#i hope it does! he was a good guy (and a goalie)

[cactustreesmotel]

went skating again (as is weekly tradition) and when we were packing up and the hockey guys were coming in i got into a little conversation with one of them...still bouncing from the human interaction

[hunterrrs]

THEY’RE IN LOVE

When Alex Nedeljkovic got to Pittsburgh after signing as a free agent in the offseason, he quickly discovered a shared interest with his new goalie partner, Tristan Jarry – their trucks, as they drive the same Ford pickup, albeit different models, to and from the rink.

“I think Ned and I have found a lot of things that we’ve bonded over, a lot of things that we can talk about. One of the first things was obviously we have the same truck, so it was kind of cool,” Jarry said with a smile. “Just finding key things you can talk about, and I think just keeping the conversation going to learn more about each other, that helps build a relationship both on and off the ice.”

That relationship between Jarry and Nedeljkovic, both 28 years old, is a strong one, and Mike Sullivan believes that’s been a big key for this particular goalie tandem – with the Penguins Head Coach describing them as “1 and 1A.”

“I think they sincerely like one another and root for one another,” Sullivan said. “I think they push one another to be at their best. Both of those guys have played well for us throughout the course of the year. They’ve both played extremely well and have been deserving of being in the net. It makes for a difficult coaching decision every night, but that’s a good challenge to have.”

For Jarry and Nedeljkovic, it’s about finding that balance between being competitive and wanting the net, but also being a good teammate. Because ultimately, all that matters is that they’re giving the team a chance to win every night.

“You can take it too far and be a (jerk) and not talk to a guy, but it just makes it awkward and not friendly. That's not what you want. It's not good,” Nedeljkovic said. “So, you want him to succeed, I want him to do well just as he wants me to do well, and that's how we get better. You’re not gonna do yourself any favors hoping that he does bad and thinking negatively... So, it’s just being a good teammate. It's easy to do, and he's a great guy. He's a good guy off the ice, so it just makes it that much easier.”

As Nedeljkovic put it, they’re just a couple of easygoing guys. Alex is affable and good-natured, and Tristan is laid back with a sly sense of humor “that comes out of nowhere sometimes with some of the jokes, some of the jabs,” Nedeljkovic said.

[jackhues]

in love love - alex lyon

notes: this is part of @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange, and written for the amazing @2manytabsopen !! this is my first time writing for alex and honestly first time writing in a while, but i had lots of fun with this and i really hope you like it <33

summary: 3 times the world realized alex was in love with you + the 1 time you realized it

word count: 2.7k

likes are good, reblogs are better <3

gif not mine

i.

you and alex had known each other your whole lives. as long as you could remember, it was you and him. sure, you both had friends that came and went, but at the end of it all, it was the two of you who made it through.

you made it through your elementary years, all the way to college, and now even beyond. despite graduating early, alex was still in contact with many of the friends you both made in university. it was a good thing too, because you could just go together to all the events you were invited to.

“i don’t know what i was thinking, making so many friends,” you muttered to yourself, nursing your drink.

it was late at night, and you were no longer the same person you’d been at college. instead of pulling all-nighters and partying with the crowd, you wanted to be in bed once it was dark.

“are you tired?” alex turned to face you. “we can go home if you want.”

“that’s okay,” you smiled tiredly at the tall boy. “it’s not like we get to meet up with them often. it’s been a long time since we were all out. we can stay.”

“you sure, love?” he asked, eyebrows knit in concern. “you look ready to drop.”

“i’m fine,” you promised. at his unconvinced look, you continued, “really, i’m okay. i think i just need another drink.”

“i’ll get you one,” he offered immediately, heading up to the counter to get your drink.

unbeknownst to you, some of your college friends were giggling to each other, wondering if the two of you were finally together.

“i mean, they have to be, right?” one of them whispered. “they’ve both got heart eyes for each other.”

“alex isn’t even trying to hide it,” another one laughed a little. “good for them, i guess. i always knew he liked her.”

you smiled once alex returned with your favourite drink, handing it to you. 

“a special drink, for a special lady,” he grinned.

“thank you,” you took it from him, taking a sip. 

indeed, all you needed was a little something in your system to get you going. you took alex’s hand, leading him to the dance floor where you ended up spending most of the night.

after some time, alex broke away from you, drifting to the edge of the dance floor and allowing himself a moment to admire you.

“so? you two finally together, huh?” one of alex’s old teammate’s wiggled his brows, sliding up next to the goalie. 

“what? me and y/n? no — no, we’re just friends,” alex insisted. 

“oh, really?” he asked, looking between the two of you. “i guess i haven’t seen you guys in so long, i forgot how close you were.”

alex nodded, despite the lump in his throat, before excusing himself to get some air.

your friends exchanged glances at that interaction — at alex running away, and at you now dancing with another friend, clueless to it all.

“well shit,” one of them muttered. “he’s in love with her, and he knows it.”

“but does she?”

ii.

“here, let me get that for you.”

“thank you,” you smiled as alex took the plates from your hands, placing them in the sink.

you were at a family friends house, inviting alex along to celebrate with them. since most of your family lived further away, you often celebrated the holidays and other events with them. alex was someone you’d known your entire life, and by extension, your family and family friends knew about him too.

after years of trying to convince you to bring him along to one of these gatherings, you finally caved in. it wasn’t that you were embarrassed of alex. if anything, you were a little embarrassed of your family friends.

not in a bad way. they were just loud and talkative and much more rowdy than alex’s family. you were worried how well he’d fit in if he came along.

so far, he had proved you wrong, getting along with absolutely everyone there. the younger kids kept trying to steal him to play games, the older aunts and uncles doted on him — everyone loved him.

you took the broom out, getting ready to sweep around the house a little. everyone was busy cleaning up after themselves or gossipping with each other. might as well make yourself useful.

“here, let me do that,” alex appeared next to you, reaching for the broom.

“it’s alright, i got it,” you assured him. “besides, you’re the guest. go sit and talk with the older people. i’ve got this.”

“y/n,” he said your name in a strict tone. “give me the broom, i’ll sweep up around here. you’ve been on your feet all day, take a seat and let me do this.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, realizing he wasn’t going to budge. “okay, go grab the dustpan. i’ll sweep, you collect it, okay?”

alex sighed, “all right, fine. but you’re sitting down and hanging out with everyone after this. no more work for you.”

“alex, that’s not how it works—”

“if someone needs you to do a chore, i’ll step in,” he said in a strict tone. he softened his voice, “you did a lot today, okay? i can do a little bit of work around here too. i’m not entirely useless, you know?”

you laughed a little, “i can think of multiple instances where you were entirely useless.”

“right now,” alex amended. “i know how to sweep and do the dishes and stuff. i couldn’t help you out in the morning, but i can now. so let me, please.”

“okay, okay,” you raised your hands in surrender. “i’ll sweep and then take a seat. happy?”

“very,” he grinned, happy that he’d finally won this argument.

behind you, one of your cousins shared a look with their sibling, wondering if anyone else just saw what happened.

“that’s so weird,” one of them whispered. 

“i wonder how long it’ll take for them to get married,” another thought aloud.

“oh, he’s in love love,” another one muttered.

they looked at you, sweeping the floor with a little smile on your face, and behind you, alex watching you with the same smile on his face. it was so painfully obvious, just by the way he watched you.

“i hope she realizes it soon.”

iii.

“come on, come on, come on,” you grabbed alex’s hand, pulling him along.

there was a new cafe that opened down the street, and based on the reviews, it had some really nice hot chocolate. alex was the one who’d found their page on instagram, forwarding the message to you.

so of course, you dragged him along for your first visit.

the interior of the cafe was chic, with a checkerboard floor and a cozy interior. you immediately claimed one of the couches at the store, scanning the qr code for the menu.

before you even opened it up, alex spoke, “you’re getting a hot chocolate?”

“i didn’t even look at the menu yet,” you rolled your eyes. 

“yeah, but it’s why you came here, right?” he asked. “to try their french hot chocolate?”

you opened your mouth to argue, but simply sighed. “yeah, that’s why i came here.”

“that’s what i thought,” a satisfied smirk appeared on alex’s face. “so, one french hot chocolate for you, and one cinnamon hot chocolate for me.”

you gave him a thumbs up in approval, letting him place the order at the counter while you saved your seats. you pulled out your phone, scrolling a little as you waited for alex to return.

near your seat, an older woman smiled to herself, waving to her own husband at the counter giving their order. she remembered their earlier days together, when her husband first learned her order and immediately went to the counter. it might be a really small thing to someone else, but she’d associated that act with his love for her. she wondered if one day you’d do the same thing with alex.

“i’m back,” alex announced his return as he took a seat next to you.

“yes, i can see that,” you replied. 

he flicked your forehead, “congrats, you have eyes.”

“you’re such a child,” you laughed.

“you’re just jealous because you’ll be old and wrinkly while i stay young and hot.”

the two of you kept it together for three seconds, before bursting out into laughter.

your waitress smiled to herself, placing your drinks on the table in front of you. the cafe was new and it didn’t get many customers yet. seeing you two in here laughing loudly warmed her heart.

she wished she’d get to experience that kind of love one day, with someone who looked at her the way alex looked at you. as if he’d seen the entire world and decided you were his favourite thing in it.

“enjoy your drinks,” she smiled at you two, heading back.

“thank you,” you smiled at her, reaching for your hot chocolate.

you smiled at the sight of how delicious the hot chocolate looked, reaching towards it as if it were gold. to you, it might’ve been.

the second you took that first sip, you sighed in content, melting back into the couch and closing your eyes.

“so, it’s delicious?” alex asked, taking a sip of his own. he blinked in surprise, “okay, wow. this is pretty good. you know, y/n, i think you were onto something when you fell into that hot chocolate obsession.”

“i’m always right,” you grinned, turning your head to look at him.

alex caught his breath at the sight of you. after all these years, and you still managed to make him speechless with just a look.

“always,” he merely agreed.

you smiled triumphantly, going back to your drink. around you, the people whispered — they always whispered the same thing, but you never heard it.

“they’re so cute,” one person would whisper.

“oh, he’s so in love with her,” another would say.

“too bad she doesn’t even know it,” one would sigh.

“she knows it, she just doesn’t realize it,” another would respond. “she doesn’t even realize how in love she is with him.”

and alex would hear it all, and he’d keep his mouth shut. because whether you knew or whether you didn’t wasn’t the question.

the question was whether you’d do anything once you did realize.

iv.

you looked at your caller i.d., trying not to cry at the sight of alex’s face.

even though you saw him a day ago, the sight of him was so comforting to you. especially after the shit day that you were having at work.

“hello,” you answered, wanting nothing more than to hear his voice on the other end of the line.

“hey — wait, what’s wrong?” he asked. you could imagine the furrow in his brow, the exact face he was making as he continued. “are you crying? y/n, are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you promised, taking a deep breath. “it’s just — it’s been a long day alex. i’m happy you called, i needed to hear your voice.”

“anytime,” alex responded immediately. “i’m always here for you, you know?”

“i know,” you smiled to yourself, because he was. “what’s up with you though? why’d you call?”

“i was just calling because i was bored,” he responded a little sheepishly. “i wanted to bother you a bit.”

“instead you’re comforting me,” you laughed a little.

“it’s an honour to do so,” he responded, followed by a small thwack sound. you laughed, imagining him pounding his chest to play the part, even though you couldn’t even see him.

the two of you continued talking for a bit, until you finally ended the call. you took a deep breath, looking at the time on your phone. two more hours, and then you were free.

--

you locked the door behind you, placing your bag and keys down. 

you were finally home, and ready to put this long day behind you. except now that you were inside, you could hear some noise from somewhere in your house. music was playing softly and a familiar voice was singing along. the smell of something baking made its way to you — banana bread, you thought happily. after a long day, you needed something like that to cheer you up.

you followed the source of the noise, stopping at the sight of alex in the kitchen making banana bread and singing along to the song. you watched him for a minute, smiling to yourself as he spun around and put on a little show.

when the song ended, you clapped, laughing as alex jumped at the sudden noise.

“bravo, that was beautiful!” you cheered. “encore, encore, encore!”

“ah, as much as ii would love to do so for my wonderful fans, the banana bread i am baking for a very wonderful woman will burn if i don’t take it out now,” he spoke in a posh accent before reaching into the oven, pulling the tray out and setting it to cool.

you looked around at the kitchen, noticing for the first time how spotless it was. you’d left some dishes this morning because you were in a rush, and you were pretty sure you made a mess last night while cooking dinner. you were normally pretty clean, but you were just in a lazy mood these past few days.

“did you clean the kitchen?” you asked alex.

he looked up at you, shrugging to himself, “yeah. when you said you had a bad day, i wanted to make you feel a little bit better. so i came over, cleaned a bit, and cooked.”

“thank you,” you whispered, your heart heavy with too many unspoken emotions.

“you’d do the same for me,” alex shrugged.

it was true. you had done and would continue to do the same thing for him. people often thought you two were just friends, but you were so much more than that. you were everything for the other. alex was the one you’d run to when you got good news or bad news. you were the one alex would find for comfort or to share his joy.

you never questioned it, but you finally realized that somewhere along the way, with the jokes and the laughter and the unbreakable friendship, love had also blossomed.

“y/n?” alex called your name. “are you okay?”

you blinked up at him, realizing that you’d basically zoned out in the middle of the kitchen. lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t know how to reply.

and so you blurted out, “are you in love with me?”

alex froze, staring at you for long enough that you began to wonder if you wildly miscalculated. maybe those lingering gazes and longer than necessary hugs were something you imagined. maybe you two were just friends in his eyes. 

“and if i was?” he asked, he met your eyes, not a hint of hesitation in them. “if i was in love with you for as long as i could remember, longer than i even knew what the word meant? that i’ve been waiting for you to notice for years now? what would you say?”

you looked at him, trying to tell if he was joking. it didn’t look like he was. 

“i’d say why didn’t you tell me years ago?” you responded honestly. “that way, we’d already be past then. and then… and then i’d tell you to kiss me already because i’ve been in love with you for a long time too.”

alex stared at you, trying to figure out if you’d actually just said that. you hear practically the gears turning in his head, you could imagine the questions he was asking himself.

“it’s not a dream,” you smiled, answering his biggest one.

“oh thank god,” he muttered to himself, reaching you in two long strides.

you gasped as his hands grabbed your waist, your own arms reaching up to grab his shirt. without a moment of hesitation, alex leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss just as sweet as the confession.

oh, he’s in love, you thought to yourself with a little smile.

it’s okay, because so were you.

[discokicks]

FOX IN THE BOX — ROY KENT.

PART TWO of ACES AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: back in 2012, you and roy meet for the first time. in 2023, you sign a one-year contract with richmond and have to work with roy for the first time. both go about as well as you’d expect.

word count & rating: 9.6k, R (roy kent says fuck and does fuck!)

chapter warnings: swearing, light sexual innuendos and light references to sex, mentions of alcohol and partying (the olympians get DOWN in olympic village) minor allusions to what happened to reader at west ham, major football talk, roy kent is rich, original character intros and plot (author really likes a plot, woo boy), angst, and of course, fluff.

author’s note: ok wow, thank you for all the love on the first chapter! wildly unexpected but much appreciated. this one’s got a bit more to it— jumping timelines, original characters, lotta soccer/football talk, reader and roy don’t know how to act (in more ways than one). also did crazy research into the 2012 olympics for this, so no one tell me my timeline’s off or i’ll cry. also also, is roy's sister named molly or is that just evidence that i've read too many fics? whatever it is, her name's molly! thank you again for the love and i hope you all enjoy! love you all tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You meet Roy Kent for the first time at midnight, in a rookie’s dorm room in the Olympic Village.

It’s a seemingly unlikely place for a football phenom like him to be. You’d expected all of those guys to choose to be elsewhere, exploiting their home-country advantage to hang out in their posh flats. But there they were, carrying out their team bonding efforts to prepare for their game tomorrow. 

Knowing what you know about Roy now, it’s fitting for him to have been there. But in this moment, you’re shocked to see the likes of him in Olympic Village. 

It’s a place that’s convinced you that your college career was only good for preparing you for it. And you’re not even talking about the sports aspect of it. You’re talking about the shit-show, chaos-menu of athletes from around the world, acting as though it’s the first week of freshman year.

Despite the fact that alcohol, drugs, and any other traditional party favors are completely off-limits on-premises, it doesn’t seem to deter your fellow Olympians from running the dorms like it’s a frat party. You’re half-convinced you’re going to get a classic ‘who do you know here’ from the trust-fund-looking Australian swimmer you pass getting into your building, but he just sends a heartbreaking smile at you and your teammate as you walk in.

Your team’s fresh off the bus from Glasgow, having just beat France at Hampden Park. It was a hell of a way to open, despite the Opening Ceremony not taking place for another two days. As a younger player who’d proven herself in last year’s World Cup, you were the starting striker in your first Olympic game ever, scoring the second goal of the match and assisting the fourth. The adrenaline of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet. 

It’s clear that your teammate’s feeling the same way. Melanie Rivera, your left winger and for all intents and purposes, best friend, is straight-up vibrating. You’d met during World Cup training, where you two had instantly clicked and she’d taken you under her wing to show you the ropes and what it meant to play at this level. Despite this being her second Olympics, the feeling of a win never goes away. Or at least, that’s what she tells you.

The two of you are practically bouncing off the walls as you arrive on your floor, giggling to yourselves about different things that had happened during the game. Your fluent-in-French full-back telling off a French forward when she got too close to your goalie. The mid-game mishap where some French girl’s cleat went flying. The ‘bullshit’ yellow card Mel had received right before the half (Mel knew it was a fair call, she’d totally pushed that girl). 

“She was asking for it, though,” Mel insists, collapsing onto your bed as you enter your shared room. “Pulling on my shirt the whole game. I have two rules. Two. Don’t—”

You roll your eyes, having heard these rules a million times. “—touch my goalie, and don’t—”

“—touch my fucking kit,” she finishes, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. Her eyes shut with a huff.  “They’re pretty simple. Don’t know why people can’t follow them.”

“Yeah, it’s a travesty,” you reply dryly. Your lip curls into a grimace as you look at her. “You wanna know what my rules are?”

One of Mel’s eyes opens with a knowing smile. “Don’t be sweaty on your bed?”

“Oh, so we do remember,” you say, falsely cheery. The faux smile falls from your face. “Get off. Or at least shower. I want to go to bed and I don’t want to like, smell you.”

Mel rolls off your bed with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she relents. “But you can’t go to bed.”

Your expression remains unamused. “And why not?”

“Because the British men’s team is hanging out upstairs,” she states as if the answer’s obvious.

“Right. Of course,” you reply. “So, we’re crashing their team bonding?”

“No,” she says, pointing at you. “Their women’s team crashed. And then Jack texted me to tell us to come up.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Uh-huh. Is Paige there?”

Mel shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe.”

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So, you’re forcing me to stay awake so I can wingman you?”

Mel flops on your bed once more. “Please,” she cries. “Dude, I like her so fucking much. We’ve been texting since the Cup and I don’t know, this year I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Why can’t Jack wingman you? He’s clearly down to set you two up,” you say, sounding a bit whiny. “Also, why are they hanging out here? I thought they’d rent a place or stay at their own houses.”

“They make the rookies stay in the Village their first years. It's for the experience, or whatever,” she answers. That’s brushed to the side quickly. “Also, Jack is a fucking awful wingman. The only type of scoring he’s good at is on the field.” She looks at you expectantly. “And I can’t go up there alone. I’ll look like a loser.”

You gape at her. “You are twenty-seven years old.”

“And I’ll look like a twenty-seven-year-old friendless loser!” When she sees the expression you’re wearing, she tilts on her side. “Say yes or I’ll roll around in your bed.”

You cover your face with your hands, an exhausted laugh echoing into your palms. This clearly is a losing battle, and you decide you’re going to be a good friend tonight. “Fine,” you groan, hearing your bed squeak as she launches herself off of it with a cheer. “An hour. That’s it. And then I’m going to bed and never talking to you again.”

“I can live with that,” she yells, bounding for the shower in your room. “I’ll text Jack that we’ll be up in thirty!”

“You owe me so big!” you reply.

You can hear Mel’s grin when she says, “I love you, too!”

Thirty minutes later, you’re freshly showered and up three floors, standing outside of the rookie’s dorm room. You can hear just how loud it is from outside and you suddenly really feel like you’re back in college again. 

It takes Mel a solid three minutes to work up the courage to knock on the door, something that you’re sure would have taken longer if you hadn’t reached out and done it yourself. She scowls at you, but the door opens before she can cuss you out.

Jack Wilson, Tottingham sweeper and three-time Olympian, answers the door with a wide smile. You’d met him a handful of times due to his friendship with Mel and he was just as lovely as everyone had said. There was a charming sort of awkwardness about him despite his status as a professional footballer, but it made him all the more endearing to you. 

“Glad you finally decided to show,” he said to you two, opening the door wider for you to enter. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thanks,” Mel said, eyes already scanning the small dorm living room for Paige. “What’s up with the team bonding in the dorms?”

You’re also looking around the room, sending smiles to the handful of girls you recognize. “Game tomorrow. Coach wanted us to do dinner as a team, so we ate in that big hall. And we--” he says, pointing to two guys on the couch, “--wanted to see the Village this year. So here we are.”

Your eyes follow his finger to the men, one of which isn’t familiar. The other, you immediately identify as Roy Kent. And his eyes are on you.

He’s easily recognizable, curly hair a bit more tame and managed than the iconic, half-assed mullet he’d had when he first signed with Chelsea. That ever-present scowl only lifts a little when he sees that you and Mel have arrived, but you honestly can’t see much change in his expression due to his drawn brows.

While you’d relied on Mel for the majority of your connections to this new world of football, she’d never really seemed to hang out with the likes of Roy. From what you’d gathered, despite his rather high status, he was a bit of a recluse. Yes, he went out constantly, and yes (if the tabloids were right), he’d certainly dated around, nobody really seemed to know much about him. 

When he’d come up in a team game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ with famous footballers, Mel had told the group that he was a guy of few words, and of the words he did say, ‘fuck’ seemed to be his favorite. Your friend and teammate Katie O’Connor was ready with a terrible impression of him when she answered with ‘fuck,’ especially after Mel also confirmed that the Gina Gershon news was true. 

You try to ignore this as you go over to introduce yourself to them, despite the fact it’s currently setting up camp in your brain. “Nice to meet you guys,” you say to Roy and the other boy on the couch. Jack takes a spot next to you on the floor as you take an empty chair next to the couch. Paige waves at you from her spot when you sit.

Roy nods at you in acknowledgment. “Good showing out there.”

Jack points at you. “Bloody insane goal you had,” he says. “I think I’d break my back if I tried to do a scorpion kick like that. It was fucking class.”

You grin. “Well, lucky for Tottenham, they keep you on the other side,” you say, then quietly add, “Not that it would make a difference.”

You see Roy’s lips twitch up from the corner of your eye, and you bite back a laugh as Jack physically deflates before you. Mel’s heard your comment and runs over to sit on the arm of your chair, which is conveniently close to Paige. “Ooh, is it shit on Tottenham time? Because I haven’t seen your ass in months, so I got a whole list, man.”

As the two of them begin to argue in the way they do, you sit at watch them with a smile. They’d had this type of relationship since you’d met them back at the Cup, when Jack had flown into Germany to see your final games. Despite the loss, those were a wild couple of weeks.

The moment your brain starts to recount them, you can feel a pair of eyes on you. It snaps you out of your haze completely. Especially when you realize that it’s Roy Kent who’s staring at you once more.

You blink at him, slightly confused by the attention. “Hi?”

He nods at you again. He seems to take a moment to evaluate you, and then, “You overthink.”

“W-What?” you ask. The word comes out clunky and confused.

Roy motions to the TV that’s on across the room, one that’s showing highlights from your game. “Out there,” he says. “You overthink.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You, feeling unbelievably out of sorts and unsure of what brought this on, Roy, secure and casual, like he just stated the weather. 

Before you can question him, he nods at you for a final time, then stands up. “I’m going home,” he tells the group. “You lot better be fucking ready for the game tomorrow.”

Roy’s out of the room before anyone can say a proper goodbye to him, but no one bats an eye. No questions follow. 

Except you, of course. You’ve got a fucking million.

You overthink on the field? Where the fuck had he gotten that from? How had he seen it? While there were some times, yeah, you got a bit in your head, you’d never considered yourself an overthinker. And even if you were, the overthinking produced results, right? You liked to think you were just three steps ahead of everyone else out there. Not an overthinker.

But what made him say that? What had he seen? Was it your hesitation outside the box in the first fifteen that resulted in you losing the ball? Was it the switch you’d made to get to the goal when your right winger had it on the side? Was there a look on your face when you’d taken that free kick in the second half? You were pretty in your head then, but hey, it led to Mel scoring.

Overthinking. Pfft. He didn’t know what he was talking about. 

But then again, what the fuck was he talking about?

The thought of this unknown bomb dropped on you without any sort of answers quickly and completely took over your mind. Criticism about your playing had never bothered you (you were a twenty-five-year-old female soccer player, and you’d had more horrendous coaches than you could count), but this? This was something that literally made you itch. And you weren’t going to be able to scratch it until you knew what the hell he meant.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself practically chasing Roy out of the room, whipping your head around to figure out which way he’d gone. Lucky for you, the dorm’s slow lifts were on your side. 

Roy stood by the elevator, checking something on his phone as he waited. He clearly doesn’t hear you coming because he nearly drops it when you ask, “What do you mean I overthink?”

“What the fuck?” And now he’s staring at you like you’re the crazy one.

“I should be asking you that!” you say, then motion back to the direction of the dorm. “You tell me I overthink, stare at me with no follow-up, then leave? Who does that?” You’re way too animated for past midnight, but you don’t care. “Because even if I was an overthinker, which I’m not, that sort of stuff is probably the worst thing you can do. Not leaving on a note like that is like, rule number one.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

“Yeah, well, there are,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. When he continues to just stare at you, you make a face that you hope will cue him to go on. “So, go ahead. Please explain yourself.”

“Explain the overthinking thing?” he asks. “I thought it was pretty fucking simple.”

You roll your eyes. “No, what made you say that? Was it a play I had? Was it something I did? What did you see? I’m just curious as to—”

“You came up the field toward the end of the game,” he says, effectively cutting you off. “And you made a pass to Rivera that led to another pass, then a goal.”

You nod at him, not seeing his point at all. “Yeah? So? It was a great goal by Katie.”

Roy’s expression turns slightly frustrated, as if he’s annoyed that you don’t immediately catch on. “It was a great goal. But the fucking second you saw Rivera next to you, you started thinking ahead,” he tells you. “So far ahead that you didn’t notice how slow and fucking awful your mark was and that you could have had a better goal if you’d stopped thinking.”

There are approximately fifteen seconds of dead air between you two as you attempt to take in what he just said to you. “So, let me get this straight,” you begin. “You’re saying I’m bad because I think too much about teamwork?”

For a moment, you think Roy’s going to slam his head into the elevator door. Instead, he just turns to the buttons and presses them once more. “Fuck’s sake, could these be any fucking slower?”

You’re too far gone at this point to even be offended. “Uh, it doesn’t matter. You started this. You’re not going anywhere until we finish it. Why does me not being a selfish dick make me bad?”

“I didn’t say you were bad. You’re not. Clearly,” he responds. You note a bit of the classic ‘Roy Kent’ anger laced within his words and it makes you snap your mouth shut. “I’m just saying. You’re at your best when you’re not so fucking nice and when you don’t fucking think.”

Unconsciously, your arms cross over your chest. “I’ve got twenty-two years of playing time and about ten coaches that would disagree with that.” 

Once more, you see the corner of his mouth slide upward as he glances at you. “If that’s the case, then your coaches were all idiots. They weren’t smart enough to let you loose.”

An unexpected warmth rises to your cheeks. But instead of acknowledging it, you ask, “What, like you’d be a better one?” Before he can respond to that, you’re talking again. “And even if all of that were true, I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

Roy’s brow creases. “Do what?”

“Not… think ahead,” you say. “Or not think at all. That being three steps ahead thing is kind of, well, my thing.” You offer a shrug. “The generous, teamwork thing too. I like that. It’s what makes me good.”

Roy continues to look at you, but says nothing. For a moment, all is quiet as he just… stares, almost as if he can see through you. Like he’s privy to something you’re not, or he’s had some sort of revelation about you. You’re not sure anyone’s ever looked at your this hard. It’s a bit unnerving and you have to fight to not avert your eyes.

Before you can begin to further overthink that (god fucking damn it), he’s holding his phone out to you. You stare down at it blankly. 

“You’re showing me your phone,” you state, but it’s almost a question.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Put in your fucking number,” he says.

Your lips purse as you hesitate, but you find yourself reaching out for it. “Is this how you typically do it?” you ask, typing your name into his contacts. “You neg a girl for five minutes straight and then ask her for her number?”

Roy rolls his eyes again, but there’s humor amongst the annoyance this time. “I’m going to text you a time and an address,” he tells you. You hand him his phone back. “Be there on Friday after the Opening Ceremony.”

The elevator had finally arrived in the middle of his sentence and you eye him wearily as he steps in. “Just… show up to this address?” you ask. “Do I get context? Like, what to expect? What am I dressing for?”

“Overthinking,” he reminds you as he presses the button for the lobby. “Just fucking be there.”

Before you can object further or tell him that you were not in fact overthinking, you were just a woman in a foreign city concerned for your safety, he leans forward to stop the doors from closing. He’s got one hand up and has a small smirk on his face.

“And just so we’re crystal fucking clear,” he says. “If I were trying to chat you up, you’d fucking know it.”

Your eyes immediately fix into a glare and the doors close before you can say anything in response. “Asshole,” you mutter to yourself, but you’re already flipping your phone over to see if he’s texted you.

(You won’t know this until much, much later, but Roy Kent let out a loud and regretful ‘fuck!’ as soon as he was five floors down, absolutely cringing at the idea that he used a line like that on someone like you. It plagued him for three years straight.)

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023)

On a day when Roy not only had the strangest interaction of his life with Jamie Tartt in the Boot Room, but he also found out that Trent fucking Crimm would be lingering around all season, he was sure that he was done with surprises at Nelson Road.

That quickly proved to be false, as he soon found that Ted was rounding the team up in the media room for some sort of meeting.

Roy saw Beard as he was leaving the Coaches’ Office and sent a questioning look his way. “Did I miss film on the agenda?”

Beard shook his head. “Nope. Impromptu. We just heard back.”

“Heard back?” Roy asked, watching Beard go to leave the room. “The fuck are you on about?”

Beard smiled at him in the doorway. “We got her,” he said and left with a skip in his step that Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

They’d gotten her? Got who? 

Then it hit Roy. Oh. You. They’d gotten you.

You’d said yes. You were joining Richmond. He’d helped convince you. Despite everything, despite all that had happened and everything you two had done, you’d said yes. You were willing to work with him. You were now going to be back in his life for worse or for better. And not just back in his life, but a fucking constant in it.

Then that hit Roy. The reality of it all fucking bodyslams him and it makes his heart race. After eight years of cold-turkey no-contact, he was going to be seeing you every day. After everything he’d done. After everything you had done.

Roy realized then that he didn’t exactly consider this feeling. That he was so blindsided by Rebecca’s request and by seeing you that he didn’t even think about this. It had been hard enough to work up the nerve to confront and speak to you once. Would it feel like that all season? Had you considered this?

But then, he remembered you and how you think about every fucking angle of every situation. You definitely had thought about this. And if you were willing to push the discomfort, the awkwardness, the whatever in order to have this job, he supposed he had to be too.

Roy swore under his breath, turning away from his desk to get his head back on straight. The team was waiting for him. He could mope about this in the comfort of his own home later.

He arrived in the room just as the rest of the team was getting in. The boys were buzzing. Between the news of a potential Zava acquisition and the Trent Crimm book development, as well as whatever this was, they couldn’t seem to stop talking. Roy didn’t blame them. It was a lot for one day. 

(It’d been a lot for him too. With everyone now knowing about his break-up with Keeley, to fucking Trent Crimm, to you, he was surprised he hadn’t gone outside to scream yet. But he presumed that was coming.)

“Alright fellas, listen up,” Ted said from the front of the room, holding his hand up to get everyone’s attention. The team quieted down after a moment. “I know there’s been a lot of talk going around this week. And I know y’all are excited. But I’ve got some more news.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more,” Dani said, sending a wave of agreement through the group. “It’s hurting my head.”

Ted chuckled. “I know. Mine too. And we’re the ones who have to manage all this,” he said, motioning to Beard and Roy who stood against the wall. “But this is good news.”

Good news? That was something the team could manage.

“So, how many of you are familiar with the Women’s World Cup that happened back in 2015?” he asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

A murmur went through the team. “America won?” Colin offered. “Crazy final game that was.”

Isaac pointed at Roy. “You did some shit for Sky Sports for this Cup, right?”

As the boys began to recall this, Jaan Mas said, “Why they gave you another pundit job after that completely blows my mind.”

“Yes, Roy did do some TV work over here,” Ted answered after the laughter died down. “And yes, America won. But does anyone remember what this Cup started to be called?”

It seemed as though no one had an answer. That is, until Beard cleared his throat said, “The Summer of Fourteen, baby!”

Ted snapped at his best friend. “That’s exactly right, Coach. And despite it being the 2015 Cup, they called it that because of this woman right here.”

Ted had brought up what is perhaps the most iconic photo of you to date. It’s one of the first things to come up if you were to Google yourself, a picture that’s haunted you for the last eight years. It’s from the 2015 quarter-final. You’re mid-penalty kick against China, scowl on your face as your foot collides with the ball, blood dripping down your face from the broken nose you’d received moments before. 

(It’s certainly not the most elegant or flattering picture of you that exists, especially when your fellow teammates’ search results yielded photos of them at the ESPYs, but you still think you’ve never looked like more of a badass.)

Ted said your name smoothly as he pointed to you on the screen, annunciating all syllables. “Wildly prolific USA Women's athlete despite her rather short time in the league. And while she was always good, y’know, starting striker since she began and all that—” He chuckled, turning to look at his other coaches, who had knowing smiles on their faces. “—I don’t know. There was something in the water in 2015. Because she just became…”

Ted trailed off, looking for the word. This time, Roy found it before Beard. “A nightmare,” he said, with a suppressed yet fond sort of smile. “She was a fucking nightmare out there.”

“In a good way, of course,” Ted cleared up, earning a nod from Roy. “But, yeah. A nightmare. Wonderful teammate and fantastic playmaker, but man…” Ted trailed off with a low whistle. “We were all glad she played for our neck of the woods.”

Jamie’s hand went up. “Didn’t she just get like, hired and fired by West Ham?”

“Wonderful segue there, Jamie,” Ted said. “Because yes, that is true. She was with West Ham for a couple months. First female coach in the league. Pretty impressive stuff, and it was a pretty big deal. And then something went wrong, and they let her go.” The team made a noise of acknowledgment, all of them having seen it in the news. “And I don’t know what happened, and we probably won’t know what happened, but we knew she was too good to leave the league. Lucky for us, we need a new coach. And she needs a new job.”

There was a wide smile on his face when Sam asked, “So she will be joining Richmond?” 

“That she is, Sam,” Ted replied, earning yet another eruption of chatter amongst the group. “She’ll be joining us on Monday. And while I know you fellas will do everything you can to make her feel welcome and will show her the same level of respect that you show us up here—” Ted pointed to his coaches once more, glancing down at the computer in front of him. “—I’m going to show you why she deserves it more than us.”

A YouTube video of your highlights appeared on the big screen, going full-screen as the quick ad ended. Ted stepped back from the computer, sitting down on the stool behind him to watch along with the rest. 

Your famous 2012-France-Scorpion-Kick goal just so happens to be the first thing up and Roy’s heart nearly stops. It’d been years since he’d seen this clip and he was immediately transported back to the night you two met. A ghost of a smile unconsciously made its way up his face as he watched your body contort to flip around, and the ball soar into the net. It was a goal of pure and utter instinct. You hadn’t thought about it. You just ran in there like a maniac and knew what to do. That one gets an immediate reaction from the team.

The next one is a play you’d set up in the Quarter-Final New Zealand game, with a bunch of quick passing in the box to confuse and rattle the defense. Melanie Rivera had sent you a world-class assist for an even better goal, one that earns you the title of ‘Fox in the Box’ from the past commentator on screen. The next, an impressive goal scored after an injury you’d had in the Semi-Finals against Canada. Then, and perhaps most famously, your assist to Katie O’Connor from midfield to win the Gold. 

And they hadn’t even gotten to the World Cup yet.

The World Cup footage made up the other three-fourths of the video. It was a completely different side of you, one that had thrown caution to the wind, one that had a huge fucking chip on her shoulder, one that was just… insane. In all the best ways and meanings.

Roy’s shock of the day, though, comes after a highlight of you completely blowing past three Colombian defenders. You’d broken the fourth’s ankles with your footwork in the box for a quick goal. Footwork of yours that had been massively improved, Roy noted. And he would know, he’s the one who did it.

Arlo White’s voice filled up the room. “And yet another breakaway goal from USA’s Mean Fourteen!” The clip said. “It’s just remarkable to watch her work this year, don’t you think, Roy?”

Roy felt all eyes on him when he heard his own voice on the speakers. “I don’t know what USA would do without her,” 2015 Roy Kent said. “I’d hate to have her against me.”

It was strange for Roy to hear his own voice mock him like that. And as the team began to cheer for him, he felt a pit form in his stomach. They didn’t even know.

The highlight reel continued for another couple of minutes, and it seemed with each play, the boys became more excited about the prospect of being coached by someone like you. Beard and Ted were evidently just as ecstatic about the development, and Roy knew he had to get on board. Warp his feelings and nerves and whatever else into something resembling his team’s attitude.

After all, he was the reason you were joining.

The lights came up as soon as the video ended, snapping Roy back to reality. Ted smiled at the team. “Alright, fellas. Now, let’s get to work on the welcome party.”

The boys hooped and hollered, each of them getting up to join in whatever Ted had planned. Beard looked over at Roy as the rest filed out. 

“You think we’re ready for her?” he asked.

Roy hated the weird fucking sixth sense Beard had when it came to… well, everything. He made Roy feel like he was completely transparent. “We’re ready for her,” he replied.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he was assuring Beard or himself.

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023.)

You sign a one-year coaching contract with AFC Richmond that Monday in Rebecca Walton’s office.

The news broke that you’d been picked up by Richmond on Friday, something that had completely come alive in the press world. Your face was plastered over all of the papers yet again, newscasters seemed to mention your name every time you turned on your TV, and social media was set on fire. Everyone had something to say about this move and the majority of it wasn’t too positive.

You tried to keep your nose out of it, knowing just how much you did not need to see people talking about you like that. The majority of the negativity was from West Ham fans, wishing Richmond ‘luck’ with the likes of you, others wishing you good riddance. 

If they knew how happy you were to be out of there, you’re not so sure they’d be as excited to let you go.

Though signings on every level in this league were typically more public affairs, ones with major press conferences and coverage, you’d requested this to be quieter. Just a few statements from the people who mattered and a pen and paper. You’d been in the media a bit too much for your liking over these past couple of months, and if you could get some exclusivity, you’d take it. 

Rebecca, thankfully, was more than happy to comply. You’d been in contact with her practically non-stop since you’d called her, and she’d been nothing but lovely to you. Each interaction with her made you feel better about this job, despite the cloud of anxiety that still hung over you.

You’re sitting in a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk when a message from Mel comes through. i always liked richmond better than west ham anyway, she says. paige and i bought shirts and will be at every game. 

A photo comes through shortly after of her three-year-old toddler, decked out in a Jamie Tartt jersey. oliver’s already got his!

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, fingers tapping against your screen with a quick response. adorable. give him and paige a hug for me. and i’ll be freaking out so bad at every game that i’m gonna need you there anyway, so i’m holding you to that.

you’ll be incredible. knock ‘em dead, kid.

Rebecca re-enters her office before you can respond with a thank you. She’s got Coach Ted Lasso in tow, who could not be grinning brighter at you. The second you see him, you think about everything Nate had told you during your short time at West Ham, and something within you just can’t believe it. The energy of Richmond had been different as soon as you walked through the door. The good kind of different. And their manager appeared to not be an exception.

Ted greets you immediately with an outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says after your introduction. “I gotta tell you, we’re all mighty excited that you’re here.”

“I think I might be more excited,” you reply, and it’s an honest answer. Or at least, you’d been able to shift your nerves about the job into excitement. You’d only anxiety-thrown up once today. You figured that was an accomplishment. “Seriously. Thank you both again for the opportunity.”

“We’re just grateful you said yes,” Rebecca says. You can tell she means it. “The team’s been buzzing all week.”

The nerves return at the mention of the team, but you mentally scream at yourself to get over it. “Well, I’m just excited to get started.”

“Speaking of getting started, we should probably head downstairs,” Ted says to Rebecca. “I wanna show our new coach around a bit before practice gets going.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Rebecca responds. “I’ve got a couple more things for you to sign before you leave today, so just make sure to stop by. If you have any questions, my door’s always open, or you can ask Leslie, who you met earlier, who’s always wandering around somewhere.” Her smile gets warmer as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “And we really are pleased to have you joining us.”

You wonder for a moment how a woman like her could have ever been married to an asshole like Rupert, but you suppose that’s a story for another day. “Thank you,” you say again, a bit of that anxiety washing away. “I’m happy to be here.”

Ted leads you out of the office, his tour starting from the minute you exit. He offers a bit of insight into himself and his time at Richmond, his past two years working with Rebecca, then launches into what he knows about the history of the place (and you don’t have the heart to tell him that Rebecca had already done that when you’d arrived). 

The facility is gorgeous, but it feels a bit more lived-in and welcoming than what you remember about West Ham. Everything there was so manicured and monochromatic and sterile. Nothing about it felt like a place you’d want to work.

Richmond is the opposite. It’s bright and colorful and you can hear people laughing as soon as you step down into the lower level. While your nervousness about the team still lingers, you can feel it easing. You’ll see how long that lasts.

You’re stepping into the Coaches’ Office before you even realize it, mind too occupied with taking in your new surroundings and trying to keep up with Ted’s story. You resent the overwhelming amount of relief you feel when you realize there are only two men in the office, and neither of them are Roy. 

One is sitting with his feet crossed up on his desk and a book in his face. The other is writing on a notepad at a separate desk. You’re surprised by the speed at which both of them jump up to greet you as you and Ted enter.

“Alright, Coach, this is Coach Beard,” Ted says, and you meet Beard’s hand for a shake. “He’s one of the guys you’ll be working with this season.”

“Nice to meet you,” Beard says, nodding your way.

“You too,” you reply. Your eyes are drawn to the book he placed down on his desk and you allow yourself to grin. “I love Merlin Sheldrake.” When his brows shoot up in surprise, you shrug. “I’ve got a lot of time in the off-season.”

Beard’s eyes light up. “We’ll get along just fine.”

Your grin grows and you hear Ted’s voice from behind you. “Is that that mushroom book?” he asks. “I don’t think Beard’s ever found someone who reads that stuff too. I guess we’ve now got two Fun-guys in the group.”

You glance over at Beard. “Now it's a Fung-us.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ted’s hand come up to his mouth as he looks over at his best friend. For whatever reason, it’s clear that the two of them are trying to contain their excitement. Before you can question it, Ted places a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, you’ll fit right in here, Ace.”

The nickname catches you off guard. It’s something that you haven’t heard since your playing days, something that the commentators and pundits loved to call you. It was always a compliment when they said it, but something about the way that your new manager says it makes it sound more like a title than a name. Like that’s what you are. 

It immediately makes you feel welcome and you can feel yourself warm into their excitement.

The other man in the room, who’s been watching this interaction in amusement, steps forward to hold out his hand to you as well. “Trent Crimm.”

Now, it’s your turn to raise your brows. “You’re the writer who keeps calling me?”

A smile that could also be a cringe appears on his face. “Guilty,” he answers. “Just trying to cover all the bases for the book.”

“I get it,” you tell him. “If you still want a quote, I’d be happy to give you one. But I can’t guarantee it’s going to be clean.”

Trent chuckles. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

There’s a moment where you almost question what he means by that, but you brush it off. Especially now that Ted’s started talking again. “Roy's running a little late, but I’ve heard y’all already know each other, so we’re not technically missing an introduction.”

That makes you pause. You’d figured that when Roy had appeared on your doorstep he’d told at least Rebecca about your past, and that the probability he’d told the staff was high too. But exactly how much had he told them? Did they know the basics or did they know everything?

You then realize it’s Roy you’re talking about. There was no way in hell he’d told them anything more than what Ted said. That you knew each other. Maybe that things hadn’t ended smoothly. But that was it.

That, at least, gives you a bit more confidence. Ted turns to you and leads you back into the small, adjoining room you’d walked through, pointing at an almost empty desk. “That’s yours,” he tells you. “Feel free to dress it up with whatever you want, and get yourself unpacked. We’re starting practice in about fifteen minutes and Coach Beard and I gotta set some things up, but I’d like to introduce you to the fellas before you start shadowing. That all sound good?”

You grip the strap of your backpack and nod at him with a smile. “Works for me, Coach.”

Ted grins, patting you on the arm. “Glad to hear it.”

And with that, he returns to his desk, making sure to leave the door open as he leaves.

You plop your backpack on your desk and begin to empty out your things. You grab your laptop first and place it on your desk, followed by a couple of knick-knacks and photos you brought along, ones that never felt at home at your desk at West Ham. There’s a rational piece of you that knows you should stop comparing the two places, but the pettier, more aggressive side of you tells it to fuck off.

(You like to listen to that one when you can these days.)

You’re holding a photo of a baby Oliver dressed in a Women’s USA onesie when you hear someone else walk into the room. You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

Roy Kent is standing in the doorway, staring at you like he completely forgot your signing day was today.

Of course, Roy hadn’t. He’d been pacing around his flat all morning because of it. It was actually why he was late to work. But he hadn’t expected to see you as soon as he walked in. In his office. Now, your office too, he supposed.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, much like you did when you saw each other again for the first time last week. However, it appears that you’re both acutely aware of the three sets of eyes that are on you two from the other room.

Like you’re snapping into a scene in a play, Roy’s expression rids itself of all surprise. “Coach,” he says stiffly, nodding at you.

Coach. You suddenly remember your previous conversation. It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues. 

Well, if he won’t let there be any issues, you’re sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of causing any.

So, instead, you return his nod. “Coach,” you greet him. As he puts his things on the desk opposite yours, your heart falls into your stomach, “A-Are we…”

“Sharing an office?” he finishes for you. You nod weakly. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” you say, then awkwardly add, “Fun.”

“I’m over the fucking moon,” he deadpans.

You bite your tongue, trying not to retort too quickly to a comment like that. You look away from him and to the keys in his hand and you prepare for the small talk you’re about to force yourself to engage in. “Tough ride in?”

It seems to take him a moment to process the question. The awkwardness of it all lingers. “Something like that,” he answers. However, his gaze is stuck on the picture in your hand. “What the fuck is that?”

Your brows furrow and you glance down. So much for small talk. “This?” You hold up the photo. “Oh, this is, uh, Oliver. Mel and Paige’s son.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says in a way that’s almost inquisitive, though the relief in his voice is palpable. You try to ignore that. “I didn’t know they had a kid.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. “You clearly don’t follow Mel on anything,” you reply, then pause. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t do social media.”

“It’s a waste of fucking time,” he says, reaching out to look at the photo. When you hand it to him, he mutters, “I think Rivera would have me blocked if I did, though.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” you say honestly. You take the picture back from him and place it on your desk. Your next question comes out casual, and you can’t help but be proud of how nicely this is all flowing. “Speaking of kids, how’s Phoebe doing? And how’s Molly?”

You’re not expecting the hint of shock on Roy’s face when you turn back to him. It’s as if he can’t believe you’ve remembered his sister’s name, or his niece that you met when she was no more than six months old. You want to slap him upside the head for looking at you like that because, of course, you fucking remember that, but a knock on the door from the other room interrupts your conversation.

Trent’s standing hesitantly in the doorway, notepad in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and he appears to be avoiding eye contact with Roy. “But if you were serious about talking, would you be free to do it tomorrow?”

You offer him a warm smile, hoping that’ll contrast Roy’s crossed arms and hard stare directed at him. “Sure thing.”

“No,” Roy immediately says. “You’re not fucking talking to him.”

Confusion takes over. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because no one’s fucking talking to him,” is Roy’s answer, firm, with no room for argument. His eyes never leave Trent. “And don’t try to fucking weasel your way into this team through someone who doesn’t fucking know any better, Crimm. You’re fucking better than that.”

You’re gaping at Roy as Trent nods at you kindly and retreats into the locker room. When you look back into the office to see if you can get some clarity from one of your other new colleagues, you notice that they’re both missing. Ted did say they had to set some things up.

You suppose that just gives you the ability to talk freely to Roy now.

“I’m sorry,” you say, whipping back to Roy who’s already facing his desk. “Has he not been given the O-K to write a book about this team?”

Roy grunts. “He has. But it doesn’t mean we’re fucking talking to him.”

“Well, doesn’t that, like, defeat the purpose of him writing a book?”

“You’re catching on.”

You lean back against your desk, folding your arms to take on Roy’s previous stance. “Oh, I see,” you say in understanding. “This is a Kent Rule.”

He doesn’t have to be facing you for you to know he rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, it’s totally a Kent Rule.” You stare at his back as he shifts his shoulders in discomfort. “You hate him, so you’re forcing the team to hate him. Enemy mine is enemy yours? That’s Kent Rule number three, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“It’s a team rule,” he states. “I’m just enforcing it.”

“Right,” you agree, though your voice says differently. “Each person here hates him so much that they allowed him to write a book here.”

Roy shakes his head with a scoff. “Fuck’s sake, I forgot how fucking irritating you were.”

“I’m not being irritating. You’re being evasive.” You only get another grunt in response. Fed up, your frustration at his lack of an explanation starts to seep into your tone. “So, what? I’m just supposed to ice that nice guy out because you say so?”

When Roy finally looks at you, he’s scowling. “He’s not fucking nice,” he says. “And you don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me,” you argue. 

“My word’s not good enough?”

You glare at him. “Your word hasn’t been good enough in eight fucking years.”

Roy shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Definitely not telling you now.”

“Okay, enough,” you say, scanning the room and the hall to make sure no one’s watching the two of you. You put a hand up before he can retaliate with anything. “Look, if this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay? And we can’t argue here. Not here.” You motion to the office around you. “I can’t work with that shit. Alright?”

For a moment, it’s like you can look into Roy’s mind. You watch him appear to recount last week’s talk, just as you did minutes ago. Professional. Civil. No issues.

“Fine,” he finally sighs, knowing you’re right. 

“Fine,” you reply. You take a breath. “So, if he sucks and you don’t want me to talk to him, you need to tell me why. You can’t just order me around like I’m one of the guys, especially not in front of people. I’m your equal here, Roy. Whether you like it or not.”

Roy shakes his head. “You’ve always been my equal,” he says, though it’s a bit softer. “You fucking know that.”

His words leave a lump in your throat that you’re not anticipating. “Well, you’re not acting like it.”

His head tilts back, eyes falling shut. His shoulders tense up. Heavy sigh. Dear God, he really doesn’t want to tell you, huh?

And then it hits you. Oh, fuck does it hit you. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

And you get why.

Roy’s talking as soon as you open your mouth to apologize for pushing him. “The others don’t know either. I’ll tell you when I tell them,” he offers. “That’s the fucking best you’re getting from me.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, so you offer a nod. “Fine,” you say softly.

The nod is returned. “Fine.”

The conversation feels finished, but there’s still one more thing you want to say. “And can we agree right here that we’re not going to argue in front of anyone? Just like you said?” you ask. “Like, if you want to pick a fight, just like, pull me into the Boot Room or something. This shit can’t affect the way we do our jobs.”

Humor slants Roy’s expression. “Boot Room fights?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. Not in front of the team.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he says with a nod. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

From the outside of the office, you can hear the team start to file into the locker room from their gym facility, laughing just the same as when you heard them earlier. The alone sound makes you tense up. Roy narrows his eyes at you. 

“Speaking of,” he says cautiously. “I think it might be time for your introduction. Hope you like primary school-level art done by grown fucking men.”

That takes you out of your headspace immediately. “I’m sorry, what?”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012.)

Mabley Green. Friday. 23:30.

Wear some training gear.

I can send a car for you so you know you’re not being murdered.

You’d read the three messages you’d received two days ago from Roy Kent about a million times. While you’d replied to him that his sending a car felt very mafia boss and definitely doesn’t eliminate the murder possibility, you’d still gathered up the courage to dress up in your nicest sweats, escape from the Village after the Opening Ceremony festivities, and meet his driver on the outskirts.

(Of course, you said yes to the driver. Roy Kent was fucking loaded and if he were going to be strange and summon you places, you were going to take his free transportation.)

You’d confirmed your whereabouts and situation approximately thirty-five thousand times to Mel, who had nothing but questions for you. 

“Roy Kent. Like Chelsea’s finest, here, there, every fucking where Roy Kent?” That’s the one.

“Is sending a car for you to go to where?” I don’t know, it looks like a soccer field. 

“To do what?” Battle Pokemon. I don’t fucking know, Mel. I think he wants to train me.

“Train you or train you?” Why are you saying it like that?

“Because this has to be a weird hook-up thing that famous footballers do, right?” He made it very clear he had no interest. Also, pause. What about me says I’d fuck on a pitch?

“He could bring an air mattress.” Oh my God, I’m leaving.

But as you arrived to this completely empty field, with nobody but your overly friendly driver, Roger to back you up, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. This was weird, wasn’t it? You were meeting up with this guy you barely knew at an abandoned location just because he told you that you were an overthinker? Your mother would be absolutely horrified if she knew. You’d broken just about every Stranger Danger rule she’d set.

However, the second that you stepped out of the car to see Roy illuminated by the field lights, standing with his hood up and a bag of footballs thrown over his shoulder, you knew this was legit. And the anxiety washed away. But a few of the nerves stayed.

“Glad you showed,” he greets, turning to walk to the field as you fell into step with him.

You look over at him expectantly. “So, you are coaching me.”

“No, I’m fucking not,” he says. “I just want to get you out of your head.”

You nod in faux agreement. “Right. Because that’s not coaching.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not. It’s called being a nice fucking person.” 

“Right,” you say again. “Because Roy Kent is known best for his kindness.”

He turns to you. Something sparks in you when you notice that he appears to be humored by all of this. “You should be thanking me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” you apologize, sending him a wide smile as you two make it to the field. “Thank you, Coach.” Roy rolls his eyes again and you chuckle softly. “I’ll thank you when I know for a fact you’re not gonna murder me.”

He watches as you plop yourself down on the pitch to stretch a bit. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have brought a fucking witness.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Roger could be your Ryan Gosling.”

Roy actually laughs at that one. It’s a sound that you’d never expected to hear, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hear it again. “I wouldn’t trust him to do that kind of driving. Chatty prick can barely get around London.”

“Hey,” you chide. “He was very nice.”

“He’s fucking incredible. Been with him since my Sunderland days. Still a chatty prick.”

You can’t help but smile at the fondness that’s crept into his voice, but you say nothing about it. You bring your knee to your chest in a stretch and look up at him. “So, what’s the plan here, Coach?”

“Not your coach.”

“Right, sorry. What’s the plan here, Zodiac?”

Roy shakes his head, fighting to keep his lips even. “I want to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” you ask. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll train with you until your team's out,” he says. “Whenever our match schedules align, we can figure out a time to do shit until you need to go home.”

Your smile turns cocky. “And if we win?”

He practically snorts. “You’re not going to win.”

“But if we do?”

“Then we’ll train until then,” he replies. “And I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.”

You’re not sure what that entails, but anything you want from Roy fucking Kent? It’s an offer that may be too good to pass up. But still, one question lingers. “In exchange for what?”

“What?” he asks.

You stand, lifting one of your feet from the ground so that you can pull it up behind you in another stretch. “A deal works two ways. Exchanging goods or services and all that,” you tell him. “What’s in it for you?”

Roy shrugs. “I need to train too,” he answers. It's a bit simple, a bit evasive. “That’s what’s in it for me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you say, “you can’t be serious. You want to train with me just to train?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you respond, slowly realizing he’s serious. “I guess I just kind of assumed when I heard ‘deal’ that you’d want something in return.”

“Well, that’s all I fucking want,” he tells you. “If I think of anything else you can do for me, I’ll let you know.” 

A mix between a scoff and a laugh escapes you. “I’ll be anxiously anticipating your demands.”

He’s turned to his bag of footballs and crouches to grab one, glancing up at you as he rises. “So?” he asks. “Do we have a fucking deal, or what?”

Your foot goes down as you look at him, evaluating him and his offer. You shift your gaze to the field, to the big lights around you, then to the night sky that tells you it’s almost the next day. 

You have a game in Glasgow again tomorrow against Colombia. You’re out past curfew and know your team would both kill you and congratulate you if they knew where you were. You have to be on a bus in less than eight hours. 

But here’s Roy Kent, standing with you on an abandoned pitch in London, offering to train with you. And what kind of idiot passes that up?

“Deal,” you agree, taking the ball from his hand. “Now, where do we start?”

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

[sergeifyodorov]

would u do a little analysis of how each team has done so far this season … i trust ur opinions so much

EACH team okay... under the cut bc i am not subjecting the masses to 32 nasty little thots cody edition

Bruins: RIP patrice of course but the bruins are steamrolling as ever... i think that if there is any evidence of the universe simply not caring abt good things it is that the bruins slip and stumble and have some of their best players retired and still manage to put up a 50 win season every year. <- salty leafs fan but ANYHWAY the bruins are easily a Playoff Team. simply "there" 5v5, strong power play, they make their money off finishing (pastrnak you filthy animal) and goaltending (swaymark you filthy animals). they have been trending downwards of late so i'm not entirely sure of like their final standings place but with this kind of head start they're staying up.

Sabres: currently in what we the people call a "decade of darkness." might be a "two decades of darkness" if we're going to be honest. the active player with the most playoff points with the sabres is tyler myers. 7 points. yeah the tall one most famous for having a subreddit that posts the gamescore card every time he's on the bottom of the gamescore card. sabres are really hard to fix because their first real step to contention is "hoping devon levi turns out really good." not promising. bad enough that by selling a piece or two celebrini is in sight. maybe that'll help? a third 1OA?

Red Wings: presenting the mid-season Season Ruining Unforced Error Award early by saying: not that they were going to be as good as their first few games of sniping suggested, but signing patrick kane tanked any realistic hope they have of playoffs. is patrick kane good? he's actually alright. maybe this time the surgery worked. is the team made better by having him on it? it surely isn't! a few REALLY BADLY TIMED dylan larkin based misfortunes have made it go from bad to worse. they were in A2 like a month ago and now they're Out. strengths: finishing. weaknesses: everything else, including morale.

Panthers: okay you've probably clocked this by now but ive been Generally Salty so far and that is bc a) im easily tempted to haterhood and b) currently discussing each team in the atlantic which does nothing to make me less Tempted To Haterhood. that being said the panthers are Good and For Real About It. they can do everything except finish chances, which is fine when the other team has way fewer chances than you and your goalie doesn't let any of them in. fuck ALLL the way off. place your bets on these guys having a deep playoff run. cross your fingers for them not having a deep playoff run i can't stand chuckyposting again it's RAN ITS COURSE. (also: machuk is probably still injured and absolutely Not doing as well as he did the last few seasons. maybe because he's just not that kind of guy but it's probably at least mostly the broken chest thing)

Canadiens: they are bad EXCEPT when it comes to overtime + the shootout. also much like the sabres they're going nowhere fast. i expect at least one of their goalies to be gone at the deadline... furthermore i think ppl who are ragging on slaf's slow development are simply expecting all 1OAs to be like an auston or a connor type (pick your connor) where they come in and immediately adapt -- slaf rings very reminiscent of quinton byfield to me, who was picked 2OA in 2020 and is only now starting to break out. give him time he's a baby...

Senators: despite how much literally everyone talks up all their players constantly, they are not good either. like the sabres or the habs... atlantic is 4 teams in the genuine hunt, 3 teams who suck and have sucked forever and will suck forevermore, and the red wings who haven't made up their minds yet. the sens actually Do have a singular Biggest Problem though and that's goaltending, but they're not a good enough team otherwise that getting a quality goaltender is going to make them playoffs worthy, especially not in the very short (this-season) run.

Lightning: the lightning are weird to me because like i think they're still making up their mind as A People what they want to do. kucherov is the best player in the league rn, this is stamkos' ufa season and he hasn't been offered an extension, vasilevskiy is back and vasying his levskiy... i fully believe they have the capability of getting a playoff spot, maybe even A3 if they want. we've all seen them in the playoffs, we know how they can turn ~It~ on at will. as always they're a deeply mid 5v5 team powered by very strong special teams... the goaltending numbers say goaltending is shit but they've been playing in front of the genuinely unplayable jonas johansson most of the season so i think it'll be fine.

Maple Leafs: as the team ive watched the moast i can talk about these guys for evar so for all of our sanities i will be brief: Auston Matthews, Baby, Look At Him, That's Auston, Auston Motherfucking "Sexy Mustached Bitch" Matthews!!!!!!! powered by an extremely strong power play and very good offence, and defence and goaltending that is held together by Morgan Rielly and a dream. possibly the only reason they're in a playoff spot is the fact that martin jones didn't get claimed on waivers three months ago and i am being dead serious about that. for some reason they're at their best when they're down by two. they do really need both their #1 goalie to come back from injury and to make a splash for a genuine nhl-calibre defenceman, but they're stubbornly determined to win games even through nasty flu.

Hurricanes: their usual selves -- analytics darlings, can't buy a goal. this year they can't buy a save either -- Freddie is out with a medical condition, Raanta is straight up not good, and Kochetkov is... well, he's Kochetkov. they're not far out of a spot but they'll need a hot hand if they want to get comfy... which i don't expect, frankly. they're good enough to make the playoffs, but they're not really a team that goes on heaters, so they'll be bubble until the end.

Blue Jackets: genuinely not sure they know what they're doing like... okay. from an outside pov they are obviously Tanking. they're bad in every way that matters except for finishing and the standings show it. but also like... they're at the point in their development cycle where they shouldn't be tanking... or at least are on the verge of Shouldn't Be Tanking. and again, because they don't know what they're doing, they hired mike babcock for this... if they know what they're doing they'll toss kekalainen as soon as they can and, following this year's draft, start Fighting. but let's be real i doubt that. adam fantilli it's your time to shine... sorry sweetheart!

Devils: see Hurricanes. Great on paper, can't buy a save. They've obviously been stunted by Timo, J'accuse, and Nico all being injured at various points, but goaltending is their biggest and most solvable problem. Unlike the Hurricanes, though, the Devils are fully capable of going on a heater, so the gap between them and WC2 isn't as big as it looks (probably.) Luke Hughes is going to be something special.

Rangers: Looks like Lafreniere is finally getting his feet under him -- but the Rangers have always been far more about getting old, known players to get a second wind with them than they've been about prospect development, and Quick and Wheeler are both showing this pretty definitively. Another one of those teams that's run by special teams and finishing/goaltending. Easy playoff spot, likely solid run. Nothing too interesting here.

Islanders: On the other hand, the Isles are interesting because... like... how did they get There? They have a negative goal differential, for heaven's sake! Their special teams are godawful, their defence is a sieve, they blow leads like that's what actually gets you points in this league, and they're somehow second in the Metropolitan??????? Is it Horvat? Barzal? Sorokin? (It's probably Sorokin.) They'll make the playoffs but i doubt they'll succeed in them.

Flyers: This one's also weird. They have the power play and offence of a peewee team in the big leagues, but have become defensively Actually Super Competent and are somehow good because of this? I'm going to theorize -- because you've asked me to but also because I really want to -- that this is due, at least in part, to somewhat of an inverse Kane-on-the-Red-Wings effect from their offseason removal of Provorov and DeAngelo; without them, the team is now not only better defensively on paper but also better as a team in the locker room. They're [uncle voice] playing with heart now! I doubt they're a real contender, but I think they might actually make playoffs.

Penguins: ...this one's also weird. They're good on paper. Like, really good on paper? Defensively "just okay" but offensively great, goaltending is fantastic, special teams are shutdown. They just can't buy a goal and they can't buy a good sequence.

Capitals: This one's weird, too, but in the opposite way -- aside from the power-play, the Caps are actually godawful on paper, especially when it comes to finishing (because when Ovechkin takes such a high percentage of your shots but he isn't scoring, your team REALLY suffers) but somehow they've managed to pinpoint sequencing luck (win close, lose ugly) and are somehow in WC1. Do I think they'll make the playoffs? Absolutely not -- if either the Devils or Canes step up, the Caps are the odd man out -- but it might be fun to see them try. Or hell, I hope they win-close-lose-ugly their way to a goddamn Cup final. Would be funny as fuck for Ovi's second-longest ever playoff run to come at the fresh young age of thirty-eight. Dude looks ragged out there. I'm going to shut up now before I start talking about finding him sexy

Coyotes: Simple on paper: bad at running play, good goaltending and finishing. Essentially what the Canucks are doing at a smaller scale. The Leafs should never have let Kerfoot walk and I mean that unironically. Okay, anyway, the Yotes are a bubble team and won't make higher than WC1 because of the logjam at the top of the Central, but holy fuck do I want them to make WC1 (or a playoff spot in general.) People ask "how can we grow the game" a lot, and when it comes to what the NHL can do directly, the number one biggest thing is win in small markets. Arizona has already created one of the sports' biggest stars -- Auston! -- and it's an absolutely massive TV market and a potential hotbed of new fans and new, great players. Arizona making a playoff spot -- or even better, going on a run -- would be amazing for the NHL. And it would be funny. And I would like that.

Blackhawks: shoutout to dave !!! dave who works for the hawks!!! anyway the hawks are very obviously tanking and good at it. Their only real point of interest is their Sacred Child, and holy fuck is their Sacred Child going to absolutely fucking smash it when he's given a team that's not entirely made up of scrubs. i think his analytics, especially his defensive numbers, are, like, fine? but accounting for his leverage (all situations, especially the difficult ones), his teammates (his best linemate is Anthony Beauvillier, and tito... is a third liner), and the fact that he's all of eighteen, he's definitely on track to be a Real Force. i kinda love him... okay moving on.

Avalanche: All-over good: finishing their biggest obvious strength, but hockeywise they don't have any real weaknesses... although there is some serious Drama brewing in that locker room and i think it might just be getting started. with landeskog gone for at least until the end of this year (and possibly forever) and ej a sabre, there is absolutely no one in there capable of actually emotionally running a team: makar lacking in a leader's magnetism, rantanen an idiot, toews and mackinnon far too high-strung and competitive, and no one else with seniority. they're a good enough team that it's not really affecting them right now, but ... i don't know, i can kind of feel it coming. They'll make the playoffs, but when the pressure is on they'll either step up or completely fall apart.

Stars: See above: all-over good, but saving their biggest obvious weakness. I think most of this is spurred by Otter being out -- Wedgewood is a serviceable backup goaltender, but obviously not capable of being a real starter, and the team is stuttering because of it. I doubt it'll be for long or too much difficulty (they're a good defensive team, so it's not going to affect them a lot, but they might lose a game or two they might have won with Otter, especially if he's out for a while), but it's going to keep them from taking a step on top of the Central. Easy playoff team, probable contender.

Wild: They are bad! Penalty kill is their worst weakness, but they're not great in goal either and the combination is kicking their ass. As much as I respect how well they've done with that giant cap-space penalty from the Parise/Suter buyouts all those years ago, it's... kind of time to throw in the towel. Get Flower those final few wins, because by god are they devoid of much other success. Right at the tail of a competitive arc. RIP. Tank incoming.

Predators: Weirdly good, even though Saros hasn't been his usual self? O'Reilly esp has been an absolutely fantastic addition for the team over the offseason. No huge strengths, no significant weaknesses. Not an amazing offensive team, but it's Nashville so they were never going to be -- the place practically breeds defensive forwards and all-around dmen. I don't expect they'll seriously contend, but they'll make the playoffs (unless someone offers the farm for Saros).

Blues: I genuinely think so little about the Blues .... that whole thing with Jordan Kyrou has been the most I've thought about them for a bit. That and the fact that only three of their games haven't been decided by the first goal? They're not good and they're really boring. Yeehaw.

Jets: THE JETS let's get JUICY. Jets' biggest strengths by far are a) 5v5 defence and b) finishing/goaltending. Even with Kyle Connor out they're sniping and Hellebuyck and Brossoit are both absolutely on it. The Jets have always seemed to have this problem where on paper (take a shot every time I've written "on paper" in this post if you want to die of alcohol poisoning) they seem fantastic, then January onwards they absolutely plummet. And it's not January yet, so that might still happen, but that kind of thing tends to happen because of a dramatic morale shift, and now that Lowry's captain and Wheeler's left for New York... that might not happen? They've banked enough points that unless they're historically bad from here on out they're still a playoff team. If they keep up what they have going so far, they're a contender, but if it's the same Winnipeg with the same problems, then they're not.

Ducks: Taking a step in the right direction with Carlsson and Mintyukov, but still bad! I really hope Carlsson recovers well, he seems like a sweet boy. Also: what on Earth are they doing with Zegras. Is he a defenceman now? Are they making him play defence? Are he and Dixie D'Amelio still dating? I have many questions. I just hope whichever high draft pick they get is an idiot. I feel like they need another dumbass baby on the team.

Flames: The Flames also appear to have no idea what's going on. And frankly, neither do I! They're too good to be obviously tanking, but not near good enough to be a bubble team. They're definitely reluctant to sell, but their best hope to win soon absolutely should be selling. They have one of the worst contracts in the league on their payroll (wow... I hope the guy in charge of my favourite team didn't sign that!) and a bunch of really solid late-round picks and prospects cutting their teeth on the NHL. In short: they aren't going to make the playoffs and should be leaning into that, but they don't seem to have realized this yet.

Oilers: For the sake of not gloating, I'm going to sum this one up with a Marek quote: If you have a goalie, it's 70% of your team. If you don't, it's 100%. They've had finishing trouble, but considering they absolutely run the show at 5v5 AND special teams (they put nearly SIXTY SHOTS on Vasilevskiy the other day) a little finishing shouldn't be quite so dangerous if they didn't have two sieves minding the net. McDavid might hit 150 again and the Oil might still miss the playoffs. If they get in, they're going far, but at this point it'll be tough as fuck to make it in.

Kings: Average penalty kill. No other weaknesses. Kopitar 4 Selke.

Sharks: This is an absolutely glorious tankjob. No other way to put it. This is the pinnacle of tank design. This is the Wayne Gretzky of tankjobs. This is the Casablanca of tankjobs. This is the Saturn V of tankjobs. Nothing has been so beautifully engineered to suck since Sir James Dyson patented his vacuum or Nancy Reagan walked the earth. It's beautiful. It's gorgeous. I am in awe. They deserve Celebrini purely because of how flawless the tank is. I don't care if he has a warm undertone and would look pink in that fantastic teal. The boy needs San Jose.

Kraken: Good defensively at 5v5, bad pretty much everywhere else. I'm going to be honest with you all, last year was kind of a flash in the pan -- Seattle isn't great and they're neither headed upwards nor downwards. Not a bubble team, probably won't pick top ten. They haven't decided whether or not to build up or tank. Beyond the fantastic aesthetics and four-unranked-lines shtick, they don't really have a whole lot of competitive mojo: no star forwards, no goaltending. Wholeheartedly mid.

Canucks: oH BABY!!!!! The 23-24 Canucks made us all learn what PDO is. The 23-24 Canucks are first in the motherfucking league after being one spot out of being in the Bedard lottery. The 23-24 Canucks are on track to have the best shooting and saving percentage in league history. The 23-24 Canucks' leading goalscorer is Brock Boeser, the guy they've almost traded practically every year since they drafted him. The 23-24 Canucks started the season by naming the Wettest Little Man On The Planet captain and they haven't looked back since. I think they're an easy lock for a playoff spot -- but within the playoffs, do I know what they're going to do? I absolutely do not. They could PDO their way to a Cup or they could bow out in four games flat. Either is equally likely. They have thoroughly embraced Good Chaos. Quinn Hughes might win the Hart. Everything's coming up Vancouver.

Golden Knights: Not as good as they were last year. Ultimately still pretty good. Easy playoff spot. Definite contender. Jack Eichel is better than ever and I love him for it, the dickhead.

[mendeshoney]

a taste of the devine

A/N: this is all because of this fucking picture, and then this fucking picture, and the long form version of this initial word vomit. also @pyotrkochetkov​ @smileysvech​ @m00nlightdelights​ this is for y’all and i hope i did it justice. title is from “the summoning” by sleep token

Summary: Andrei’s great a being a brat in the summertime. 

Pairing: andrei svechnikov x f!reader

Word Count: 10,507

Warnings: five year age gap, older woman x younger man, body shots, fluff, previously established dynamics (including msub x fdom dynamics, bratty msub, switch, mdom x fsub dynamics), smut, fingering, handjob, cumplay, spitplay, penetration, finish inside, unprotected sex

Russian terms used (bearing in mind the author does not speak Russian and definitely Google’d these) can be referenced here.

~

Andrei felt the gravitational pull in his chest, and he sat up from his lounge chair, lowering his sunglasses to get a better look.

Immediately, he spots you across the sand, returning from inside and laying on your beach towel. He watches as you prop up on one hand, resting it behind you, the other one acting as a makeshift shade so you could see the girls as you conversed with them. 

Your legs were stretched out in front of you, oiled up from the sunscreen you’d applied, and crossed at the ankles. One of your ankles spotted a gold anklet that glittered in the sun, where he knew a small and unassuming “A” charmed along the chain. 

A smirk crosses his lips almost out of habit.

He pushes his sunglasses back up to cover his eyes and watches you for a moment, his skin buzzing when you smile and laugh at something that was said. 

It’s not fucking fair, how hot you are.

No really, it wasn’t. 

Since the day you came into his life earlier this year, he’d felt tethered to you, consistently blinded by your beauty and simultaneously blessed that you’d given him the chance to earn your heart, your love, your trust, respect, and loyalty. The fact that you’d felt a guy like him, five years younger than yourself and completely out of your league, deserved a chance to be with you? 

Yeah, that was still something he felt constantly amazed by each and every day.

But right now, he wasn’t really focused on that.

Not when his cock throbbed to be inside of you.

Your chemistry was insane, the emotional connection like nothing he’d ever felt before, but your sexual chemistry was enough to start a wildfire. 

From that very first night - though he tried to be a gentleman, play it off that a younger guy like him wasn’t sex crazed and could handle being mature and play the long game - the sex was good. Like, really good. Stupidly good. Exceeded expectations. 

He’d craved you every day since, even when he was in the middle of satisfying that craving, he knew he’d always want more, need more, would always need you. 

Andrei had tried to calm that familiar need with a quickie this morning, but you chastised him, reminded him that you were already running late to the beach getaway, so he played the role of dutiful boyfriend as you shuffled him out of the house and into his car, you in those damn denim shorts, his shirt, knowing the entire time that under all of that was that god damn fucking white bikini -

Yeah, he wasn’t exactly happy with not being able to at least do something before having to sit here with a half hard cock and stare at you all day with all these people around and nowhere decent to sneak off to so he could at least bend you over and fuck you, ease the ache. 

Not to mention it took three hours and forty five minutes to fucking be here.

And that you’re stuck here.

For three days.

His nostrils flare as he stares at you, watching as you uncross and recross your ankles, shifting your legs to sit more comfortably, anklet flashing in the sun. 

You’re all at Freddie’s new beach house in the Outer Banks, breaking it in with the first summer barbecue of the season. Given the fact that the goalie himself is pretty massive, the house itself is a spacious monstrosity, enough to fit the team and a smattering of their partners among the guest bedrooms on the first, second, and third floor, as well as the finished basement, and highly unnecessary pool house. 

It’s a three day weekend thing, and though you and Andrei have a room to yourselves in the back first floor corner of the house, he already knows you both won’t get the use out of it that you want.

That he wants, at least.

Andrei watches you closely as you and the girls all get up, heading for the sea, and he gets up as casually as possible, tossing his hat and sunglasses onto his lounge chair, then leaning over and tapping Sebastian on his chest, nodding with his chin toward the ocean.

“Up for a swim?” He asks, and Seb nods, following Andrei as he trails after you.

When he gets to the water, he pretends like he’s walking right by you, just an innocent passerby, when he moves the back of his hand out just a little, skin brushing against the exposed cheek of your ass, across the material of your bikini bottoms, to your other cheek, till he’s walking away.

He can feel the pinpricks of your gaze on his back and refuses to look back at you as he and Seb dive under the waves, the salty brine assaulting his senses immediately, meeting his teammate and friend as they swim out further. 

A few of the other guys and girls who were lingering on the sand end up joining them a moment later, the whole of attendees for the beach getaway now in the water. 

Andrei makes it about seven whole minutes fucking around with the guys before he notices you’re wading about three feet away from him in the water, so he swims closer, closing the distance once he can reach out and grab your ankle, dragging you to him.

Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, arms winding around his neck as his hands cup your ass. He presses what he pretends to be an innocent kiss to your lips, swiping his tongue at the seam just as he’s pulling away.

He sees it then, the flash in your eyes, the sign that tells him he’s starting to push his limits, and he knows. That was his entire point, but he smiles back at you innocently, like nothing’s amiss.

Of course, you don’t buy it.

“Drei,” you murmur, moving to unwind your legs from around him, but he brings a hand up and squeezes your side, trailing that hand further up to play with where your bikini is tied at the nape of your neck.

“What is it, kroshka?” He murmurs, pulling at one of the strings.

“No,” you say firmly, legs dropping from around him and putting space between you sooner than he’s able to react. You’re looking up at him now from where he looms over you at six foot two, but you both know he might as well be on his knees with the fire in your irises. 

He pouts. “Just a little?”

You roll your eyes, stepping back, wading toward your friends and tossing a “Enjoy the weekend, Drei” over your shoulder as you go.

It’s only then that Andrei realizes his heart’s pounding in his chest, and the throb of his heartbeat echoes to his cock.

He’s not even looking when Seb and Pyotr approach him from behind, jumping on him and forcing him under the water.

~

At dinnertime, Freddie, Brent, and Andrei are helping to man the grill out on his patio, the breeze from the sea cooling the air and the house.

Some of the guys are inside fiddling with snacks and sides that have been laid out, and others are out here setting up the ridiculously large dining table Freddie insisted on buying. You’re with the girls mixing cocktails and mocktails at the bar across the patio space, flitting in and out of Freddie’s kitchen every now and again to help with dessert or running the rest of the meat out to Freddie and Andrei to grill.

He watches you closely, eyes constantly roaming over the red sundress you put on after you’d showered away the salt water. Your hair is swept up into a neat bun on your head, little stray pieces of hair framing your face. The gold jewelry on your body glints in the setting sun, his eyes roaming over your little gold earrings, necklace, your bracelets, the little rings on your fingers, and most importantly, the gold anklet above your bare feet, the white polish of your toenails bringing out the jewelry’s shade more than he thought possible.

Dammit. 

Now he was hard again.

He turns his attention back to the grill for a quick distraction, flipping the steaks in front of him a final time before handing them off to Freddie for him to slice up and bring over to you, so you could add it to the waiting bowls of steak salad and plates of steak fettuccine. 

Once dinner’s finally ready, everyone descends on the table, toasting once to thank Freddie and celebrate his new vacation home, then digging into the family style served meal. Conversation flows easily, laughter and idle chatter floating in the breeze.

The food is good - of course it is, you helped make a little over half of it - and people eat their fill and drink to their heart’s content, soft music playing in the background. He pointedly does not watch the way your lips purse and cheeks hollow as you suck a fettuccine noodle into your mouth, and ignores the way you moan in satisfaction when you try Freddie’s first attempt at kanelstang, a danish cinnamon twist pastry that clearly has gone well. 

When the single guys on the team start to clear dishes and put leftovers in the fridge, Andrei feels himself relax a little, knowing he’s just that bit closer to getting you alone in your room and trying his damndest to convince you to let him taste you, at the very least. 

You’re sitting to his right and you’ve got one hand on his thigh, another holding your wine glass as you and Gracia, Brady’s wife, ask Freddie about his plans to visit home from where he sits at the head of the table to your right. 

Absentmindedly, you’re rubbing your hand in a soothing pattern from his knee to mid thigh then back again, and Andrei has to do everything in his power not to act like a caveman and haul you over his shoulder, drag you out to the car, and fuck you against the hood of it for everyone to see in a very public claiming.

Instead, he grabs his drink and takes a couple of gulps, trying to will away the need blooming in the pit of his stomach. 

From his left, Pyotr starts to chat with him about the next season, and from across from him, Brady chimes in, helping him in pulling his attention away from you for a little bit.

Things manage to ease out, and Andrei feels relief when his blood starts to cool.

That is, until Jordan turns the volume up on Freddie’s stereo, wandering onto the patio double fisting handles of tequila, and shouting “Body shots!” as Jesperi trails behind him, holding a bag of cut limes in one hand and a bag with the Hurricanes pro shop logo on it in the other.

“What’s in the bag?” Freddie asks, gesturing with his chin.

Jesperi smirks, reaching into the pro shop bag and pulling out shot glasses with the team logo on it. He shakes the bag a little in emphasis. “I asked for a bunch of shot glasses before we left for the season and they just gave them to me.”

“But isn’t the point of body shots to take them off of someone’s body?” Seth questions.

Jesperi shrugs. “I thought you put the shot glass on their body?”

“No, you pour the shot in their belly button.” Turbo says.

Jesperi’s eyes bulge, then his face sours. “That’s disgusting, some of you have outies.” 

“Oh for fucks sake,” you mutter, knocking back the last of your wine before placing your glass on the table.

“Go for it, hotshot,” Brent calls from the end of the table, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. He flashes you one of his mischievous toothless smiles. “Show ‘em how it’s done.”

You smirk, “Gladly, come watch and learn rookies,” you taunt, standing up and holding your hand out for Andrei.

He swallows, already half hard beneath his black sweats. If he lays down….

Ah well, fuck it.

Andrei places his hand in yours, and you lead him over to the low brick wall on the other side of the patio table, the one separating the upper level where you all had dinner, to the lower level where Freddie’s pool is. 

He strips off his shirt, resting it on the wall to give him something to lay back on before climbing up and resting on his back, turning his hat forwards again so the brim shields his eyes, then crossing his arms behind his head. You ignore the cocky smile on his lips, turning to where Jesperi and a small group have gathered behind you. Jordan turns up the music as he saunters over, something clubby with enough bass that it rattles Andrei’s bones.

Good thing Freddie’s neighbors are far enough away.

“Give me a lime, Kotkaniemi.” You order, and Jesperi obeys almost immediately, placing one in your outstretched hand.

Andrei knows that all too well, being quick to obey you.

He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to incite a little pain to ease his growing hard on.

It doesn’t work, because now Andrei’s hoping you’ll be biting his collarbone when you lick up his chest in a few seconds. 

You rub the lime in a trail from above his belly button, up his torso, then onto Andrei’s collarbone, in the exact spot he was imagining, before raising the lime wedge to his mouth. He parts his lips obediently, and there’s that flash in your eyes again, the sight of it shooting right through his veins. 

He bites down on the rind, eyes tracking your every movement. One of the girls holds out a little dish of pink sugar, and you pinch a bit in your hands, sprinkling it over the streak of lime juice on Andrei’s body.

Of course he’d done this before. He’d done this with you at least a dozen times - at parties, in the privacy of your own home - and he wondered why some of his teammates seemed surprised by that fact as they looked on.

“You don’t have to drink the alcohol out of their belly button,” you explain, grabbing one of the handles from Jordan’s hand and a shot glass out of the pro shop bag, turning to Andrei once more. “Flex,” you instruct.

He does, flexing his abdominal muscles, delighting in the way your eyes flash again, eyelids blinking slowly, tracking the way your eyelashes kiss the tops of your cheeks when your face starts to get that syrupy expression he loves so much. 

It’s gone in a split second, and Andrei’s heart hammers in his chest.

You place the shot glass on his belly, then work on uncapping the handle of tequila. “You can put the shot glass between their legs, on their stomach, basically anywhere on their body where the glass sits nicely, or you could always make them hold it. The important bit is to lick the lime and salt, or sugar, if you prefer, right after, and grab the lime from their lips with your mouth.”

The guys are holding onto your every word, while you look at the girls. Andrei watches as you all smirk and share knowing looks with one another, and he only wishes he could begin to comprehend the ways in which women understand seduction so much better than men.

“It makes the experience a little more exciting,” you finish your explanation by filling the shot glass on his abs, leaving a little room at the top.

When you hand the handle back to Jordan, there’s a hard beat of Andrei’s heart, hoping you don’t make him wait for this, that you don’t leave him in suspense, that you -

His prayers are answered when you bend down immediately, lips closing around the shot glass and uprighting yourself, tossing the shot back, then grabbing the glass in one hand, resting your other hand on the waistband of his sweats as you lick up the sugar and lime trail, tongue pressing firmly to collect it all before reaching the end of the trail on his collarbone.

Like he hoped you would, you close your mouth and suck, biting down and then laving the bite with a firm stroke of your tongue, the grit of the sugar scratching nicely against Andrei’s skin.

There’s whoops and cheers that sound muffled to his ears, and he watches as you smile and stick your tongue out at him playfully.

The now bright pink tinge to your tongue makes his cock rock hard in under a second.

You lean down, biting the flesh of the lime and he releases it, watching as you suck on it, then pull it free from your mouth, sticking the wedge in your shot glass.

“And that’s how it’s done,” you say with finality, taking a small curtsy when everyone laughs.

He laughs too as the guys shout their praises and impressed words at him, and he’s whipping his shirt on almost immediately, hopping off the wall. He bends his head down to smile at you, happy to find you already smiling at him, and you rise up on your toes. Andrei turns his hat backwards again as he bends down, loving the way you kiss him so sweetly.

“Thank you for assisting me with the demonstration.” You say.

“Of course, kroshka.” He all but preens. He clears his throat then, looking to the others with a raised brow. “Alright, who wants to go next?”

~

He doesn’t manage to fuck you that night after the round of body shots, but mostly because by the time the two of you got ready for bed and laid down, he didn’t realize how exhausted you both were from just the first day. 

You’d been wide awake and on the go since leaving Raleigh that morning, and that, paired with the long drive, the rest of the day in the sun, lunch on the beach, the first night dinner, and body shots along with a little bit of dancing - once you both got under the covers, all Andrei had time to do was wrap you in his arms and then you were both out like a light.

When he woke up, your side of the bed was cold, and it wasn’t until he padded out into the living area that he found you were already showered, dressed, and in the kitchen with Gracia, Brent’s wife, and Freddie cooking breakfast for everyone. His eyes scanned the white flowy button up and shorts you wore, spotting the red bikini you were wearing underneath it. You’d worn your hair down, your jewelry on display, including his favorite - the anklet. 

But one look at him from you told him there’d be no funny business today either.

Yeah, well he’d just have to see about that himself.

He bided his time. Played the innocent boyfriend as he helped you set the table for breakfast, kept a respectable hand on your thigh while you ate in the company of everyone. After breakfast, people broke off in groups, some choosing to stay and swim, some going to look at the lighthouse, some going shopping, and others to Jockey’s Ridge to check out the sand dunes.

When you all decided to meet up and go go-kart racing after lunch, Andrei only put his competitive streak aside once to let you get a place ahead of him in ranking, but the second you took off the helmet and sat out of one of the laps, he smoked everyone with a cocky smirk tossed in your direction.

You merely raised a brow at him in turn, a hint for him to turn down the attitude, but he wore it proudly, tucking his hand in the back pocket of your shorts when he escorted you back to the car, dodging a smack to the chest when he squeezed your ass particularly hard before removing his hand and helping you into your side.

When everyone got back to the house for dinner, Freddie dragged out his brand new fire pit for a bonfire on his area of the beach. You all roasted hot dogs and chicken wings for dinner, had s'mores for dessert, and you and the girls lugged out a gatorade cooler dispenser with jungle juice inside. Jordan dragged out his bluetooth speaker and there were people sitting in chairs, or laying on towels, covering themselves with blankets as the ocean breeze brought a chill to the summer night air.

You were resting with your back against Andrei’s chest as his arms wrapped around you, your arms resting atop his, his legs bracketing yours as you cuddled under the large, thick, black blanket you shared. 

“You look so beautiful, zajka,” he murmurs in your ear, dropping a kiss to the sea salt coated skin of your shoulder, letting his lips linger there to press smaller kisses.

“Spasibo, malysh” you respond, turning to press a kiss of your own to his temple.

He’s instantly hard, and he knows you know, especially when you lean back into him a little more, wiggling your ass under the pretense of getting comfortable on the towels beneath you.

Andrei takes a quick glance around the fire, cataloging who’s paying attention, who’s within hearing range, if anyone’s paying attention to the two of you.

The answer’s no one - everyone’s either wrapped up in their significant other, tipsy, or too engrossed in their own conversations to pay you and Andrei any mind, and it’s dark enough out that the glow from the fire several feet in front of you doesn’t put the two of you in any kind of spotlight. 

So he trails one hand down your stomach and bends one of his legs, using his knee to lift the blanket a little to hide his movements, delighting in the way you shiver against him when his fingers graze over your bikini-covered pussy. 

“Drei,” you murmur, a hint of surprise and a dash of warning in your tone.

“I know,” he says, pulling the material to the side, coasting one finger through your folds, swearing a little to himself when he finds you’re practically dripping.

He gasps a little, then his eyes narrow. “You’ve needed me just as badly, haven’t you?” Andrei sees the way your throat works, swallowing a nervous lump before you nod, capturing your bottom lip between your teeth. “And were you going to tell me, zajka? Or keep pushing me away?”

“It’s not appropriate,” you respond quietly. “They’re technically your co-workers.”

Even if you have a point, it’s a weak rebuttal, you both know it. “They’re not even looking at us.”

Just to make sure of that fact, he keeps his eyes ahead of him while he drags his finger up to your clit and begins to circle the sensitive nub the way you taught him to, the way he knows you love. He scans the group every now and again to make sure you’re still not being watched.

You’re not, thankfully, and no one notices when your breathing starts to quicken a little.

Andrei does though, and he pulls you back against him a little closer so his hand can inch down just a little more, sinking one finger inside of you. Using the meat of his palm to press firmly against your clit, he applies enough pressure that when his hand moves to sink his finger inside of you, your sensitive little bud brushes against his palm, and almost immediately Andrei can feel you relax against him.

He bends his head a little, whispering to you. “Kroshka,” he praises.

“More,” you murmur in return, “Need more, Drei.”

“I know, I know,” he says, trying to soothe the heat coursing through your veins. He adds a second finger, and when you immediately clench down, he says “Breathe baby, breathe, you’re taking it so well so far.”

To anyone else, it looks like two lovers having a nice conversation.

To Andrei and you, who know better, it’s a fight to keep his fingers stroking in and out of you at a pace fast enough for you to come, and slow enough that the wet sounds of him finger fucking your pussy don’t alert anyone to your misdeeds.

He finds his rhythm, his movements precise and firm, and his ears are perked up for any tell-tale sound that falls from your lips, or within your throat, body attuned to yours to also look for any physical signs.

Like the way you start to squirm a little, how you squeeze down when he starts to scissor his fingers a little, how you pretend to adjust yourself to sit more comfortably, only so you can angle your hips just so that it pushes his fingers a little deeper, and then he’s stroking that soft, spongey part inside of you with the pads of his fingers so well, that you have to bite your lip from moaning.

“Do you want to come, zajka?” Andrei asks softly, whispering the words as he presses his lips to the shell of your ear. “Do you want me to make you come?”

You nod, and he can see the corner of your mouth tilt up in a smile, “Please,” you beg sweetly.

“Please what?” He taunts, stopping his ministrations altogether. Your hips almost buck against him in protest, and he can tell you want to whine, but you don’t. Your lips press firmly together, and he knows it’s because when the tables turn, when he’s in charge like this, you like to be a bit of a brat just as much as he does. 

“Use your words, zajka.” His words are firm, and he bites the lobe of your ear playfully to make his point. “Please what?”

“Please let me come, malysh.” You finally beg. He relents a little, resuming the slow strokes of his fingers.

“Take out my cock.” Andrei instructs, moving himself so it looks like he’s leaning back propped up on one hand. “Take out my cock and stroke me.”

Your snake one of your hands behind you, between your bodies, and with deft fingers, undo the tie on his board shorts and part the material, reaching in and pulling out his hard cock. You take it in your fist, squeezing firmly as you stroke him up and down. 

Andrei’s eyes scan over the group again, and still, thank fuck, no one seems to pay the two of you any mind. 

You manage to gather the bead of pre-come at the head of his cock, massaging it around before twisting your wrist in a way that nearly makes him go cross eyed. 

“Faster,” he demands, and you obey, picking up speed, and as a reward, he resumes his original pace, fingers plunging in and out of your wet heat, massaging that part inside of you that has you squeezing your thighs together in no time.

When your orgasm hits, your pussy squeezes down, locking his fingers in a vice grip as you gush around them, your breath coming out of your nose in soft little puffs. Your hand squeezes him tight as you ride out your orgasm, twisting up around the head of his cock and then Andrei’s coming too, biting the inside of his check to stop him from making any noise, using all of his control not to buck his hips up or jostle the two of you in anyway.

As the post-orgasm haze clears, Andrei slips his fingers out of you gently, one at a time, and you slowly release his cock, wiping the come that got on your fingers onto the towel beneath you. Though he hates to waste your orgasm by wiping it on his shorts, it’s the best he can do in terms of cleaning up for now, so he wipes his fingers, then uses the inside of his shirt to clean up his come that splattered over his belly.

You lean forward a little so he can inspect your back, and he wipes off the little bit that landed there as well before pulling his shirt back down. 

Once the two of you are semi-put-together again, he circles his arms around you, letting out a small happy sigh.

“Thank you, malysh,” you say quietly, pressing back against him, curling your butt against his lap as you lace his fingers with yours. 

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Anything for you, zajka.” 

~

Sukin syn.

You and your goddamn bikinis are going to send him to an early grave, he’s sure of it. 

At least this was the last day of this little getaway, and everyone leaves tomorrow and you can put this god forsaken weekend behind you, because if Andrei didn’t get you back home to your bed, and soon, he was pretty sure he was going to strangle somebody.

Andrei approaches you with one sole purpose in mind - feel your ass in his lap again, just the way you sat in his lap last night after your little tryst in front of the bonfire. 

You didn’t fuck last night, and though the handjob sated him just fine, he woke up this morning to find you gone, again, when he was rock hard, and all he really wanted, all he could think about, was wanting to pull your sleep shorts to the side and lick your pussy till you flipped him on his back to ride his face until you came all over his tongue. 

After scarfing down a bowl of cereal, he stalks out of the back of the house and down the beach, where you’re already in the water swimming with the girls and a smattering of the guys on the team.

He thinks he’s being slick when he approaches you in the water from behind, using the ocean as cover for his current predicament. He’s fully hard when he gets close enough to wrap his arms around you, pretending to lean on you while you’re talking to Seth and grinding his board shorts covered cock into you, trying to make you blush, make you flustered. 

Your hand snakes back, squeezing his thigh and digging your nails into his skin in warning. He stops circling his hips, but keeps himself pressed against you anyway.

“You left me in bed alone again, kroshka.” He whispers into your neck.

You turn in his arms, a semi stern expression on your face. “I already said it’s not appropriate, Andrei.”

He frowns. “But don’t you want to?”

“Of course I do,” you frown, wondering how he could possibly think otherwise, but add “But not here.”

“But you liked last night?”

Your brow furrows. “You know I did.”

“Then let me-” He’s cut off by Martin jumping on his back, shouting “Svechy!” then yanking him backward and splashing them both into the surf. When he comes back up, he shakes the ocean out of his eyes and finds you several feet away, back with the girls, and - if the sharp set to your shoulders is any indication - promptly ending your conversation. 

Fine.

He could play the long game for you.

He fucks around with the guys, playing football, a bit of beach volleyball, and swimming over the next couple of hours.

Eventually, you wander over to let him know you’re heading back to the house to shower, change, and help Freddie get lunch ready, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before trekking back up the beach and toward the house.

Andrei waits a little, gives himself at least a ten minute window before he excuses himself from the surf and trails after you.

When he gets back to the house, he’s confused when he doesn’t find you in the kitchen, or in your room or attached bathroom. He heads back out of the patio, circling to the side of the house and intending to head to the car, checking to see if maybe you and Freddie already left to go grocery shopping or something, but instead, he comes upon someone using the outdoor shower.

It’s a closed in shower stall, big enough to fit two people, and the stall door is raised so he can see a pair of feet, soapy suds trailing down and being rinsed off familiar skin, and the gold anklet confirms that he’s found you.

He smirks to himself, opening the door and laughing a little when you jump, arms crossed over your bare breasts as the showerhead rains water down on you from above. “Andrei!” You hiss, eyes blazing with fire.

You’ve still got your bikini bottoms on, and as Andrei shuts the door behind him, locking you both in, he reaches for you, reaches so he can undo the ties at your waist, toss those cursed things far fucking away, and drop down to his knees so he can-

“What do you think you’re doing, shchenok?” You demand, arms still crossed over your chest like he’s never seen you bare to the waist before. 

Shchenok. You called him shchenok. Puppy. He blinks, hands dropping to his sides.

“I just want to touch you,” he explains, not even trying to downplay the undertone of a wine in his voice. “I just want you.”

His admission lingers in the air for a beat, then two, and you sigh, dropping your arms from your breasts only to hold them open, and he goes to you without a second thought.

Andrei relaxes just a fraction when you hold him under the shower spray, your arms stroking up and down his back in a soothing pattern, your head tucked into his neck and his cheek resting on top of your head. 

“You want me, shchenok?” You murmur.

“I need you,” he replies softly, correcting his earlier statement, wanting to make sure he’s being clear. “Need you so badly, moya koroleva.” 

You nod, pulling back a little to look up at him, watching the ways he blinks slowly, looking at your eyes, then your lips, your chest, and back up again. When he finally makes eye contact with you, you bring your hands to his cheeks, pulling him down and capturing his lips with yours.

Andrei moans, body going lax and arms pulling you tighter against him. The kiss gets intense and dirty fast, especially when Andrei backs you against the wall of the stall right below the shower head, reaching down to grab your ass and you hop up, wrapping your legs around him, locking your ankles at the base of his spine and your hands behind his neck. 

He grinds into you when you bite his bottom lip, licking over it after to soothe the sting. Andrei parts his lips on instinct, hiking you higher so when he tips his head back a little and opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out, you can bring one hand forward to hold his chin, watching the way the water from the shower head drips into his mouth, and you hold out your tongue, mesmerized when the water trails from your mouth into his. 

You massage his tongue with your own gently, pulling back and pursing your lips, gathering water before parting your lips and letting your spit trail off of your tongue, flowing with the water back into Andrei’s mouth.

When he closes his lips, swallowing, he sees the way that your eyes flash, the way your skin heats beneath his touch and he surges forward, taking your lips again in a bruising kiss, moaning when your hands snake into his hair and grip at the strands. 

He feels like he’s going insane with need, the way he kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, trying to convince you that he might be younger, but he’s definitely man enough to take care of you, to tend to you, to be worthy of you, to worship you. A sharp hiss falls from his lips and his cock throbs in his board shorts when you tug harshly, pulling his head back for him to look at you.

“You need to behave, shchenok, do you understand?” You chastise, voice soft. 

He nods, whimpering when you tug at his hair again, punctuating your point with a slow grind of your hips against his abdomen. All blood rushes south, his cock painfully hard in his board shorts. “Da, moya koroleva.”

Andrei can barely breathe when he notices your eyes zero in on something on his face, and you bring a hand to his lips. You run your thumb over his bottom lip, tugging it a little before your hand sinks into his hair and you’re kissing him again. It’s downright filthy, and Andrei grips your ass tighter in his hands, rubbing your still bikini clad pussy against his abdomen, moving you up and down, and grinding into you each time he brings you back down.

After a few more minutes, you ask him between kisses “Can you be quick?” 

He nods emphatically. “Da, moya koroleva, I promise I’ll be quick.”

“You’ll wait until we’re home tomorrow to have me properly?”

He hums out his agreement, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, only supplying a verbal “yes” after you yank at his hair.

“And you’ll stop trying to misbehave when we’re around the others?” You ask, making sure your limits are clear.

“Yes I swear, I’ll stop.” Andrei swears, “I’ll be your good boy.”

He can feel you smile against his lips, and then you’re pulling back, looking into his eyes. He waits patiently as he knows to, and when you finally murmur “Take your cock out and put it inside me, Andrei.” 

The groan that leaves his mouth is a little loud but god could anyone blame him? With the way you say his name so sweetly like that? The way it sounds like a prayer? Like you’re asking him “give me the world, Andrei” and all he can do is say “anything for you moya koroleva” in return?

He keeps you propped up with one hand, the other yanking at the ties on his board shorts and pulling them down just a little to free his cock, and then he’s yanking the crotch of your bikini bottoms to the side, sinking into your sopping wet pussy and burying himself to the hilt in one stroke.

A soft “oh fuck” leaves your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in close, Andrei burying his face into your neck and bringing his hand back to your ass, breathing deeply, trying to stave off his orgasm for as long as possible. He holds you both there, him sitting all the way inside you, waiting for you to adjust, to tell him he can fuck you. You pulse around him, and even though the shower is still raining water down on both of you, he feels like he’s going to break into a sweat trying to restrain himself.

“Move, Andrei, please.” You murmur into his ear, and he holds tight to you, withdrawing his hips just a little before pushing back in, and hard. “Be quick, malysh.” You remind him, and he nods into your neck, picking up his pace.

If he was younger, he might be embarrassed to say he’s been halfway to an orgasm since he let himself into this shower stall, but all he can care about right now is making sure that you get to come too. He’s deliberate with his body, making sure to keep his abs pressed against your clit so every time he grinds his hips into you he brushes against it, making sure his cock stays deep enough that he hits that glorious spot inside of you that makes you clench down around him in a grip that Andrei can’t interpret as anything other than your body saying “you’re mine.”

“I’m going to come, Andrei,” you whimper, and he nods again, biting down into your neck to stifle his moans, to suffocate the groan threatening to rip from his throat when you squeeze down and come, his vision going black. 

He pumps his cock past the tight grip of you, drives his hips in once, twice, three times before he’s burying himself to the hilt again and coming, cock throbbing out his release, and your ankles lock tighter around him, pulling him impossibly closer. He can feel the press of your anklet into his skin, can feel the little “A” charm leaving its indentation as thick ropes of his come paint your insides, claiming you from the inside out.

You both let out a sated sigh, chests heaving with relief, and Andrei kisses you, singing his praises and gratitude with every press of his lips against yours, the way you can feel each other’s heartbeats at where you’re still connected. 

When he finally regains his breath, he brings his head out from where it’s been tucked in your neck to say thank you, to assure you that he’s going to keep his promise and be a good boy and behave for the rest of the weekend -

But then Freddie’s deep voice cuts through the air, calling your name, and Andrei freezes, looking at you in worry. 

“Yeah?” You call out, cutting your eyes at Andrei in a way that tells him “behave, shchenok,” even though you’re smiling at him like he hung the goddamn sun in the sky.

“Are you still okay to help me with lunch?” Freddie asks.

“Yes I am! Sorry, just let me dry off and change inside and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” You call back, sounding completely put together.

“Sounds good,” Freddie calls back, and you and Andrei both wait until you hear his footsteps fade away to move again.

Andrei presses a kiss to your temple, backing you both away from the wall so he can set you down gently, waiting until you’re sure you can stand on your own before he lets go. You take off your bikini bottoms then, and Andrei grabs it from you, along with your bikini top from where it hangs on the hook behind the stall door. He hands you your towel, and you take it, shutting the water off.

“When we get home,” you start, taking your swimsuit from his hands and moving the couple of steps to the door, “if you’re good, if you behave, you can have me properly then, okay?” you ask, wrapping the towel around your waist and then opening the door to the shower stall. Andrei nods in response, and you smile at him.

Just before you close the door, you turn back to him, sly smirk on your lips. “You can have me properly, after your punishment, that is.”

Andrei definitely does not gulp, but he does fully embrace the little shiver of anticipation that zips up his spine, watching your ass sway behind the towel the whole time you walk back up to the house.

~

“Are you sure you’re not cold, kroshka?” Andrei asks. 

You lift your sunglasses off of your head so you can gaze up at him and where he’s standing in front of you, holding one of the overly large towels that you brought for the weekend in his hands, poised in the air and ready to drape over you the second you say so.

Except, you don’t say so. 

And this is the third time in the last hour that he’s asked. 

“Andrei, honey,” you tell him gently, trying not to let your patience meet its wits end, lowering your sunglasses to peer up at him. “It’s eighty degrees out, I promise I’m not cold.”

He frowns for a half second, towel still hanging in the air from his fingers. “Well, there’s trade winds, and it’s only ten in the morning,” he offers lamely. “It cools things down.”

“Not enough that I need a towel as a blanket.” You insist, readjusting your sunglasses and leaning back onto your lounge chair. “I’m fine, I promise.”

He huffs, plopping down into his own lounge chair on the right of yours, narrowing his eyes at his teammates, trying to make sure they’re not looking at you.

You, in this beautiful fucking all white two piece bikini set looking like you came out of an X rated version of Baywatch. It’s a two piece, a white number that he knew you owned, but was not aware that you’d brought along with you, and a lot more risque than the other white set you wore earlier in the trip. 

The bottom, he’s pretty sure it’s a thong bikini, if the way that the material seemingly vanished between your ass cheek when you took your shorts off earlier is anything to go by. The triangle top that tied at the back and at the neck was surprisingly comfortable enough to hold the girls up, and keep them sitting nicely together. 

It’s the day you’re all supposed to be leaving, heading back home and closing out the weekend getaway. And he’s grateful, he really is, but given that everyone’s not leaving for another couple of hours, he’s not feeling grateful at the fact that his teammates might get a glimpse of your ass in that goddamn thong.

He knows he can’t say that, so instead, he takes a small pause before he clears his throat, almost like he’s nervous, then offers “Maybe you can wear my shirt instead?” 

This time, you take off your sunglasses completely and drop them into your lap, lolling your head to the left to look at him, at where he’s sitting sideways on his chair, facing you, his shirt hanging from two extended fingers, his face frowning, again.

But this time, you manage to register just what he’s frowning at, eyes casting down your own body at- 

Your bikini. 

Andrei’s heart thumps in his chest.

When he can see that it clicks into place for you, you let out a small, soft laugh, before looking back at Andrei with a smirk. He knows that you’ve got him figured out now, and when your eyes meet his, his frown deepens, grip on his shirt getting tighter as he extends it out to you, shaking it once.

“Please put it on.” He all but begs, trying to sound stern, but the plea is there all the same.

“What’s wrong with my bikini?” you ask playfully, although there is genuine curiosity in the back of your mind. You both know that it’s nothing too risque, nothing that Andrei hasn’t seen before, but Andrei feels a low simmering rage at the very idea of his teammate looking at you for longer than two milliseconds. 

Andrei smiles bashfully in turn, dropping his shirt into his lap and reaching out, the tips of his fingers skimming over your bare shoulder, and trailing slowly down your arm. “Nothing’s wrong with it baby, you look like a fucking goddess, moya koroleva.” His voice is soft, a little hoarse, and a small smile creeps on your face.

“Then why do you keep trying to cover me up?”

He frowns again, his fingers finally reaching your hand, and he takes it in his own, playing with the various rings on your fingers a little before bringing your hand to his lips, and kisses the back of it gently. “I just wanna keep the view all to myself.”

You can feel the heat rush to your cheeks, never quite sure how to deal with his honest compliments and take a quick glance around the beach. Andrei takes a look too, and while the guys and girls are spread out pretty evenly, he still frowns. 

“You know everyone here, Drei.” You say sweetly as your eyes finish scanning the beach and return to him, who’s scowling now, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hand, your palm, and each finger. He huffs out a breath, then slowly lowers your joined hands between you both, eyes cast down to the sand. 

“Maybe,” he counters, nose scrunched up in frustration. “But all I can think about is the possibility of one of them snapping their neck doing a double take to get a good look at you, and I don’t like it.”

He knows you’ve rarely seen his aggression and rage off of the ice, but when you do, it’s typically in moments like this, involving you, his family, or his friends, rage driven by the need to protect, defend.

Or in this case, possess.

You squeeze his hand, and when he looks up at you, his heart thumps when he finds you smirking at him a little. “You don’t want anyone to look at me, shchenok?”

He shakes his head, frowning. “No, I don’t.”

“You don’t want anyone to touch me?”

His nostrils flare, the word “Zajka” coming out of his mouth in warning.

The smirk stretches wider over your lips until you flash him a devious smile, ignoring his attempt to flip this around. “You can’t touch me either though, remember? You’ve been bad, and you’ve got a punishment coming up.”

He blinks then, nodding. “I remember.”

“And you promised you’d be good.” You remind him, and he nods again, eyes watching you, waiting.

Andrei sees it, when you pull back from taking the lead, eyes softening when you squeeze his hand again. “I didn’t mean for it to make you upset, you know. I wore it for you.”

His heart lurches against his chest, beating against his rib cage like it’s trying to break out of its earthly prison. “You did?”

You nod, pulling his hand to yours and kissing the back of it, just like he did to you. “How about,” you begin, kissing it softly once more before moving to each of his fingers, starting with his pinky, “I’ll put on my shorts” his ring finger, “and you be a good boy” his middle finger, “put your shirt back on,” his index finger, “and cover up that beautiful tummy of yours?” 

He’s quick to nod, entranced as he watches you kiss his thumb and his eyes blow wide, attention solely on you as you gently untangle your hand from his before taking it in both of yours, bringing it to your mouth, and sucking his index finger between your lips. 

His breath hitches, eyes wandering the beach to find no one near, thank god, and goes back to watching you, completely enraptured as your tongue gently glides along the pad of his finger as you pull it from your mouth with a soft ‘pop.’ Andrei’s eyebrows pull together, focusing on the image, before you drop his hand from yours, placing your hands innocently in your lap and then look up at him.

He blinks, and you can see him trying to pull himself together enough to get moving, yanking his shirt over his head. 

You laugh at him a little, lowering your sunglasses to say “You can continue to be good for these last couple hours before we go home, can’t you shchenok?” 

Andrei nods. “Yes, moya koroleva.”

You smirk, raising your sunglasses back up, then grabbing your shorts from beside you, tugging them up your legs before laying back on the lounge chair. “Good, now go hang out with your friends, and try to hide your boner.”

~

Where he managed to find the audacity, you would never know.

Andrei’s been pushing your damn buttons all day - all weekend, at that - being a little shit around the guys just because he could, just to get a reaction out of you. You never gave him one, of course, other than telling him to cool it and drawing a line in the sand, but you could tell it didn’t matter to him. 

Every time you looked his way, you could see it - his eyes glinting with mischief. 

And every time he came into your orbit, you could feel it - when his fingers grazed across your bikini clad butt, trying to undo the tie on your bikini top when you’re in the water, all the lingering touches, squeezing your ass through your shorts, fingering you at the bonfire, you having to sneak in a quickie in the outdoor shower just so he’d stop trying to jump your bones.

Not to mention, he had the nerve to try to finger you within the first twenty minutes of the drive home, knowing full well he had a punishment heading his way.

The dirty sobachka. 

Make no mistake - you were attracted to Andrei, and you were head over heels in love with him. You appreciated and adored how attracted to you he was, how much he needed you, and deeply valued the love that the two of you shared. 

But this was the first time you’d been around his friends and teammates and their partners in such a capacity since you started dating earlier this year, and you were trying to make a good impression.

They all know you’re five years older than Andrei, their precious Drei, who means so much to them and who they make a point to look after. So maybe it was silly, but you wanted to prove you were capable of doing the same, that you loved him, and that he hadn’t made a mistake by picking someone like you.

And him trying his best to attempt to bend you over every surface and fuck you every chance he got this weekend wasn’t exactly working in your favor.

Not to mention - the main thing that’s been driving you crazy all fucking weekend - he’s been walking around with his gorgeous abs out like that every damn day, not a shirt in sight unless necessary, and your mind went to so many filthy places at once, you were surprised no one called you out for the flush in your cheeks and the squeeze of your thighs whenever your eyes lingered on his naked torso for longer than necessary.

You felt better now that the weekend was over, sure. It was clear your anxieties were for nothing, that you had nothing to worry about. The girls who seemed like your friends during the season proved to actually be your friends, and the guys all seemed to like you just fine. Freddie even thanked you profusely for all of your help this weekend - cooking, helping with laundry, and cleaning - all things you hadn’t felt forced to do and did out of kindness, but he appreciated nonetheless.

And now that you’re finally on the way back after swimming the morning away, and Andrei’s driving you both home, sitting there still shirtless, hat backwards, skin warm from the sun? Yeah.

The gears are already turning in your head on how to make this little brat of yours pay for his little stunts this weekend.

You plot and scheme during the remainder of the drive, Andrei none the wiser as he keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other on your thigh, taking a second whenever he can to either lean across the console and kiss your cheek, or take your hand, lace your fingers together and kiss the back of it before resting it back on your thigh.

By the time you get home and inside, you can’t even make it to the bedroom - you’re so fed up with his antics and ready to prove a point that before you can even blink you’re shoving him down to the couch, hands on your hips and eyebrow raised because he should know better by now, and judging by the look in his eyes, he only just now remembered that he’s in trouble.

“I’m sorry, kroshka,” he says almost immediately, but when you cock your head at him, he swallows, bowing his head a little as he corrects himself. “I mean, I’m sorry, moya koroleva.”

“Why are you sorry, shchenok?” You ask, stepping between his legs, placing a finger under his chin and tilting his head up so he can look at you. 

“I was being a brat,” he admits, fully chastised. “I was a brat all weekend and I didn’t listen to you.”

You nod, dropping your hand and pulling down your shorts, taking notice of the way Andrei’s eyes linger over your bikini. His eyes track your movements, watching your deft fingers go to the ties on your bikini bottoms, undoing them before flinging the fabric off to the side. 

“You were being a brat,” you agree, “and now you get to make it up to me.” 

You move him so he’s lying down on the couch, and then help him out of his board shorts, tossing them in the same direction as your bikini bottoms. You dip two fingers between your folds, gathering the wetness that’s been blooming there for what feels like days, then bring them to his lips.

“Suck,” you instruct. And he does, lips circling your digits as he takes them in his mouth, sucking the tips where your wetness lies, groaning deep. His cock throbs at the taste of you on his tongue, the lingering hints of salt water and the very taste of your skin in general, and his mouth waters, instantly craving more. 

You must be able to see it in his eyes, the need, the desire, the desperation. So you take pity on your precious shchenok, moving until you’re hovering right over his face. His pupils blow out wide as his skin flushes red with excitement. You raise a brow at him, knowing he’s done this enough with you that when he answers your unspoken question with a firm nod and opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, you waste no further time in dropping down, putting your pussy right on that pretty pink tongue of his and grinding your hips. 

His hands fly to your ass on impulse, circumstances of his punishment momentarily forgotten as he guides you along his face in the way he knows you love, the way he knows that you need while alternating between sucking your clit and licking between your folds. You allow his touch since he’s doing such a good job given that you’re already halfway there, and since you know he’s been craving this for a couple of days.

When your orgasm crashes through you, your thighs clench, back arching and a loud moan echoing out of your lungs. Andrei does his due diligence and holds you tight, keeps you pressed against his mouth until you’re no longer shaking from the aftershocks.

Slowly, you rise up from his mouth as his hands fall back to his sides, getting off of him and off of the couch to examine him and his handiwork. His mouth is shiny and wet, glistening with your release, and he’s staring at you, completely dazed and satisfied with himself. You dip your two fingers between your folds again, holding them out to him, and he takes them between his lips without another word.

He licks around your digits, sucking them, drawing enough spit that once your fingers are wet, you pull them from his mouth, spreading them around your pussy and wasting no further time in straddling him, positioning yourself right on his lap, trapping his cock between your bare cunt and his firm abdomen, grinding your hips along his shaft.

Andrei whines, every instinct in his body wanting to get his hands on your hips and guide you, but he knows he can’t touch you, not until you say so. So he keeps his hands to his sides, gritting his teeth and muttering out a string of “spasibo, moya koroleva,” over and over again.

His gratitude is music to your ears, and you moan, rubbing your bare pussy along his cock until he’s gripping the fabric of the couch in his fingers. You run your hands up his abdomen, scratching back down with your nails and reveling in the way he hisses “Spasibo moya koroleva,” between clenched teeth. 

When red marks bloom on his belly, you drag your hands back up his chest, moving so one of your hands can put two fingers between his lips, and the other can lightly grip his throat. It’s not long before you can feel the orgasm starting to well up in your stomach. 

“Do you want to come for me, shchenok?” You croon, leaning forward a little to press a kiss to his chin, nearly going cross eyes when the new angle puts the head of his cock against your clit when you grind forward. His cock is trapped beneath your belly and your pussy, and you feel it throb at your words.

Andrei nods profusely, noisily sucking on your fingers and moaning when you sit up, removing your fingers from his mouth so he can speak, the hand around his throat still soft but firm in their grip.

“Pozhaluysta moya koroleva, let me come.” He begs.

“Then earn it. Open,” you say, and Andrei’s eyes glaze over as he opens his mouth, tilting his chin up with a soft “ah” noise escaping his throat, vibrating against your palm. His hips buck involuntarily, but you allow it just this once, knowing he’ll need to come if he’s going to make it through the rest of the night unscathed.

Your nails dig into the side of his throat when you lean forward, letting spit drip off of your tongue and onto his, and you don’t even need to say anything before he’s closing his mouth and swallowing, then opening it again to show you. He looks so proud as he does it, too, eyes gleaming as he waits for your approval. 

Your pussy clenches at the very sight, and your orgasm rushes toward the finish line.

“Very good my pretty shchenok,” you coo, grinding down harder against his cock, bending your head to press your lips to his in a chaste kiss. “Do you still want to come? Do you want to come with me?”

He nods vehemently, tacking on a desperate sounding, “Da, pozhaluysta.” 

“Do it,” you command, winding your hips faster, spurred on by Andrei trying to subtly thrust along with you to get you both to orgasm. 

It takes split seconds, and you come with a loud cry, Andrei moaning high and loud at witnessing your release. Your hips stutter, pussy dripping along his cock until the slide of your skin is too much, and then Andrei’s coming, fast and sudden, thick ropes of his come streaking across his belly.

You shuffle down his body once he’s spent, licking your come off of his cock, then licking his come off of his sea salt coated skin, pushing up to kiss him, sharing your mutual release as he moans into your mouth, hips bucking up and begging for more.

You pin his hip to the couch cushion with a firm hand, shaking your head and tsking at him as you pull away.

“That’s all you get for tonight, shchenok.” You say, climbing off of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He nods, watching your naked ass walk away from him, dazed and sated as he says “Da, moya koroleva, spasibo.”

[dmercer91]

ebug's sister, dm91

part one / part two /part three / part four / part five / part six /

blakefriarr_

liked by dawson1417, lhughes_06, and 6,213 others

blakefriarr_: my brothers an ebug, episode five!

i think ni saw me in the stands before the game started, cause he didn’t ONCE look in my direction and i had to scavenge the broadcast after the game to find an image of him under duress. it’s cute that you thought i wouldn’t find a way, though, worlds sluttiest captain™️

i added a photo of jack to this one since i flat out refused to add him to mine and quinnys groupchat, so we settled on this. for those of you this may negatively affect, i promise it’s a one time thing <3

the next two are both of dawson, since 1. he got a goal!! but second and most importantly, he’s got such a pretty smile and i think it needed to be broadcasted to all of you lovely people seeing this

then we have a goalie hug! i would like to point out that in the five games i’ve seen this season, they’ve won every time i was there. i’m the good luck charm. not even maybe. i am telling you it’s me

last, cause i want to rub it in jj’s face that i have a sweet, attentive guy that he doesn’t know the name of, is a message from my boy!! (he still hasn’t asked me to be his girl, so he’s not TECHNICALLY my boy, but shhhh we’ll ignore it)

view 607 comments..

jj.friar31: does this guy of yours know about your strange love for dawson mercer

→ blakefriarr_: i would say he's aware

lhughes_06: I RANK HIGHER THAN JACK!?!?!?

→ blakefriarr_: unfortunately you are very adoptable

→ lhughes_06: you're like eight months older than me

→ blakefriarr_: ok?

_quinnhughes: hey guy who won't be named where jj can see, if you're reading this, please ask her out before i go crazy

→ blakefriarr_: you said i could talk to you anytime :(

→ _quinnhughes: of course you can, sweetheart. that doesn't mean i wont go nuts

→ blakefriarr_: awh huggy you're willing to go nuts for me?

→ _quinnhughes: unfortunately i'm not immune to whatever it is you have going on in that head of yours

jesperbratt: i can't believe you just called nico a slut

→ blakefriarr_: believe it, bratter.

nicohischier: ... sluttiest?

→ blakefriarr_: what other word can be used to describe what it is when you flip your hair around with a bloody mouth and call people fucking pussies

→ nicohischier: i was hoping those clips would stay off your radar

→ blakefriarr_: that's impossible i see everything

adamfantilli: wasn't expecting him to be such a softy

→ lhughes_06: now what is this supposed to mean

→ blakefriarr_: rookie how did you manage it's been literally three days

→ lhughes_06: IS HE IN THE GROUPCHAT?????? BLAKE??

→ blakefriarr_: don't be so dramatic moose

→ lhughes_06: quinn?? what do you have to say for yourself?

→ _quinnhughes: she asked very nicely idk what you wanted me to do

→ blakefriarr_: 'i'm adding adam fuckface' 'cool lmao' there was no resistance and by definition i don't think i was being nice

→ _quinnhughes: why do i put up with this

→ adamfantilli: i feel so honoured you didn't even ask properly

→ blakefriarr_: whatever. love u, rookie

→ adamfantilli: love u, coach

→ lhughes_06: i'm killing you both and not in your sleep you deserve to know it was me

→ blakefriarr_: well now you can do it in our sleeps cause you just.. told us? that it would be you?

dougieham: i would like to formally apologize for my comment on your most recent post. i was out of line and i should not have spilled very highly classified of information about the groupchat. i hope my apology finds you well.

→ blakefriarr_: you're forgiven, but you're on probation

→ dougieham: quinn is that good enough

→ _quinnhughes: probably idk

dawson1417: i have a pretty smile? blushing

→ blakefriarr_: you're welcome, loser <3

→ dawson1417: that guy of yours ask you out yet?

→ blakefriarr_: he has.

→ dawson1417: yeah?

→ blakefriarr_: only to an event, though. hoping he'll man up n kiss me

→ dawson1417: best of luck, then <3

jackhughes: least favourite?? what did i do to deserve this

→ blakefriarr_: you are just incredibly underwhelming i'm sorry. be glad you got your picture in the post that is ALL i agreed to.

→ jackhughes: and quinn isn't??

→ blakefriarr_: do not diss quinn i will take your head of and put it over my fireplace

jj.friar31: ok so from what i'm compiling here i think it's either quinn or.. adam fantilli????? somehow?? when did that even happen how do you keep pulling this off

→ blakefriarr_: ok first of all if you think i would ever allow someone i'm romantically involved with to call me coach you need a lobotomy

→ blakefriarr_: second of all you are so dumb it's actually become fascinating. NEITHER OF THOSE PEOPLE LIVE IN JERSEY?? you think quinn hughes found the time in his nhl player schedule to fly down here and bring me home from work?

→ jj.friar31: oh right

→ jj.friar31: ignore me i've compiled nothing.

view more comments..

[chirpingfromthebox]

PWHL Minnesota's Post Game 5 Press Session

You can watch the whole thing here! Be sure to give their video some likes/views/nice comments/all the things that help them out for making these sessions so accessible.

At the table were Lee Stecklein and Kendall Coyne Schofield.

(and featuring special drop-in guest Kelly Pannek)

This is one with a lot of moments you really need to see or hear to fully appreciate. I've done my best to point out when something special is happening that isn't fully captured by the words, but you can only do so much. I've included all the questions.

Transcription (and minimal interruptions from me) under the break.

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

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

REPORTER: Every championship, I’m sure, is special. But when you think about maybe 50 years from now people are talking about this one, what does it all mean to you in that sense?

KENDALL COYNE SCHOFIELD: There’s something very special about being the first to do something in life. And for us to be the first Walter Cup champions is something that is extremely special, that will be a part of this league’s legacy forever. You know, I’ve been a part of a lot of teams that have won and that haven’t won, and for whatever reason you remember the teams that win. And our coach had a talk to us about that this morning, coach Klee, when he said, “I won the Calder Cup-

[whispers to Stecklein] was it 30 years ago?

LEE STECKLEIN: [whispering back] 30 years.

KENDALL COYNE SCHOFIELD: 30 years ago today.” And one of his teammates reached out to him saying good luck and just the connection he has with that team that won it all.

I think when you end on top you never forget it. It’s a feeling that you chase every day. Whether you’re in the weight room, you’re on the ice; we’ve been chasing it all season. But the legacy of this trophy is only going to keep growing, growing, growing. But to be the first is an honor, it's a privilege, it’s extremely special. And it took an entire team effort to be champions. From start to finish.

If you look at the way that we won, you know, we were almost out. As soon as we knew we weren’t out- There were times that we got down but we never got out. And that group in there believed that we could be champions and we never lost sight of that. We believe in each other. It didn’t matter who was on the ice, we knew that that person on the ice, that line on the ice, that goalie in the net, was going to get the job done. And we did that.

LEE STECKLEIN: Yeah, I would just add, it’s always special to win any championship, any trophy, but [Lee starts to get choked up] to get to do it here and to get to do it with this person next to me is incredible, because we wouldn’t be here without her. She hates when I say it, but it’s so true. And she’s just a really special player, a really special person. And I am so grateful to have had this experience with her.

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

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

REPORTER: Lee, out of curiosity after game 4, obviously a devastating loss for the team, you guys saluted your fans, you were all at center ice, you addressed your teammates, do you mind sharing what was said?

STECKLEIN: [laughing] I honestly don’t entirely remember.

R: [to Kendall] Do you remember?

COYNE SCHOFIELD: [smiling and putting her hand on Lee’s shoulder] I’m on the outside of the pile so I cannot hear over Lee.

STECKLEIN: I think, again, I mean, it sucks to think you’ve won and, you know, obviously that’s hockey. Call’s off and you have to figure it out. But we had a chance to figure it out. We had another game. It wasn’t over. Umm, so I hope I said something like that. [laughing] But I’m not positive.

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

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

REPORTER: And for yourself Lee, you chose to step away from the National team and you’ve come back to play in this professional league, so where does this rank in things you’ve won and big games you’ve played in?

STECKLEIN: [Laughing] It’s impossible to rank things. When you get to win the last game of the year and hoist the trophy, you're just so grateful, because it’s always a special group. And it has to be to do something like this. It takes a team. A team that’s committed to each other, that believes in each other and the process. And like Kendall said, there were moments this year, unfortunately especially at the end, where we were pretty down and we were able to pull it together. I’m just really proud of this group and again it wouldn’t be possible without Kendall Coyne and her leadership.

R: And is it as heavy as they all say?

STECKLEIN: Oh yes.

COYNE SCHOFILED: It is heavy.

But just to echo on Lee a little bit too, is I always believe that winners win. They find ways to win. And when you look at Lee Stecklein’s career she’s literally won everything that there is to win in women’s hockey. You look at the minutes she’s played, you look at the leadership she shows on and off the ice. She doesn’t want me to talk about it, but she’s an unsung hero. And if you ask anyone in that room they would tell you that exactly. And I just think there’s a lot of winners in that room that have won big moments, but Lee’s done it all.

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

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

REPORTER: Congrats you two.

STECKLEIN: Thank you.

KELLY PANNEK: [from off camera] You ladies done?

[Kendall and Lee start laughing]

We gotta go celebrate!

R: [to the other reporters] We ready to wrap it up?

Okay, time for two more.

STECKLEIN: [laughing] Dude, you're supposed to be here too!

[Kendall and Lee laugh]

PANNEK: I- I got- They don't want to talk to me!

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

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

REPORTER: Visualization is so important in sports. And I have to imagine that a moment came last night before you fell asleep where you imagined what this would be like if you won. Can you compare what you imagined to the actual experience that you’re feeling right now?

COYNE SCHOFIELD: I don’t want to say I don’t remember what I- I just went to bed. I was tired. [Lee and Kendall laugh]

I had a 10-month old baby on the plane, I was exhausted.

No, I think we all went to bed knowing that this is it. This was game 5. I think that gave us, honestly, peace. Because we’ve gone the distance in each series. You know, we had a reverse sweep on Toronto. I think a lot of people counted us out in that moment.

[Kelly walks into frame wearing all the championship regalia and carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and drops beers she had in her other down on the table for her teammates. Then disappears back out of frame.]

And then we move onto to this moment. We come from Toronto right to Boston and I think there was a lot of peace knowing that this was it. Like, it emptied the tank, not that we didn’t empty the tank every game that we played, including the double overtime game. We were exhausted after that.

Knowing that this was the last game, this was the last day of the season, this is the last day that this group will be together was something that I think we took peace in, pride in. And we went out and played like it.

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

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

REPORTER: One more. A moment came at the end of June of last year when someone on the other side of the bargaining table said, "Okay, we have a deal. We have a CBA [Collective Bargaining Agreement]. We have a league." Tell me what you’ve imagined this season needed to be and how close it came.

[CFtB: I feel compelled to butt in here, to point out that you'd swear these last two question askers were auditioning for a play, because they ask these like they're presenting a work of art or something. By their questions and the way they ask them you'd swear they were authors hired to write the novelization of the season.]

COYNE SCHOFIELD: It’s hard to put into words when you start with a blank sheet of paper. And you’re envisioning all the things that women’s hockey has deserved for so long. And you build out that sheet of paper over time, over time, collaboration, conversation.

You know Stan [Kasten] will tell you that it was the most collaborative bargaining table he’s ever been a part of and I know he’s part of the Major League Baseball, so they’ve had their fair of negotiations. But what I think was so special about the conversation was, we want the same goal. We want this to be successful.

And them, you know, and I hate saying "them," because we were all on the same- yes, there’s two sides to a bargaining table, but we all wanted the same thing. And them asking, "What is it that you need? What is it that you want?" And listening to them too, to their experience in pro sport. You look at the other side of the table, Stan Kasten, Royce Cohen, you know, Billie Jean [King], Ilana [Kloss], the list goes on and on and on. We’re asking them, "What do you think?" And it’s not because they want something less or more, we want what’s right.

We got that piece of paper signed, but then to see it, to live it, and to experience in real time has been something that’s been very special. I can’t say thank you enough to all the people who are behind the scenes who’ve made this possible. I don’t think people realize the tireless days. It’s 24-7 in this first year. There were so many positives. There were so many things that we've learned that are only going to get better in year 2 and year 3 and beyond. But this league and all of their staff have worked around the clock for us to make this league as successful as it was in year one.

And you mentioned June, we signed that document in July 1 and we dropped our first puck January 1. Can you name another professional sport league that starts in 6 months? And in the capacity and the magnitude and the professional standard in which we’ve done every thing this year. I mean, it’s remarkable. And credit goes to the league, Mark and Kimbra Walter, and obviously the players who have battled their butts off all year long. All six teams.

So, yeah, I dunno if that answers your question.

[Kelly pops back into the table]

PANNEK: Wait, I’m gonna jump right in there, because she won’t say this-

COYNE SCHOFIELD: [with a look on her face like someone who knows their sibling is about to do something embarrassing:]

Kelly.

PANNEK: [pointing towards Kendall]

This. The only reason this happened? From players’ side? Is because of Kendall. Like, legit? The only reason. And she hates it. But it could not be a more fitting end for her to lift the trophy, for her to score the empty netter. It’s that woman right there. And to do it with a growing family and amongst all these other things, she still shows up and does her job every single day. Not just a hockey player. She has like seven other jobs on top of that. The biggest one is creating this league for all of us other players to play in.

COYNE SCHOFIELD: Thank you, Kelly.

PANNEK: We gotta go party, guys!

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

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

[the reporter group starts to clap, but the one of the dudes who I'd swear are taking a creative writing class butts in quickly.]

REPORTER: Last- Last quick, last question, I promise. There’s no doubt in my mind that your lap at the all-star game led to all of this. Could you have imagined [long pause] that night [another long pause for the drama of it all] that it would lead you here? [ANOTHER PAUSE] To this moment?

COYNE SCHOFIELD: Yeah, that was a big moment for the sport. And while it was a 14 second lap, that was essentially heard around the world. It was a moment that catapulted the conversation that was so long over due. And that was: What is the reality of women’s professional hockey? And what does that look like? And how do we change it and how do we get there? And I believe that moment really catapulted the conversation and the efforts to get us where we are today.

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

end of interview

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

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

For anyone unaware, the all-star game lap the novelist/reporter was referring to was from the 2019 NHL All-Star Weekend when she became the first woman to compete in an NHL skills competition. And you can watch a video of that here.

[stereax]

I seek your wisdom, o wise one.

Exactly how screwed are the sharks, the flames, and the oilers?

You can't see me but I am RUBBING MY HANDS IN DELIGHT at this ask. Nothing I love more than talking about why teams suck. As always, meet you under the cut! 💜

(Also, sorry this took so long! Had to make a presentation on the Chinese Super League for sports diplomacy and it siphoned my will to live.)

Do I have you? Great! Okay. Let's go one by one.

CALGARY FLAMES: CANDLE IN THE WIND

I, for one, never got the hype behind the Flames. Every pundit in the entire NHL was saying "Oh, the Flames are going to have a massive bounceback year, last year was a down year for everyone!" And now look at them. 3-7-1 to start the season with a mere 7 points in 11 games.

Spoiler alert: Trading your best forward in points production to literal Satan for a single corn chip is not going to help you be competitive. Who'd'a thunk it?

In addition, there seems to be a major coaching problem. On theory, this team should be solid. Maybe not top of the league good, but solid enough to make a wildcard spot at least. But you watch the systems at play and they just don't work with the players. For instance, Huberdeau is an east-west player being forced to play a north-south system. He can't do what he does best, make plays, because the current north-south system simply won't allow it. Firing Sutter was supposed to fix this locker room. It only seems to have made the problems worse. Christ, Zadorov is apologizing to the fans because they're playing that shittily.

How screwed are they? Probably a solid 8/10. Markstrom seems to have bounced back, but the team in front of him has not, tanking his save percentage because the defense simply cannot defend. We're being treated to a classic Huberdeau and Kadri Disappearing Act (2-4-6 and -12; 1-4-5 and -12). Mangiapane and Andersson have both gotten suspensions already for no god damn reason. All extension talks (Lindholm and Hanifin chief among them) have been suspended. It's chillingly possible this team will have to sell big at the deadline to get any value out of their expiring UFAs - and then what? You've got a few good pieces (Cary, Sharangovich, Wolf) that can lead your retool, but you've also got anchor weights in massively underperforming contracts, like the aforementioned Huberdeau's, that come with no-move clauses and are just such bad deals that even if those clauses were waived, who'd take them?

EDMONTON OILERS: BULLS ON PARADE

I think if you told anyone in July that the Edmonton Oilers were going to start their season 2-7-1 in 10 games, you would be laughed out the door. And yet.

I do have to preface this by saying yes, McDavid was out for several games, and when you're without the best player in the NHL, it gets tougher to win games. But fuck, man. The Devils are now down BOTH their top six centers for the foreseeable future and yet they're still managing to win games. You know why? DEPTH SCORING. Something that the Oilers have not had since seemingly the 80s. If your game plan revolves so strongly around one guy, chances are you'll be fucked anyway if that guy goes down.

Also, Campbell cannot stop a beach ball in net. Skinner isn't much better. How much of this is the defense and how much is just the goalies sucking? Unclear, but it is NOT a good sign. Although the Oilers mostly work under "outscore your opponent before they outscore you", you want to be able to make SOME timely saves. Neither tendy is giving any hope recently.

And all this can ultimately be traced back to Ken Holland fucking this team over with contracts. Nurse did not deserve that much. Kane is questionable at best. Campbell? Christ. And then you have no cap room to sign actually decent bottom sixers and then wonder why they're getting shelled. Why is Sam Gagner, a random legacy Oiler on a league minimum contract, on your second line? Make it make sense!

The thing is - you CAN win if you have a few guys getting paid the big bucks. Just look at Vegas for an example of that. You CAN'T win if you have a few guys getting paid the big bucks and almost no depth beyond your top line where you stack McDavid and Draisaitl to try to get SOMETHING going. You can't doubleshift those two across the entire lineup. I know, it sucks.

SAN JOSE SHARKS: COLD WATER

How screwed are they? I'll give them a 6/10. We're seeing the "or bust" part of "cup or bust". Can they turn it around? They have McJesus. Anything is POSSIBLE when you have McJesus. But it's not looking pretty, at all. I bet they end up in the wildcard hunt, or close to it. Just enough to maybe make the playoffs but too exhausted to do anything else.

Remember, Draisaitl's contract is up after 24-25. McDavid, 25-26. Will they want to stay in this garbage fire? If one, or God forbid both, ask to be traded, this team better channel the early 2010s and tank hard.

And now we reach the ultimate lolcow. These guys STINK. 0-10-1 in 11 games. .045 points percentage. The only point they managed to get was because Blackwood stood on his motherfucking HEAD in game 2.

But then you have contracts like Hertl, Vlasic, and Couture, which you can't move and which will weigh down the franchise for years while it tries to rebuild. What are you going to do with them? How will you get rid of them?

What's the problem? More to the point: What isn't??? There's zero star power on the entire roster. The defense doesn't know how to defend and the offense can't score against a Shooter Tutor, much less an actual NHL goalie. The goalies... they're trying! I think! Give them credit. And Quinn's trying, maybe, to coach? But when do you kick his ass to the curb too, just to try to put some life back into that lineup? That is the world's deadliest team. It's like hockey is a punishment to them!

FanDuel is running bets on when they will finally win their first regular season game. That's how ass they are. I wish I were kidding.

On top of all this, the locker room seems like it's going up in flames. Remember the Nucks' 10-1 beating of the Sharks? Kahkonen, the Sharks' tendy, got injured after the sixth goal, when Kuzmenko ran into him. Kuzmenko and the Canucks made sure Kahkonen was alright and that it wasn't a major injury. The Sharks? They just went back to the bench!

This unironically is probably the worst team in my lifetime, and maybe for decades before I was born too. They're just so BAD. There's no redeeming reason to watch Sharks games at all except to laugh at the Sharks as they get 10 goals dumped on them.

How screwed are they? 10/10*. I'm sorry, but fucking Zetterlund is leading your team in goals. ZETTERLUND. I cannot name ONE player on that roster who I would send to an All-Star Game. Maybe Blackwood, if he doesn't crumble into fucking dust first. And knowing how injury prone he is, he just might.

But this is a 10/10 with an asterisk. And here's why: * They WANT to be bad. The worse they do this year, the better their chances for Celebrini or whoever is the first overall. That's the idea of the Shark Tank. And if that's the goal, it's being executed perfectly.

There you go, anon! Hope this helps! If you have any more questions, feel free to drop into my inbox! 💜

[naanima]

Oh, dear Ratboy. I really like it when he does long podcasts. It helps that he can communicate. Interview starts around the 1h.11sec mark. Dot points things of interest:

He has finished moving from Calgary completely, doesn't even have winter clothes anymore. LOLs.

When he first arrived in Florida he was happy to take a backseat, but the team wanted him to get involved in the leadership group.

He really loves living in Florida.

VGK was the best team they played. Boston & Vegas were very similar. Talks about how Boston slapped them during two of the regular season games, but they played really well against them for the other two games. And that's why he had the belief they could win. OMFG. He fucked up by jumping on the ice and got the penalty LOLs. It was all his fault.

He thinks players who come through in OT etc are the ones who want the puck on their stick. Good or bad they will need to be able to live it.

His dad always preached live in front of the net. Take some physical abuse in the games, earn it to score. Can't get your stick tied up. He learns a lot from Brady when it comes to spinning it off and getting it into the net. Watches every one of Brady's games.

When he switched to the Right Wing he watched a lot of vids of good right wing players.

Evolved as a player year to year. Same mindset as when he was a kid, "screw you I'm getting that puck." Paul gets on him when he gets into a bit of a shoving match on ice with guys he shouldn't. LOLS.

Offseason - earlier was PT, playing catch-up in strength, conditioning wise more cardio in the hopes to play more mins and faster. He feels he is better prepared this season. He is back to 100%.

Microphones on ice - good for the game. NHL gotta do a better job. It is evolving more via the players and teams. Players don't like it too much bcos they would feel like walking on eggshells. If it is used properly it can grow the game.

Wedding vids - makes athletes look crazier than they are.

Media/SocMed blowing things up. Keith talking about his team being "soft' - he was pissed bcos of how it got blown up. They had a chance to be in the playoffs and then they lost four games in a row. Ouch.

His current health - "Everything feels great." He didn't realise he broke his sternum, he thought maybe a collarbone, it wasn't how hard the hit was, it was the spot. He had to leave the game bcos he had to do concussion protocol. Game 3 didn't really hit him how bad he was. After the game he was not feeling great. Drove home that night with a sling, probably shouldn't have done that. The next morning he couldn't get out of bed. The day after he had to call Brady to help him get up, he couldn't even remember if he had a shower. LOLs. During one of the scrums he couldn't even really grab people's jerseys.

Getting into fights etc. Not that they want to get into a fight, it is more that they just hate losing. LOLs.

Sticking Jonathan Quick - doesn't know what happened, he has no excuses. He is not a fan of goalies that play out of their creases.

Buddies with Auston Matthews & other hockey players. It is the game. He would run almost everybody... except Brady for a lot of reasons, one of them being Brady would take him down. Lols.

Olympics & World's etc - a shame that they can't play together. It is sad. His first dream is to win a Stanley Cup, and then to win for the US with his brother.

Right now - being down in Florida outside; jetskis etc. Not going to buy a boat. Love hanging out with his family and friends. He used to not like the beach at all, but now he is there all the time. He is not into nice cars. Only into golf and stuff on the waters. No gators close to his house, they are close to the rink (wtf).

Him changing team - talked to Calgary that he wasn't gonna sign a long-term contract, worked together with the team, and with permission he had one week to talk to a handful of teams. Came down to Carolina, St Louis' and Florida. He just wanted to learn everything he could before he made the decision.

Going back to Florida in a few days.

Taryn is doing great, was injured last year/season and when she came back she was great.

Invited to 6 weddings, attended 4.

Jack Eichel - his hit. Haven't seen the video.

Fav goal in the playoffs - when Cousins scores. The Carolina one.

Barky is so chill, he thinks Barky is the best player he ever played with/seen. Loves watching Barky playing, during training he learns from him.

Scoring between his legs, his dad was pissed. LOLs. He used to do a lot of trick stuff, flipping his picks etc. He remembers watching Kane and Crosby doing it when he was growing up.

He will chat with his dad after games, and nowadays his dad trusts him.

He thinks Brady is great, a great scorer. Brady's goal is to get the team into the playoffs. Ottawa loves Brady, he is a god there. They treat him and his family well bcos of Brady.

His parents come to Taryn, Brady and his games etc.

It is fascinating to me that Matthew is so very much, "I did this", 'it is my fault", "we didn't play well enough", "the other team is better" etc.

I typed this as I was listening to this so there will be mistakes. LOLs.

[easypeasylindyvesey]

besties lose.

this team had such an amazing regular season, historic. they set the record for most franchise wins, most comeback wins, got the most points, were at the top of the league, won the president’s trophy.

they swept washington, and got through carolina in six.

all of the matchups they were going into (including florida), they were the underdogs.

this team had EVERYTHING. they had the depth, the goaltending, the scoring ability, the POTENTIAL.

and once again, they throw it all away.

the lack of production from the big names (kreids, mika, bread) is, in all honesty, completely unacceptable. you’re supposed to be helping out the team, contributing equally just like everyone else. you are not supposed to be relying on your goalie for the entire series.

speaking of goalies, igor shesterkin is winning the award for playoff MVP. that man gave it his all. every fucking game, he had to stand on his head. he bought all that matcha just for it to lose its magic, because the 5 guys that are supposed to be in his corner FAILED him. he was the best player by a mile. no one would’ve ever measured up to what he was able to do when his team just gave up.

and now a couple of general things:

-i am very proud of laffy, both regular season and playoffs. he really came into his own. he set a new point record (including goals and assists: reg season). you could tell that he was a lot more comfortable and confident in the way he played. i’m very excited for his future here. it’s definitely bright.

-trouba needs to start playing smarter hockey. i’m surprised he didn’t take any penalties tonight, given it’s a common theme. he’s supposed to be the captain, and he can’t record PIMS every single game. i know that he does a good job with leadership off the ice, but he’s gotta start channeling it on there too.

-when the team hired lavi, i was not sure how it was going to go. despite the sadness of the current moment, he got this team to the ECF. he became apart of history with this team. i’m sure all the casuals are gonna be calling for his firing, but i really hope we keep him. he really did work miracles on the season. he always spoke very highly of everyone, even if they were struggling. he was insightful when he spoke to the media, and you could tell he was truly dedicated and excited to work with them.

-i feel that the new acquisitions (cuylle, wennberg, roslovic, rempe, gustafsson, quickie) did a really great job. they all have their own positive qualities they can bring while they play and should be happy to be apart of such a genuine group of people.

-and finally, i started this account in march because none of my friends watch hockey nor care about it, and i thought ‘why not create an account?’ if i’m being honest, there would be times where i would check some of your accounts for updates because i liked your content LOL. but because i didn’t have an actual account set up when it came to posting things, i was scared to follow y’all because you wouldn’t care if it was just a blank account. all i have to say is that i have no regrets. it’s been almost 3 months, and all of you have been so sweet, supportive, and welcoming. i feel like we’re all one little happy friend group that i always wanted. thank you for engaging with me and my account. i feel like all of you understand me more than my actual friends sometimes🤭. don’t worry, i will definitely be staying active during the off-season! i’m excited for the content we’re gonna get, and if there is anything involving jimmy or ryan, you best believe that i will be posting/reblogging it and annoying all of you because it’s what i do best. i’m very grateful to have shared this experience with you, and i can’t wait for more❤️

ok i lied.

my hopes for the 24-25 season:

1) resigning lindy. he had like 4 SOG tonight, and as a defenseman, i’d consider it a rarity. he might not score much, but he always makes good plays when he needs to, and is always giving up his body for the hell of it. he is the real definition of a warrior, and this is what the team needs.

2) resigning schneider. same thing, he’s been very steady for us all year. he’s still 22, so he continues to grow even more. the team needs him too.

3) i’m impartial about kakko, given his contract is up too. he was kinda invisible. i don’t really know if i’d lose my mind if he did get traded, but we’ll see what drury does.

4) quickie playing more games. i know he’s a backup, so he’s not supposed to play all 82, but for being 38 years old and still having the flexibility and active spirit to play a role like that, it was great to watch him in the regular season.

5) this team continuing to give me heart attacks, strokes, and contemplating my existence throughout each game, and then pulling the win out of their ass. why do i hope for this? because it’s what they did best.

forever & always, LGR❤️💙

[thenhlteaissuperhot]

What are your good and bad surprises in the league so far?

There are, of course, significantly more examples than this, but I don't want this to be a long-ass post so I will just point out my personal highlights of highlights - naturally, they are quite Czech-centered since that's my main interest:

GOOD

The Bruins - obviously.

To be honest, I was slightly anxious about their fate from now on since losing two elite centers like Bergeron and Krejci at the same time, and also guys like Orlov and Bertuzzi, does leave you quite vulnerable, especially after a crushing first-round exit like they have experienced, but they have honestly been rocking it so far and I love it for them.

The Poitras kid, Zacha stepping up his game and delivering as the first center, Pasta showcasing that he very much belongs in the top 10 of the league, Swaymay with Ullmark being the best goaltending duo in the entire league, Marchand giving slays left red right as a captain, the defense being solid...

Filip Hronek in Vancouver

The Hughes-Hronek defensive pairing is among the best right now, they have clicked extremely well with each other, Filip is getting extreme ice time, and I am glad that at least someone from the former Red Wings is thriving in their new home

Quinn is literally leading the defensemen in points and Filip is 4th, which is insane, considering he has never been viewed as a top defenseman among Czechs

Anaheim and Arizona

They still won't make the playoffs, we all know that so let's not be delusional here, but they are finally getting genuinely fun to watch and showing us the immense potential they have.

Logan Cooley is doing great for a rookie in Arizona, has eight points already... - imagine what Bedard would be able to showcase if he had at least a slightly decent team around him

Lukas Dostal in Anaheim's net...

Jack Hughes and Elias Pettersson - for obvious reasons, just look at the stats

BAD

Edmonton

Honestly, has someone told them that having Leon and Connor on the team doesn't mean you don't have to invest in the defense and goaltending because I feel like they genuinely don't know that

Is it really that hard to look around and fetch at least a solid goaltender? They are the complete opposite of Boston right now in terms of the net - sorry not sorry, but they don't have a single goaltender they could truly rely on, both of them are equally struggling and the awful defense is certainly not helping them. Just go look in the European leagues, there are a ton of outstanding goalies who would be eager to play in the NHL if you gave them the chance

Imagine how sore Leon's shoulders must be right now from carrying the team - you can't depend on one elite player to drag you through the mess, you yourself are responsible for, you have to have some sort of backup when one of your stars gets injured

Jonathan Huberdeau

You gotta feel for Calgary right now - signing this guy to an 8-year, $84,000,000 contract and him scoring two goals for you in ten games played...

Jakub Vrana

I was genuinely hoping that St.Louis would be the right destination for him in terms of them giving him the space and ice time to showcase his skills and solidify his position on that roster, but instead, it's the third team that makes him a healthy scratch

I know that there is a lot of pressure there for the team to perform so it might not be entirely Jakub's fault, however, this really is his last chance to stay in the league and currently, he is not delivering the results needed for him to be given another contract

Dominik Kubalik

Watching him at the Worlds where he was single-handedly leading the points of the Czech team and scoring basically every single game at least once, I did have great expectations of him, but so far, he has scored only two goals in Ottawa.

I am not that knowledgeable about the Senators - frankly, the only piece of information I know is that Tkachuk, Stützle, and Giroux are there and that Ryan Reynolds wanted to buy the team before he invested in yet another trash called Alpine in Formula One, but knowing Kubalik, his problem probably is the lack of ice time and competent linemates, which I am not sure is going to improve any time soon

Genuinely hurts to see another former Red Wing struggling

[puckgoss]

Anything about Morgan’s background/anything?? He’s soo private I feel like I know he seems like a good egg (he better!) but truly nothing beyond that. Any girlfriends before Tessa? I’m so happy and excited for them!l

tessa & scott were the best part of the olympics for me growing up (except for hockey obvs) and morgan does seem like a really good guy. they seem like a very sweet couple, i'm happy for them too 🥰

so i went on a bit of a journey trying to find info on any exes of morgan's... he used to date a girl named christina in like 2017-2018ish (he started dating tessa in 2019/2020) who ran a blog called "alifesheloved" and apparently worked for the blue jays in some capacity? and was studying to get her PhD in something? she studied sociology and psychology at UPenn.

not quite sure as there's not a lot of info out there outside of old gossip/leafs blogs on here. apparently she deleted her socials bc people were harassing her, which really sucks.

tangent but - when it comes to gossip - it's best kept contained within private circles (i.e. on tumblr) - there's no need to harass WAGs or whomever else on their socials - it's fun to look and discuss from afar but no need to actually interact w the ppl in question imo.

anyway here's some links to blogs discussing their relationship - i cannot find any pics or anything unforch

iangiemae

austonmatthews-34

puckbunniesxoxo

hughesfever

as for mo's background - his family is originally from hamilton, ontario but he grew up in west vancouver, bc which is an extremely, extremely wealthy area.

in his elementary school days he played hockey & was a member at hollyburn country club (VERY fancy country club) with alex kerfoot, griffin reinhart, and sam reinhart. they're all childhood friends of his. morgan and griffin made sam play goalie while he was still in a carseat??? griffin and sam once set the room they played hockey in on fire????? wild stuff. source 1, source 2, source 3, source 4, source 5, source 6

he went to school & played hockey at athol murray college of notre dame in saskatchewan before playing for the moose jaw warriors in the WHL. source 1, source 2, source 3

his mom shirley was a nurse before going back to school to become a researcher. source 1

his dad andy owns a lumber company called rielly lumber. source 1, source 2, source 3

his brother connor works in the film industry in vancouver as a location manager/writer. source 1, source 2, source 3

hope u enjoy!!

[longbobmckenzie]

GIVE ME THE FUCKING HOCKEY AU IM ONSESSED WITH SPORTS ROMANCE FICS

SORRY IT'S TAKING SO BLOODY LONG TO GET TO IT

I already got asked about this one (here) so for you I'll give you a list of the prospective cast. These are subject to change if/when I rework the idea, but for now here's what I've got! Also I'm probably gonna have to cut it down a bit because the cast is enormous 😆

Bailey - Main Character. Daughter of the team's owner, she's starting a new job with the team doing PR/social media

Henrik - Love interest. Plays forward, is planning to quit hockey after the season is done because he wants to do more climbing (he got a knee injury the previous season which meant rehabbing all summer and that was frustrating for him)

Magnus - because obviously Henrik's brothers have to be included. Magnus is a star player on the team and also a fuckboy. I have to rework a bit with him, but expect him to sleep with a lot of people

Rasmus - Henrik's other brother, who plays for an opposing team

Lucas - the team physio (no I'm not changing it to Jack but he can be there as a background character I guess), also Henrik's best friend. Has a crush on Bobby

Bobby - an import from the UK, he's a total pest on the ice - scrappy, runs his mouth, but nobody understands his accent. He's also really, really good, which makes him even more infuriating to play against. Oh, and he's sleeping with Magnus 😏

Graham - team captain. His surname is Crumb for the lolz

Hope & Priya - Bailey's friends/roommates, and puck bunnies. Both trying to sleep with the team's goalie

Noah - the team's goalie

Blake - PR

Elisa - social media, is engaged to the coach

Jake - the coach

Rohan - assistant coach. might also have a little thing going with Jake and Elisa

Jo - zamboni driver. she's constantly souping it up

Gary - rink maintenance. keeps having to fix the zamboni. ETL with Jo

Rocco - runs the bar where the team hangs out

Felix - wide-eyed rookie

Carl - analytics guy

Iain Stirling - play-by-play announcer

Jakub - strength and conditioning coach

Marisol - sports psychologist

Jasper - Henrik's agent

Hannah - local sports reporter

Tim - waterboy

Levi - Bailey's ex from college (also plays hockey)

I have a whole list of other characters who'll likely be players on the team or on opposing teams. This list is obviously just S1-2 but there will definitely be some S3 characters sprinkled in, and once I rework it I'll probably try to add in some others, especially S6.

If I end up changing it so that Roberto is the LI, I'd probably have Marshall in the Magnus role, but I'm not sure what I'd do with the Lucas/Bobby/Magnus thing because it wouldn't hit the same with Marshall. Plus Roberto wouldn't have the same relationship with Lucas that Henrik does, so I'd have to rethink that.

Thanks for the ask!!

ask about my wips

[butterflyintochains]

It's A Cruel Summer

Six years of happiness, from Raleigh 2011 to the 2017 Eastern Conference final. Kris and Erik have loved each other for six years, and vowed not to let results of games get in the way of that. I've made allusions to a breakup in previous fics, and how they've recovered from it. But, I've never actually written about it before.

But, now it's time, this is gonna be a rough one.

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

Columbus are gone, they've beaten Washington, and now, all they need to do is get past Ottawa in this game seven. Kris sends a silent prayer on high that they can get this done tonight. He might not be playing this game, but he's still a Penguin. He flanks Sully as they enter the dressing room, he's been helping coach while recovering from neck surgery. Flower sends him a knowing glance, Kris tries to take deep breaths. Not too far away is the reason why he's dreading having to watch this game. Erik is leading his Senators, and doing an impeccable job at it as well. Sully gives the speech, and does the read. ''Anything to add, Tanger?'' Sully asks him.

Kris tries not to throw up, but musters the ability to say. ''Show them who we are, you are my brothers, and I trust you to get this done.'' The team exit the room, pumped up to give the home crowd a show to remember. Kris goes to the management booth to watch the game. He can just make out Erik on the blueline, he's not seen Erik all day, it was their sixth anniversary back in January. This game won't hurt them, right? They promised each other that ages ago.

The game gets going, Murray being the gift he is, facing an onslaught of shots from the Sens players. Anderson is no slouch either. In all, the goalies steal the show for the first period. ''You okay, son?'' Mario asks Kris.

Kris nods, opening a bottle of water. ''Yeah, just... important game, y'know?''

Kuny opens up scoring early in the second, Stone netting one not long after. ''Come on, boys.'' Kris says, hands clasped together. The second period ends in a bit of a whimper. However, midway through the third, Schultzy puts them up 2-1 with a powerplay goal. Only for Dzingel to tie things back up three minutes later. ''We're going to OT, huh?'' Kris asks Mario.

Mario chuckles. ''Yeah, I believe so, son.''

The first overtime yields them nothing. So, onto a second. The Penguins bearing down, Kuny sending them through to the final 3-2. They've done it! Another cup final!

After press and celebrations, Kris goes to find Erik. Now, he's finally allowed to break the no contact rule they have before games. Erik looks furious. ''Oh, hi, Kris. Come to gloat?''

Kris is stunned. ''What? No! Can't a guy come see his partner?'' Erik says, finally meeting his gaze, his dark eyes unusually angry. ''Hope you're happy, enjoy that third cup, Kris.''

Kris would normally take that as praise, but now it's just infuriating. ''What's that meant to mean? I've not even been on the fucking ice, Erik.''

Erik says. ''Somehow that makes all this worse, I've lost what could be my best shot at a cup.''

Kris tries to de-escalate things, he's had plenty of mediating experience with Sid and Geno. He's the conscience of his family. ''I know what this feels like, and I so wish we could do this together. But, Erik, it's me, your Kris. We don't do this to each other, do we?''

Erik waves his hands, gesturing to the grieving dressing room ten feet away. ''We also don't do this to each other.'' Kris asks, the realty of what's going on here setting in. ''Are you breaking up with me?'' Erik shrugs. ''Maybe I am.''

Kris swallows past tears, six years and four months, and this is how it all ends. ''Erik, please, I love you, after all we've been through, don't do this to us.''

Erik says, turning on his heel. ''Goodbye, Kris. Good luck on number three.''

In shock, Kris goes back to check on the boys, they're still celebrating. He turns on his heel, and goes out to his car. Sobbing all the way home. That night, his phone blows up with texts from the boys, he answers none of them, he tries to call Erik, silence.

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

They do win number three, in six against Nashville. The festivities go by in a blur. Kris definitely drinks too much at Mario's party, halfway trying to put himself out of his misery. He washes his hands after touching the cup once more before it's sent away to be engraved. Sure, he's got his name on it three times, at the expense of the love of his life. But, that's hockey, right? He's out on the first flight home to Montreal, hoping Erik is there when he arrives. He isn't. This is gonna be a long summer. Those first days at home are quiet, almost too quiet, the silence of his own home eating him alive. No chatter over dinner, no laughter, just a deafening silence. His phone sits on his side of the bed turned off. One day, he's putting laundry away, when he finds one of Erik's Ottawa hoodies in his dresser. Against his will, the tears come again, he puts the red hoodie back in the drawer, and collapses onto his bed.

The NHL Awards come quickly in Vegas. Kris decides to go to support Sid. He may be in the worst mental state he's ever been in, but his brother needs him. First, however, comes the expansion draft for the incoming Vegas Golden Knights. He half hopes they take Erik out of Ottawa, just to get him out of the east, send him somewhere where distance helps this hurt less. They take Nealsy from Nashville, and Engelland from Calgary. ''Kris, mon ami, are you going to explain to me why you haven't called any of us in a week?'' Flower asks.

Kris vaguely says. ''Something terrible happened after we beat Ottawa.'' Flower knew about them, Sid didn't, and it'd be a waste to tell him now. Flower seems to need a minute to get what he means, but he catches on. ''Oh, oh, Kris.''

Kris shrugs, barely holding in the tears. ''Shit happens, I guess we weren't meant to be.''

Flower looks heartbroken. ''That's the thing, Kris. You were meant to be.''

Ottawa give up Marc Methot. And, Kris is stuck in a conference with Erik still. Then, the unthinkable happens. Sid, Geno, and Kris get the news they would give anything to unhear.

Vegas is taking Flower away from them.

This summer just got so much worse.

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

Sleep is weird, especially once you get used to sleeping with someone. It takes just one night to get used to it, but forever to be able to sleep alone again. Kris is sitting up in his living room, watching replays of old F1 races. Sebastian Vettel is about to win Monza in his Torro Rosso. Canada Day was yesterday, and some of the boys went to Sid's annual party in Cole Harbour. He guesses Sid will be en route to Miami now, to spend the summer with Geno. Erik will have been in Sweden since that horrible night. Flower is probably in Vegas, getting to know everyone on his new team. The jersey from game six of the final hangs with the other two above the TV. 2009 was so much fun, a young team chasing glory everyone else be damned. 2016 is the pride of his career, Sid assisting his cup winning goal. 2017 stares him in the face, holding everything he's lost over him. ''I hate you.'' He tells that jersey. The problem child of the three.

He must pass out at some point, because it's noon when he wakes up. He eats quickly, and laces up his sneakers for a run. His doctor gave him the all clear for exercise later into the playoffs. He gets home, showers, and looks back up at the 2017 jersey. Would he still have Erik without it? Would Erik still love him? Either way, the thing needs moved. So, he takes it down, and moves it into his office. 2009 and 2016 shouldn't need to live with that one either. He also polishes his rings, the gems still sparkling as they did. Six unholy weeks until he has hockey to drown himself in. He can make it, right? He has to, doesn't he?

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

A couple of slow and quiet weeks pass, the cup getting passed around the team. Kris takes it to a local kids' hospital, to his schools, and takes a trip into Val D'Or. Finally, he takes it to Luc's grave. Just as he did in 2009 and 2016. ''I miss you, Luc, wish you were here. All three of these are for you, I hope you always know that.'' He says, his last engagement with the cup before the handover.

Far away, in Sweden, Erik lies awake. Staring at his phone, it'll be Kris' day with the cup. He's dreading going back to Ottawa, having to be stuck in the same conference as the man he so brutally dumped over something so fucking stupid. He wants so badly to call Kris up and beg for his forgiveness, maybe even start to repair the damage. But, in his soul, he knows Kris would never take him back now. He crossed a line, the pain is just too big, he doesn't deserve Kris or his forgiveness. So, in the end, he thinks better of it.

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

July is slowly coming to its close, Kris is already packing up for his flight to Pittsburgh. He'll be going back on the first week of august. Best to get the hell out of here quickly, before Erik flies into Ottawa. He goes back upstairs to get his laptop charger, and a knock comes at the door. He goes to answer it, it's Mario. ''Mario, hi, come on in.'' He welcomes his second father into his house, and gets some coffee going for Mario, with some tea for himself. Mario looks around, noticing the two framed jerseys above the TV. ''Where's the most recent one, Kris?''

Kris puts their mugs down with some donuts. ''In my office, thought it'd look nicer there.'' He lies, the real reason too depressing to speak about. ''What brings you here?''

Mario sips his drink. ''We've been worried about you, Kris. Even my most adjusted son needs me. Sid hasn't heard from you since june, nobody has.''

Kris says, gripping his arm. ''I've just had a lot going on, that's all, Mario, really.''

Mario scans his face, he's known Kris since he was eighteen, he can't hide anything that easily. ''That being? I won't tell anyone else, Kris, I promise.''

Kris takes a deep breath. ''Someone who I'd been with for six years dumped me after the eastern conference final.'' Mario looks devastated. ''Oh, Kris, oh God, I'm so sorry, son. If I may, who was it?'' Kris grimly chuckles. ''You'd never believe me if I told you, Mario.'' Mario smiles kindly, and says. ''Try me. Tell me, son.''

Kris says. ''Erik Karlsson.'' The name fills him with a depressing mixture of love and misery. ''Oh... oh, wow.'' Is all Mario can say. Now, Papa Penguin as the boys used to call him, knows why the 2017 jersey is tucked away in the office. ''Yeah.'' Kris says, voice breaking. Mario takes his heartbroken son into his arms, and lets him cry. He's raised his boys through so much, and clearly one still needs him. ''I love him, Mario, I miss him.''

Mario says. ''I know, son, I know.'' He goes into the briefcase he brought over, and says. ''I know this is small compensation, but, Jim, Sully, and I think it's time.'' He extracts two jerseys, home and away, with his name, number, and a big A on them. ''Alternate Captain, Kris Letang, sound good?''

Kris dries his eyes, and nods. ''Yeah, I'm honoured, Mario.'' Mario assures his surrogate son. ''You'll be okay, Kris, we'll make sure of it.'' Kris nods, hoping he's right.

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

Erik sees the tweet once back in Ottawa for camp, the tweet with the picture of Kris in his new jersey, the yellow A sitting proudly on his chest. He's smiling for the camera, arms around Sid and Geno, all with their letters.

@Penguins: tweeted 12/08/2017 at 10am. Long overdue, we proudly present this season's leadership core. Captaining our team as he always does, Sidney Crosby. Returning as an Alternate, Evgeni Malkin. And, finally sporting a well deserved A, Kris Letang. The Big Three will lead us going forward.

He's so proud of Kris, he's always been upset about everyone else but him getting an A, especially Jordan Staal after his half assed attempt to overthrow Sid. Now, he's finally gotten his letter. Kris looks so beautiful with his new jersey and haircut, too beautiful to allow Erik back into his life.

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

The banner flies high over the rink, five Stanley Cups. Geno nudges his brother. His brother who all but coached them to that third cup together. ''You okay, Legend?''

Kris nods, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. ''Yeah, must've had a rough night last night.'' Geno doesn't believe a word of that, he's known Kris too long to believe that. Something isn't right with his brother, all is not well in this family. But, everyone knows Kris would rather light himself on fire before telling anyone how he feels. ''Are you sure?''

Kris nods. ''Yeah, I'll be okay, G.'' He tries so hard to sound like himself, and feel like himself. But, all it takes is seeing a loving glance Sid and Geno share, and he wants to cry. Three and a bit months ago, he had that with Erik, and now it's all gone, and it's never coming back. He doesn't even have Flower to lean on anymore.

The games tick by, the team are still on fire from their cup. Oh well, Kris bitterly thinks, at least he's got his team, at least his two remaining brothers are with him. One day in training, Sid just wraps his arms around Kris. ''Whatever this pain is, Kris, it won't last forever. I don't need to know what it is, just let us hold you up.''

Kris nods, sniffling. ''I will, Sid, I promise.''

Sid pats his shoulders, forever tense these days. ''I love you, mon frere.''

Kris' eyes well up. ''I love you too, mon capitan.''

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

The game Kris and Erik alike have both been dreading arrives on November 16th. Kris takes his seat next to Geno on the plane. They don't play cards, Geno feels like Kris is having a 'down day' as the team have called them. Those days where Kris says nothing, sits at the edges of a conversation, and won't smile for anyone. Geno looks over to Sid while Kris sleeps on his shoulder. This is not the time or place to be prying, so they won't, but this is really starting to worry them.

They touch down in Ottawa. Geno gently wakes his brother up. Kris blinks a few times, and the trio get off the plane together. They're bussed down to the training rink for a practice session. Kris leads the defence corps through some backward skating laps, a wistful look on his face as Dumo skates his lap. ''Didn't you do fastest skater like that at the 2011 All Star Game, Tanger?'' Jake asks.

Kris' face goes white, his dark eyes well up again. ''Yeah, I did. Can we, not talk about it, please?''

Sheary asks. ''Why not? It was so cool, though!''

Kris regains his composure, reeling himself in from the edge. ''I know, Shearsy, but, that was then, this is now, y'know?''

The game is that evening. Kris suits up for battle in silence, enjoying hearing all the chatter around him, but having no part in it. Erik is in this building, so close he can feel him. But, things are different now. Sully comes in to do the read. ''Alright, boys, let's give it our all. In net: Muzz. Up front, Guentzel, Crosby, Rust. On the blueline, Dumoulin and Tanger.'' Oh... oh, no. Staring into those eyes on faceoff.

Faceoff comes, Kris looks at Sid, his brother, someone who loves him. Not at the one who broke his heart. Sid wins the drop, and it's off to the races. The first period yields them nothing. Erik sits in the dressing room, playing against Kris was never this difficult before, it never felt like a bomb had been lit under him before, everything has changed. And, it's all his stupid fault.

Horny gets the Pens on the board. And, capping off the second period, the Top Unit teams up for another one from Jake. Kris finds Erik's eyes on the Senators bench, and cocks an eyebrow. And, Erik just wants to reach out and apologize, kiss him in front of both of their teams. But, he lost that right this past spring.

After the Penguins' 3-1 win over the Senators. Erik just manages to catch Sid outside. He says, captain to captain. ''Sid, can you do me a favour, please?''

Sid happily says. ''Sure, Erik, what's up?''

Erik just says. ''Tell Kris I'm sorry, please?''

Sid looks confused. ''Okay, will do once we're home and rested, captain's promise.''

Erik is quietly relieved, maybe now they can be together again. ''Thanks.''

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

Sid passes on that message one day while Kris is with them for breakfast and watching an F1 race in Abu Dhabi. Kris says nothing, but his silence is deafening. He sips his coffee, and focuses on the race. Geno puts their dishes in the washer, and asks. ''What did Erik even do?''

Kris sips his coffee, focused on Vettel and Hamilton battling for second behind Bottas. ''He knows what he did, G, he fucking knows what he did.''

Sid finds he doesn't much care what Karlsson did, whatever it was, it hurt his brother in some way. No matter what happened, that will never be okay with him. Erik seemed apologetic at the time, but who knows what his motives were? Either way, he and Geno need to protect Kris, he's done it for them far too many times.

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

December comes, Kris takes an early morning walk alone, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. The snows are coming, the air is colder. He prefers it like this, cold and quiet. He can take a little winter after the torture summer and autumn have put him through. He finds a dry enough bench to sit on, and sits down watching the world go by. He pulls his phone out of his coat, thumb hovering over Erik's name. He shakes his head, and decides to look into adopting a dog. Sid said Sam got him through his rough rookie season, so maybe a dog would help heal his broken heart? It's been rough, getting used to being single after six years, and he's still not used to it yet. He calls Flower. ''Bonjour, mon frere.'' Flower says.

Kris sniffles from the cold. ''Bonjour, mon ami. How's Vegas?''

Flower says. ''Not Pittsburgh, but it's fine. How are you? Geno called yesterday, said you're doing better.''

Kris dusts some snow off his coat. ''I dunno, Flower. Some days I'm fine, others I just want to scream, I miss Erik everyday, though.''

Flower says, sighing. ''I know, if it's any comfort; I don't think this is the end of your story with him. It just can't end like that, y'know? Two people so well matched can't just let that be it.''

Kris confesses, he's had so many dreams he's woken up in tears from about Erik coming here, and them getting to live the life Sid and Geno get to. ''I hope so, I hope you're right, Flower. The dreams I've had of us both being Penguins... they can't be nothing, right? There must be something in them, right?''

Flower says. ''I hope so. For your sake, and his - Ottawa can't win with this version of Erik.''

After a while, they hang up. Kris gets going home. He goes to his award shelves, and picks up the box with the 2017 ring in it. He puts it back, pushing it to the back of the shelf, positioning 2009 and 2016 firmly in the spotlight. 2017 took too much from him, he can't wait for this heartbreak of a year to just be over already.

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

Up north, in Ottawa, Erik gets back from a team lunch, and collapses on the sofa. It's been seven months since he made the biggest mistake in his entire life. Everyone is telling him to keep his chin up, but he can't. In Pittsburgh, there is a wonderful man whose heart he broke over something really fucking stupid, something they promised each other to never fight over. He fucked up, big time. And, the problem is, he sees no possible way to fix this. Kris will never take him back, and Erik doesn't deserve it.

But, still, he hopes this isn't the end of everything.

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

Kris gets home from the shelter, little Buddha in his arms. Instantly the puppy goes to sniff the Tre Kronor scarf Kris removes from his neck. ''A gift from someone I love, little dude.'' Buddha tilts his tiny head. ''You'd have loved him.'' Kris stops the inevitable mental spiral, and gets his new little friend some food and water. At least this shit year has given him a cup, a letter on his jersey, and the sweetest puppy ever.

Still, they're both going to the All Star Game in January. That's definitely gonna suck. At least Sid and Flower will be there, right? They'd never hurt him.

Nothing could ever hurt more than that terrible night this past May. He's certain of that at least.

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

Okay, so... a lot to take in, I know. But, we had to go through this to get to the 2019 All Star Game. I wrote more from Kris' pov here, as he's the wronged party in the breakup. This was rough to write, and I had to take several breaks. This little mini trilogy had to be written in chronological order, or it wouldn't make any sense. So, the angst was necessary for now. And, will feature a bit in the next one. It's 2017/18 that is the season we end on here, so the next will jump forward to 2019.

In order to find the sun, you must go through the storm, y'know?

Anyway, enjoy!

[vanosslirious]

BBS Dialogue Prompts: #356

ʙʙꜱ ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ & ꜱᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀꜱ: [ 8 ]

SMII7Y

I can't control this.

Wait a minute, I can live out one of my fantasies here.

Someone get on my boat.

I don't think you know where you are.

They don't even see you, what the fuck!

Okay, I'm on my way.

We still have time, don't worry.

I need you right now.

We can do that, but we're gonna do it in a different way.

No one's near him.

I'm trying to grab it but there's so much shit in the way.

Help, what's happening

Wait, what's going on in here?

Let's get situated.

Shut up, you nerd.

Wish I was pinned down.

I see your name, you stupid bitch!

Who put me behind the wheel?

I didn’t think my joke would go on this long, but here we are.

I’m not even mad about losing.

VANOSSGAMING

Does that mean go?

What's with your background noise?

Yes, we know it was doing that.

Don't do drugs unless it's a mystery drug…

I just made it in time.

Shut the fuck up, shut your Goddamn mouth.

Just a reminder, you're not allowed to go in that room.

I don't know where you, how am I supposed to know where you are?

I don't remember, I literally don't remember.

What's his Instagram, I want to link him in the description…above you and your calendars.

BIGPUFFER

Can you kill me?

Who's running up the stairs?

You didn't answer me, what the fuck is happening?

Do you want to see me do a trick!

Do you guys want a drink?

Where the fuck did he go?

Oh, free booze!

You shut that up real quick.

I ran into a fence.

You are fucking ugly.

WILDCAT

Why was that so aggressive?

Yeah, I never heard that before.

I don't know what guns are good.

That's not what I was told to do, I'm not here to play.

This is the only reason you brought me here, huh? 

This game is so fucking dogshit!

I kinda want to intentionally go die.

We need to get out of here, guys.

You see, sometimes you go on these tangents, that loses even me, dude.

I'll protect you.

ELILIKESRICE

Kill the interrogator.

Don't shoot the chef, you fuck.

His wife's dead, I don't think he'll appreciate that.

I just got darted.

There's ones we didn't do.

Can you fake injuries in this?

Oh, he doesn't have it, he doesn't have it.

It's goalie vs goalie, right now, fuck the players.

You don't pay me.

What do I pay you for?

NOGLA

Look at this leech.

You guys got the easiest one.

Where’d you go?

I got the ax, fuck yeah, I deserve it.

The ax is not as cool as you think.

It was fucking dark.

I don’t think ye guys would’ve found it.

It’s gone now.

Now I have a kit-kat.

I’m surprised you guys remembered so well considering you weren’t there.

ELASTICDROID

I burned myself, I thought…

Oh shit, I got you!

I'm sorry little one.

Homie's in need of a gun, what the fuck is that?

Like we work together.

I got disconnected.

I hope they go to sleep and rethink their life now, dude.

Motherfucker, this guy grabbed me!

I didn't tie my shoes, I fell over.

He's throwing, kick him out.

TERRORISER

You guys need to get 'em.

Why did you fuckers have to go out and have children?

That was the fucking plan.

You better, we spent, fucking, a whole day making that shit.

What do you mean we let one out?

He won't notice.

Oh, now you have a conscience.

What was that little pathetic scream?

It's a shithole right now.

I heard him.