down to his thighs. He fumbles for a moment with his boxers before he just decides to give up and pull his cock through the flap. He did say this needed to be quick and he already wasted time fingering you against the gym wall. Not that he regretted it, he had half a mind to do it again, but if the precum leaking out of the slit of his cock was anything to go by he need release soon.

Stan glides his cock against your folds a few times, coating his cock in your arousal, his breath hitches when you roll your hips back. When his eyes meet yours again his knees almost buckle under the weight of your lustful gaze. The way your eyelids lower and your mouth falls open again with each drag of his cock. He takes the base of his member and slaps it against your cunt a few times. "Come on princess, tell me you want this. Tell me you don't really hate me."

"I...." You trail off, letting your stubborn attitude take over but Stan isn't making it easy. Each passing second you don't answer him he nudges the tip of his cock in your entrance, not quite pushing in to give you that pleasure. "I hate that I like it that you call me that! I hate the way my heart speeds up when you kiss me! I hate that I like you!" Your words roll off your tongue like a confession, the way you throw your head back the frustration growing in your tone.

Stan growls again, that sound being pulled out of him more times today than his entire life, but he can't resist you. It's like he's a puppet and you're holding all the strings. His hands come up to your hips and guide you down the length of his cock just as your legs wrap around his waist. The muscles in your legs keep him in place making his cock throb again, you feel it bob against your walls.

"You have...no fucking idea...how much I've wanted this! Every time you got thrown in the air-" He lets out a shaky moan as he pulls you off his cock and slides you right back down. "Every... every time you giggled and flashed that perfect smile." Stan nuzzled into the crook of your neck while his hips begin to find the perfect rhythm. "Everything about you is perfect and I fucking hate it!"

Stan's little burst of irritation comes out from the way he begins picking up speed. You cling onto him as he continues piercing up into you, your arms wrapping around his neck to try as your back slides up and down against the wall. "Oh god Stan!"

"Listen to yourself. Calling my name like that, you drive me crazy! I'm not going to be able to stop. You gonna let me cum in you? I don't wanna stain that pretty uniform of yours." The way he's moaning out your name in between breaths makes your stomach do flips.

You can't find the strength to answer so you settle for nodding and moaning his name. He doesn't say anything else besides the occasional cursing and small grunts, so focused on bullying your insides. You feel the coil in your stomach tighten and tighten until the knot starts to snap. Your walls grip his cock as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, your voice has gone hoarse from moaning and screaming his name. He feels his cock twitch when he sees you climax around him, it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The way your mouth hangs open, lips slightly swollen from how hard you kissed him. The way your hair was out of place and the way your uniform was messed up from how hard he was thrusting into you.

"Fuck...I'm...I'm cumming." He groaned as he emptied himself inside you. Thick hot arousal shooting up and painting your insides, it made you whimper and squirm.

There was another moment of silence that fell over you two, it wasn't the heavy awkward one the Coach had left you in. It was almost comfortable by the way Stan was pressing soft kisses into your neck, his lips moving up to your jawline and to the corner of your mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair again trying to smooth it out instead of tugging.

"So....this certainly was one way to work out our problems..."

Stan hummed in response as he slowly pulled you off him, you couldn't help but gasp at the feeling of loss again. As he pulls his pants and boxers up, he takes out the small towel he has tucked away in the pockets of his pants, and gently begins to clean your thighs. The action makes you smile a little, how one minute he could go from destroying you against a wall to treating you like some doll. When he sets you down his hands linger on your hips a little longer like he's trying to make sure you're alright enough to stand.

"Yeah...hey, I'm sorry. I'm not...good at confrontation and I shouldn't have got defense with you." His apology almost makes your heart break but at the same time it feels so warm.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken my jealousy out on you. You didn't deserve that, it's not your fault." You fiddle with the material of his jersey, rolling it between your fingertips.

"Jealous? Why would you be jealous?" Stan asks completely dumbfounded by the idea.

"Because everyone always talks about you and your team! It's always how great you are, and everyone seems to like you!"

"Really? Because I always hear about how amazing you guys are. Every game the guys always feel better knowing that even if we lose you guys were cheering for us. I can't tell you how happy Butter's has been since you let him join the squad." He chuckles and goes to move a lock of your hair behind your ear.

"Awh...that's so sweet." You look up at him with a little giggle and a smile, which he returns. "Now I feel all bad."

"Nah don't feel bad...I'm just glad we got this straightened out. I know it's a little backwards but...do you think I could take you out after the game tomorrow? Win or lose I just...kinda wanna spend more time with you." He gives you a sheepish smile and a small blush creeps across his face.

"Only if you don't mind me bitching." You joke back with a little hum, pushing yourself up against him.

"It'll go great with mine." He smirks back down at you and places a kiss on your lips.

Word travels fast around campus. When you both walked out of the gym smiling at each other neither teams could believe it. Even more so when next week you were walking around with Stan's jacket over your shoulders and your pinky wrapped around his. The star quarterback's last name written in big blocky letters on your back and your lipstick staining his cheek. Definitely not a normal way to start a relationship, but that was you and Stan's little secret.

[recelestial]

BURNING BLADES AND DESIRES ⟢

( this will bewritten in ao3, this is just a teaser!)

to satoru, forever was a promise. however to suguru, it was just a word.

— a hockeyplayer!satosugu au

synopsis : satoru and suguru have always shared a fired passion for hockey. their chemistry was like no other on the ice. everything they did involved hockey one way or another. satoru treated it as a hobby of some sort while to suguru, it was what made him whole. their differences in perspective causes them to drift and eventually meet at the 2022 olympics hosted in beijing.

⠀ ⎯⎯

prologue – once aligned

cw; cursing, angst. | word count: 800+

September.

⠀ ⎯⎯

Satoru skated off the ice with slowing momentum before throwing his helmet to the ground; hockey stick crashing down with it.

“Sugu!” Satoru landed with a slight thud on the bench; limbs sprawling across the cold metal.

"Ever since you’ve joined that club team, you’ve been whooping my ass! Can't even play good offense with you around.” Satoru huffed out with a pout on his lips.

His hair stuck with sweat onto his glistening face. Suguru leaned against the rink wall, pulling his visor up to unveil his face. A cocky grin was plastered on his face as he found amusement in Satoru’s dilemma.

“Nah, I just think you’re just getting worse.” Suguru joked.

The blue-eyed teen who sat across from him rolled his eyes, walking out of the area with an annoyed demeanor. Suguru chuckled as he saw the tall boy shrink so small with just a little trash talk. He turned away from the hallway, slipping his visor back on. He skated toward the middle of the ice to continue his practice drills. Alone.

December.

⠀ ⎯⎯

Suguru entered his family home with a sigh. He had been training non-stop. Before school, after school, on weekends. Suguru was always seen with either his duffle bag or a hockey stick in hand. As a result, he became more shut off towards others.

“I'm home!” He called out to the seemingly empty house.

His mother popped her head out to peek into the entry-way. She stood there wiping her hands with a kitchen towel as she began to speak.

"Hi honey! A letter sent from the U.S. for you,” she scurried to grab a pristine white envelope sitting atop their console table. “I thought you might want it?” Suguru's eyes widened as he took the letter.

He opened it up quickly. He took the paper out of its encasing and read the first sentence. ‘Suguru Getou, the Boston Bruins formally invite you to join us in Massachusetts to become a member of our youth team.’ Suguru didn't even have to contemplate his choice. He flipped the paper around to display the largely printed words to his mother. “I'm going.

⠀ ⎯⎯

Getou had quite literally disappeared from the face of earth. Satoru was minutes away from ripping his pretty white hair from the root.

“Shoko,” he said with a groan. “What the hell happened to Sugu? Has he contacted you? Do you think he hates me? Do you think I made my feelings toward him too obvious? Do you thin-”

“Satoru, shut the fuck up.”

Satoru blinked as he merely escaped his avalanche of thoughts thanks to Shoko. "What?"

“I said, shut the fuck up. How many times have I told you he’ll be okay? You’re over thinking things. I get that you can't help it but still, it’ll be okay.” Shoko replies without looking up from her paper once.

January.

⠀ ⎯⎯

It was, in fact, not okay. Shoko had been out on the streets of Shinjuku before bumping into Getou.

“Hey, need a light?”

Shoko looked up from the ground as a cheshire grin crawled onto her face

“Hey, need something?”

“Nah, I guess I'm just testing my luck.”

“I'll be the first to ask you then; any chance the rumors of you going to the United States is false? It’s all over the news.”

“Nope, unfortunately not.”

Shoko observes him as she whips out her phone. The line rings for a bit before Satoru picks up.

“Hey, Gojo. Getou’s here.”

Those four words were all it took for Satoru to come running.

⠀ ⎯⎯

“Explain yourself, Suguru!"

Satoru called out to him. Getou’s back was still turned but he stopped in his tracks.

“What, Satoru? You heard it all from Shoko. That’s all there is to it.” Suguru breathed out.

“So you're just going to leave me? You’re just going to throw your life away here all because of some stupid hobby?” Gojo started getting more agitated the more nonchalant Getou seemed.

Suguru whipped his body around with pure anger.

“God, yes, Satoru! I am! You don't get it, you would never get it! Hockey is the only thing that i’m actually good at. You wouldn't know because you're so fucking good at everything. Hell, your ego even shows it. I'm going to the United States whether you like it or not. You aren't important enough to influence my decisions.” Getou spat out. The slim black haired man began walking in the same direction he was before Gojo intervened; enraged with Gojo's actions.

Satoru stood in the middle of the street, not knowing what to say or what went wrong. He clenched his fists as a scowl started to appear on his face. That day, satoru made a promise to himself. A promise that no matter what, he would see Suguru again. The next time being even better than his now ex-best friend. It was petty, sure, but Suguru was right. Satoru was the strongest. He was good at everything. So obviously, he was going to prove it to everyone around him.

⠀ ⎯⎯

a/n: bye this took me forever to write, please excuse the fact i cant write angst thank you 😓 and yes, i referenced this off the kfc breakup </3

[wosowrites]

Winter Olympian (Jessie Fleming x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: i’m pretty sure the last winter olympic games were in 2022. based off this request:

prompt: in which jessie is dating a hockey player and is watching her in the olympics along with her chelsea teammates when the reader gets injured.

You and Jessie had been together since 2020. It was honestly a miracle that you guys hadn’t met before, having both been Canadian and having been to London, Ontario at the same time, multiple times. But you only met by some coincidence in the plane going to Vancouver from England. You had been in England for hockey, and Jessie to meet different head coaches and check out facilities. She was still in University. You were in England for a hockey competition that had ended up getting cancelled due to an outbreak. Your teammates had stayed in London, but you wanted to go back to Canada and university.

It had been the splat middle of the pandemic, and only necessary flights were scheduled, and it so happened that you and Jessie were sitting, with one free seat in between you, on a plane to Canada. You had both started talking, and then you realized everything you had in common. Canada natives, olympians, high level athletes. The rest was history.

Jessie sat in her living room with relatively the whole Chelsea team. Over the years, you had become close friends with the girls, even though you lived in Canada to play hockey professionally. The room had never been more crowded. On Jessie’s couch in-front of her flatscreen TV was magda, pernille, guro, sam, niahm and herself. On the floor at their feet sat Millie, Kadeisha, Fran, Ann- Kat and Zecira. And then across the room, chairs from the dinner table had been scattered across the TV area, seating Maren, Joanna, Lauren, Jess, and Emily. It was fully. Very full.

The game started with the national anthem and the shake of hands, as soccer does. But things went different quickly. The game was full of contact, even more because it was an olympic final between USA and Canada. Jessie watched, concentrating hard. "Jesus!" Magda yelled as a player for body slammed against the walls of the rink. "It’s fine, Magda. It’s hockey." Jessie muttered absent mindedly.

In the second period, it was 2-1 for USA and you got a penalty. A player pushed you hard against the glass and you completely abandoned your stick, going over and pushing her onto the ice. A fight broke out, your team holding you back and the opposite team yelling in your face. The ref put you in the box for the two minute penalty. You took your helmet off and looked around in annoyance as you sat in the box, chewing on your mouth guard.

"Damn Fleming. Every time I see her do that mouth guard thing I remember that our little quiet JFlem pulled her." Sam teased, making her blush red. You did look good. Slightly sweaty, tangled hair and stressed eyes did nothing to your charm.

It was only three minutes after you got let out from your penalty that you got taken down. Obviously, the girl you had pushed has held a grudge. As you skated with the puck and body checked you, sending your body flying sideways into the panels.

Your left leg collided with the panel, and you knew something was wrong immediately. It was the way your knee bent backwards and you screamed before you could stop yourself. The ref didn’t stop the play immediately much to the yells and cries of your teammates. By the time the ref blew the whistle, you were sobbing in pain on the ground.

"Holy shit! Ref! Why isn’t he calling that what the hell!" Jessie yelled, standing up and screaming at the TV as the camera panned on you, your body on the ground and your leg stuck out strangely. "That looks broken…" Ann Kat whispered to Z who nodded. "Shit. Shit." Jessie sweared, sitting down and putting her head between her hands. "Hey, she’ll be okay. She will be okay." Magda said, rubbing her hand on Jessie’s back. The freckled Canadian just nodded slowly.

The medics came and got you off the rink quickly, there was no way you could keep playing. You cried as you went off the rink, your helmet abandoned behind you. Your teammates patted you on the back and you just had to tell them to keep going.

But there was nothing you could do. You sat in the medical examiners room, your gear being taken off and your body examined. And thirty minutes later, you heard the final whistle and knew that USA had won gold. You cried, more for the loss than for your leg. You knew a broke leg meant you would be out for a while, and if you were out you could stay in London with Jessie. But loosing the gold medal match… that hurt more than a broken leg ever could.

One week later.

A nice stewardess rolled you out of the plane in a wheelchair as you held your crutches and your bag. You guys talked as she brought you to the area where your luggage would be, and where Jessie would be.

As you entered the large space, you spotted her right away. It was hard not too considering the entire chelsea team was there. Tears filled your eyes as you told the woman wheeling you you were good here. You stood up carefully and Jessie rushed up to you and hugged you tightly, then kissing you a couple of times. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry." Jessie said. "You did so good. You played so well." Jessie said to you lovingly. "I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m here with you now." You said, holding her to you and kissing her again. "And the whole chelsea team apparently." You laughed, waving at the girls. "Yeah they all insisted to come. You scared the shit out of me during that game babe." Jessie said gently.

You smiled at her as a way of apologizing but she quickly ushered you to sit down and wheeled you towards the girls who greeted you as the Chelsea girls do. Loudly.

[trashthedragon]

JOSHLER PROMPT!!!! ok so like tyler is being a lil fuckboy as per usual and like kisses josh on-stage or smth dumb as he does and josh decides to fuck with tyler back 😌 sorry if that sucked lmao im so bad at this

OMG I'm having so much fun with these Joshler prompts. Here is my second one! I kinda just took this one and ran with it!

Send me a Joshler prompt here!

Josh had never thought Tyler would actually be ballsy enough to do it. It was a years-long running joke: the two of them kissing on stage. It had been written in enough fan fics that Josh and Tyler spent a little too much time reading "out of curiosity". They'd teased about doing it to add excitement to their show when they were opening up for the Save Rock and Roll Tour, since it was a common gag that Pete and Patrick did that always got the crowd freaking out about it. Once they'd worn hockey helmets and joked that they had them on because the two of them couldn't stop kissing. Mark had thought he was so funny posting that for everyone to see. It was supposed to be funny.

But Tyler was never going to do it. Until he was. One second Josh was climbing up onto the piano during Holding Onto You, while Tyler shuffled back and forth on it, rapping, with the gleam in his eye that told Josh he was in for something, and the next Tyler was grabbing him and planting a firm kiss on Josh's sweaty lips, his hands cupping the side of Josh's face. The crowd had screamed so loud Josh thought his ear drums might burst. He had absolutely no idea how he managed to land the backflip, how he was able to get through the entire rest of the show, but soon enough they were climbing back on stage after the end of Trees, gripping onto each other, bowing.

Josh hadn't had time to think about the kiss during the show, but now that he was walking off stage his mind was spinning. How the hell was he going to get Tyler back for that? Had it just been a stupid little joke, Tyler finally doing it?

It wasn't until they got back to their dressing room when Josh asked "Soooo what the hell was that about?"

Tyler looked over at him with a smirk "Did you hear everyone? They freaked out," he clapped his hands together.

"So it was just a joke?" Josh asked, raising his eyebrows at Tyler. He saw a slight flicker of something in Tyler's eyes and he decided to chase it.

"Y-yeah" Tyler said, but he was breathless because Josh was stepping towards him now, all broad shoulders and strong biceps and sweat. "A joke," Tyler certainly sounded less cocky than he had before.

"Hmmm," Josh mumbled, his voice lowering. He'd backed Tyler into the wall now, and his hands moved to Tyler's shoulders. "Do it again," Josh said to him as he pressed his hips squarely against Tylers, making his bandmate gasp in surprise. Josh took the opportunity of Tyler's lips opening and kissed him, hard, his tongue sweeping along Tyler's bottom lip and over his crooked teeth.

"Was that a joke too?" Josh asked when he pulled away from Tyler, somehow managing to remain calm and collected while Tyler panted and leaned in towards Josh again, needy for more.

"What?" Tyler said in a daze, and Josh stepped away from the Tyler and turned away, a playful smirk on his lips, knowing the state he'd left Tyler in now was at least a tiny amount of payback for how dazed Josh had felt after that kiss on the piano. Even if it wasn't in front of thousands of people like it had been for Josh. Tyler had gotten himself into this, and Josh was perfectly happy to give his best friend a taste of his own medicine tonight...

If you like my writing, check out my AO3

[puckpocketed]

you prob have but have you seen fowler’s helmet design it is such a delight

hello hi helloo!!! I am not a goalie guy or mask guy usually but you got me on a little rabbit hole :> i love a quick a lengthy afternoon research project!!!

Jacob Fowler has a few notable masks so i suppose we should talk about all of them? I'm not sure which helmet you are referencing so! here goes!!

First, to get it out of the way, Fowler wore a white mask through his minor/junior hockey career. I do enjoy the blank design for narrative reasons (underestimated and ignored btw. passed over in juniors drafts btw. if u even CARE!!!!) but i think this is prob not the one you are asking about. I am currently NOT in the mood for a deeep web search to find nice close-up photos of him in the gear but Bauer's official shop has Fowler's gear set listed here. And here is their shop image of the mask + a photo from Fowler's EP page:

link 1, archive link // link 2, archive link

I was gonna say, I do think its funny that they've put up an image with the wrong bar style. Bauer's photo uses the "grid" style bars (left) and Fowler's cage in the image features "cats-eye" bars (right), but upon further inspection Fowler DID use the grid style mask at some point.

link, archive link

He swapped from the grid to the cats-eye and has not gone back, and I'm gonna assume the discrepancy on Bauer's site has to do with what masks are certified by the Canadian Standards Association (CSA Group) and The Hockey Equipment Certification Council (HECC)...? Short article on mask certifications can be found here // archive link. tl;dr cats-eye bars aren't certified! Here's a fun youtube video I came across a while back about the history of goalie masks! (It's fully cited and sourced... beautiful..... really great material, highly recommend the watch if you have 30 mins free !)

and alrighty I think maybe the mask you were talking about was this one:

post by vicedesign on instagram. link 1, archive link // link 2, archive link

for those following along at home, this is Fowler's Boston College Eagles mask! Here is the instagram video where he explains it. notable facts under the cut because this post is getting long as HELL.

his first mask as a kid was an iron man design mask, and when it came time to choose a design he went back to that!

the host notes that the design is very on-theme for Eagles hockey colours, and that it's a "full-circle" moment <3 I just think that's neat !

the license plate on the back is a reference to where he's from; it's important to him that he reps florida because there's "not too much hockey down there"

The numbers on the license plate are for his mother's birthday

"take me home, country roads" quote is because he spent his summers in West Virginia!

The license plate is SOOO good. I love the colours, the little cartoon oranges. and speaking as a once-iron man enjoyer... LOVE!!! i think also the symmetry of having your mask art be a literal helmet is so fun <3 I'd like to know what city skyline is painted on the side but I fear this would never get published if I attempted to go down that research hole....

And finally, Fowler's most recent mask, which debuted at habs development camp:

link 1, archive link // link 2, archive link

post by pbkreation on instagram. link, archive link // second photo is screenshot of the instagram vid.

If you are reading this and haven't already heard about it or summarily been struck by lightning at the familiarity of the mask... Fowler has chosen to emulate the mask design of legendary Canadiens goalie Patrick Roy.

Here is one incarnation of this mask that Roy wore as a Canadien, for reference:

link 1, archive link // link 2, archive link

(super funny that he chose Roy, who notoriously did NOT end things with the Habs on good terms...) People took note of the mask the MOMENT he came out in it and I have . ough. MANY thoughts on Fowler's choice to invite the conversations, to evoke the past, what with all the Carey-Price-Come-Again comparisons. probably more on this at some point when i feel less unwell about it and have done more reading.

it's a really fun spot the difference game to me!! Fowler has the text running along the side, his name in that distinct lettering. The Habs logo on the forehead is updated but still in the same spot. the logo on the chin does not feature Fowler's player number the same way that Roy's has his #33. the bars on Fowler's mask are white rather than blue. The back of Fowler's mask of course features the Florida license plate!! <3 i really hope he keeps that motif for every mask he has going into the future. All in all, it's a tribute to the past, but it has a unique Jacob Fowler twist !

In this video he explains the mask. Notes:

pbkreations did Fowler's special mask for his Boston College vs Boston University match up

Fowler wanted to do something that represented his family's connection to the Habs! <3

Palm trees on the back!! FLORIDA BOY!!!!

it's a pretty close replica even down to the holographic 'les canadiens' text..!

he clarifies that the mask design is likely just for dev camp. when the host asks him if he'll wear it in a habs uniform, he diplomatically answers the question but avoids confirming that he'll go through with it (veeeerry communications major of him. lol)

Personally i am sooo charmed and endeared by his little florida license plate and his plucky invite to the hockey gods with the invocation of a legendary habs goalie. <3 jacob fowler YOU are goin in my pocket !!!

Anyway, anon thank you for derailing my entire afternoon (with affection) today was supposed to be a gifing day but I got very blissfully side-tracked by Fowler's goalie helmet lore!! Thanks for allowing me to test run my new sourcing/linking policies on a long post :3 hope this was to your liking!!

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

(missed days edition)

Day 26

[day 25] [day 27]

prompts: ice | beautiful | night by @fluffbruary <3

fandom: BBC Sherlock

will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!

A/N: mainly inspired by the absolute amazing, lovely, kind, sweet, beautiful, lovely, heartwarming [insert all other positive adjectives to describe a person here] @justanobsessedpan - AN ABSOLUTE MUST FOLLOW BLOG!!! Arie drew this amazing art about a year ago and i was IMMEDIATELY inspired to write something based on it. i did NOT forget it... i'm just slow. thank you, bestie, for letting me use your art this way! here is the perfect perfect drawing (tap for better quality):

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

"Ah, fudge!", John said, facepalming. They had just walked back into the changing room after their ice-hockey training.

"What's up?", Mike asked.

"Forgot my helmet at the rink. I'll be right back!"

John rushed out, grabbed his helmet from the bench right next to the ice, straightened up and-

dropped the helmet. It bounced a few times on the ice. It made loud thuds.

"Watson! You alright?", a voice from somewhere on John's left hand side yelled.

"Yeah, Greg, just forgot my...", John's eyes were fixed on the boy on the ice rink. It was a figure skater. A really beautiful figure skater. "Um..." His skating was... beautiful. His face was beautiful. In fact everything about him was beautiful. "My uh..."

The skater finished a flawless pirouette, in a half sitting position, his leg stretched out. How is that even- Wait- why did he stop- oh my god. Is he coming- what- wait that's-

"Your helmet?", the figure skater asked with a kind smirk on his lips. A kind smirk?! What the hell is a kind smirk?!

"Sorry- what?", John asked, after his brain finally registered that the figure skater had said something.

"You forgot your helmet?"

"I- uh... Yeah- I-", John let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He half recognized Greg smirking at him, bemused.

"Do you wanna go-", a side glance at his friend proved his suspicion. He didn't care. "On a..." Damn, this guy has gorgeous eyes. John gulped. "Date? With me?" Where did that question come from?

The boy raised his eyebrows. "Is that it?"

"Is that what?", John countered.

"We only just met. And we're gonna go on a date."

Oh, shit. He hadn't been thinking. He had just spoken. Come on, Watson. Get a grip! Confidence! Confidence is everything! "Problem?", John asked, feeling himself grin (hopefully convincingly).

The skater bandied looks with Greg, bemused as well as amused. He shifted his weight on one hip, then looked John up and down. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."

Oh, right. Awkwardly John fumbled with his helmet, stuck it under his left arm, so he could extend his right, "John Watson. Speedy's. Tomorrow night at six P.M.?"

The boy shook his hand, with a suspicious eye. "Sherlock. And fine. But only because you're cute when you're flustered."

"Why- I am not-"

"See? Cute. See you tomorrow.", and Sherlock glided off the ice. There was a certain swing in his hips that made John drop his eyes...

"What. on earth. was that?", Greg asked with a disbelieving chuckle.

"That, Greg", John sucked in a breath. "Was me realizing, there's no way in hell I am straight." John said, still staring at the door through which the beautiful figure skater had left.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

A/N: this was so fun to write! i love reusing/ scrambling up quotes from the show :P hope you liked this too! again please follow justanobsessedpan, promise you won't regret it! (feedback as always very welcome!)

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence

[chachacancan]

I’ve seen some great batfam sports!au, like hockey players and ice dancers, and then some.

And you know what? I have something to offer you, the small niche of intersectional fans of both the batfam and Formula 1. There’s like three of us on here but I’m making this for us.

The batfam, but make it F1 🏎️:

Bruce: Used to be a driver, now team principal. Most definitely Mercedes. His team has been dominant for so long, and they’re an established, respected name in the sport. (He is def. Toto Wolff. Have you ever seen the actual Toto Wolff? He could be batman I kid you not.). He appointed Barbara as Mercedes’ main race-strategist, and Alfred, who used to be Bruce’s PR rep when he was a driver, is now Dick and Damian’s.

Dick: Is Bruce’s number one driver. Multiple times world champion, likeable loveable fashion forward superstar (your Lewis Hamilton type). He’s been there a long time and has seen it all. He’s loyal to his team and plans to remain there until he retires. He’s one of the last of the old guard.

Tim: Is Bruce’s second driver for a season when Jason’s contract is broken. Arrived directly from F2 with a lot of potential but not a lot of experience. The pressure was immense, especially to replace Jason Todd and drive alongside an established world champion, and while he did well for his rookie season, he was not what the team was looking for for a second driver. He is remanded to a back-of-the-field team affiliated with Mercedes while he grows and improves. Tim to Williams is what I’m saying.

Stephanie: Steph is a development driver for Mercedes for a few years before she gets her big break and is announced for Williams to drive alongside Tim. A bit reckless, a bit too quick on the restarts. She gets a lot of flack for hitting the walls a few times but she’s a fighter and she gets results.

Cassandra: Arguably one of the best on the grid, she starts her rookie year with a midfield team before immediately being poached by Ferrari. (In my head she is very much a Charles Leclerc type - kind of shy, kind of awkward, but real kind and a menace on the circuit). PR darling and generally well-liked, she manages to be one of the more aggressive drivers on track without the usual “reckless driver” allegations.

Damian: The second Mercedes driver alongside Dick. Originally picked straight out of F3 by Red Bull and sent to Alpha Tauri, their junior team - Bruce and Mercedes definitely bought the hell out of his contract (in my head Ra’s is the Red Bull team principal and Talia is Alpha Tauri’s) after his first year and brought him in to replace Tim. He’s one of the youngest drivers on the grid, and he has a reputation of being dangerous in wheel-to-wheel battles.

Jason: Used to be Dick’s teammate at Mercedes and even won a world championship against him (for those who are in the know: I’m not saying Jason is the Nico Rosberg to Dick’s Lewis Hamilton, but he did beat him in equal machinery, so…), but left the sport for two seasons after a bad crash. People were very surprised to see him back in F1 driving for Red Bull for a year before switching to that second Ferrari seat. (Come one: I had to give that Ferrari Rosso Corsa to a guy whose helmet is bright red).

Duke: A McLaren driver through and through: papaya orange shirt merchant and general internet celebrity. One of the more well-liked drivers on the grid. He used to briefly be in Alpine but was courted by other midfield teams when his contract ended, and has now been in McLaren for a few years. Definitely the F1 video games ambassador and an unforgettable presence in the Netflix F1 documentary/soap opera series.

Feel free to argue your batfamily member/F1 team opinions in the notes, just know that I will not 🙅🏻‍♀️take any Ferrari slander😤. Trust me I know what that makes me 🤡

[storm-cellar]

homecoming (570 words)

Casey learns the wonders of traveling while exhausted and gets sappy over Raph's general existence.

"You don't gotta come get me y'know? I can just get an Uber or somthin', it’s cool.”

“Aw, c’mon, Case, I’m not dyin’. What, you think I can’t handle a drive down to Jersey now?”

Really, Casey just didn’t want too many people holding them up at the airport because Raph wouldn’t (couldn’t) take off his helmet. He’s been stuck in Montreal for three days because he forgot to renew his damn passport before he left and the team had to leave for home without him. He is now down almost a thousand dollars with the combined cost of a new passport and plane ticket. He’d gotten covered in bruises from the actual damn game and busted a blood vessel in his eye stressing about the whole fuckin’ thing so safe to say he both looks and feels like shit.

When the plane finally lands at JFK he actually claps along with all the white people because goddamn if those weren’t the longest six and a half hours of his life. He’s absolutely wiped and almost eats shit on the jet bridge because the carpet’s lifting up but thank god for small mercies because he gets to skip the hell that is baggage claim since he sent his gear with the team. It's a good thing he did, he thinks, trudging toward the exit, clinging to the strap of his trusty duffle, because Raph’s coming for him on his bike and just thinking about fitting the both of them, his duffle and fifty pounds of hockey shit on it is actively giving him a migraine. 

The hum of the crowd waiting outside the terminal spills into the building every time someone passes through the sliding doors. Casey drags himself through them into the (fucking freezing) night, looking for his very short totally not suspicious ride.

And there he is, off in the corner near the street next to his bike, covered head to toe in black and still wearing his helmet like always.

Casey’s almost knocked flat by how much he’s missed him. The terrapin hasn’t seen him yet, shifting from foot to foot and scanning the crowd for his face, holding a piece of cardboard with ‘dumbass’ scribbled on it in chisel tip marker. It’s only been a week but he can’t wait to go home and eat greasy takeout with him and sleep for fifty years and wake up and watch him almost burn the eggs at breakfast like he always does and then watch that new slasher in their pjs while Raph catches him up on whatever mutant bullshittery happened while he was gone. 

He grips his bag and starts sprinting full tilt down the sidewalk toward Raph, who’s finally seen him (some ninja) and is yelling something or other but Casey cant hear over the blood pounding in his ears and the stupid fucking cackle that's started up in this throat.

He jumps at him like some demented kangaroo and of course Raph catches him and they spin round and round on the sidewalk in the cold on the sidewalk like idiots.

Casey slams his head into the visor of Raph’s helmet and listens to him laughing and grins so hard his face hurts.

“What the hell, dumbass, you tryin’ to kill me now?”

“Maybe. Ya miss me?”

“Fuck no.” 

But there’s a smile tacked on to the end of it, and Casey knows he’s home.

[krakenbait]

bragging rights bracket update #6

good afternoon, bracketeers! the eastern conference had worked itself out last time i reported, while the west came to its final two this time. the golden knights took out the oilers, while the stars overcame the kraken in a game 7 that was very unfortunate for me personally. the conference finals lineup is probably fun if you’re a canes, panthers, knights, or stars fan, but is decidedly not fun for the majority of the brag-cket. there’s only one entry left standing, and 15 out of 19 participants have hit their points ceiling. most likely, i’ll get to award this year’s bragging rights before they hand out the stanley cup. gary bettman, eat your heart out. 

anyway, the scores.

116 points

Hughes line is it anyway? (@natashastarkk​) - highest points potential for a busted bracket, and third place last year. is this another podium event for nat?

96 points

hopelessly optimistic bruins fan (@patron-saint-of-boston-hockey​) - something something unfortunate bruins fans being very attracted to the numbers 6 and 9 (see: AJ’s points total last year)

91 points

more hairy men (abby) - go natural disaster teams?

84 points

Chaos mode (emily) - what are your thoughts on shiny gold helmets?

81 points

raise hell or whatever (@dawson-mercer​) - which taylor swift era would you say the devils are in?

you know :) (@nastybastian​) - how’s the weather in jersey? i bet it’s cold and grey

68 points

come on and raise up (@andreisvechnikov​) - i really hope teravainen isn’t rushing back too quickly

ready 2b dissapointed but not surprised (@morganfrost​) - how could the oilers do this to you?

the commissioner is not supposed to win (me) - so close to being nice! well, at least i’m in good company

66 points

Jack I will pay you to get a mullet (@puck--off​) - and now we wait for the offseason adventures

61 points

battle of the matty b’s (@shea-theodore​)

kraken why! you were my last hope!

58 points

The head, the heart, and the himbos (@circle--of--confusion​) - your western conference was briefly genius... well, aside from that jets pick.

56 points

Hold me like a grudge -  that’s no good for your health

GOOD vibrations (ki) - denver has officially shifted into basketball mode, i take it

55 points

big advocate for naps (@turbolainen​) - last one standing! *several red lasers appear pointed at you*

53 points

the bringer of chaos (brett) - your bracket standing is somehow worse than your music taste.

46 points

Djoker’s actual bracket - did you see the noora raty signing? it’s like the rivs are building their own finnish mafia

33 points

last season 69 points (@arsonandhockey​)

corwin, i think your brag-cket attempts are cursed.

13 points

if the bruins don’t win don’t talk to m (AJ) - if this was a real bracket pool, like with money, i’d be giving you yours back

[transk0vsky]

Another ‘03 Caleon fic! But this time I have the excuse of it’s my birthday to post this hehhe 💖

Leon looked at Casey getting ready to go out, examining the vigilante closely just taking in the sight of him as if it was the first time he’d ever seen Casey at all. Leon exhaled softly before he slinked away from his spot in the doorway,he walked up next to him “hey Casey bear? I think ya got something on your mask!” Leon announced in an innocent tone. Casey jumped back slightly startled by Leon’s voice suddenly ringing out he calmed down once he realized it was only him. Casey turned around to face Leon before the words finally managed to register in his head “What the? Where?”

Casey shouted out frantically he needed to look intimidating if he had some gunk on his mask crooks were just laugh at him…..worse raph would laugh at him.Leon snickered his ploy had worked perfectly! Leon kissed Casey’s masked face pressing his lips to the side where Casey’s check was “me!” Leon responded in a mischievous tone, Casey blushed heavily under his mask and looked away embarrassed even after seven years and a wedding Leon could still fluster him like no tomorrow.

His hands went to his mask. “Oh, geez.” Casey muttered to himself in the quietest flushed tone. Leon giggled loudly “aww did mister jones really think he could leave without a lil love from his husband hmm?” Leon teased playfully as he tapped the nose of Casey’s hockey mask continuing the teasing of poor Casey further. “Heh..I suppose not.” Casey snickered as he pushed up his hockey mask to his hairline once he’d done that Casey pulled Leon into long kiss before pulling away, Casey hugged Leon close as if he was a porcelain doll.

“What can I say? I can’t resist the charms of handsome gentlemen like yerself.” Leon smiled softly as he tilted his head to the side “alright you charmer…..your free to run amok! Just be careful for me” he cooed his words gently as he pulled Casey’s mask back down for him Leon’s glowly brown eyes twinkled with love and admiration as he looked at the man he was more than happy to call his own.

Casey chuckled “Aye aye!” He remarked Casey brushed his gloved hand against Leon’s check before he went to the apartment door to head out “Love ya!” Casey called out behind him affectionately. “Helmet!” Leon called out behind him loudly this wasn’t the first time or the last time Leon had to remind his meathead of a husband to remember his helmet but Leon didn’t mind it….hell maybe Casey even forgot on purpose just so he could get a “reminder” from the one he adored but that was just a theory,Casey quickly stopped in his tracks and turned around.

“Damn yeahh yer…right.” he chuckled and put a hand on his head “what would I do without ya….damn I’m so silly!” Casey commented which only heightened Leon’s suspicions of the helmet thing being a Falsity as Casey ran back inside, grabbing his helmet. He gave Leon a quick hug before then running back outside and hopping on his motorcycle.

[doublearmbars]

fic: contact sport

Summary: a patchwork of media documenting the first couple months of MJF's tenure after being traded to the Red Wings in the middle of the night for nothing.

Notes: I’m a certified hockey enjoyer and this is drawn from a lot of stuff I enjoy but in particular: the You Can’t Do That podcast, the work of Jon Bois and Alex Rubenstein on the Youtube channel Secret Base, and the stupid postgame rituals that NHL teams have established to give a fun item to a new special man every game. I might write more in this AU if i ever get a handle on writing the POV of either of these snippy bitches but I do have a Blackpool Combat Club hockey thing i'm plugging away at.

On ao3 here

From a Youtube video by Secret Base- "Best in the world and you know it" A Dorktown Short Film

[narration]

So he got traded to the Red Wings in the middle of the night, knowing he’ll never be back to the hometown golden boy, that he’ll die up there on that godforsaken lake, his words not mine.

You might expect his story to end there, in despair. After all these Red Wings are not a Stanley Cup team, hell they’re not even a playoff team.

Except, it doesn’t end there. Not by a long shot. But to tell you that story, I have to take a sidebar to talk about a different hometown golden boy.

The screen zooms out from the announcement of the trade to show a large chart with multiple boxes, and next to the labeled vertical headshot of Maxwell Jacob Friedman another is revealed, this one of a tired eyed young man with mid-length bleached hair, his dark roots showing. He’s sneering at the camera, and wearing a jersey for the Chicago hockey team.

[narration]

You might know him.

____________________

From the Be Gay Take Penalites Podcast Ep 145 Little Caesar’s Gay Fight Club

Can you have shit in Detroit? Can love bloom on the battlefield? Your intrepid hosts Kelsey and PJ journey to find these answers and more as we recap the week in hockey. Also: we take a hard stance on goalie crime (it’s good) and return for another round of 80’s news chyrons.

PJ: Okay on to elsewhere in the NHL, I wanna talk about Detroit and MJF and my favorite old bitch. They’re so- they’re like unlikely animal friends

[Kelsey laughs]

PJ: it’s like an old dog and a shithead cat became friends. Am I wrong? Am I wrong.

Kelsey: No- no you’re- [wheezing laughter] they’re besties but they also hate each other is the vibe.

PJ: Truly like when Max got traded I was like-

Kelsey (crosstalk): You went on Twitter immediately like-

PJ: Yeah I tweeted-let me find it- I tweeted “Brooks looking at MJF like he’s himself from 12 years ago and hating it” and then that one picture from a postgame interview where he looks just completely hollowed out inside like he can’t even summon his Scorpio urge to complain.

[both laugh]

Kelsey: Like not even the intense energies of notorious old married couple Alex Shelley and Chris Sabin can fix this situation.

PJ: And! And they were a defense pair in the win last night.

Kelsey: Max plays defense?

PJ: Did you not- I forget you hate the Isles. Yeah coaching moved him to defense to- I think to punish him it’s unclear and stupid but he appears to be thriving? Which I love for him. He did play defense in juniors to be fair.

Kelsey: No, being fueled by spite we love that. Keep me posted on those two. I wanna bring up the goalie crimes from this week...

PJ: Oh god we have to talk about Bryan.

___________________________________

Video posted by the Red Wings official twitter.

The locker room of the Red Wings after a home win, with most players having taken off their jerseys and sitting around either shirtless or in compression shirts. There is background chatter that quiets when Maxwell Jacob Friedman stands up, hair a mess with sweat from the game. He's holding a fireman's helmet, this season's relic to pass between the player whose performance was best. He gestures across the room,

"Punk"

and the camera swings to show the man he's called out, still in his skates, who rises, crosses the room and takes the helmet from him a little snappily, then raises his other hand to acknowledge the rest of the locker room

The rest of the locker room claps heartily and lets out a rising communal "ooh" like children when someone in their class is called to the principal's office.

They shake hands. We see him say something in MJF's ear, but the audio doesn't pick it up. Lip readers on Twitter claim he says "nobody calls me that anymore"

The response comes through clearly though: "Well I am."

[spaceyaceface]

History - Chapter 2

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings/Cliches: Slow burn, brief mentions of fights, minor language, spoilers (?) for season 2

Story Summary: Steve Harrington remembers Y/N from high school. He never intended on her getting mixed up with all of his monsters. He never intended to fall in love with her. 

Chapter Summary: Y/N sees Dustin doing something weird. And somehow, that lands her in the backseat of Steve Harrington's car to go fight monsters. Follows part of season 2.

A/N: Ahhhh this took me forever to do. I'm a slow writer, sorry!!! I'm really excited for where this story is going, though, and have some cute stuff planned for the next few chapters! Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist :)

W.C.: 1.9k

TAGLIST OPEN

REQUESTS OPEN

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

In the years to come, Y/N would never blame Dustin for getting her involved. But it was pretty much Dustin’s fault. 

She’d been writing an essay for some college on her back porch when the commotion started. Sure, she had gotten fairly used to the boy’s antics–but they definitely could be entertaining. So, when Dustin was cursing like a sailor, running around his yard in hockey gear, she stood off to the side, brows furrowed. 

“What the hell is all this?” she asked, expecting his group of friends to come tumbling out of his house after him at any moment. 

Instead, his eyes went wide under the mask he was wearing and he swore even louder. “Get out of here!” 

“What–”

She was cut off by a noise behind her. Her head turned to look back, but before she could get a good look at the source, Dustin yanked her into the shed beside him. 

Through the cracks, she saw her very first demadog. 

Her breath fled from her lungs as she stared at it–it’s featureless face splitting open to eat some of the bologna off of the ground. Suddenly, it looked up at them–how did that thing even see anything?--and Dustin shot out of the shed, swinging his hockey stick and launching him into the cellar. He shut the door before collapsing onto it.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You ate my cat.” 

“It ate your WHAT?” 

Dustin whirled around. “You didn’t see anything.”

“Like hell I didn’t, Dustin Henderson, what on earth–”

“Nothing!” he shouted. “Y/N, just go home and forget about it, trust me, it’ll be better that–”

“I am not going to just go home and forget about it.” She glanced down at the cellar doors. “Go call the police or animal control, or–or whatever, I’ll–”

“No!” He took off the helmet, burying his face in his hands, muttering some choice words under his breath. “I can’t call the police. Well, most of them. Y/N, I legally can not tell you what’s going on so just go home and don’t worry about it.” 

She gaped at him. Legally can not tell her? What was that supposed to mean? Regaining her composure, she folded her arms. “I’m not letting a 13 year old kid handle that freak monster lizard thing on his own. If we can’t call the police, or you can’t tell me everything, then fine. But I’m not going to let Dustin Henderson be solely responsible for a cat eating mini demon. I’m going to help you, whether you like it or not.”

Dustin stood there a moment, a little shocked at her speech. After a moment he groaned. “Fine. Fine!  But I can’t explain. And you have to do exactly what I say!” 

Most of the day after that was a blur. 

As they scrubbed cat guts out of his carpet, Dustin was trying desperately to get ahold of someone else to help. Over and over, he tried his friends (“More 13 year olds are the people who know this stuff, but not me?” “Shut up.”) but they didn’t pick up his code red. Well, except for Erica Sinclair, who promptly turned off her walkie and left them for dead. He tried a few other people as well, like Jim Hopper the chief of police, and Joyce Byers. It was a bit comforting that there were at least some adults involved in this madness. 

Y/N tried to keep herself from asking questions. It was part of the deal, after all. Seeing that thing had sent a wave of fear through her, and she wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she knew it was taken care of. But she couldn’t help but wonder what it was. She’d managed to guess very little about it so far–just that it was dangerous, unknown to most of the human population, and that its existence was very, very bad news. 

By the time the evening came, Dustin was growing more and more tense. She had helped in any way that she could, but he seemed to be formulating a plan to get rid of the thing (which he finally told her he had named Dart) that needed help from someone more experienced. 

So when the pair of them stood outside the Wheeler’s house, Y/N was beyond confused. 

“I thought you already tried getting ahold of Mike,” she said as he pounded on the door. 

“Their line is busy. They might be home, though. And Nancy could help too.” 

She furrowed her brows. “Nancy?”

Finally, Ted Wheeler opened the door. The conversation was short and to the point. Mike was at Wills. Nancy wasn’t home either. Behind them, a car door slammed shut. 

Y/N turned and saw someone marching towards them to the Wheeler’s front door. After a moment, she realized that the someone was no other than Steve Harrington holding a bouquet of roses in his hand. 

She inwardly grimaced. She’d heard the rumors circling around–that the King and Miss Perfect had finally broken it off, and she had run away with Johnathan Byers. Judging from the roses and the muttering under his breath, she figured the rumors must be true. A shot of sympathy went through her. 

He had changed in the past several months. She wasn’t sure what it was–maybe it had been Nancy, pulling the best out of him–but the difference was pretty stark. He no longer hung out with Tommy or Carol. In fact, as far as she knew, he had laid fairly low this year. He was still a regular at parties, of course, but he seemed more… grounded. Kinder. 

A little bit more like the Steve Harrington she had glimpsed at in the week that they spoke to each other. 

Lost in her thoughts, she was pulled back to reality by Dustin calling out to Steve. “Are those flowers for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?”

“...No.”

“Good.” Dustin yanked the flowers out of his hand, heading over the Steve’s car. 

“Hey! The hell–” 

“Nancy isn’t home. Y/N, come on.” 

Steve finally glanced over at her, just noticing she was there, before turning his gaze back to Dustin. “Where is she?”

“Doesn’t matter. We have bigger problems than your love life.” 

“Wait,” Y/N said, looking between the two of them. “Harrington knows?” 

“Yes. Hurry up. Do you still have the bat?” he asked, question directed back to Steve.

“What bat?” he replied

“The one with the nails.”

Steve glanced between Dustin and Y/N. She had made her way to Dustin’s side, deciding that she wasn’t going to be ditched any time soon. “Why?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Dustin said, getting into the passenger seat. 

“Am I finally going to get an explanation?” Y/N asked. 

“Well, you’ve stuck around this long. I feel like it’s going to take a lot to get rid of you.”

—-------------

It was a long while before anyone said anything. 

Steve was tense at the wheel, glancing at Y/N in the rearview mirror periodically. 

Dustin had just caught Steve up to date–all about how he found Dart, and how he thinks he’s a baby ‘demogorgon’ and his grand plan to burn him to smithereens. Y/N felt she was still missing a lot of background on the whole thing–like where they had encountered these demogorgons before, and what it had to do with all of Dustin’s friends, but it was more information than she had had before. 

“You can still back out,” Steve said, cutting through the silence. “You don’t have to have anything to do with this.”

She shook her head slowly. “I’ve made my choice.” 

Dustin sighed. “Y/N–”

“Look,” she said, taking in a breath. “The thing is, now that I know there’s stuff like this out there, I can’t just sit aside and let someone else take care of it. I can help. I know I can. And if I backed out now, knowing that this thing could hurt either of you, I’d be a coward. If I went home and then neither of you showed up to school tomorrow, I’d spend the rest of my life knowing I could have made a difference. And that would be worse than dying.” 

Dustin and Steve shared a look. Steve nodded. 

“Welcome to the team.” 

He pulled up into his driveway. The house looked the same as it had nearly a year ago. She had expected as much, but she never really thought she’d be back here again. After parking, Steve went and retrieved a bat. It was covered in nails and looked like a pretty solid weapon. Y/N’s eyebrows rose. 

“You have another one of those for me?” she asked. 

He hummed in thought, glancing around his garage for a moment before grabbing a plain wooden bat leaning against the wall and passing it to her. 

She frowned a bit. “No nails for me?”

“Let’s not have you kill someone on your first swing, L/N. Do good and maybe we’ll make it deadlier.” 

She rolled her eyes, but knew he was probably right. It would be pretty tragic if she happened to be the one causing one of their deaths from a stray swing. 

The trio piled back into the car, ready to go back to Dustin’s house. 

—-------

It was a weird feeling having Y/N L/N sitting in the backseat. 

He had never had any intentions of getting to know her back when he was King Steve. Why would he? She was quiet. Smart. Kind. Everything he wasn’t. 

But the school project had pushed them together like a strange twist of fate. 

For the first time in years, someone had looked at him, through him, and he had felt… seen. He saw the look in her eyes, the way she dismantled the situation and let her opinion of him reform. There was something different in her gaze after that–something akin to pity that had him questioning himself. 

You can do better than them. 

Could he? That had thrown him off. He was Steve “The Hair” Harrington. He was destined to be be Mr. Popular and hang out with jerks like Tommy and Carol, because they deserved each other. He was a kid running away from a home that didn’t want him and towards the parties and drinks and girls that kept him distracted. He was the face he put on when everyone around him looked his way, the grin and nice clothes and nothing more. 

He was sure of it until he started dating Nancy Wheeler. 

Because like Y/N, Nancy was good. She seemed to see the better in him–the better he still didn’t quite believe was there. 

You can do better than them. 

But then he was breaking Jonathan’s camera. He sensed Nancy drifting away. He got into that fight, and he was back to square one. 

He was back to only Tommy and Carol, their laughing grating against his ears as he nursed his battered face with a can of coke. And that’s when it hit him. 

Maybe he didn’t deserve better. Maybe he never would. But he could change. He could do better, be better. 

“Carol, for once in your life, shut your damn mouth,” he spat. 

She looked at him, confused. “What?”

Tommy jumped to her defense. “What’s your problem, man?”

And Steve looked at them. Really looked at them. The faces they put on. The grins. The clothes. He saw himself, and he hated it. 

“You’re both assholes, that’s my problem.”

The argument was short. He ran away from the fight he knew he would lose. His tires squealed, but he felt… free, somehow. 

Y/N had seen better in him. So had Nancy. Maybe, with a little work, he could learn to see it, too.

TAGLIST: @multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer @familyvideostevie

[coeurdastronaute]

Winter Olympics, Ch. 4

Previously on Winter Olympics

The cheering of the crowd didn’t really come in over the whooshing of the air through her helmet, not until she slowed. The wind was generous at her back so she felt like she was flying even more. The thick, grey clouds felt like they were nearly within her grasp sometimes. 

There was a rhythm to half pipe, to her routine, one that she’d memorized to highlight her mastery, one that was so much fun, she couldn’t believe she got to compete with it, one that she did better than anyone else, and with a few surprises thrown in. When she hit the final trick, she pumped her fist and tossed her hands up, happy with the entirety of it, more than she ever thought possible. 

Nearly out of breath, Clarke stopped near the fences where her coach and parents waited to congratulate her. She knew before she looked up that it was going to be a good score. She felt it. It was one of the most flawless runs she’d ever had. It was like dancing to her. If she’d been a pianist, she would have hit every note with just the right amount, at just the right time-- a symphony from her board. 

When the score was announced, she heard Bellamy above the rest, screaming for her, earning a hug from him quickly before her mother swallowed her and Kane patted her back with a half hug around her. 

Grinning madly, Clarke tossed her head back and closed her eyes. 92.8. She’d qualify first. It was tough mark to beat, not that Anya couldn’t. Clarke just had to hope the Canadian was a little less capable today. The Australians went wild as Clarke walked past, allowing them to swallow her as well. Her cheeks were going to break, she was certain as she entered the waiting area after a quick interview.

“You’re an asshole,” Anya punched her shoulder and then hugged her tightly. “That was amazing. Seriously. I’m going to go DQ just so I don’t have to feel bad about myself.” 

“Shut up. You’ve already qualified,” Clarke rolled her eyes. 

She shoved her helmet and goggles into her bag, making sure her board was stacked before pushing the sweaty tendrils out of her eyes. 

“Yeah, well now I have to up my game,” she shrugged. “First Aden gets the first goal. Now Lexa with a hat trick. I swear you’re going to make me look bad in front of my grandparents. Of course they couldn’t be here for my early run.” 

“I promise to do worse next time your grandparents are coming.” 

Clarke filed the news away about Lexa, outrageously happy to hear that she’d performed well. She assumed a hat trick in hockey was the same as in soccer, and if so, that was impressive as hell. Sexy too. 

“Did they win their games?” 

“What?” 

“Your cousins. You know, the more talented ones in your genetic pool.” 

“Aden is heading to a shoot out, so not sure yet. Lex…” Anya picked up her phone, rereading a text. “Lexa won 5-0.” 

“Wow, that’s… that’s like the spanking I just put on you.” 

“You’re seriously an asshole,” Anya growled, earning a smile. “My grandparents got to see both of them kick ass, and I already qualified.” 

“So you’re not going to go put on a show?” 

Clarke did her best to tame her hair and prepare for media questions in the press room. She imagined there’d be a few after a run like that. 

“Safety run for me, coaches orders.” 

“Put a little something on it for them at least,” Clarke shrugged. 

Anya debated it before nodding and deciding something right there. It was easy to talk like that, almost like teammates. Even though they were on teams, it was a very lonely sport, one that was sometimes hard to make friends in. Clarke valued being friends with her competitor. They made the other better. Anya was the reason she’d just put on the run she had. 

“Didn’t hear from Lexa last night. You found her place okay?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” she blushed a bit, preparing to change out of her boots, not looking up. But Anya didn’t press, just stood there and nodded thoughtfully. 

“Well, if she’s your lucky charm, I really fucked myself, didn’t I?” 

The pair shared a chuckle before the Canadian heard her name called to get up to the start. Clarke held her breath though, hoping that was it. It was a tacit acknowledgement, but it was loud enough, she thought. Lexa was camaraderie and a bit of an escape in the middle of the most stressful two weeks of her life. That was it. It didn’t need to be dissected. Clarke found a bit of reprieve, and she wouldn’t think about it too much. She certainly didn’t want to get a talk from an overprotective family member. Not for a crush, which was all this was. 

“Go put on a show, Jansen,” Clarke called. “Tomorrow we’ll start over and fight for gold.” 

“Won’t be much of a fight,” Anya tossed over her shoulder as she tugged on her helmet and walked out of the tent.

Left to herself, she heard the crowd roaring for whatever the next competitor was doing. Clarke took the moment though, and basked in her most perfect run ever. It was a feeling that nothing could ruin. She marinated in that moment and smiled as she finally caught her breath. 

Maybe it was a lucky charm. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Dinner was entirely too nice. Clarke hadn’t expected to feel so good, or to have her parents be so excited for her. Maybe it was the arena, that they could see and hear and understand what it all meant to her. Maybe it was just figuring out that she didn’t have to put all of her hopes and dreams before them for their approval. Maybe it was just a hell of a run, and even they could understand something like that. 

“You did so good. It’s still a little terrifying watching, but wow,” her mother grinned as they found the restaurant Kane had googled and added to an itinerary. “You did great. I liked your double alley oop. The announcer said it doesn’t get done ever.” 

“Yeah, Bellamy wasn’t sure about adding it, but I thought it looked good in practice. My first score was good enough, but I wanted to really set the bar, and with Anya attempting the 1080...” 

“An Olympic finalist,” Kane shook his head and smiled. “If I would have known this was waiting the first time you fell on your butt when I took you down the bunny slope… I just wouldn't have believed it.”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile as they sat at their table. It felt a little good to make them proud. It felt even better that they made the effort. It felt like a compromise had been reached somehow. 

“What are you guys going to get up to tomorrow before the finals? I’ll be able to hang out more after. Big Air isn’t for a week.” 

“I got invited to go see an old friend, Dr. Jaha. Do you remember him?” Abby said as she perused the wine list. “He left to take a position out here when you were… Maybe six or so.” 

“Vaguely.” 

“We’re getting a tour of UBC’s research labs,” Kane explained. “I think it’s a bit of an undercover sales pitch to your mother, but what do I know?” 

“They don’t have the budget for both of us,” she shook her head. “And I’m happy at my lab.”

“Would you take it if they did?” Clarke wondered. 

Abby looked to Kane who just looked back and offered a small smile and a shrug. Clarke liked their language. She liked that she had a shit father, and a great dad who supported her as best he could. Marcus Kane bought her the first snowboard she ever owned when she turned eight. He also built her mother a house. 

In the dim light of the restaurant, Clarke finally let out a breath, that she was happy they were there, and for a moment, she didn’t feel like the fuck up that couldn’t talk to them about life. She felt vaguely like an adult. Her parents might debate it given that she played in the snow for a living, but after the performance she just gave and the fact that she made the finals with a shot at a medal. It proved something. 

“Maybe?” Abby shrugged again, something she wasn’t known to do, giggling slightly. “You’re always in Colorado or Idaho anyway training. I might see you more if we lived on the same continent.”

“I still train in the summer back home.” 

“Maybe four months,” her mother reminded her. “If you’re not competing.” 

“You don’t have to uproot your life for me, seriously.” 

“We’re putting the wagon way before the horse,” Abby reminded the pair. “We’re getting a tour and having dinner with a dear old friend. Nothing more.” 

“He’s sending a car,” Kane leaned closer with a grin, spilling it all to Clarke. “A folder of information was delivered to the suite about an our ago.” 

“Sounds a little less friendly and a little more showboating,” Clarke agreed. 

“Yes, can you bring a bottle,” Abby asked the waiter, ignoring them. “Champagne. My daughter just qualified for an Olympic final tomorrow. Yeah, her,” she nodded as the waiter politely smiled at Clarke. “We’re going to celebrate.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes and adjusted the napkin in her lap. 

“Just one glass. I do have to get up and, you know, compete.” 

“We’re celebrating you accomplishing all you have,” Kane shook his head. “And tomorrow, we’ll celebrate your medal.”

“Don’t jinx me.” 

“You kicked ass today. You’re going to do the same tomorrow.” 

“I know we haven’t always understood, or thought this was a good idea, but you’ve…” her mother smiled warmly at her across the table. “You’ve really done something amazing and important, Clarke. You can still get a degree, but I want you to kick ass tomorrow.”

“I’m going to try, that’s for sure,” Clarke agreed as the bottle was delivered. “But I think we should drink to Mom’s woo-ing and maybe getting a better funded lab.” 

“We can drink to it all,” Abby shook her head as Kane poured. “To being at the Olympics, with our daughter, the Olympian.” 

Unsure of where the change in their attitudes was coming from, Clarke didn’t question it too much. It felt good, to have their support. It felt good, for them to acknowledge that they saw the hard work she’d put in. So she took her glass and clinked it with theirs. 

“To being here,” she echoed before taking a sip. It tingled her throat and she hopped into debating what to get for dinner with her parents, warm and bubbly all over. 

XXXXXXXXX

It wasn’t that late, as her parents dropped her off at the Village before returning to their hotel for the night. Clarke checked her watch again and sighed as she stood in the middle of the small, wintery town that had popped up, picturesque and full of athletes and trainers mingling and walking through the brisk cold, puffs of their breath disappearing into the crisp, clear night sky. 

With a heavy sigh, she squinted and looked up at her building before shoving her hands in her pockets and checking the time again, though it hadn’t changed since the minute ago when she looked. 

It wasn’t that late, only after nine. Her competition wasn’t until six in the evening the following day, despite knowing full well that she’d be preparing in the hours before. And she kind of wanted to know what was going to happen next to Luke and Leia and Han. Mostly the movie, she told herself as she set her jaw and made a hard right, veering toward the other side of the Village. 

When she got off of the elevator on Lexa’s floor, Clarke heard the noise and grew a little nervous. Naturally, she’d celebrate with her team. She should have left. She could have backed right into the elevator had she any sense at all. But the doors closed and her back hit the metal and Clarke realized she was there, now. 

“Oh my, oh my,” some cheered as Clarke walked through the hall, dodging bodies toasting to their success, all manner of red, white, and blue on display. “We have a visitor!”

Clarke recognized a face or two from when she’d looked through Lexa’s Instagram. She gave the gaggle that sprawled on the floor and bed in one room a small wave and smile. One climbed up and approached the doorway, tape still on her legs, hair in a messy, wet bun. 

“Hey, you’re… the snowboarder, right?” she grinned. “From Australia?” 

“Yeah, that’s… I’m one of them, at least.” 

“The one who had a great run today?” 

“It was alright,” she shrugged. 

“We watched the video. Pretty sick.” 

“Thanks. Felt good. I should congratulate you all. Impressive win. A shut out, if that’s what you call that.” 

“All me,” she beamed proudly as the rest of the team hooted and clapped. “I’m Em. Goalie. Thanks for hosting that welcome party the other night. We all had a blast.” 

“That was you?” a few called from the floor. 

There was music playing quietly, or at least what seemed quietly because they were all feeling quite excited and loud, recounting and celebrating. It was a little disorienting, to see so many women in sports bras and shorts, just walking around with abs and muscles. It was like being trapped on Themyscira. And Clarke didn’t know where to really look, except that Lexa wasn’t there. 

“I heard there’s going to be one on the sixth floor tomorrow, celebrating the first round of medals. Some French speed skaters.” 

The team got excited again, drowning out any more suggestions, agreeing that they had to go, which made Clarke feel a little accomplished at least. But the goalie was still standing there, eyeing her a little more carefully than the others, less easily distracted. 

“You’re here to see our fearless captain then?”

“I, uh,” Clarke furrowed, racking her brain to figure out if Lexa was the captain or not. “If she’s the one who had the hat trick, then yes.” 

The goalie nodded and leaned against the door as she crossed her arms. It didn’t really seem right that everyone in the room had biceps. And traps. The traps were…

“She’s at a family dinner still. It was a pretty decent day at work for the Woods clan, despite you kicking Anya’s ass.” 

“I wouldn’t call her third place finish in qualifiers a huge loss.” 

“You must not know them that well,” she snickered to herself. 

“I think it’s a bit different for Anya.”

“Maybe. But still, a lot to celebrate. Do you want to wait? You can hang out with us. We aren’t that scary.” 

A loud argument broke out followed by shrieks of laughter. 

“I might head back. Try to keep calm tonight and prepare, I guess,” Clarke decided. “If you… could you let her know I stopped by?” 

“Have you maybe considered giving her your number?” 

“I kind of like keeping it… casual? That’s not the right word. Low-tech.”

“I’ll let her know a beautiful Australian was looking for her. I’m sure it’ll tickle her after the day she’s had. A hat trick in her first Olympic game and a babe making house calls.” 

“Aw, you think I’m a babe?” Clarke teased. 

“Not my type. Just thinking about what Lex might call you.” 

Clarke chuckled and rolled her eyes. 

“I appreciate it. Thanks. And congrats again.” 

“Yeah, you too,” she called as Clarke made her way back down the hall. 

Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe Clarke didn’t need to see a complete stranger, three nights in a row. It was probably safer that way. Less of a risk of getting attached. Clarke pressed the button and left the women to celebrate their victory. She didn’t think about the looks Lexa’s friend had given her. She didn’t think about the tiny prickling disappoint that she didn’t get to see her. Clarke walked back to her own room and watched the highlights of Lexa’s game on her phone as she trudged through the cold. 

XXXXXXXXXX

In just over an hour, Clarke did all of the work she could. She’s returned emails, something she was never keen on doing. She checked her schedule her publicist sent over. She posted a few pictures from the events, and commented on others, putting in her activity time. In a very dumb turn of events, she checked Lexa’s social media. Lexa being pummeled by her teammates in the locker room was featured. Followed by the her knocking gloves after a goal, shouting her joy. The last picture was Lexa at a table in a restaurant similar to the one Clarke had just found herself at with her parents, dimly lit and full of amazing food. She smiled and let an older gentleman Clarke assumed was her grandfather put an arm around her, her cousin on the other side. Clarke recognized Aden from the cafeteria and a smaller woman tucked against his side. Coach sat at the head of it while Lexa hugged her grandmother tightly. 

It made Clarke smile, to see it. 

She liked it, as if by reflex, as if it was normal to like the picture of a girl she’d slept beside twice and kissed and been disappointed in not seeing. 

So convinced was she, that when there was a knock on her door, she assumed it was Bellamy who had taken to incessantly bothering her to come hang out with the rest of the team. But it was nearing eleven, and she couldn’t do it. 

But then there was Lexa Woods, standing at her door, no longer trapped as just a picture on her phone. 

“You,” Clarke murmured, surprised and relieved. 

“Me,” Lexa smiled, bigger than ever before. “You.” 

Clarke didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly so the hockey player could pass. She closed the door and watched her aimlessly walk around, hands in her back pockets, stupid smile firmly on her lips. 

“Anya was singing your praises tonight. Apparently even she can’t do a double alley oop. At least not yet, she reminded me.” 

“I might not have shown her that one yet. Thought she’d like the surprise.” 

Lexa nodded and toed the ground, her shoulders moving as she took a deep breath. 

“You kicked ass today. I couldn’t make it in time to watch, but I was watching with my dad during Aden’s shoot out.” 

“Heard you did alright yourself,” Clarke shrugged. The smile got dopier, if it were possible. It was incredibly endearing. Too much. “I was impressed. I only asked for two goals.” 

“I’m a bit of an overachiever. It’s been a curse, really,” Lexa shrugged, carefully taking her coat off. The sweater below clung to her broad shoulders as she flexed and folded it over a chair. “I was given a message by secretary slash goalie that, and this is a quote from her, not my words at all: ‘a smoking hot Australian snowboarder showed up to celebrate with me,’ and that I was an idiot for not giving you my number.” 

Lexa had taken the few steps that separated them while Clarke remained rooted against the door. They were nearly toe to toe. Clarke thought she could feel the words wafting across her neck. 

“I quite like her.”

“Is it true then?” 

“That you’re an idiot? Probably,” Clarke grinned. Hands moved to her hips and she jutted them out slightly. 

This Lexa… this Lexa was different than the girl from the hallway and the girl who watched Star Wars in bed. This Lexa was not the Lexa that flopped around in the bed, refusing to get out. This Lexa had a smirk to her. This Lexa grabbed Clarke’s hips and dug her fingers in a little more firm than before. This Lexa was brimming with confidence and sureness that was, as Clarke had feared, downright lethal. 

“That you wanted to celebrate with me.” 

“I’m actually very invested in Leia,” Clarke decided, looping her arms around Lexa’s neck. “I was promised another movie, and I figured you might need to wind down after your day.” 

“I could go for that. But what about you? Wound up at all? “

Her lips were hovering right there, but Clarke didn’t lean forward an inch. They danced, around each other slightly, until their noses touched, until Lexa closed the distance. 

“A little,” Clarke swallowed roughly. 

When Lexa dipped down to kiss her, finally, Clarke sighed against her mouth before tugging her arms tighter. It was not like the first kiss. It wasn’t even like when they were nearly naked in her bed just a day ago. This kiss was… This was the kiss. She didn’t have time to dwell on what the kiss meant, just that it was the kiss. The defining kiss. The important kiss. 

Lips moved to her neck as she rooted her hands in Lexa’s hair. Hands held her still, tugging her closer. 

“I’m not distracting you, right?” Lexa whispered against her ear. But Clarke was in a fog, and she shook her head, finding lips again and biting. 

When Lexa tried to pull herself away to make sure, Clarke didn’t let her. 

“No, you’re not, I promise,” she murmured. 

“You have finals tomorrow.” 

“Yup.” 

Clarke tugged at the sweater until Lexa stood a little straight and finally let her go enough to tug it over her head. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were dilated behind those glasses, now slightly askew on her face. Clarke pulled them off of Lexa’s face before carefully folding them and placing them on a counter behind her. She reached back forward and tugged Lexa’s shirt until she was pressed against the door once more, the hockey player’s entire body pinning her there, hands rooted on either side of her head. 

“This is okay?” Lexa asked one final time, holding herself just in Clarke’s focus. 

She hadn’t lost her confidence, her smirk, as she ran a hand along Clarke’s neck and tapped her thumb along the collarbone there. 

“Yes. I promise.” The hockey player searched her face, squinting slightly, wagering if it was. “Call time isn’t until two, and frankly I have a lot of nervous energy after my performance today and expectations and my parents… so yeah. This is very okay. Very needed. Celebrate all over me, if you want.” 

With a burst of laughter, Lexa nodded and debated before turning her sights back to the task at hand. They grinned at each other for a moment before Lexa leaned down again, putting her hands back on Clarke’s hips before slipping them around her. 

In an instant she was wrapping her legs around Lexa’s waist and clinging to her neck even tighter than before. 

“Don’t hurt yourself. I can’t be the reason for the demise of the US National Women’s Hockey Team captain before she’s out of prelims,” Clarke teased. 

“Let me show off a little,” Lexa shrugged. “I might have some energy I need to burn off.” 

“So you’re going to bench me?” 

“Would you like that?” 

It was oddly appealing in a way Clarke hadn’t considered before. Before she could put too much mental effort into the image though, Lexa knelt in her bed and slowly lowered her, hovering them there while kissing her neck. 

“Please fuck me,” Clarke whispered against Lexa’s lips as she was pressed into the pillow. 

Lexa moaned at the polite request and bit her neck as she scratched at her scalp. Clarke filed away the fact that dirty talk and scratching seemed to do the trick. 

In a matter of a minute, she’d been stripped down completely as Lexa knelt between her legs and surveyed her. Clarke watched her face, and she saw her chest heaving, as if she were nearly out of breath. Lexa pushed her hair away from her face before deciding on a hair tie from her wrist to hold it back. 

“You,” Clarke nudged her chin. 

Lexa knew. She tugged off her shirt and bra and Clarke took her turn appreciating. She touched the tiny little maple leaf tattoo on Lexa’s hip, not noticing it before. 

“What if I told you that you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen,” Lexa asked, finally holding Clarke’s gaze. 

“I think we’re past the chatting up portion. You did good.” 

“I still needed you to hear it.” 

A hand was pressed against her chest, then slid down her torso before moving back up again. Clarke watched Lexa focus on her hand before adding the other, touching all that she could. It made her back arch up to help. 

“Have you decided the answer to my favorite question?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Whose bed?” Clarke grinned as hands grabbed her hips again and pressed them into the mattress to keep her rooted. 

“Is this an invitation?” 

“I swear to God, if you don’t--”

Clarke choked on the words as Lexa leaned down and settled between her thighs. They knew which bed. 

A really good, very tiny distraction, she chanted to herself as her eyes bolted shut and her head tossed back. She rooted her hands in Lexa’s hair again and gave in. 

NEXT