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horsesandhockeyplayers · 1 year

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When Life Gives You Lemons- Part 14

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 4500

Word Count Total: 62,779

Author’s Note: Huge shoutout to @newlibrary for the graphics and @hockeylvr59 for the editing reads.

Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part begins with Clementine. THERE BE SMUT.

Part Fourteen*

My stomach swooped like I was on a roller coaster, and I knew I’d forever remember this moment as the one when I fell in love with Mark Barberio, or at least one of them. There seemed to be many moments when I fell a little more in love with him.

I kissed the underside of his chin as I murmured, “You’re so full of it.”

He wrapped me up in his arms again, hugged me to his chest and shifted his hips as he replied, “I’m full of something, and I’m gonna have to go take care of it in a minute.”

Bracing a hand on his chest, I sat up. How he could toe the line between being romantic one minute and entirely asinine the next I might never know, but, much to my great dismay, it was incredibly endearing and I felt my heart squeeze in my chest. My hair fell in a curtain around me as I scooted back onto his thighs and I tilted my chin in the direction of his crotch as I whispered, “Can I?”

His grin was impossibly wide as he chuckled and informed me, “Lemon, for the record you never have to ask a dude if you can touch his junk.”

I hid behind my hair, faltering as I offered, “Ok, I just…”

I trailed off, because how to do you tell someone you’re about to be intimate with that indescribable trauma happened to you and you don’t actually KNOW what to do with a dick since you’ve never had a healthy sexual relationship before? I wasn’t exactly sure, hence why I grew quiet.

Mark settled his hands behind his head— which just accentuated his arms and chest, and I realized that it was really unfair that there are men who looked like this in real life and not just on romance novel covers and I was still halfway shocked that I was curled up on the couch with one of said men— as he responded evenly, “Lemon, just do what you want. It’s ok, I promise. If I don’t like something I’ll tell you.”

“But I don’t want to do something you don’t like,” I bit my lip after answering. Perfection wasn’t a suggestion with Bill and I hated that I kept comparing them together because Mark was kind and wonderful and Bill was a shitstain on humanity.

“Babe,” he countered, “I do shit you don’t like all the time. But I stop and let you adjust or call me an idiot or we talk about it. That’s how you ended up on top, remember?”

I nodded and scooted back a little farther down his thighs, trying to sit on my heels instead of his knees. He had tucked his erection under the waistband of his underwear and jeans, leaving the head of his cock sticking out; without thinking, I reached out and, with the tip of my finger, smeared around the precum that had gathered there

His breath hitched, and I heard him hiss through his teeth. He unclenched his hands from behind his head, moving them to grip the arm of the couch instead. I bit my lip, palming him through his jeans and then tentatively, unbuttoned his fly. As I slid his zipper down, I took a moment to appreciate how he was straining against his boxer briefs.

I dipped my hand under the waistband of his shorts and when I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick, his hips jerked and he swallowed a moan. The way his body responded to me made me feel a little dizzy with power; the novelty that I caused him to react that way and that I was calling the shots here was almost too much to bear, but I knew one thing for sure: it was incredibly hot and I kind of loved it. With my free hand, I shoved his underwear down and freed him completely, letting my fingertips trail up his length. His dick jumped into my hand and I enjoyed feeling him, enjoyed the velvety feel of his skin over the hardness of his erection. When I risked a glance up at him, he had sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes were intense, and laser focused on me. “Is this ok?” He nodded vigorously.

I watched him react as I stroked him, never having the opportunity to explore someone so thoroughly. Precum was dripping onto his stomach and I swiped it up with my finger and licked it off, rolling the bitter taste over my tongue. Mark’s breath hitched again and his dick twitched in my hand.

This time when he exhaled, there was a distinctive “fuck,” muttered under his breath. Watching him straining, gripping the arm of the couch so hard I thought there would be permanent divots in the leather, I realized he was doing his best to give this completely unpressured experience to me, and as hot as this moment was already, the fact that he could be so unselfish in it, despite everything, only endeared him to me more.

I rubbed my thumb over the head of his cock, and I saw the muscles in his jaw clench as I spread around some more of the precum that was leaking out.

“Lemon,” he choked out, “Spit in your hand.”

“What?” I asked. His words broke my trance, and even though I understood what he was saying, it took a moment for me to process the suggestion.

“Spit. In. Your. Hand,” he panted.

I did my best to gather enough saliva in my mouth before I did what he asked. The lubrication changed the texture of his skin, and he went from velvet to silk. I loved the feel of him against my hand, the easy slide of him across my palm almost hypnotic. As I stroked him, I felt him get impossibly harder.

He was trying to control the movement of his hips, but they kept jumping up underneath me, shoving the length of him through my fist completely.

He wasn’t completely shaven, but he was trimmed and I moved my other hand to palm his scrotum, rolling his testicles in my hand. I heard him curse softly as I teased them, felt them tighten as jet of cum landed on his stomach and he groaned, “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

I had indeed stopped what I was doing to watch the cum jet out of him, but with his encouragement, I started again, stroking him through each spurt and firmly holding his balls in my other hand.

FInally, he was done and he reached down and grabbed my wrists in his hands as he conceded, “Okay, now you can stop. Too much.”

He flopped back, sinking into the couch as he let my wrists go and with his eyes closed he rasped, “Holy shit, Lemon, that was… hot.”

It was hot and now that I wasn’t transfixed by his genitals, I was able to sit back on my heels and just look at him: his hair was disheveled from my fingers carding through it and the cross on the silver chain was resting against his chest, carving a shimmering path through all of the muscles there. I took that moment to appreciate that there were so many muscles. Even if I worked out just as much as he did, I still probably wouldn’t have half the amount of muscles— which I personally thought was unfair.

HIs abs were splattered with his cum and I gave in to the urge to reach down and trail my index finger through the milky fluid, pushing it through the valley of his abdominals. When I risked a glance at his face, he had one eye open and he was watching me carefully, his rakish eyebrow raised. “You’ve never gotten the opportunity to just enjoy someone’s body, have you?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I impulsively licked the cum off my finger.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and wiped his stomach off before he sat up. When we were facing each other again, his hand went to the back of my head and he pulled me down for a kiss, his tongue invading my mouth almost like he was trying to lick his own cum out of it.

When he finally pulled away, I had to touch my lips to make sure they were still there. “Come on, Lemon,” he prompted, picking me up and setting me on my feet next to the couch. He made it seem so easy, even though I knew there was no way it was. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom, trying to hold his jeans up with his free hand. He ended up kicking them off in the hallway.

Once we were through the door, he pulled me forward and spun me around like we were dancing, his bed hitting the back of my knees and I fell backward onto it. I had been dreading this moment and I shut my eyes, bracing for the moment of panic I knew I would feel when he fell on top of me.

When his weight didn’t hit me right away, I opened an eye to catch him falling to his knees. He had disposed of his boxer briefs and tossed them with his shirt into a pile and I realized he had gotten fucking naked and I had missed the show.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I asked, “Barbs? What are you doing?”

He reached up to hook his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and stripped them off with my underwear in one smooth pull, throwing them in the same pile as his clothes. “I should think that is obvious,” he whispered into the skin of my thigh.

“It’s… not?”

He gave me a look I couldn’t interpret and grabbed me gently, dragging my body toward him until I was almost hanging off the bed. He arched a brow, like that was supposed to give me a clue and I shrugged, clueless. I was still unsure as to what was happening, but I wasn’t uneasy about it, which was a miracle in and of itself.

He walked closer to me on his knees as he instructed, “Arms up.”

I lifted my arms, more as a reflex than anything, and when I settled back on my elbows, I was naked. It was the first time I had been naked with a man since my marriage, and I fought the urge to cover myself. Mark sat back on his heels for a moment and I could feel his gaze traveling up and down my body. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that I barely heard him murmur, “You are breathtaking.”

I looked down, half concerned that my body had been replaced by body snatchers. But, all I saw was the same old body I saw every day: one with a faint map of stretch marks from gaining weight too fast; battle scars, that were both literal and figurative, from fighting my marriage and myself; a smattering of cellulite, weird tan lines and broken capillaries; and assorted other imperfections that seemed to be emphasized in this moment of vulnerability. Before I could voice any of this, Mark slid his hands from my ankles to my knees and twisted them to skirt along the inside of my thighs. He ran them upwards until his thumbs found the crease along my vaginal lips, which proved to be sufficiently distracting and quieted the self-doubt racing through my brain.

When he pulled my folds apart and blew on my clit, I fell back onto the bed, a whimpered “fuck,” escaping my throat. I felt the smile on his lips as he pressed them to me and licked the length of my pussy.

I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to watch him or just lay back and enjoy the sensations. He explored me with his tongue, his fingers spreading me apart as he licked around my pussy. When he closed his lips over my clit and sucked, my hips arched into his face, and when he slid a thick finger into me, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

My orgasm hit me like a tsunami; the sensation started to rise, and suddenly I was drowning, my hips bucking wildly into his face. I swear Mark growled when he locked his free arm over my pelvis to hold me in place as he sucked my clit and finger fucked me through my orgasm. As I was coming down, he slid a second finger in with the first and the stretch caused a mini orgasm on the heels of the first. With a flat-tongued lick, he detached from my “pleasure nub,” and I suddenly understood why terrible romance novelists called it such.

He continued to slide his fingers in and out of me, leaving trails of wet opened mouth kisses along my thighs until I relaxed completely, the occasional tremor shaking my body.

When he slipped his fingers out of me, he sucked them into his mouth to clean them off before crawling over me and resting against the pillows; once situated, he hauled me up his body and arranged me half on top of him, his dick resting along my thigh.

With our naked bodies like this, it painted a stark picture of how different we were. HIs body was thick and toned. I don’t think he had one tiny cell of fat on him and his skin was a dark olive after having been in the sun all summer. I, on the other hand, looked like poorly proven sourdough bread that Paul Hollywood would have been ashamed of… with blue hair.

I felt Mark take a breath below my ear as he whispered in it, “Was that ok? I don’t want to brag, but I have been told I’m pretty good at that.”

I stretched my jaw a bit, willing the muscles to work since all of them felt like they had the integrity of wet cardboard. “I don’t have anything to compare it to,” I ventured, “So you could be the absolute worst in the world, but if that’s the worst, then the best might kill me.”

He went completely still beneath me as he processed my response, taking a moment before he responded, “What do you mean you don’t have anything to compare it to?”

I set my chin on his chest and looked up at him as I clarified, “I’ve never experienced that before?”

He looked a little shocked, and rubbed the hand that wasn’t cradling my ass down his beard as he thought that over. “Never tell Landy this,” he murmured, “but I’m actually at a loss for words.”

I shrugged. “Honestly,” I admitted, “If getting that as my first time meant I didn’t get it other times, I think I’m ok with that.” Mark smiled down at me and I returned the smile before I schooled my face into a more stern expression and continued, “Also, please don’t even mention Landy again while we’re naked, in bed together, or naked in bed together. ”

Mark’s face softened and he kissed the top of my head, chuckling lightly and he concluded, “Well, Lemon, I was glad to give it to you.”

His cock was still hard against my hip, and I ran a finger up the length of him as I began, “You’re still..”

“Mmmhmm.” I felt his chest rumble as he responded.

I looked at him inquisitively, “can I?”

He just looked amused as he answered, “Babe, if it involves you and my dick, I’m going to have very few restrictions.”

I bit my lip and straddled his thighs again, mimicking our position on the couch earlier.

“Do you have… you know?” I hoped he would know.

Mark’s face was caught up in a grin as he answered the question I couldn’t finish, nodding as he informed me, “your inability to finish sentences when referring to anything about sex is adorable.” His long arm reached up and he somehow dug a condom out of the drawer of his nightstand and tossed it near my knee. “Knock yourself out, babe.”

Suddenly faced with a hard dick, a man with his hands folded behind his head, and a condom, I didn’t know what to do or where to start. I looked up at him for guidance and he just shook his head as he told me, “This is your show, Lemon. No judgment.”

I bit my lip and traced the outline of his testicles in his scrotum, fascinated when the skin drew up tight in response to the stimulation. Mark sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t react otherwise. I was nervous all of a sudden and the moment felt charged, in a different way than it had earlier; some of the urgency was gone, and we had all the time in the world, which meant there was plenty of time for me to prove I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to throw all of that at him right now so I just said simply, “You have to tell me what you like.”

“Clementine, you are naked, on top of me, playing with my junk… I like all of this.” He made no effort to hide his amusement.

I wrapped my hand around his balls and rolled them between my fingers, causing another sharp inhale from Mark and and an exhaled “fuck.”

His dick twitched against his stomach, the tip leaking clear fluid onto his skin. Letting go of him, I scooped it up with a finger and sucked it off.

His big body squirmed beneath me as he groaned, “Fuck, you are killing me, do you know that?”

Comments like that filled me with confidence and made it easy for me to toss aside all of my hesitation and it occurred to me I should thank him for that later. Feeling reinvigorated and embracing my newly-found inclination for power, I teased him, “You taste good. I didn’t know you could taste good.” I may or may not have made a show of licking my lips to prove my point.

He threw his head back and moaned.

I ripped the condom wrapper with my teeth, gripping his length in one hand and rolling the condom down it with the other. I let him slap back against his stomach and he twitched again as he cursed, “Damnit, Lemon.”

I gave him a sickly sweet smile. Had he not looked so incredibly good imbued with such a level of desperation, this wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as it was.

“Oh, she’s playing now,” he chirped at me, before looking at me dead in the eyes and stating, “If you had a different past, this would be going way differently.”

I moved forward, feeling the length of him settle between my pussy lips and I rolled my hips, the friction so good that I swear I could feel it in every inch of my body. The crown of his head dragged against my clit and I moaned as I asked him, “What would you do differently, Barbs?”

As I slid along the length of him again, coating him in copious amounts of my wetness, he hissed, choking out, “We wouldn’t have made it this far; for one, because I would have fucked you over the back of the couch.”

“Oh?” I quipped. I honestly didn’t know being this turned on was even possible and my hands went to my breasts of their own accord, holding them in my hands and rolling both nipples between my fingers.

Mark slammed his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, as he took a deep breath and rasped, “Fuck babe, this is better than literally every fantasy I’ve ever had about you.”

“Really?” I breathed, rocking against him, enjoying hearing him say it. “I’m not really even doing anything…” As the pleasure coursed through my body, I could hear my voice falter and I was pretty sure that Mark was almost at a breaking point, if the tremor I could feel in his thighs underneath me was any indication.

“Really,” he confirmed, as I kept up my steady grind against him, his breath shallow as he continued, “What you’re doing is…..so fucking hot…” I felt him twitch against me as he confessed, “The only thing that could possibly make this better would be if I was inside of you.”

I raised up off of him and the action caused him to open one eye. Reaching between us, I angled his cock just right and started to sink down on it, pausing every few millimeters. Mark arched a brow at me as he watched, admitting, “Lemon, if you want me to beg for it, all you have to do is ask. But since you haven’t, I gotta know, are you trying to kill me?”

I shook my head, realizing that we were on two separate pages regarding my slow pace. “No,” I told him, “I’m just waiting for it to hurt.”

Mark looked at me pointedly and sat up, his arm sliding behind my thighs to prevent me from sliding down on him any farther. “Okay,” he began, “First of all, I think we need a rule: we don’t talk about previous experiences while we’re having NEW ones. Second of all, sex shouldn’t hurt EVER. I mean, unless it’s on purpose and you’re into that kind of thing. If you’re not into that, then it should never hurt. Do you understand me, Clementine?” His voice was firm and once again I had the feeling I may have trivialized something that wasn’t really trivial.

I nodded because I couldn’t do anything else.

He pulled me off of his cock and slid us both up the bed until his torso was resting against the headboard.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Mark smiled at me ruefully, bringing his lips to my neck as he whispered into my hair, “I thought I just needed to let you figure things out for yourself, but it has become glaringly obvious I need to be an active participant.”

My voice was soft as I responded, half scared and half confused, “I don’t know what you mean.”

We were still pressed closely together, and his hands trailed over my naked body, fingers teasing my nipples, as he directed me, “Kiss me, Lemon.”

I leaned forward and he moved his hands to knot in my hair, my breasts pressed against the hair on his chest as I kissed him. I kissed him deeply, trying to convey with my tongue just how much this all meant to me.

As we kissed, one of his hands slid between our bodies, his fingers slipping between my pussy lips and softly rubbing my clit. I may have mewled into his mouth, but I’d perjure myself in a court of law denying that.

While I was rocking into his hand, he grabbed his dick and angled it just right so that the tip slid into me as I rolled my hips. The sensation made me gasp, and I rocked harder, needing more.

“That’s it, babe,” he murmured, “That’s it.” His hands were on my hips, guiding me. I curled my hands into fists on his chest, wishing his hair was long enough to grab like this, but it was still short from a summer wax.

I needed him, I needed to feel full. I slammed myself down on him and he cursed in response, cautioning, “Fuck. Easy, babe.”

“Mark, please,” I whimpered, “I need more. I need you.” My hands unclenched, and I dug my fingers into his chest desperately.

His hands tightened on my hips as his punched up forcefully and he confirmed, “Ok?”

I nodded, almost delirious with pleasure as I begged, “More.”

He set a quick rhythm with his hips, and soon all that filled the room was the squelch of our bodies coming together and our sharp breaths.

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” he groaned, “Tine, touch yourself.”

One of his hands left my hips and he took my fingers and pressed them to my clit, “Cum with me,” he urged.

“I can’t,” I choked out.

“You can,” he encouraged, “Look at me.”

My eyes met his and he held my gaze as he continued, “I’m gonna get tested by the team doc tomorrow, because I can’t wait to fuck you skin to skin and fill you with my cum. I can’t wait to make you mine so you never have to worry about a man hurting you ever again. Even me.”

My voice was a whisper, as I whined out “Holy shit.”

“Now fucking cum with me, Clementine.” He punched his hips up hard and I came apart in a million pieces, like a stained glass window shattering from a bomb. He thrust into me irregularly until he sagged against the headboard and cradled me to his chest.

We lay there in a sweaty mess, panting, until I broke the silence, and repeated, “You want to fill me with your cum?”

“Lemon, I swear to God, if you ruin this perfectly good moment with some self-deprecating sarcastic comment, I’m going to tell Landy you think his magic is dumb.”

I gasped in horror, “You wouldn’t. Also, again with mentioning Landy in bed!!!”

He kissed the top of my head chuckling, “You know I would. Now, just lay there and be quiet and soak in the moment.”

We were quiet again for a long time, long enough that the sweat was starting to dry on my skin and giving me goosebumps. I shivered, and this time it was Mark who broke the silence, asking “Does Daze need dinner or something?”

At the mention of dinner, my stomach growled. “Probably,” I guessed, “I know I need dinner. Why?”

I looked up at Mark and he was staring in the direction of the door as he told me, “Because she’s been quietly staring at me since we finished. Honestly, she started even before that, and if you weren’t half as hot as you are, I wouldn’t have been able to finish.”

I chuckled against his chest and sat up, pulling my leg over him, intimately feeling the loss of him inside me. “I’ll go feed her if you order pizza,” I offered.

Grabbing his shirt from earlier off the floor, I pulled it on, though it hugged my body a little more than I would have liked.

“Babe,” he sighed, “That one is covered in cum, grab a clean one out of the drawer.”

I gave him a saucy wink as I sashayed out of the room, shouting behind me, “Maybe I wanna be covered in your cum.”

He fell over into the pillows laughing and I heard him grumble, “Fucking minx.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

#Mark Barberio #mark barberio imagine #mark barberio fic #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche rpf #avs #Avs fic #avs imagine #avs rpf #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl rpf #When Life Gives You Lemons #Clemberio #WLGYL

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whockeywhore · 4 years

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Nothing Serious Preview feat. Mark Barberio

I heard her before I saw her, a soft tune rolling over the fence that separated our backyards. Her voice carried on the soft summer breeze and I settled into a chair next to Aunt Julia, nodding towards her.

“Who’s that?”

“Caroline. She’s renting for the summer.” She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “She single.”

“Aunt Julia-”

“Broke up with her boyfriend right before she moved up here. And she’s cute. You should go introduce yourself.” I forced a smile but shook my head, taking a bite from my burger. She ignored me and continued as I chewed. “She’s from Toronto and she just graduated with her PhD from the University of Chicago. And she’s cute!”

“You already said that Jules.” Uncle Don finally chimed in and rolled his eyes.

“How do you know all of this?”

“She came over, asked to borrow a cup of milk, and we started talking. A nice, smart girl for you Mark. Much better than that Dana.”

The mention of my ex ruined my appetite and I pushed my plate away, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. A rough end to playoffs and the nastiest breakup I’d ever been through were the reason why I’d come up here for the summer. The idea of jumping into anything new made my stomach flip and I shook my head again.

“I appreciate it guys but I think I’m just gonna hang this summer, spend some time alone.”

They both watched me as I stood, picking up my plate and heading into the house. The dogs were gathered by the door and I fed them my scraps before pulling on my shoes. Aunt Julia and Uncle Don came inside as I was heading for the front door and I turned back when she called my name.

“Where are you going?”

“For a run. Figured I’d take a few laps around the lake to work off some of that dinner.” I patted my stomach and she came close to pinch my cheeks. “It was absolutely delicious.”

“You’re such a sweetheart, Mark. Before you go, would you mind dropping this off next door?” She put a wrapped plate in my hands and smiled.

“Aunt Julia-”

“I’ll write a note saying it’s from me, you won’t even have to talk to her.”

She slapped a post-it on top of the foil and sent me on my way, watching from the porch as I crossed the yard. I could hear music playing as I climbed the stairs and I knocked loudly, waiting for an answer. I was about to leave it and start back when the door swung open.

“Can I help you?”

She had a towel draped over her shoulder and a bright yellow apron tied around her waist. Her hair hung long and loose around her shoulders, dark red against skin that had been kissed by the sun. I stared for a moment and cleared my throat as she leaned against the door jamb, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Mark. I-I’m Mark.”

#Mark barberio #colorado avalanche #mark barberio fic #hockey fic #nhl fic #mark barberio imagine #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nothing serious fic

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himbos-on-ice · 4 years

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So I saw your post tagging your favorite writers/people on here. Of that group, what are some of your favorite fics from them? Random I know, I just want to expand my reading list.

Oh shit, okay. I guess I should first mention that I read both self insert as well as m/m fic. So this rec will include both (although most of what I read here is f/m). I’m gonna include some other authors I didn’t include in that list.

@tkachukme green eyed monster (vince dunn) hook line & sinker (travis konecny) masterlist

@bandgirlsclub stuck with you (vince dunn, matthew tkachuk), dancing with the devil (matthew tkachuk), long hot summer (travis konecny) masterlist

@holy-pucks i am LIVING for sugar, sugar (sidney crosby) rn! masterlist

@jasondickinsons ky has only posted two chapters of her new fic when fate stepped in but it already has me screaming masterlist

@bennsseguin my heart is always yours ended me. i am a ghost now. (jamie benn/tyson barrie soulmate au) you can find this on ao3

@whockeywhore uhhh all of them? but assumptions (laurent brossoit) and skip over it (dougie hamilton— i don’t even find him attractive but that fic is hot hot hot)

@myhockeyworld87 not so dangerous liaisons (sidney crosby) goooood shit. masterlist

@kallmekmk friday is my new favorite day of the week bc when life gives you lemons (mark barberio) updates on friday masterlist

@backcheckforecheckpaycheck i adored all you never say (nathan mackinnon) masterlist

@ljummen @secret-sidgeno-writer (every single sidney crosby/evgeni malkin fic they each write is absolute GOLD)

@dempuckboys weight of her world (tyler seguin) was painful and beautiful masterlist

#asks #fanfiction #hockey #there are a bunch more but i’m on mobile so #fic rec

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hookingminor · 3 years

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There was a piece with Mark Barberio where pegging was supposed to happen but it disappeared and I can’t remember who wrote it

ahhh I'm not familiar w it but we need more pegging fics these men get fucked in the ass let's be real now

#asks

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puckngrind · 4 years

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Ever heard of Mark Barberio? For the 19/20 season he played for the avs and since this season he is the captain for Lausanne HC in Switzerland. If you're interested kallmekmk is writing a fic about him called When Life Gives You Lemons. It's how I found about his existence. - Chris anon

Yes, @kallmekmk likes to place these boys in front of me and convinces me to give them a second look. (The Greek God that is Gravy was just a Dman who plays for the Avs before her fic). I’m currently behind on Lemons but I love that slow citrus burn of a fic! I’ll just wait for her to write Murr now that he’s in Jersey 👀

And yes, I know who Mark is. He wasn’t on my radar really until he was on the floating ODR 2 summers ago...there is something about men in ice skates and shorts that gives me all the feels.

#chris anon

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phillyneenie · 3 years

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Did you write a fan fic about Mark Barberio?

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horsesandhockeyplayers · 2 years

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When Life Gives You Lemons- Part 13

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 4677

Word Count Total: 58,279

Author’s Note: Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part begins with Clementine. THERE BE SMUT (kinda).

Part Thirteen*

When I woke, my heart was racing, Daze was planted on my chest with her head tucked under my chin, and Barbs was in a towel, soaking wet; standing over me. Absurdly, the first thing I noticed was how the droplets of water followed the trail of his chest hair down to his belly button.

I petted Daze and took a few deep breaths, focusing on the water dripping down Mark’s chest, the nightmare featuring Bill fading into the recesses in my mind where he would lurk until next time.

When my heart rate approached a reasonable rate, the Border Collie lifted her head and licked my cheek.

I was still focused on watching the water trail down Barbs’ body, and without thinking, I reached up to chase a droplet with my finger.

HIs brows disappeared into his hair, as he asked, “What the fuck, Lemon?”

My focus was still on that droplet and it took me a minute to realize that that wasn’t what he was asking about. My voice sounded like it was coming from a different room and when I put the pieces together, I responded, “Oh, I have night terrors,” like I was mentioning I bought the wrong milk and not a serious psychosomatic issue.

His voice was stern, which pulled me out of my body-hair-water-droplet-related rapt state, when he said, “Clementine.”

Daze retreated to the other end of the couch and gave me a weary look. “I mean,” I started defensively, “I don’t know what you want me to say. I have night terrors. It’s not something I can control.”

He pushed away from the couch and ran his fingers through his dripping hair, looking sort of frantic. “Fuck,” he exhaled, “I thought you were dying. Do you have these every night?”

He was pacing, water was still dripping off of his body and, amongst other things, I was a little worried he was going to slip on the concrete floor.

The more wound up he got, the tighter I felt the boa constrictor squeeze my chest. I knew that I was only going to get one chance to reason with him or explain myself before I felt like I was going to completely suffocate and it would become impossible to do so, so before I got there, I pleaded, “Mark.”

I don’t know what he saw, but his face closed down and he turned on his heel, walking down the hallway and muttering to himself, “Fucking night terrors.” The loud slam of the door made me jump, and Daze was trying to crawl in my lap, likely because she realized that I was all of a sudden overwhelmed by the feeling I needed to be anywhere else right the fuck now.

I pushed her off of my lap and made my way to the front entryway, snagging my tote on the way. My hand was reaching for the door when Mark came out of the bedroom, tucking himself into his jeans, calling “Lemon?”

My bare feet didn’t make a sound on the polished concrete floor as I walked toward the bank of elevators. Daze was trotting beside me trying to cross in front of my path and I started to dig in my bag for an extra leash; I usually had five on me. You know, just in case.

I veered right at the elevators since I was still taking the stairs these days, which was when Mark caught up to me, a pair of my of shoes in one hand and his house keys in the other.

“Lemon, wait,” he implored. When I didn’t respond, he repeated, a little more forcefully, “Lemon, babe. Shoes.” How he managed to leap down a flight of stairs and skid out in front of me to block my passage, I don’t know; however, I will say that I wasn’t too wrapped up in my panic attack to prevent my noticing this feat of athleticism and subsequently file in away in my brain as something to appreciate at a later time and place. But now was not it.

Mark knelt down in front of me, laces on my shoes undone, and he slipped a little ankle sock on each foot. Honestly, the image was so ridiculous that it provided me with a moment of clarity just long enough for me to take a deep breath. I used his shoulder for balance as I put one shoe on, then the other. I could feel his body heat through the palm of my hand; his muscles were like granite, and he just felt so warm and solid in front of me.

By the time he was done lacing both shoes, my panic attack had ratcheted down from a 7 to a 3 out of 10. My fingers were gently tracing random patterns into his shirt, allowing me to feel the intersections of muscles beneath his skin. Mark didn’t say anything as he remained kneeling in front of me, letting me have my moment or ten. Eventually, though, he stood and slid his arm through mine, pulling me in for a hug and setting my hand on his forearm so I could twirl his arm hair, much to my heart’s delight.

Things after that were a bit of blur and I don’t know how far we walked, but we ended up at a small park that was completely devoid of people. Taking Daze’s leash off, I started to dig in my purse and she knew whatever was coming out was going to be for her, so she started dancing on her front paws. I sat on a bench and handed the ball to Mark. He showed it to Daze, who let out an excited bark as he threw it.

He sat next to me, arm behind me on the bench, his voice almost light, as he murmured, “I didn’t know service dogs could play.”

I leaned into his body, suddenly tired even though I had just woken up. Between the night terror and the panic attack, I felt like I had run a marathon. “Dogs are like people,” I reminded him, “They’ll burn out if it’s all work all the time. They just need to be dogs sometimes.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. “You know,” he began, “even the most well-adjusted, intelligent man would struggle with this situation, right? And we both know I am neither of those things.”

“What situation would that be?” I asked, playing very dumb.

Mark didn’t pull any punches as, without hesitation, he responded, “Trying to date a woman who has survived some serious trauma and not without physical and mental scars.”

I was glad to hear that, if nothing else, he didn’t say ‘crazy person.’

Daze came back and dropped the ball at his feet; he picked it up and threw it again, wiping his hand on his jeans. “You’ve had a lot of time to get used to what happened to you, to learn how to make jokes about it, but this is all new to me. I never think it’s your fault, I never think this is something wrong with you.” He took a deep breath before he continued, “You just need to give me a minute to fucking process some shit. Like, when I hear you scream like you’re being murdered on my couch while I’m in the shower, for example. I don’t think my heartbeat has ever been that fast and I am a professional athlete. And then you’re totally just chill, telling me you have Night Terrors like you’re informing me the Queen got another Corgi.”

I cleared my throat, vaguely uncomfortable, informing him, “Actually, the Queen isn’t actually breeding corgis anymore…”

His hand settled on the back of my neck and he squeezed lightly, as a tight smile crossed his face and he shook his head ruefully. “Lemon,” he chuckled, “that’s not the point.”

I halfway turned to face him, asking pointedly, “What is the point then, Barbs? That we’re both perfectly imperfect?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he clarified. “What I mean is that only one of us can freak out at a time, Lemon, and sometimes that person needs to be me. Like, when you casually drop the bomb that sometimes you wake up screaming, solely because some asshole traumatized you that much.” He looked at me and went on, “And it feels like I have about half a second to process that information and go through a range of emotions related to that. Today, for example, I went from thinking “putting that dude in a hole in the ground is too kind” all the way to “holy shit, what does this mean for my sleep on game days?” in about two seconds flat.” He gave the back of my neck another squeeze before he continued, “And sometimes I’m probably going to need to walk away to process. But I’m not walking away from you, ok?”

I nodded, understanding what he was telling me; as someone who had spent a good chunk of time overwhelmed by a variety of feelings, I didn’t have to imagine very hard what a situation like that felt like for Mark. “I think that’s fair,” I acknowledged, meeting his eyes. I took a deep breath and continued slowly, “I’m just… surprised you’re willing to try at all.”

He pulled me into his body, whispering in my ear, “Of course I am. But we are going to have to figure something out regarding the shoe situation, because I can’t have you wandering around Denver in bare feet. It’s where I draw the line.”

“That is an acceptable request,” I said through a smile. “I will work on it.”

Daze brought the ball back and Mark threw it farther this time. Clearly upset it was so much farther away, she offered a hysterical bark as she tore after it.

We sat in silence for a while, watching Daze take her time coming back with the ball; there was a quasi-pattern to her actions, but she tended to rotate between the following: dropping it to sniff an interesting smell, picking it up again, pausing to pee on a dandelion plant, sniffing said pee with the ball still in her mouth, sniffing said pee after dropping the ball, etc.

Meanwhile, I appreciated the fact we could sit in comfortable silence, especially because it gave me time to absorb what Mark had said. After I’d mulled things over, I was the one who finally broke it and asked, “So, what do we do now?” I wasn’t sure if I meant in a general existential way or in this “relationship” or with the afternoon ahead of us, but he didn’t ask me to specify.

He was running his hand down my hair, combing it between his fingers, and with the amount of time that task was requiring, it seemed that taking a nap while it was still wet was a poor choice, and I was grateful I hadn’t yet seen a mirror. “I don’t know,” he replied, “I was thinking we could order in, but you didn’t exactly get a second date, so if you want to put on something nice, we could go out instead.”

“What?” I was very confused.

“Lemon, I know I’m the dumb one, but this isn’t really that complicated. You asked what we do now, do you want to eat in and bingewatch TV, or go out?”

I blinked, still not understanding. “You don’t want to take me back to my parents?”

His hand stilled on my hair, and I realized I had caught him off guard. “I mean, I can take you if you want to go,” he offered. “Do you want to leave?”

I shook my head.

“Then, I’m lost,” he told me.

“I mean, this has been kind of stupid,” I said, looking at him, feeling like it was a totally obvious assessment of the situation. As he looked back at me with that same look regarding our plans for the evening, I realized there was a huge disconnect somewhere and so, I continued, “Last night I slept for 15 hours. I was awake for like, two, during which you cooked me a meal, then I fell back asleep and after sleeping for however long again, I woke up and in doing so, I scared you half to death. I’m just surprised you aren’t itching to get rid of me.”

I yelped slightly as he dragged me into his lap and I could practically hear him rolling his eyes as he replied, “Lemon, were you not listening earlier?”

Frowning, I answered, “I was paying attention.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I wasn’t going to walk away from you and none of this is your fault?” Mark asked.

“No,” I grumbled.

“Great. Then, do you want to order in or go out?”

I reached out to finger the silver chain peeking out of his tee shirt, as I offered, “Order in?”

He captured my chin with his fingers and angled my face toward his, confirming, “Order in, it is, then.”

The kiss was hard but brief, though during it, he managed to stand and gently set me on my feet all in one motion and I remembered that I needed to be in awe of his body.

He cleared his throat and quirked an eyebrow at me as he wondered, “Why are you looking at me like you’re 3 days into going carb-free and I’m a fresh baked loaf of french bread?”

I did my best to school my face into a more neutral look, but he wasn’t buying it. I knew I wasn’t off the hook, but to give me some time, he whistled for Daze, who picked up her ball from the grass and came running. After clipping on her leash Mark tucked me into his side, asking again, “Lemon?”

I sighed, admitting “I just realized today I don’t think I was ever attracted to Bill, but I am very attracted to you.”

The smug practically radiated off of him and I knew I had to clarify, lest it go to his head. So, I continued, “But sometimes, I still want to dump a 1 billion degree McDonald’s coffee over your head, so there is still room for improvement.”

When he spoke it was under his breath and through his smirk as he singsonged, “You liiiiikkee me. You want to dddaaattttee me, you want to kiiiiissss me.”

“Calm your tits, Gracie Hart,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He pulled me impossibly closer, “Mmm I think we both know Sandra Bullock’s tits have nothing on yours and I mean, Sandy is hot.”

I had to concede there, allowing, “Sandra Bullock is hot.”

Mark grinned again and kissed my temple, saying, “My girl has good taste.”

I made a face but let him have the small victory.

When we finally made it back to his apartment, my phone was vibrating on the coffee table and I grimaced, realizing I hadn’t checked in with Nora yet, save for a brief text this morning. I scrolled to the bottom of the text thread, which took me an embarrassingly long time, and unfortunately, they were still coming in.

Nora: I’m calling Columbo.

Nora: The national guard

Nora: Homeland security

Nora: The feds!

I shot off a response before the situation escalated further, though it did give me pause to consider who might be above the feds on Nora’s hierarchy of emergency contacts; maybe The Pope?

Hi! I’m here, I'm alive!

Nora: Quick question: WHAT THE FUCK?

Nora: FIRST of all, you are at a cute boy’s house and you don’t text for awhile, ok, I get that. You have better things to do, but Clementine Jones, it has been almost 24 hours and all I got some bullshit brief shit this morning. SECOND OF ALL, take a picture of Mark, right now. Right this second.

Mark was downing a glass of water and I zoomed in on him with my phone and snapped a picture before sending it to Nora. He lifted a brow and I just shook my head.

Nora: Why is he wearing clothes? Are you wearing clothes? I’m realizing now that maybe we need to have a conversation about the birds and the bees before I sent you off with The Italian Stallion and that’s on me.

I rolled my eyes at her, even though she couldn't see me.

I have had many revelations over the past 24 hours and 1 of them is that I now know for certain I was never sexually attracted to Bill and the 2nd is I don’t own enough panties.

Nora: !!!!!!!!

Now, Barbs and I are ordering dinner.

I turned my phone off and set it back down on the coffee table as I was joined on the couch by a tired Border Collie and a less tired Barbs.

“Was it Nora?”

I nodded and settled into the corner of the couch.

Mark snatched up my legs and hauled me down the length of the couch, putting my feet in his lap. He slipped off my shoes and socks, the very same ones he had put on earlier, and started rubbing my feet. I tried to pull them away as I whined, “Mark, stop.”

He stopped massaging, but didn’t release my feet, “What,” he asked, “why?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Have you ever had your feet rubbed?” he prodded.

“I mean, yeah, like pedicures and stuff.”

“Well, did you like it then?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, suddenly aware of where this line of questioning was going, and it was a checkmate on the conversation. I relaxed back into the cushions grumbling, “Yes.”

“Ah, so you just don’t like ME rubbing your feet,” he teased.

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Why don’t you want me rubbing your feet, Lemon?” he continued, pushing on despite my reticence. “You actually fight me every time I try and do something nice.”

“To be fair,” I said, defending myself, “a lot of this is touch related and I am a little gun shy.”

“Mmmhmmm,” he acknowledged.

He returned to rubbing my feet, and I did my best to relax. When he dug his thumbs into the bottoms of my arches, I may have moaned while my muscles turned to warm jello.

“That’s it, she’s finally relaxed,” he said, with more than a hin of smugness, but I really wanted him to continue doing what he was doing so I stayed silent. Of course, he couldn’t let that go without comment.

“Oh, wow,” he chirped, “No smartass remarks?”

I opened my eyes long enough to roll them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She had these walls she didn’t even know she had about issues she didn’t know she had, and I really enjoyed taking a sledgehammer to them and getting a little closer to her with every swing.

Finally, after that moan— which, honestly, had me hard in my jeans— she took a few deep breaths and I literally felt all the tension drain out of her body.

I knew she wasn’t sleeping, because every so often, her foot would twitch when I hit a ticklish spot.

“Hey, Lemon?” I prompted, “What do you want for dinner?”

She didn’t open her eyes to answer as she murmured, “Whatever you want, Barbs.”

“Pizza?”

She opened one eye and asked, “If you gorge yourself on pizza, are you going to be slow as fuck at camp on Monday?”

For the first time in my life, I didn’t have anything to say and I gaped at her.

Her smile was small and sly, but I caught it. “You little minx,” I spat, setting her feet back on the couch and levering over her, fitting my hips to hers. “Are you accusing me of being slow?”

“I’m just sayin’,” she intoned, “everyone looks good this summer and it would be a shame if you got sent down because you couldn’t hack it. I’d be forced to take pictures of Gabe… or worse! EJ!”

I kissed my way down her throat as I whispered against her skin, “You say that like you only take pictures of me.”

She squirmed under me as she admitted, “I have a secret folder on my computer that’s just you. I download the excess photos before I turn in the memory cards.”

I sat up a bit and braced myself on an arm above her, looking her in the eyes as I asked, “Seriously?”

She made a face I couldn’t decipher and nodded slowly.

I don’t remember deciding to kiss her but I just suddenly was, my tongue against hers, trying to coax it off the bottom of her mouth. Her hands hesitantly slipped under the hem of my shirt, and I sat up again, pulling it over the back of my head with one hand.

She seemed to freeze as I did that, and pulled her fingers away. I missed her touch immediately and maybe it was a little selfish but with my free hand, I reached for both hers and replaced each on my body. When I settled back down to kiss her again, the cross around my neck settled in the hollow of her throat.

She removed her hands again, but this time pushed her fingers into my hair as she murmured, “I can’t get enough of your hair.” Finally, the hair gene paid off.

Her fingertips massaged my skull and I dropped my cheek to her chest, giving a contented sigh. “If you never stopped doing that and I could lay on top of you forever, I might just die a happy man,” I informed her.

She finger combed my hair, nails scraping against my scalp and suddenly the intimate idea of a relationship didn’t sound awful. I currently ONLY wanted to fuck Clementine ANYWAY and if this intimacy and this closeness was a bonus, I suddenly understood all the guys on my team with wives and long-time girlfriends. These were moments that just didn’t come from a one night stand or a hookup. These impromptu moments of intimacy filled a part of me I didn’t realize was empty.

And just as suddenly, I realized Tine was the only woman I could picture myself with like this, just laying here, while she ran her fingers through my hair, close, intimate, with a weather ear on the golf tournament I had turned on.

“Mark?” She asked, trailing her hands out of my hair and down my back.

“Hmm?” I resisted the urge to rub my beard scruff against her.

“Are you going to fall asleep?”

I smiled and shook my head against her chest, “Nuh uh.”

She was dragging her fingertips against my skin and I could feel the goosebumps chasing her fingers. “Then can you kiss me?” she asked softly.

I lifted my head and pressed my lips to hers, more than happy to oblige. This time, she was the one to deepen the kiss, her tongue licking across my lips.

My moan may have sounded more like a growl as my tongue shoved hers out of the way and I kissed her hard. The moment I did, she backed off, almost seeming to freeze. I pulled my lips from hers, sensing her limits and asked “Too much?”

She nodded. I took a breath and slid my arms underneath her body flipping us so she was on top. “Okay,” I affirmed. “What if you drive?” I suggested.

Her knees settled on either side of my hips. I could feel her heat through my jeans and her leggings and I shot a little prayer toward the sky that I would be able to control myself and give her an experience she deserved.

Tine rocked on my erection, adjusted her position and rocked her hips again, letting out a small gasp.

I folded my hands behind my head contentedly, and she placed her hands on my chest to change the angle. She looked down at me through the veil of her hair that fell over her shoulders.

“Is this ok?” she asked

“Does it feel good for you?” I responded.

She nodded.

“Then it’s more than ok,” I said easily.

Her hips rolled again and she bit her lip as she set a rhythm, grinding against me as she whimpered, “Fuck, Mark.”

She was fully clothed and still, it was quite possibly the hottest, most intimate thing I had ever experienced.

She adjusted her position again, her pace increasing and when it started to falter, I grabbed her hips and thrust up against her, holding her steady. As she shivered above me, I did it again. And again. And again. Finally, she threw her head back and her entire body shuddered; I watched as the tremors rolled through her and I was sure I’d never been harder in my life. When she pushed against my chest and tried to wiggle away from me, I stopped moving and she collapsed against my chest. From her place tucked under my chin, I heard her whisper, “Barbs?”

“Mm?”

“What the fuck was that?” she wondered.

“An orgasm?”

“That’s an orgasm?” she asked in disbelief.

My next words escaped before I thought about them, because all the blood to run my brain was currently in my dick and the affection gripping my heart was almost overwhelming, meaning I was basically fucked. “Babe,” I blurted out, “I watched you have an orgasm in the shower.”

She sat up and looked at me, her face inscrutable. “You watched me?” she echoed.

I grimaced and nodded, elaborating, “I knocked and called your name, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Ok, gross invasion of privacy aside, even that didn’t feel like this.”

“Baby, I don’t know what to tell you. That was an orgasm.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed, sounding a little awestruck.

I pushed the hair away from her face, wanting to check on her, because I figured this was A Lot. “Are you ok?”

She nodded, smiling as she said, “An entire genre of books and television suddenly make sense.”

I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her to my chest. Eventually, her breathing evened out and I was almost certain she fell asleep. I squirmed and tried to snake a hand between our bodies to adjust myself.

“Am I too heavy?” she mumbled.

“No, babe, just… too sexy.”

She snorted into my chest as she rejected this answer, informing me, “You’re such a liar.”

“Lemon,” I sighed, “when you wore that dress did you not look in the mirror?”

“Ok,” she narrowed her eyes at me, skeptical “but I don’t exactly look like every other hockey guy’s girlfriend.”

“But you’re not every hockey guy’s girlfriend,” I retorted, “you’re MY girlfriend.”

She turned her head, our eyes mere inches apart, as she questioned, “Am I your girlfriend? Are you going to put a label on me?”

I pushed her hair out of her face again so I could look at her as I confirmed, “Yeah. I’m gonna put a label on you. So I hope you’re okay with that. And plus, maybe that’ll help keep Comph and Josty’s ass-ogling at bay.”

The smile on her face was faint, but it was there, “They do not do that,” she dismissed.

“You have no idea,” I said earnestly, “I had to threaten all of them.”

“When?” she pressed.

“When what?”

“When did you have to threaten them?”

I twirled the ends of her hair, brushing it against my beard and pretended I didn’t hear her.

“Barbs, when?” she pestered.

I cleared my throat and mumbled without making eye contact, “thedayicaughtyouinmyarms.”

She turned her head toward me and chirped, “Excuse me, I didn’t catch that.”

I captured her lips with mine for a soft kiss before I pulled back and smirked, “I said, the day I caught you in my arms.”

Her face was soft as she recalled, “Barbs, that was the first day you met me.”

“Nothing wrong with your memory, Lemon.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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horsesandhockeyplayers · 1 year

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Not me thinking about release chapter 14 of WLGL this weekend 🤔

#wlgyl #when life gives you lemons #mark barberio fic

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horsesandhockeyplayers · 1 year

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I posted 1,747 times in 2022

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I tagged 529 of my posts in 2022

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#serving “mom returning from a work trip and just hoping the kids didn’t overrun her husband and tear the house apart” vibes

My Top Posts in 2022:

When Life Gives You Lemons-- Part 2

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 3663

Word Count Total: 7,949

Author's Note: Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Thank you SO much to @hockeylvr59, @newlibrary, @itisawitchesworld, and Nora, who I can't seem to tag. The rewrite of this fic wouldn't have happened without all of you. Thank you for indulging my impulsivity. All of you can see Mark in action during the upcoming Olympics! Reminder that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. Today we are beginning with Clementine.

Chapter 2

I rolled my eyes so hard I’m pretty sure I saw my own brain, but despite that, I ended up sliding down the wall and sitting next to him. Thanks to the tilt of the floor, I slid next to him until we were touching, shoulder to hip.

“Is it difficult being this dumb all the time or does it come naturally?” A warning blinked behind my eyes, Brain to Mouth Filter Failure.

His beard was short, but thick; despite it, I saw his lips curve into a smile. “Around you it’s effortless.” He paused before continuing, “You know you seem pretty unperturbed about being stuck in a leaning elevator with a certified moron.”

I offered an anemic shrug before continuing nonchalantly, “Ohh ‘unperturbed.’ Did you hurt yourself?” One of his thick eyebrows arched and he flashed a 1000 watt smile but didn’t dish the insult back which made the game less fun so I answered, “My world feels like it’s on fire all the time. I’ve had complete mental breakdowns because I accidentally used a blue pen in a journal that I only used a black pen in. Comparatively, this feels like no big deal.” It felt weird to share that personal detail with someone I found so annoying.

He nodded at Daze, “Is that what she’s for?”

A personal detail was one thing, spilling my entire life story was another thing completely and he must have picked up on my hesitation because he held out his hand and said, “How about we start over. Hi, I’m Mark Barberio.”

Ok. He WAS an idiot, but at least he seemed aware of his hoof and mouth disease. I gave his hand a firm grip and shake. “Clementine. Clementine Jones, and this is Daisy, but I just call her Daze.”

“She seems like a good service dog and not at all for a blind person,” he grinned like this was now our inside joke.

I rested my hand on her head thinking about the freedom she gave back to me and took a deep breath, “She’s the best.”

The conversation lulled and I’d be the first to admit that I let it die. We sat in silence for a few minutes before I had a thought. “Wait, you said you texted Gabe?”

His answer was a lazy nod of the head with a “mmhmm” that sounded like it reverberated in his throat.

“What is the likelihood of him making me suffer by association, simply due to the fact that I’m stuck in an elevator with you? Because I just met him today and he seems like a nice dude and I think we’re copacetic, but I could easily see him leaving you in a steel box for a few hours.” I flashed back to the mischievous glint in Gabe’s eyes earlier.

Mark just shrugged, “I don’t know, Lime, guess it depends on if he likes you.”

“Great.” I slumped harder against the wall. “Any chance you want to share that Wi-Fi password so I can contact some people so they don’t worry?”

A few taps on his phone and a notification popped up asking if I wanted to save the password to the Wi-Fi. As soon as I hit accept, my phone started buzzing so hard it almost fell out of my hand.

Nora: Hey, I’m running late. There was a thing with the room I’m painting. It looks NOTHING like the swatch and after sanding and refinishing the floors and having the paint not look good I had a little mental breakdown. FINE NOW.

Nora: Ok, I am 10 minutes late, but where are you?

Nora: Ok. I’m worried now. Did you get stuck at work? WHERE ARE YOU?

Nora: CLEMENTINE, THIS ISN’T FUNNY. I’M GONNA CALL 911. I’M GONNA GET CADAVER DOGS. WHERE ARE YOU?

The last one came in as I hit reply and tried to tap out a response faster than Nora could dial 911.

I’m fine! Stuck in an elevator with no service! I’m sorry. I just got on the Wi-Fi.

Nora: Oh, shit! Are you alone? Do I still need to call 911? Where are you?

I’m fine. You know I handle actual emergencies better than like… not being able to find my lucky socks.

Nora: This is true and you’ve conveniently ignored the “are you alone” question.

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102 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

A Not So Southern Christmas-- Part 6

This is obviously a rewrite of my old fic. I have been feeling romantic and Christmasy, so I figured it was time to bring back my favorite holiday couple. Title banner by the wonderful @whatishockey. Thank you thank you thank you to the people who periodically peek at this fic to make sure I don't make too many typos and mistakes. @hockeylvr59 @rymurrsneckbeard and @princessphilly

Synopsis: When Adelaide Thibodeaux finds her husband to be diddling the wedding planner in the Church before their nuptials, she walks out and is determined to take her dream honeymoon by herself. Until she gets a seat upgrade to first class and ends up next to Hurricanes Defenceman, Joel Edmundson. Holiday shenanigans ensue.

Author's Notes: This was written in early 2019 before Eddy went to Montreal as a free agent. I will be tagging both teams. It's been a while since I've posted a dual POV so reminder that *~*~*~*~*~* delineates a change in POV. Today we are beginning with Eddy.

Tag List: @leafs-foreverr, @pagirl6866, @colecockfield If you would like to be part of the tag list, please let me know.

Part 6

*~*~*~*~*~*

Just over an hour later we were crawling along I-90 in an SUV the size of a tank. After the second close call of almost being sideswiped by another vehicle sliding on ice after a single mile on the interstate, I was thankful for it. It was a rideshare, so I didn’t care if it only got two miles per gallon, as long as it was able to get us to the airport in one piece.

Adelaide finally turned on her phone and I just arched a brow at her as it vibrated in her hand for what seemed like a solid minute while she looked annoyed, “You ok there?”

She gave me a withering glare, and she looked so cute that I couldn’t help but smile, which made her glare harder and the entire thing was just a circle of me being amused and her getting more furious. It was fantastic.

Poking around on the screen, a call connected and started to ring as she brought the phone to her ear. I could hear her mother’s voice on the other end of the line. “Hi Momma, is everyone there? Put me on speaker.”

I was thankful it was a regular voice call and not a facetime, because I knew her father would pinpoint the “I just fucked your daughter nasty" vibes wafting off of me from four states away.

“No, Adele, I'm not putting Eddy on speaker.” She sighed and dropped her phone to her lap, hitting the speaker button with her thumb. “FINE. Is everyone here?”

“Adelaide why are you in a car, it sounds like you’re in a car.”

She transferred the phone to her opposite hand as I stretched my arm across the seat and intertwined our fingers. “Eddy and I are going to the airport Mama, our flight leaves at one.”

Her father’s rich baritone chimed in, “I guess there’s a first time for everything, one of my daughters not being stubborn? I better buy a lottery ticket.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, “Daddy.”

“Eddy, son she IS going with you, correct?”

I cleared my throat, “Yessir, she agreed.”

“Good. Finally. Adele you’re next.”

Adelaide mouthed “I’m sorry” at me.

The conversation devolved from there. “What does that mean Daddy?” Adele sounded irritated.

“It means you need to stop being so stubborn and accept help and maybe find a good man.”

An argument started between the two of them, with Dottie interjecting at random times. There was something about college and Adele getting her Masters while working. Adelaide looked bored, like she had heard this argument before. She started massaging the palm of my hand with her thumb and staring out the window as her family argued.

Finally, Adele’s voice cut through the nonsense, “Addie and Eddy’s hotel room only had one bed!”

I caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror and I don’t think he felt at all sorry for my impending death.

Adelaide’s attention was suddenly diverted back to her phone, “ADELE! Daddy, there was one bed, but I slept on the couch.”

Her sister wasn’t to be swayed from her current path of turning the attention to Adelaide, “Daddy, I looked at photos of the suite, the couch was too small for anyone to sleep on.”

He sounded displeased, I was suddenly very aware the man owned a hardware store and all murdering/disposing bodies things were readily available and no one would blink twice at him having any of them. “Eddy made you sleep on the couch?”

Adele sounded breathless, “THEY WERE CUDDLING THIS MORNING.”

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110 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

When Life Gives You Lemons-- Masterlist

Synopsis: Disabled OC and service dog get stuck in an elevator with Mark Barberio. Shenanigans ensue.

Word Count Total: 93K (this includes unposted parts)

Author's Note: Shout out to @newlibrary who has tirelessly created the graphics for this story. She's the true hero here.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Playlist

129 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

When Life Gives You Lemons -- Part 1

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic not just particular chapters.

Word Count: 4286

Word Count Total: 4286

Chapter 1

“Ok, can you look at the camera please?”

The flash was blinding and while I appreciated the professional set-up, I couldn’t help but wonder if a nerd named Kevin with a cell phone and a white wall would be more efficient. This seemed excessive and far more painful. I found myself blinking to see if my retinas had detached.

The photographer fiddled with the settings for a moment, “Can we do one of your service dog too? I’d love to make her a little badge for her vest.”

I actually thought that was kind of cute, I doubt Kevin would have been as creative. “Sure,” I agreed, “Come on Daze.” I asked for a sit/stay on the little platform and waved a treat behind the photographer.

“Great, these are so cute,” The photographer declared. “What were your names again?”

I sighed, this was about to be awkward, “Clementine and Daisy.”

She blinked at me, her brain processing the names and trying to figure out who was the flower and who was the fruit. I took pity on her and clarified before she short circuited and smoke began to pour out of her ears, “I’m Clementine and the dog is Daisy.”

She sucked her lips into her mouth and nodded enthusiastically, perhaps to compensate for her previous reaction, “Um ok, give me just a second to get these printed.”

Within a few moments, she had handed us our badges and I had to admit the outcome was a little better than using some random nerd named Kevin with a cellphone. I attached the clip of the badge to the pocket of my jeans and Daisy’s to her service dog vest. I didn’t normally make her wear it, but it was my first day at the job I desperately needed and they had given me a chance despite my need for assistance so I wanted her to look the part.

Sports had always been one of my passions but I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body, so I embraced the rules, the stats, the analysis. Numbers had order and always made sense to me, but I just wasn’t quick enough to be a statistician. However, the very best thing about sports is all the numbers could make sense, but the underdog could still win. There was no way to measure luck, to measure a human being’s ability to dig within their soul to beat the odds. It was this, the human element, that attracted me to sports.

It was only after a nasty divorce, a complete mental breakdown, and facing the stark reality of starting my life over completely with nothing to show for a quarter century on the earth that I decided to go back to school, graduating with a Bachelor’s in Sports Communication.

Before that,I spent a year in and out of hospital psych wards, sedated while they tried to glue my brain back together. When that hell was over, I was forced to move back in with my parents, becoming their dependent again. I also got Daisy, a service dog to help me juggle depression, anxiety, PTSD, and all the medications I had to take in order to return to society as a semi functional person. With Daze’s help, I was able to go back to school and reinvent myself and now here I was, on the farside of 30 and almost human again. Truthfully, I had no idea what “normal” was but I had decided I was going to be it. I was going to be normal.

I was starting my life over from scratch, as a new college graduate old enough to be the parent of some of my classmates and a psych ward veteran who was probably the subject of several academic papers. I am the product of a really shitty emotionally and physically abusive marriage which left me with a slew of partly recovered emotional wounds, but all of that was still better than what I had been, as my therapist was constantly reminding me.

It had taken many strings pulled by my professors and, unfortunately, my father, the head basketball coach for Denver University, for me to get this job. Even then, I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t been given it because I checked the affirmative action box for being a disabled woman (double the diversity). And by job, I mean, this was a temporary paid internship gig and if the Avalanche executives liked my content the position would be created and then I could apply. Imposter syndrome was something I struggled with daily and my therapist had invested a great deal of time trying to teach me that it wasn’t nepotism, strings my father pulled in Denver, a hiring percentage, or a variety of other things that got me the job. The Avalanche Organization could have said no. They saw my academic projects and were curious enough to create this internship. It was up to me to keep it.

The makeshift photo studio was in the depths of Pepsi Arena, while Human Resources was several floors up in a part of the building that had windows. Having completed my surprisingly good staff photo with Not Kevin, Daze and I stood directly in front of the elevator ready to make our way up and navigate the next part of the new hire process. I was absentmindedly pressing the UP button as if that would make the car arrive faster when the ding sounded its arrival. I was completely unprepared for anyone to actually be inside the elevator, much less a herd of Avalanche players in full game regalia-- down to the blade covers on their skates.

I barely had time to register the half a ton of boisterous testosterone bearing down on us before Daze darted behind me to avoid being trampled. In surprise, I stepped back and felt one of her little furry paws under my heel. She gave a yelp and my knees buckled to avoid putting my full weight on her little toes.

Before I hit the ground, arms were around me and I found my face pressed firmly against the Avalanche logo covering a hard chest protector. To my credit, I managed to turn my head to avoid a bright red lipstick stain on the fabric of the jersey.

Daze whined as I was righted by the ridiculously strong arms I was wrapped in, and the chest I was pressed against stepped back, putting me squarely in front of my savior and his four compatriots. I blinked for a second as I got my bearings and tried to make my mouth move in a way that wouldn’t haunt me at 3 am a decade from now, but my savior spoke first, his voice quickly snapping me back into reality.

“Whoa, your hair is like… blue.” He sounded like the least intelligent frat boy I had ever come across and my nose wrinkled in distaste as I felt my eye twitch.

It was such an inane response that I forgot I was in front of a bunch of professional athletes, most of whom I watched on a regular basis and all of who could now get me fired on a whim. Now I will be the first to admit I put my foot in my mouth a lot; mostly, because there’s no filter going from my speech center to my mouth and I’m not ashamed to say, working in sports, I often felt like the smartest person in the room. “It’s actually more of a navy, but thanks for the commentary Captain Obvious.”

The four players who were mostly blocked by the pair of broad shoulders and helmet, took an audible step back, and so did the set of pads in front of me which was bad for my IQ. The first thing I noticed were his eyes which were the color of the hazelnut coffee I liked to drink in the morning. My face went slack and I promptly forgot everything I’d ever known, including my own name as I stared into their rich depths.

An accented voice that didn’t seem to be attached to a body floated across my vision, “Is she okay?”

“I think so?” The man standing in front of me waved a hand in front of my face.

Daze whined and I swallowed, the world coming back into focus. My voice sounded far away when I spoke, “I’m fine, we’re both fine.”

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144 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

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232 notes - Posted January 5, 2022

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horsesandhockeyplayers · 2 years

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When Life Gives You Lemons -- Part 1