#if you can become a star NHL player over night every one would do it but you fucking can’t

[hockeylovee12]

WHO decided it was a good idea to make Jack and Luke speak to the media tonight? Like who? Like especially Luke he had a shitty game we know that, why did you make him do an interview, he’s not a captain he’s not an alternate, he’s not a star player (not yet) he’s a fucking rookie, how many rookies have a shitty ass game and have to speak to the media. And y’all go off screaming he’s a bust, he would be in the AHL if it wasn’t for his last name, for the love of god stop. Unless you’re going to start comparing him to Jack and Quinn their rookies years I don’t wanna fucking hear, ya he’s not on an 50 goal pace, he’s never played an NHL game in March, he hasn’t been in the league for a fucking year. He’s not Jack he’s not Quinn and he hasn’t been in the league for last 5 years. The mistakes he makes ya they suck, ya they costs us goals, but does that mean he’s gonna go out there and do it in every game? NO so stop fucking bashing him for every fucking thing, when half of y’all tweeting can’t even fucking skate

#luke hughes #this started with me being pissed he was interviewed than it sprialed #but seriously like fuck off #he’s a good player and he can become a great player #defense is the hardest position #if you can become a star NHL player over night every one would do it but you fucking can’t

[misshoneyimhome]

I’m OBSESSED with your prompt list & I want to request everything for Jack, but don’t want to spam you 😭 so I’ll do one to start hahaha

Can you do Jack with the prompt “Can you help me with my tie?” / “Can you zip up my dress for me?” — either one or both, whatever you’re feeling :)) <3

Babe, feel free to spam me anytime 😉 Although, I'm still practicing my writing skills when it comes to Jack H 🤍

But of course - though I did do a bit of a combo of the two 🌺 and in the end, it turned out to be nothing but sweet fluff

Hope you enjoy it 🤍

Word count; 2.1K

[bestfriend!Jack x reader] - again, I know 🙈

・✶ ｡ﾟ

As one of Jack Hughes’ closest friends, you were simply there for him through thick and thin. From the early days of his hockey career to then, as he’d become a big name in the NHL, you saw every success and setback, always giving him your unwavering support and encouragement.

Your bond with the Devils' star player was definitely something special, built on trust, mutual respect, and shared experiences. Together, you faced the ups and downs of life in the spotlight, as well as found solace in each other's company amidst the chaos of the hockey world.

And to put it bluntly, it wasn’t uncommon for people to mistake you as a couple. Although you tried not to post anything on social media, rumours often circulated. Even family members assumed there was something more to the story when he brought you over at almost every holiday family gathering. However, you were nothing more than his best girl friend. Which to him was probably the highest status one could ever get.

Despite Jack's busy schedule and the demands of his career, you just always remained a constant presence in his life, providing stability and comfort. Whether it was cheering him on from the stands at games or simply being there to listen after a tough loss, you were always there when he needed you most.

You even saw every girl who tried their luck with him, and all of them failed to stick around. Though you weren’t really sure why that was always the case. To you Jack was a good guy, busy sure, but good overall and anyone would be lucky to be with him. However, you could also understand that often his demanding lifestyle simply became too much for anyone to handle. And after every time he showed up at your place, you were the support he needed through every breakup.

And Jack cherished your friendship immensely. With you, he could be himself without any pretence, knowing that you'd accept him exactly as he was. He could put on a facade and a guard for the rest of the world, but with you, he knew it was of no use. You always saw right through him, for better or for worse.

So, when Jack invited you to join him at the Devils’ team event, it wasn't a surprise to anyone. Spending such time together had become second nature to you both, a cherished ritual that brought comfort and joy. You'd even spent so much time with his teammates that a lot of them had grown to be your close friends as well. They were almost like the protective brothers you'd never had.

And you, of course, accepted his invitation without hesitation. So, as you got ready for the event together, you felt a sense of excitement in the air, anticipating a night filled with laughter, camaraderie, and maybe even something more.

**

Jack stood in front of the mirror, his face displaying frustration as he attempted to knot his tie once again. Though it was something he'd often do before a match, tonight it just didn’t seem to work out for him. The smooth fabric slipped through his fingers, refusing to cooperate despite his repeated attempts. But then, with a soft sigh, he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the doorway, a knowing smile adorning your face.

"Struggling there?" you teased, slowly moving closer to him.

Turning to you, Jack looked relieved. "Actually, yes. Could you help me with my tie?" His voice held a touch of embarrassment, a contrast to his usual confidence on the ice, which made you chuckle softly.

"Of course," you replied, closing the gap between you and reaching for the silk tie. Your fingers skilfully worked the fabric into a perfect knot in no time. And as you adjusted it, your eyes met his in the mirror, and there was an unexpected shift between you, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

Then once Jack had sorted his tie, his gaze lingered on you, admiring the elegant lines of your evening dress, and he simply couldn't look away, struck by how stunning you appeared.

"Wow, you look amazing, y/n/n," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

A blush crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, a soft smile forming in response. But before you could form a reply, though, you remembered the zipper on your dress.

"Actually, I could use your help too," you confessed, your voice barely audible. Turning slightly, you presented your back to him, feeling a tiny surge of nerves at the intimacy of the request.

And without hesitation, Jack moved closer, his presence sending a wave of anticipation through you. His hands brushed lightly against your skin as he reached for the zipper, the gentle touch surprisingly sparking some kind of awareness between you.

As his fingers softly traced your back, you felt an unfamiliar desire stirring within you, drawing you both a little closer together. And unintentionally, you leaned in a little closer to him, prompting him to gently rest his palms on your waist, as for a brief moment, time stood still, and you admired each other in the mirror.

It was a moment of soft intimacy hanging in the air, and you couldn’t deny that thoughts were starting to form in your mind. Thoughts that had been there before, yet you always just shook them off, as you didn’t believe they’d mean anything - Was there truly nothing more between you and Jack, or had you been fooling yourselves this whole time?

However, with the evening's urgency weighing on both of you, the passing seconds reminded you of the time slipping away. And with a small sigh, Jack reluctantly pulled away, his hands lingering for a moment longer before he finally zipped up your dress.

"We should probably head out," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

And you nodded in agreement, carefully stepping away from him. Yet, despite the pressing schedule, the electric tension between you remained, silently hinting at what perhaps could be.

**

As the night progressed, Jack found himself unable to shake the growing feelings in his heart. And if anything, they only seemed to deepen with each passing moment, fuelled by seeing you effortlessly mingling with the other guests at the event.

"She's looking good, huh?" Luke's voice suddenly snapped Jack out of his thoughts, bringing him back to reality.

"Yeah, she really does..." he replied softly, his gaze still fixed on you from across the room, drawn in by the warmth of your smile.

And Luke couldn’t suppress his amusement and grinned knowingly, nudging Jack with a playful elbow. "So, are you going to make a move or what?"

"What do you mean?" Jack pretended innocence, though his eyes revealed the truth of his emotions.

And Luke had to roll his eyes, not buying Jack's act. "Come on, man, you're practically drooling over her right now."

"I'm not drooling... I'm just admiring how great my best friend looks..." Jack tried to defend himself, but he knew it was futile.

"Sure, sure, but we both know that you're totally checking her out!" Luke laughed, finding the situation more than amusing.

For months, if not years, Luke had had a bet with Quinn about when you and Jack would finally admit your feelings for each other. And not just as best friends. It was obvious to everyone how both of you always tried to act calm and nonchalant, however, there were often hints of something lingering in the back of your minds. Yet, none of you took the step to admit it.

And amidst the brotherly banter, Nico suddenly interrupted with a grin at the sight of their exchange. "What's going on? Who's checking out who?"

"Oh, just Jack ogling y/n," Luke teased, earning a chuckle from Nico.

"I'm not... ogling her!" Jack protested, though the teasing only fuelled his growing attraction.

"Well, I wouldn't blame you if you were. I mean, she looks really hot tonight," Nico chimed in with a mischievous grin. "I mean, if you don't make a move on her, someone else might."

And those words seemed to hit Jack like a splash of cold water, stirring a hint of jealousy in his gut at the thought of someone else showing interest in you. Especially a teammate of his. It was as if it was the push he needed to finally gather the courage to act on his true feelings.

So, as the event neared its end, Jack started to feel a little nervous about speaking his mind, which wasn’t usual for him. But as he prepared to bid farewell, determination surged within him. He simply couldn't let the night pass without expressing his feelings, without taking a chance on what could be.

Standing by the exit of the venue, Jack took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He then reached out, gently taking your hand in his, sending a jolt of electricity through you with his touch.

"Y/n, there's something I need to tell you," he began, his voice trembling slightly with nerves. "Tonight... tonight was different for me.”

“Jack, what do you mean?” you flashed him a crooked smile, slightly unsure what he was trying to say.

“I mean, I think… I think I realised that I have feelings for you, more than just friendship."

His words hung in the air, the weight of them palpable. And as you looked at him, your heart was beating faster than you’d ever experienced. You had to swallow hard as you processed his confession. But then he continued.

"I know this might come as a surprise, and I completely understand if you don't feel the same way," he added with a crooked smile, his gaze searching yours for any hint of a response. "But I couldn't let tonight end without at least trying to tell you how I fe-"

Interrupting him with a surge of confidence, you reached up and tenderly held his face in your hands, pulling him into a gentle kiss. And in that moment, as your lips were connected, Jack felt a rush of emotion engulf him, a sense of completeness and contentment unlike anything he had ever known.

There was a comfortable warmth spreading through him as his mind processed your actions, and though almost completely frozen, he still managed to respond with his hands finding your hips.

And as you slowly parted from the kiss, his heart couldn’t stop racing with a mix of excitement and relief. He looked into your eyes, trying his best to read your thoughts.

"Y/n, I... I," he started, uncertainty evident in his voice.

But you simply smiled softly, your fingers tracing his cheek. "Jack, I've been feeling the same way," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just didn't know how to say it."

Relief flooded through Jack, his tension easing as he released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Really?" he asked, disbelief tinting his voice.

You nodded, a shy smile gracing your lips. "Yes, really."

And suddenly, it was like a giant wave of happiness washed over Jack, filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt in ages. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

"Shit, then I’m really happy I told you," he murmured into your hair, his voice brimming with gratitude.

"Me too," you replied with a light chuckle, planting a kiss on his chest. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but I just didn’t want to risk… you know, our friendship in case you didn’t feel the same."

“Yeah… I guess I’ve just sort of realised… sorry it took so long,” he added with a sweet chuckle.

“Oh, you know, better late than never.”

And wrapped in each other's embrace, Jack knew this was where you belonged. Looking into your eyes, he vowed to do whatever it took to make you happy, to build a future together filled with love and laughter.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Luke and Nico observed the sweet interaction between the two of you. And with a heartfelt chuckle, Luke turned to Nico with a smug expression.

“Guess I can call Quinn and tell him I won the bet then.”

“What was the bet on?” Nico inquired with a chuckle.

“Oh, just that he said they wouldn’t admit anything before one of them was in a serious relationship,” Luke explained. “But I didn’t think they’d ever get that far.”

“And clearly, you were right,” the captain let out a deep laugh.

#my asks #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

[nugnthopkns]

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#i don't love this but here it is!!! #one day i'll like the stories i write #kevin hayes imagine #kevin hayes x reader #kevin hayes fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #sour

[pastrnaks-sainz]

My Whole Life

Pairing: Matt Grzelcyk x female!reader

Type: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: You had always looked at Matt one way. You met him in high school and instantly became best friends. Over time, you’d developed feelings for him. But the thing is, you hadn’t known it until he went to play for the Boston Bruins and you saw him again for the first time in five months.

A/N: Repost of a Grizzy fic I got a while ago because the link decided it didn’t want to work okay here we go 

~~~~

Freshman year of high school was the best year of your life. See, freshman year was when you met Matt Grzelcyk. He was a better, closer friend than the ones you’d had since you were a kid. You did everything together. Not a day went by where you weren’t joined at the hip. Your friends had joked about planning the wedding, both of them only being half kidding.

The friendship you had with Matt survived all four years of high school. You both decided to attend Boston University, Matt with a full ride hockey scholarship and you with one for law studies. Matt always joked that you’d one day leave him for Harvard. Little did either of you know that it was him who would be the one leaving for bigger and better things.

When Matt told you about his contract with the Bruins you could not have been happier for him. You were the first person he told. He told you before he told his family. However excited you were for your best friend, it paled in comparison to his excitement when you get accepted to the Harvard Law Program. ‘My best friend is gonna be a lawyer’, he’d said, the excitement in his voice made you light up like a Christmas tree.

Over time, you’d fallen head over heels in love with Matt and you had no idea until he left to play hockey. You’d been blind to the feelings growing in your heart and in your mind and you had no idea how in love you were.

You hadn’t spent more than two days apart from each other, and now, with you buried in your studies and Matt playing in the NHL, you were apart for six days a week. You managed to get together for coffee or dinner or a movie every Sunday. But all that changed pretty quickly. You passed your Bar Exam and Matt had made a place for himself on the Bruins roster. With everything going on in your lives, you hadn’t seen each other in person in months.

Working for the DA’s office had taken up all of your time as you worked your ass off trying to climb the rungs and leave the DA for a private firm. And Matt? Well, Matt was off becoming a star NHL player. Between both your career paths taking up your entire lives, you’d been relegated to texts and FaceTime calls. They mainly fell between your court cases and his practices and games.

Your boss at the firm had finally taken notice of everything you were doing and forced you to take a week off. You’d been lucky in the fact that it had coincided with the All-Star break. The first thing you did when you got back to your apartment was call Matt. You hadn’t heard his voice in so long, so when he picked up on the second ring and answered with that cheery tone you hadn’t heard in months, you nearly broke down crying.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Matt said. You could nearly hear his smile on the other end of the line as you let yourself fall back to your bed. “Now there’s a name I haven’t seen cross my screen in many a month. How you been?”

“If I see one more dickwad loser drunk drive himself into a telephone pole then sue the bar for emotional trauma I am going to throw myself off a cliff,” you huffed as you desperately tried to ignore the pang in your chest at the sound of your best friend’s laugh.

“That sounds like hell,” he said. “So, why are you calling? Did something happen, is everything alright?”

“God, you are adorable,” you giggled and shook your head. “Everything’s fine, Matt. I just wanted you to know that I was forced to take a week off and I know you’re free this week and I figured it’s time for us to get together. It’s been too long since we’ve done something together.”

“Yes,” Matt said. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Sleeping in for the first time in five months,” you huffed.

“Alright when you wake up I’m gonna pick you up and then we’re having a good old fashioned Matt and Y/N day, okay?” he said with a small chuckle. There was that pang in your chest again.

“Okay,” you said. “Goodnight, Matt. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You woke up the next morning at nine o’clock to the smell and sound of sizzling bacon. Something you hadn’t done since you were in high school. Wait. Bacon. Your roommate was away on a girls’ trip to Vegas.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Matt smiled when you walked into the kitchen. Your chest panged yet again. Something in the back of your mind couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to wake up to this sight every morning.

“I would ask how you got into my apartment but since you made me bacon, I’ll skip on pressing charges,” you said with a smile and walked around the kitchen counter and straight into Matt’s arms.

Matt engulfed you in his arms, holding you tight to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist and took a deep breath, breathing him in. He ducked his head to the crook of your neck and buried his face in your hair. Your heart sped up on its own accord at the physical contact with your best friend. Your mind raced. You had never felt like this when you hugged Matt before. You had no idea where these sudden feelings were coming from and, if you were being honest, it made you nervous.

“I missed you,” Matt mumbled after a few moments of silence. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” you laughed lightly before pulling away from him, despite your heart screaming at you to stay in his embrace for as long as you possibly could.

“So I thought there was no better way to start a classic Matt and Y/N day with a nice, home cooked breakfast. Well, nice home cooked bacon. I uh, I don’t know how to make anything else,” Matt chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d always done that when he was nervous. You never found it adorable until now.

“Well lucky for you I make a mean bagel,” you laughed and reached for the bag sitting next to the toaster. “Still like it burnt to a crisp?”

“Hey,” Matt laughed, bumping your hip with his. “I like it slightly blackened.”

“Burnt to a crisp it is,” you smiled. “So what do you have planned for the day? Do I need to wear anything special?”

“A sweater,” Matt responded as he stepped up beside you at the oven. “I have a fun day planned for us.”

“Can’t wait,” you tossed a grin up at him, still ignoring the pang in your chest.

“Y/N, I swear, I thought he was gonna rip my head off,” Matt laughed as you walked through the lobby after breakfast. “It was terrifying.”

“What did you expect when you decided to fight Deslauriers?” you giggled, locking the door behind you. “Good Lord it’s cold out here.”

“And you don’t have gloves do you?” Matt asked, glancing over at you. You shook your head and shivered. He wordlessly took your hand in his. Sparks ignited from where your skin touched. You shivered again, this time not from the cold.

“So,” you cleared your throat, desperately trying to brush away the thoughts your mind was tossing before your eyes. “Where are we going?”

“I wanna see if you can guess,” he said, tossing a look at you. You raised your eyebrows at him and pursed your lips. “Fine, it’s the first place I took you when you moved to Charlestown.”

“I always thought you were crazy for bringing me to a graveyard,” you laughed as the Uber Matt had ordered pulled up in front of you. He opened the door for you, letting go of your hand briefly as he climbed in beside you.

“Bunker Hill Cemetery, please,” Matt told the driver. He nodded and pulled away from the curb. Matt looked over at you and held out his hand again. You sucked in a subtle breath and laced your fingers with his. He’d never done that before and it had your lawyer senses kicking into overdrive trying to figure why he was doing it now.

“Remember when I tripped over the tree root and tore up my knee?” you asked, pointing to a gnarly, overgrown tree root that had cracked one of the headstones straight up the middle.

“Yeah,” Matt laughed. “You could barely walk, I had to carry you home.”

“Good times,” you sighed, looking around the snow-dusted graveyard. It was creepy, sure, but where you used to be scared of it now, when you were with Matt, you felt safer than you ever had before.

“Next stop?” he asked after you completed your round of the graveyard. You nodded, grinning up at him.

“So I know it’s a little out of the way,” he said as you got into another Uber after hitting all your childhood haunts. “But I thought you might be up for a North End visit?”

“Cannolis from Modern? Absolutely,” you giggled.

“Modern?” he asked with a chuckle. “Everybody knows Mike’s is better.”

“Mike’s? Are you kidding me, Matt?” you gasped. “Every self respecting Bostonian knows Mike’s is a tourist trap.”

“It might be a tourist trap but it damn well has the best cannolis,” Matt protested.

“Did Deslauriers punch you too hard?” you asked, shaking your head. “You’re crazy.”

“Fine, we’ll get cannolis from Mike’s and Modern then go back to my place and have a cannoli taste off then watch movies,” Matt decided. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you nodded, laughing to yourself. “A good old fashioned Matt and Y/N movie night is just what the doctor ordered me to do with my time off.”

“Just you wait,” Matt smirked as the Uber pulled the curb between Mike’s and Modern. “Mike’s is wipe the floor with you precious little Modern.”

“Just you wait,” you retorted. “Modern is gonna beat the crap out of Mike’s.”

“Oh my God,” Matt mumbled, his mouth full of a cannoli from Modern. “I digress, you were right.”

“I was what?” you asked, smirking at him, desperately trying to push the pang that was still in your chest out of your mind.

“Shut up,” Matt laughed, wiping the powdered sugar from his mouth with his sleeve. You glanced up at him to see a spot of sugar still left on the corner of his mouth.

“You, uh,” you paused before reaching over, your fingers hovering just above his skin. “You missed a spot.”

Matt looked at you as you wiped the sugar away. He was shocked. This was the first time he was seeing you in this light. He watched the way your eyes glimmered in the low light of his living room. He had looked at you countless times, seen the way you looked in every light imaginable, and only now, only today after not seeing you for five months, did he realize how completely and utterly in love with you.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “Can- can I kiss you?”

His question took you aback. But your heart and your mind didn’t argue in saying yes.

“Please,” you said, your voice needy.

Matt cupped your cheek and kissed you instantly. You felt yourself melt into him as his lips, chapped, pressed against yours. You and Matt relished in the moment. Neither of you knew just how much you wanted to kiss each other until now. You never thought how amazing it would be until now. You never thought you would find yourself kissing your best friend.

#matt grzelcyk #x reader #matt grzelyck x reader #nhl x reader #hockey x reader #fluff #matt grzelyck fluff #nhl fluff #hockey fluff #imagine #matt grzelcyk imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #one shot #matt grzelyck one shot #nhl one shot #hockey oneshot #fanfiction #matt grzelyck fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 8

November 10th, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was in her hotel room.  

The Leafs had lost to Chicago.  Chicago scored four goals in the first period.  It was a shitshow.  And although the boys rallied back late in the third period, they just couldn’t get that fifth goal to send it into overtime and at least get a point.  William scored two goals – en route to a hat trick – but didn’t get it.  He did get third star of the game though.  Aberdeen knew he was trying to impress his parents and show off in front of his brother.

The team was spending the night in Chicago before leaving late tomorrow for Long Island, meaning that Aberdeen had the day off and could actually go and explore.  She’d never been, and she knew eight or ten hours was not nearly enough to really explore a city, but she thought about taking a city bus tour that hit all the major sites.  Truthfully, she was learning more towards just spending the entire day at the Art Institute of Chicago.  It was on her bucket list.  

After the stress of travelling and the back to back games, she was tired.  She’d taken a long, hot shower before putting on her pajamas and slipping into the hotel bathrobe.  With her hair wrapped in a towel, she ripped open a sheet mask and put it on, massaging it onto her face.  She texted Kasha, who sent her some pictures and videos of Minerva sleeping on her bed, which calmed her down but also made her wish she was curled up with her cat.  Eventually, Aberdeen lay upright in bed, trying to get some reading of Women Talking by Miriam Toews done before she fell asleep.

But then there was a light knock at her door.

She was so tired and so annoyed and so engrossed in her book that she didn’t even bother to look through the peephole to see who it was.  She forgot she was in her pajamas and bathrobe.  She forgot she had an entire sheet mask on her face that made her look like Jason.  She just opened the door, not thinking about anything.

Which made seeing William on the other side of the door all the more frightening.  

He had quite the amused look on his face.  “Hey.”

She shut the door in his face.  She turned around so her back was against the door, internally freaking out, looking around for a means of escape.  She seriously contemplated jumping out the window.  It was only eight floors – that didn’t mean too many broken bones, right?  She could…she could…

“Open the door, Aberdeen,” she could hear him from the other side, his voice low but loud enough that only she could hear.  

“No,” she said, having the wherewithal to finally rip the sheet mask off her face and shove it into the pocket of the robe.  It was still wet, damn it.  A sheet mask wasted.  

“Come on, Aberdeen.”

“What are you even doing here?” she asked.

“Would you rather Brendan find me outside your hotel room or would you rather hide me in the shower where he wouldn’t see me?” William asked rhetorically.  

Aberdeen’s heart and her mind started racing, thinking that Brendan was on the way down to her room or down the hallway or something.  She rushed to open the door and stuck her head out, looking down both ends of the hallway.  William, for his part, slipped past her and into her room.  “Is he here?!” she asked in a harsh whisper.  

“God no.  Brendan’s asleep,” William said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “It’s eleven at night, Aberdeen.  The man needs his rest.”

She looked back at him practically sauntering into her hotel room and shut the door, locking it behind her for full effect.  She crossed her arms to make herself appear angry.  William still had an amused smile on his face.  “I reiterate my question – what are you even doing here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Weren’t you going to dinner with your parents and Alex?”

“That’s done.”

“So, like, don’t you want to spend time with your parents?”

“They have an early morning flight to catch to Dallas to visit Jackie at SMU,” he said.  “They went back to their hotel and went to bed.”

“And shouldn’t you be doing the same thing?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I wanted to see you, minskatt.”

A blush overcame her cheeks.  “Will, this is really inappropriate,” she said, trying to mask it.

“Why?”

“You’re a hockey player in my hotel room,” she felt like she had to spell everything out for him.  “If Brendan finds out he’d freak.  If Kyle or Peter found out, they’d freak.  Hell, if your teammates found out—”

“Even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything,” William interrupted her.

She stopped dead in her tracks.  That was not plausible.  Any single one of them would go to Brendan in a second if she and Will were caught together like this.  In her hotel room.  At night.  Alone.  “I have a hard time believing that.”

“They wouldn’t.  They know that I like you, so they wouldn’t.”

Aberdeen couldn’t respond with anything because she could think of anything to say.  He flummoxed her constantly.  He kept rendering her speechless and she didn’t know what to do about it – didn’t know if she could do anything about it.  She watched as he leaned against the TV stand, crossing his own arms over his chest.  “I’m asking for a third time now – what are you doing here?”

“Was that a sheet mask you had on your face before?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

She gave him major side eye.  “Moisturizing.  The traveling is drying out my skin.”

Will let out a slight chuckle.  He looked past her towards her bed, and she followed his eyes and looked behind her.  “What book are you reading?”

Was he being serious right now?  Had he seriously made his way into her room to ask her about sheet masks and books?  Not like she’d do anything else with him.  But still.  “Women Talking by Miriam Toews.”

“Do women talk in it?”

She audibly scoffed.  “It’s about sexual assault in a Mennonite community.”

Will’s face dropped.  “Oh fuck.”  

Aberdeen couldn’t help but snort as she saw the look on his face.  She tried to cover her mouth and her smile but the attempt was futile.  He looked so embarrassed and it just brought her so much…well, delight.  “God, Will,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back to grab the book.  “You are something else.”

“You like to read, then?” he tried to recover the conversation.

“I have a major in English, Will.  And I want to become a writer.  You can’t become a writer if you don’t read.  Well I mean, you can, but you won’t be very good.  And beyond that, I’ve made it my goal to read the shortlist of the Governor General Awards and the Giller Prize,” she said.  She saw a slightly confused look on Will’s face.  “They’re Canada’s highest literary awards.  They’re like – well, not really, but you’re Swedish, so – it’s like being a Nobel Laureate, but obviously the Nobel is much more prestigious.  I read them too.”

The smile that appeared on his face was so innocent and pure that she wanted to wipe it off his face.  She couldn’t handle it.  “I remember that you want to be a writer.  You told me the first time we met,” he said.  Aberdeen shivered.  “So what are you doing here with the Leafs?”

“In my quest for any type of job, they were the only ones that called,” she informed him.  “No newspapers or magazines came calling, so it was this or bank telling.”

He pushed himself off the TV console, making his way over to sit beside her on the edge of the bed.  He looked over at her.  “I think you’d make a great writer.”

“Thanks, but you haven’t read any of my writing.”

“Can I?”

“No.”

It was Will’s turn to snort.  “Fair enough.  Maybe I’ll get to read it one day.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, smiling down at the book as she held it between her hands, being very careful not to lose the page.  “How was dinner with your parents?” she pivoted, not wanting to talk about herself or her writing anymore.  “I bet you miss them a lot.”

William shrugged his shoulders.  “I’m kind of used to it.  When I was a kid my dad would be gone a lot.”

Aberdeen thought the worst.  “Why?”

William looked at her weirdly.  “My dad was an NHL player, Aberdeen.”  He saw the shock on her face and couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Do you not, like, google these things?”

“Why would I google your dad?  I thought he was just…I don’t know, your dad!” she tried to defend herself.  

“Well, he is just my dad—”

“But he was an NHL player,” she said.  “What team did he play for?”

“A bunch.  He was a journeyman.  Alex and I were actually born in Calgary, but then it was Tampa, Chicago, Washington, Boston, New York…then back to Washington,” William listed off the cities he’d lived in.  “It was a lot of moving around.  A lot of back and forth.  A lot of missing dad.”

Aberdeen could never imagine moving around that much as a kid.  She was very fortunate to have lived in the same house her entire life, however old and small it was.  She knew William’s life growing up was probably very nice – much nicer than hers, in the sense that he had a lot more money with his dad being an NHL player and all – but all of that couldn’t make up for missing your dad because you couldn’t actually see your dad.  The first time Aberdeen realized she actually missed her parents was the grade nine orientation retreat her school ran, when she went to a camp in Muskoka for three days and two nights and got eaten alive by mosquitos.  She couldn’t imagine that feeling happening over and over again.  And not just over and over again…but throughout her entire childhood.  “But Sweden is always home?” she asked, trying to brighten up the mood.  

“Always,” he replied automatically, resolute in his tone.  “In the summers, when we’d be all together in Sweden, and it was just…you know, family time…that was the best.  Our house in Stockholm, or our house in the countryside…it was always amazing.”

Aberdeen smiled at him.  He was so clearly fond of Sweden and fond of his family.  If their Halloween talk didn’t secure it enough, this did.  She wondered how much he missed his siblings on a regular basis; how geographically, they were so far away from each other, but in every other way they were so close.  Much like she and Siena.  She missed Siena every day.

“Hey Aberdeen?” Will’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t kicked me out yet.”

She gave him a look.  He started chuckling at her scrunched up face, still glowing with moisturizer.  “Don’t push it.”

***

November 13th 2019

Aberdeen felt both mentally and physically exhausted as the charter plane landed in Toronto just before midnight.  The Leafs suffered another loss to the New York Islanders, John’s old team (who booed him every time he touched the puck, the savages), even though they battled back again from a goal deficit.  Will scored.  John scored too.  But it wasn’t enough.  Now, the team was officially on a three game losing streak (okay, technically only two if you didn’t count the shootout loss against Philly).  Aberdeen was just…tired.  She had the day off tomorrow to prepare for the Major Donor Dinner that night, worked Friday, and then – surprisingly – a full weekend off, since Brendan wasn’t traveling to Pittsburgh.  

To says she was looking forward to it was an understatement.  

“Who’s driving Aberdeen home?” John asked out loud as he always did when they came back from road trips late at night.  She didn’t know if he’d taken it upon himself as the team captain to spearhead the movement, but she didn’t oppose it anymore.  If they wanted to be chivalrous, she wasn’t going to stop them.  

She usually rode into the city with Morgan, with Bee picking them up.  Twice she’d gotten driven back into the city with Saylor and Kasperi.  She was fully ready to hear Morgan’s voice pipe up like it always did – especially because Bee was always on time and already waiting for them by the time they landed.  She even saw him about to say it, but he was cut off.  “I’ve got it,” Will said immediately, not even looking at her.  Morgan looked back at him, shrugging his shoulders.  That was that.  

Aberdeen noticed he drove a Volvo – of course he would, the Swede.  She put her carry-on in the trunk and slipped into the passenger seat, waving goodbye at Justin Holl who had parked beside Will and was already backing out of his space.  Will slipped into the driver’s seat, starting the car.  He looked over at her, the smallest smile on his face.  “Hey.”

“Hello.”

“You tired?” he asked.

“I’m exhausted.”

“Good,” he said, backing out of the parking spot, making his way out and onto the street.

“Good?”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while,” he said, a smile on his face.

She side-eyed him.  What exactly did he think they were going to get up to in his car of all places?  She was wide awake now.  “Why?”

“You always have your headphones in on the bus or plane when Brendan doesn’t need you.”

“So?”

“So it’s obvious you like music, and I’ve curated a playlist for this exact moment,” he smiled, fiddling around with his phone.  He really shouldn’t have been doing that, since he was driving and it was illegal to do so.  Aberdeen looked as he swiped through Spotify quickly, obviously knowing exactly where he needed to go.  

“What moment is that?” she asked.  

“Driving through Toronto at night,” he said, stopping at the red light.  She chuckled slightly to herself, leaning her head back on the headrest and looking out her window.  Of all the guys on the team, only Will would do something like this.  Bee never made any playlists for driving Morgan home in the middle of the night.  Hell, Saylor didn’t either.  She was more preoccupied with telling Kasperi the exact details of what she’d been up to while he was gone, or telling him where they were going to go for drinks and oysters after they dropped Aberdeen off. “You ready?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“If you put on Drake to drive through Toronto at night, Will, I swear to God…” she warned.

There was a dramatic pause.  The opening notes of Drake’s ‘Passionfruit’ played.  Aberdeen overexaggerated her scoff and disgusted face, and William’s infamous laugh was so loud it could be heard over the music.  “God, William…” she chastised playfully.

“Oh come on!  It’s a good song!” he tried to defend himself.

“It’s one of his better songs, sure.  I’ll give you that,” she said.  “But what a lousy start.”

Will’s jaw dropped.  “Oh, really?  You can think of something better?”

“I can think of a million different songs that are better,” she quipped.  She looked down at his phone sitting in the little cubby and went to grab it.  She scrolled through the list, getting more and more disgusted by the songs and artists he’d added to the playlist.  “Your taste in music is awful,” she scoffed again.

“HEY!”

“It’s true!”

“Okay Miss Superior Music Taste—”

“Okay, first of all, if you’re going to choose a Toronto artist to start a ‘driving though Toronto at night’ playlist, it should be The Weeknd,” she began, typing his name into the screen and swiping to add ‘Starboy’ and ‘I Feel It Coming’ to the playlist.  “Like, where is Tory Lanez?  Where’s Daniel Caesar?  And why is it all rappers?  This is so stereotypical.  You need better music.”

“It doesn’t just have to be people from Toronto,” he said, making a turn.  “And it’s all rappers because I li—”

“Seriously, this is awful.”

“You’re really mean when you’re exhausted,” he quipped.  

“If it doesn’t have to be just full of people from Toronto then I’m hijacking this playlist and making it good,” she ignored his comment, already swiping her fingers all over his screen and typing in name after name.  

Will would glance over occasionally, trying to keep his eyes on the road but finding it hard.  She looked so cute concentrating so hard as Passionfruit played in the background.  He bit his lip, trying to remain composed.  “God, you’re gutting that thing,” he said.

“That’s how bad it is.”

He shook his head playfully.  “You better hurry up.  Passionfruit’s almost over.”  Aberdeen finished off, keeping his phone in her lap as she let Passionfruit end.  “It better be good,” he said.

She shot him a playful glare.  “It’s awesome, thank you very much.”

As ‘Passionfruit’ ended, ‘Bride’ by San Fermin came on.  Aberdeen was immediately pulled into the sounds and beats, closing her eyes and let it wash over her.  William, on the other hand, furrowed his brows.  “What is this?”

“San Fermin.”

“Who?”

She shot him another glare – how many she’d shot him in this car ride alone, she couldn’t even say.  “Can you just listen?”

William gave it about a minute before he began shaking his head again.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t do this.”

“You’re weak.”

“Put on something good this time,” he said as she picked up the phone again.  He switched lanes to get onto the onramp for the Gardiner Expressway.  He saw Aberdeen scrolling through the playlist, finally picking a song.  ‘Green Light’ by Lorde.  “Lorde?  Really?”

“Don’t you dare say a bad word about Lorde,” she warned.  “She’s perfect.  Her music is perfect.”

“You think so?”

“She wrote Pure Heroine at sixteen.  Sixteen!” she exclaimed.  “I would give my left arm to have written like that at sixteen.  I was writing awful, pretentious poetry about stupid boys in my high school at sixteen.  And she wrote that entire album!”

William laughed, her clear enthusiasm and love of Lorde shining through in her words.  It was adorable.  She was adorable.  She was many things, but right now, she was adorable.  “Is she your favourite?” he asked.

“I have a lot of favourites,” Aberdeen admitted.  “But yeah.  She’s up there.  Do you not listen to her?”

William shrugged his shoulders.  “I know Royals.  That was the big one, right?  That’s basically it.”

“Well, you need to listen more.”

“Not the first time someone’s told me that,” he joked, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

Aberdeen bit her lip.  She knew they were in the context of talking about music and her favourite artists, but that was a loaded sentence.  When she and Brendan made their way to the locker room after the Islanders game, she could hear Mike Babcock’s voice from down the hallway.  She’d watched and listened to some of his post-game interviews, and she wasn’t completely ignorant to the fact that he constantly, constantly, backhand complimented William and his skills.  It didn’t matter if William got an assist, got one goal, even two goals – it was like Mike couldn’t say a good word about Will without undermining him somehow.  She remembered the season opener, when William told her “I’m used to it” when she asked about it.  She shifted uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat.  “Will…”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, minskatt.”

She paused to try to collect herself.  “What, like…I mean, I don’t mean to be nosey or whatever, or intrude…but what – I mean…like what kind of like—”

“Spit it out, Aberdeen.”

“What’s the issue between you and Mike Babcock?” she finally asked.  

Will looked over at her quickly, shocked that she’d asked the question.  “Hell if I knew,” he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders.  That was a lie – he did know part of it.  At least, he thought he knew part of it.  “I don’t…I…okay.  Last year,” he began, “the 2018-2019 season.  It was my contract negotiation year.  I went unsigned throughout the summer because I was holding out for a specific number and a long-term deal instead of what we call a ‘bridge’, so like a two or three year deal.  I…I didn’t want to be anywhere else but Toronto, no matter what anyone else said.  I still don’t want to be anywhere else but Toronto,” he explained.  “And so, because of that holdout, I didn’t attend training camp.  I didn’t play basically for the beginning half of the season.  There…there was a lot of drama.  A lot of rumours in the Toronto media – really nasty rumours, some of them.  A bunch of talk about trading me.  It produced this really…I don’t know, this really toxic, like, cloud surrounding me.  A lot of people were angry about it.  But I got my deal – I signed on December 1st, the last day legally possible to be able to play.”

Aberdeen thought back to what he told her about his dad.  How much Will missed him as a kid growing up because Michael would be travelling for hockey.  How much Michael was gone all the time.  How every few years, the family would have to pack up and move to a completely different city, in a completely different part of the country, following Michael on his journeyman hockey career.  Of course William wanted a long term deal.  It was no wonder.  He didn’t want to experience what he had to experience growing up – being shuffled around the league – now as an adult.  

“The media did their job though,” he continued, breaking her train of thought.  “They were relentless.  Malicious.  They turned a lot of people against me – a lot of fans who were influenced into thinking I was a spoiled Swedish brat.  Overhyped, overpaid, waste of money.  A plug.  Getting in the way of hiring a good Canadian boy, forgetting the fact that I was born in Calgary,” he almost smiled to himself, shaking his head.  “So…I don’t know.  I guess Mike didn’t get over my holdout.  Maybe he feels bitter about it.  Maybe he thinks I’m selfish, that I shouldn’t have held out.  Maybe he thinks I’m an overhyped, overpaid plug taking a spot from a good Canadian enforcer or something.  But it’s all hypothetical.  It’s all maybes.  I can’t tell you why, exactly, he always says those things.”

Aberdeen didn’t know any of this.  She didn’t know William held out on his contract.  She didn’t know there was a portion of the city that hated just him specifically.  She didn’t know about bridge deals, long term deals, and about him wanting to be in Toronto – nowhere else.  She didn’t know any of it.  And that’s when she finally realized: that was her exact problem.  This was why she kept making careless comments that made Brendan so upset.  She didn’t know anything about the team; she didn’t know anything about its members, how they got to Toronto, how they liked being here.  She didn’t know the history and barely took time to learn.

“You need to walk into this building everyday knowing and understanding the history of this hockey club beyond just the surface level and what Brendan tells you,” Kyle told her after she went crying to him like a baby.  “But you already know what to do, Aberdeen.  You just need to find it within yourself and do it.”

She needed to understand the team as an institution, but also as a group of guys creating and carrying on the legacy of that institution.  

Now she knew.

“That’s awful,” she said, considering everything he told her.  She couldn’t believe a coach would hold something like that against a player.  “You…you don’t deserve that, Will.  Any of it.”

“I know,” he said, nodding his head slightly.  “You don’t have to tell me that, minskatt.  Mike’s just…listen, he’s a good coach – a great coach.  I mean, he’s won two gold medals.  And he has a very specific system—”

“William,” she interrupted him.  He looked over at her.  “Don’t make excuses.”

He smiled at her – a true, genuine smile.  And as he did, the opening notes of ‘Style’ by Taylor Swift began to play, and a shiver ran up Aberdeen’s spine.  She had to look away – had to – because if she looked any longer at him, she would spontaneously self-combust.  That, or lean over the centre console and do something she would immediately regret.  As she looked out the front, she saw them approaching downtown – all the lights and the skyscrapers illuminating the city, and the CN Tower lit up brightly in red.  “This is my favourite drive,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“This is my favourite drive,” she repeated, speaking up.  “This…the Gardiner going into the city.  Swerving through all the buildings.  All the lights.  And this song is perfect for it.  Absolutely fucking perfect.”

William continued to smile at her, looking between her and the road as ‘Style’ continued to play.  The riff, the beat…everything was perfect.  She was busy focused on the view, and on the beat of the song, singing it lightly to herself, her voice getting above the volume of the song only minimally.  She even took out her own phone and began recording the drive and the lights, no doubt to post on Instagram later.  She looked perfect.  She was perfect, at least to him.  He needed to utilize every ounce of self-control he had in him as he continued to watch her.  “This is really hard,” he said out loud, breaking somewhat.

“What?  Listening to Taylor Swift?”

He laughed.  “No.  All I really want to do is reach across the dash and hold your hand but I know I can’t.”

She blushed, looking down at her hands instead of looking at him.  She always had a few rings on – a few dainty ones, stacked, and one her mom gave her that once belonged to her grandmother – and she began playing with them nervously.  He signalled to get off at the appropriate exit.   “Will…”

“I know, I know,” he said.  He was biting his lip down, hard, probably to stop him from saying or doing anything else.  “I’m sorry.”

The rest of their ride was silent, since it wasn’t much longer until he reached her condo.  When they finally arrived, she made sure he knew he didn’t have to get out of the car when he popped the trunk for her to get her carry-on.  She rolled it back to the passenger window.  “Thanks for the ride Will,” she smiled.

“Will I see you at the dinner tomorrow?” Will asked out the window, leaning over the centre console.

She paused for a second.  He knew about that?  She thought it was an office personnel only event.  “You’re going?”

“Of course I am,” he smiled.  

She rolled her eyes.  “Of course you are.”

“Brendan likes to shuffle some of us out as a surprise for the donors.  It’ll be me, John, Jason, and Mitch,” he explained quickly.  “So I’ll see you there?”

“Yes.  You’ll see me there.”

#william nylander #william nylander imagine #william nylander fic #william nylander fan fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs fan fic #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #the president wears prada series

[puckngrind]

What’s In a Name: 1 - J Toews

Summary: Bekah heads to the 2015 All-Star game in Columbus where she meets Jon.

Warnings: mentions of break up, swearing, smut

Word count: 3205

Series masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Numb.

Numb was the word Rebekah finally landed on to describe her state of being. She knew it wasn’t grief. She felt that emotion rip through her soul in waves when thinking of her grandfather who passed away two years prior. This wasn’t that or pain and she knew it.

Her boyfriend of the last four years walked into their shared apartment two days after Christmas in 2014 as she was cleaning up the holiday decorations dancing to the N’Sync Christmas album. He announced he was done with their relationship and moving in with his coworker that night. Rebekah had convinced herself that this man was the one she would marry and spend the rest of her life with. Now the cold, numb feeling she felt said maybe that she willed herself to the feelings of wanting to be married and the thoughts of marriage was not due to the actual love she thought they shared.

“You need to eat Bekah.” Brynn shoved eggs and bacon in front of her face. “And we are going back to your place today to remove the asshole’s presence from it. Got it, Bekah?” Her best friend’s hand landed on Bekah’s in that mom kind of way. To be honest, Brynn was kind of like a second mom. She was older but the two hit it off from the moment they met. Brynn was in accounting and Bekah in marketing at a same firm in Columbus, Ohio. They were work wives if you asked those who interacted with them the most.

“Thanks Rin.” Bekah was the only person to call her a nickname which was a running joke since Brynn’s name was chosen specifically because it did not have nicknames. Of course, Bekah found one and Brynn secretly loved watching her mother flinch when she heard it used.

The two headed over to the Bekah’s apartment after breakfast. “Maybe I should just move? Break the lease?” The realization that she would never feel at home again started settling in as she watched Brynn pack up the pictures from over the fireplace and moved towards bedroom.

“You can come live with us until you find a new place. Derek mentioned it in bed last night.” Brynn and Derek were the cutest married couple Bekah knew. “Plus the team is on a roadie so we can have the house to ourselves to burn things if ya want, drink wine, and of course, eat Jeni’s.”

Derek was a trainer for the Columbus Blue Jackets. He traveled with the team which Brynn sort of loved because she could host nights in when he was out of town but hated that he was gone so much. Bekah knew she hated to be alone but would never admit to it. There was a perk Bekah enjoyed from being friends with Brynn and Derek. She was always the one who went to games with her bestie. While Bekah wouldn’t call herself a die hard fan, she loved the atmosphere of the arena. Hockey was something that amazed her for a multitude of reasons. For starters, the way these giant men skated so gracefully while all 5’7” of herself somewhat athletic self could hardly stand on ice skates. Then they hit pucks and opponents so impressive to watch.

“You just need to get back out there.” Brynn handed Bekah a glass of wine while settling into the couch to watch the last game of 2014.

“I don’t know Rin. I kinda think I need to be alone for awhile. Find myself or whatever.” Bekah sipped her wine and took in the game.

“I’m sure Derek could introduce you to one of the single guys on the team.” Brynn nods to the television. “No strings attached there. You know most of them go home for the summer.” Brynn giggled as she watched her best friend’s face contort.

“Holy shit Brynn! No. NO! Talk about awkward. And they are either married or way young, right?” Bekah barked out.

“Well the ones I’m thinking of are all 21 or older...and maybe you just need to get under someone new, that’s all I’m saying.”

“And a pro hockey player is your solution? Like they would even give me the time of day.” Bekah pulled at her french braid then shoved her empty hand deep into her hoodie attempting hide her insecurities. “I’ve been single for what, five days, friend. I don’t need anyone new right now.”

“Well you should see the way some of the boys look at you. Boone comes to mind.” The gasp out of Bekah’s mouth was enough for Brynn. “When you are ready, just let me know.” She eyed her best friend then dropped the topic for now.

January brought a new chapter. Bekah found a place she loved and swore off men for the near future.

“You are coming to the All Star things with me. Derek already got you an all access pass so you cannot say no. He only gets two.” Brynn announced the week before the All-Star break. She tried to convince Bekah to go with them on vacation but Bekah was already feeling like the third wheel in the few weeks since the breakup and said no.

“That sounds fun.” Brynn’s mouth dropped open when Bekah didn’t fight the announcement.

The city was buzzing and finally felt like a hockey town. Bekah picked Brynn up and the two fluttered around the arena district before taking in the activities on the concourse then headed below to go see Derek. The amount of people in the tunnels was crazy but soon the two found Derek. Bekah pointed to a place to meet and wandered off while the couple spoke.

“So are you related to a Jackets player?” A deep voice boomed above Bekah’s head.

“Huh?” Bekah turns and looks up at the tall, handsome man decked out in All-Star gear. She noticed a 19 on his sweatshirt meaning he was a player.

“Your shirt makes me think you are a Columbus fan and since you are down here...I’m assuming you are a relative. Am I wrong?” His serious face cracks into a slight smile.

“Oh! I’m friends with the trainer.” Bekah replies finally pointing into the sea of people.

“Nice. I’m Jon. And you are?” Jon places his hand out to shake Bekah’s hand. She places her hand in his.

“Rebekah. Bekah to most. Nice to meet you.”‘ she looks up into his dark brown eyes. “So, which team do you play for?” She moves her hand out of his and flicks her finger up towards the number.

“Blackhawks.” Their conversation quickly turning into Chicago and how each enjoyed the city. “Well, Beks, I have to go. Can I find you later?” Jon winks while touching her forearm slightly and she nods feeling her cheeks turning pink before he walks off towards the locker room.

“Oh. My...GIRL!” Bekah hears Brynn almost at squeal level as she turns around. “You were just talking to Jonathan...eekkkk!” Brynn does a little dance and her words become incomprehensible.

“He’s nice.” Bekah smiles looking around to see if he’s in view.

“And single!” Brynn coos.

“Don’t Rin.” She gives Brynn a death glare and that just stop look.

“I’m not...just stating a fact. Let’s go find our seats.” Brynn grabs Bekah’s hand and leads her back up to their glass seats.

The skills competition went on and Bekah noticed every chance Jon got he skated towards where she was sitting. He’d wink or nod and then skated back. Just a little “Hey, I see you” before returning to his captain duties.

“I’m not saying anything but I see you two.” Brynn leans into her best friend. Bekah can feel the heat in her cheeks spreading and with his next stop in front of her she tightened her thighs together trying to will away the way he made her entire body tingle in just how he looked over at her. “Let’s head down before the crowd gets up!” Brynn announced at the last commercial break. The two got up and headed down to meet up with Derek.

“So is there a good place to get a drink around here besides my hotel’s bar?” Jonathan leans down into Bekah’s ear making her heart skip a beat and her body jump. “Sorry, did I startle you?” Brynn’s glowing recommendation of him as well as the way he spoke to her caused Bekah to say yes to drinks at a bar around the corner.

Drinks led to standing outside his hotel room. “Jon.” Bekah grabbed his wrist with a confidence she didn’t think she possessed. His gaze moved from the door to her hazel green eyes. “What are you expecting when we go through that door?” His lips pressed together then curled into a smirk.

“No expectations. Promise. Just come in.” He easily broke her grip and wrapped his hand in hers leading them through the door. Bekah wasn’t sure she knew hotel rooms this large even existed in Columbus and she takes in the space and including the large window where she can see the city lights dancing off the Scioto River.

“I’m pretty sure this is larger than my apartment.” She finally slinks out of her jacket and looks over to where Jon has disappeared in the bedroom.

“You live alone?” He comes out pulling on a t-shirt and Bekah catches the gasp is her throat with the glimpse of his abs.

“Uh, yeah. Fuck. Yes. Sorry. Recently dumped.” She fiddles with her hair and looks for the closest chair before her legs give out.

“I’d say I’m sorry about the break up but I’m not.” Jon places his arms on either side of the chair Bekah just sat in flexing while leaning in. “His loss...my gain.” He presses his lips on her forehead before retreating to the couch across the sitting room. “So what do you do for a living?”

“Marketing. I’d ask you but...” Bekah giggles feeling herself relax while looking up at Jon’s serious face. “I do have some questions about your job.”

“Open book.” Jon opens his hands to a motion her to continue.

“How long have you played in the NHL? Same team? Like your captain?” The line of questions made Jon crack a smile.

“Started in 2007. Always with the Blackhawks. And his nickname is Captain Serious.” Jon pulls his lips together like he does in interviews and looks over at the gorgeous woman who seems to be processing the information.

“Captain Serious huh? Sounds fun.” Bekah crosses her legs cursing her body for the feelings pulsing throughout. “How often are you in Columbus?”

“Once a season. We only play them twice. Played them in December and then they play in Chicago in March I think.”

“Nice. Well, I think I’ve sobered up enough and you have an All-Star game tomorrow.” Bekah abruptly states and starts for the door. Jon quickly catches her hips and stops her dead in her tracks.

“What just happened there? We were talking and then your shoulders wiggled and you announced you are suddenly leaving.” Jon holds Bekah firm in his grasp. His gaze moves from her soft dark golden brown locks framing her face to her eyes which told him her actions and her desire were fighting. Lightly pushing Bekah’s loose hair behind her ear he looks deep in her eyes. She blinks trying to stay focused on her thoughts that she was leaving.

“I don’t know. My heart tells me one thing and my body is telling me another. And my mind says I should kill Rin for even taking me tonight.” Bekah looks down and notices how close their bodies are.

“Who’s Rin?” Jon pulls her body even closer.

“My best friend. Redhead I was sitting with. Her husband is the trainer, Derek.” Bekah breathes out.

“So that’s who I have to thank?” Jon runs his fingers over Bekah’s arm and across her collarbone pulling her chin up to look back at him. “I won’t make you stay but I also don’t want you to leave. No expectations is true. We also can do whatever here tonight and then you don’t have to see me again if you don’t want to.”

“One night stands aren’t my thing...well...actually I’ve never had one before but I’m assuming they aren’t.” Bekah’s admission makes Jon laugh which she feels throughout her entire body.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a one night thing...and I’m not a one night stand person either Beks. Can I kiss you and start from there?” Jon’s thumb runs across her cheek and he feels the twitch pulsating from his briefs.

“Yes.” Bekah hardly spoke before Jon’s lips were on her’s and she deepens it as she stepped into him placing her hands in his chest clutching at his shirt. His hands coming up and holding the small of her back and the cradling her neck. She felt him growing between their bodies. Breaking for air Bekah huffs out, “How do I turn you on?” The admission was self doubt about how average looking she felt and how damn sexy he was.

“Beks, you are fucking gorgeous!” Jon kisses her again and she shakes him off. “No really. Distracting as hell when I was trying to be a captain of the team tonight. Please tell me you aren’t sitting that close tomorrow. My team needs to win this thing.”

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Bekah fumbles on the words before Jon’s lips were on her again.

“Yes, and I’d like to show you how gorgeous you are if you just stay.” He starts shuffling their attached bodies towards the bedroom.

“I’m not doing the walk to shame tomorrow.” She starts moving her feet with his.

“You can borrow sweats so I’m guaranteed to see you again.” With that Jon placed her body on the bed. “Now can we get rid of some of these clothes?” His finger tips run along the inside of the hem of her sweatshirt. The slight nod she gave him was enough for him to discard both of their shirts. He made his way down to his knees pulling her jeans off slowly leaving Bekah in her light blue matching bra and panties. The sight made him jump into action. “Fuck you are even more beautiful.” She bats her eyelashes at the compliment.

“You are very...very....fit.” She runs her hands down his abs and he chuckles. “Handsome. Well both. Damnit I’m bad at this. I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t and don’t be.” Jon pulls her leg up and kisses down to her knee pulling his sweats off with the other hand. Her eyes widen when she sees how stained his boxer briefs are. “See. Definitely doing something right.” He nips at the meaty part of her thigh and she flops her body on the bed. “Does that mean I can continue Beks?”

“Yes.” She places her hands over her face as Jon’s fingers pull at her panties moving them down her legs exposing her core to him. He kisses back up and lands on her clit. Bekah moans out of the relief and Jon laughs while moving his tongue to elicit more noises out of her. His fingers slide in and curl causing Bekah’s hand to fly up into his hair.

“Tell me if you don’t like something, m’kay?” He pulls up to move her legs onto his shoulders and her body further into him.

“It feels amazing. It’s just been awhile.” She admits as he continues his pumping in and out while scissoring his fingers to stretch her out.

“We’ll go as slow as you want. Promise.” He kisses her clit again and sucks causing an orgasm to rip through Bekah’s body. She moans out his name and he moves away.

“Don’t stop. Fuck. Don’t stop.” She lifts up to look down at him. Face glistening and a look of accomplishment from how quickly he was able to make her come unglued.

“So maybe not that slow.” Jon returns to licking through her folds and is stopped by Bekah’s hand tightening in his hair.

“Can you...I don’t know how to...never mind.”

“No, talk to me. Sex is better when you talk. Where to you want me?”

“Inside of me. I want you up here.” Bekah feels the heat returning to her face as she made her request. “Unless you want me to...” she eyed his briefs again as Jon stands.

“No, I definitely want to fuck you now.” He climbs onto the bed and pushes both of their bodies up the bed freeing himself of the last piece of clothing. “May I?” He pulls at the strap of her bra and Bekah arches her back to allow him to pull it off with easy. Kissing her breasts and then her lips Jon grunts. “Ready?” He leans up as she nods for him to inch into her core. Bekah’s back arches as Jon lowers himself inside. She would never admit to anyone how long it’s been since she’s had sex and it felt so good to have his weight on top of her. Bekah wraps her legs around him and Jon finds a rhythm that makes both of them moan with each thrust. Then it happened. Both reaching their highs in unison. A slew of swears mixed with praises drop out of Jon’s lips then he collapses on top of Bekah.

“Wow. How did that happen?” Bekah huffs out while her fingers run across Jon’s sweaty shoulders and across his lips.

“How did what happen?” Jon’s chest moves in and out trying to even his breathing.

“We...together...” she breathes out.

“You’ve never climaxed with someone? Together?” Jon pulls up and takes in Bekah’s blissed out yet confused look.

“I’m just gonna shut up now.” Bekah’s hand flies over her eyes.

“No. Remember, sex is better when you talk. And we aren’t done.” Jon moves her hand and flexes his abdomen sending shock waves through Bekah’s body.

“So, no.” Bekah whispers. “I’ve never orgasmed at the same time as my partner. That was amazing feeling. You are amazing.”

“You are too. Trust me. Fucking amazing.” His lips ghost her skin as he rolls off of her. “Beks, so good.”

“You are the only person who has ever called me that which is funny.” She kisses the top of his head as he rests on her chest.

“Yeah. Why is it funny?” His fingers walk down her hip.

“Because I do the same thing. Make up nicknames for people.” He laughs at her admission. “Rin for example is Brynn. I’m the only person who calls her Rin. Not even her husband calls her anything besides pet names and Brynn.” Jon feels Bekah’s body relax and he smiles.

“And do I get a nickname then?” He kisses her stomach.

“Maybe. It’s more of an organic thing. With time.”

“More time. I see. Then can you come back here tomorrow too? After the game?” He looks up at Bekah.

“Yeah I guess that would make this not a one night stand, huh?” Bekah’s lips turn up and Jon laughs loudly.

“Yeah.” He rolls her over on top of him. “Definitely not one at all.”

#what’s in a name fic #WIAN #tazer me 19 #j toews fic #jonathan toews fic #jonathan toews

[myhockeyworld87]

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 1

Word Count: 3,296

POV: Starts with Reader and switchs to Crosby

Warning: Language

Notes: Ok so I’ve wanted to do a Crosby series for awhile and this idea has been stuck in my head. I’m not sure how long this series will be, kind of just seeing where it will go. Hopefully you’ll all stick around and see where this goes.

READER POV

It was September of 2015, that was the first time Sidney Crosby met the woman who would change his life; only he didn’t know that then. He first saw you at Marc-Andre’s house, when you were standing there talking to Flower’s wife, Veronique. He didn’t know that a chance encounter at the same salon had led to you and Vero becoming best friends. What he did know was that you had to be one of the most beautiful women he ever saw.

You were wearing a pair of white shorts with a navy peplum off the shoulder top. To Sidney, you looked gorgeous, cute and casual; not really trying too hard knowing you were at a party with a room of NHL players. He could already see all the young single guys on the team sniffing around you. He couldn’t really blame them, considering where his thoughts had drifted the moment, he laid eyes on you. Wanting to know more about you, he made the decision to introduce himself. “Great party Vero, thanks for having everyone here before the season gets underway.”

“Yeah sure, it really wasn’t anything. Marc-Andre and I were glad to do it.” Sid shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for his friend to make an introduction to you. Veronique finally took pity on him after a minute or two. “So Sid, this is my friend (Y/N). (Y/N) this is Sidney Crosby.”

You held out your hand to him, and he took. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Sidney…or Sid…I mean everyone calls me Sid…so if you want…” You hadn’t really intended to say his name, and it seemed like he just realized that as a small blush crept up his cheeks.

“Well, Sid it is, then.” And then you added, just to put him at ease. “Everyone calls me (Y/NickN), so feel free.”

  That comment seemed to put him a little bit more at ease. “So how do you and V know each other?” You proceeded to tell him how you and Vero met at the salon and bonded over the same Starbucks order. When she found out you were in marketing, she asked to pick your brain for her children’s clothing line, she was starting with Catherine Letang. The three of you became fast friends, going to brunches and dinners; so it was natural when they invited you to this pre-season get together. The conversation with Sidney was so natural neither one of you noticed that Veronique had left the two of you alone. Sid talked a lot about hockey, but you really weren’t surprised, as the face of the NHL and one of Pittsburgh’s premier athletes; you expected as much. What you were surprised about was when he switched the topic of conversation to history. It was as if he knew you were a history buff.

You found yourself talking about your last trip to Europe, where you tried to take in as many historical sites as you could, and Sid chimed in with some of his favorite places. It wasn’t until both of you had an empty glass that you realized you’d passed the last couple of hours just chatting essentially about nothing with Sidney Crosby.

“So, can I get you another drink?” He asked staring at your empty wine glass.

“Yes, please.” He took the glass and headed inside the house.

Catherine was the first one to sneak over to your side. “Looks like you and Sid are hitting it off.”

“Oh stop. We’re just talking is all.” Grant it, it was probably one of the best conversations you’d had with a guy in a long time. “I mean…well, he’s Sidney Crosby and I’m just…well, I’m just me.”

“Oh my god (Y/N), you have no idea how absolutely great you are, and Sid would be lucky to be with you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I’m not going to get my hopes up. It’s literally one conversation.”

“Fine, but don’t mind me if I give it a little nudge in the right direction.” Catherine raised her eyebrows as Sid came back with the wine.

“So where were we, was it Rome, Paris or London?” You smiled at his cute little joke, as the two of you continued talking. By the end of the night, you felt like you were floating on cloud nine. He walked you to your car, but never really made a move; which was both sweet and confusing at the same time.

By the time you made it home, you convinced yourself that the whole night really didn’t exist. This was only confirmed when you didn’t hear from him the following week, not that you really expected him to call, but it set the tone for next time you saw him. Which ended up being after the first home game of the season when everyone went out to celebrate the win. You’d ended up at the game with Veronique and Catherine, so it was only natural when you went out to the bar with them afterward.

Sid was casual and maintained a safe distance around you. It felt kind of weird after the great evening you’d had before, but if that’s the way he wanted to play it, so be it; you were not one to go chasing after someone that didn’t want you. So, you spent most of the evening talking and laughing with Beau. And so went most of the season. You’d basically become an honorary wag, just without being a wife or a girlfriend of a player. You were at most home games and ended up going to several events that involved the team. Each time, Sid was polite, but things never went back to the way they were the first night that you met.

As the season went on, you got a behind the scenes look at what it was like to either be married to or dating a player and if you were being honest; you were glad things with Sidney hadn’t progressed. It was stressful and you saw what a toll the long road trips and constant on the go schedule took on relationships. It wasn’t until later in the season though, that you truly saw how difficult being a significant other could be. Marc-Andre had gone down, after taking a puck the helmet. Everyone in the arena could tell something wasn’t right, and as you saw him get help skating off the ice Vero grabbed your hand for support. There was no news, no one went running down to the tunnel to see what was going on and no one called to say what had happened. You literally just sat there telling your friend that things would be fine. It wasn’t until after the game was over that you found out he had suffered a concussion and was being taken to the hospital for further evaluation. Since it was his second of the season, the Pens were taking every precaution possible with their star goalie. The question in your brain though, was why someone hadn’t told his wife that.

A week later when you, Vero and Catherine were having dinner you questioned them about it. The answer coming back that it’s just the way things work. “Well, I think that’s stupid. They should have a person that keeps in contact with you guys and lets you know what’s going on. I mean what happens if it’s at practice do you get a call then?”

“Not usually, unless it’s from one of the other guys.”

“See that’s just messed up. There should be someone, I don’t know like a…what’s the word I’m looking for?” They both exchanged a confused look with one another as if they had no idea what you meant. “A liaison, that’s it.” To which they stared at you as if you grew three heads. “I don’t mean it like that, like a go-between. Someone that helps with communication and such.”

“I totally agree, but it seems like no one has any time to do that,” Vero told you. “They’re too busy playing the game and working on the injured player to think about us who are sitting there worried sick out of our mind.”

“So, they should create a position. I mean I’ve seen a couple places where the organization is falling short on things and you guys seem to be stepping in.”

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked.

“Well like when the WBS players get called up there’s nowhere for them to go, but a hotel, unless they end up staying with one of you guys. If you had a liaison there, that person could facilitate a place for them to stay and stuff. I mean other than just getting them here. They could do the same for any players that get traded as well.”

You seemed to have both Vero and Catherine sold on this idea. Though for some reason you didn’t think you were selling anything, this was just more like a little rant because you’d seen how upset Vero had been when her husband got hurt. The three of you hashed out all kinds of details about it the entire night. What you didn’t expect was the phone call you received, several days later, from Mario Lemieux’s office asking you to come in. You assumed it was about the position you’d mentioned to Vero and Catherine, but also expected them to be there. However, it was quite evident they weren’t when you finally went to talk to the legendary NHLer.

You’d been introduced to him before at parties, but never truly sat down and had a conversation with the man, and even though you’d met some famous people in your life; you were still a bit intimated meeting Mario. “Have a seat (Y/N), I assume you have an idea why I called you in?”

“Well, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I would say it has to do with the lack of a position in your organization that I talked about with Veronique and Catherine.”

“Yes, they both called me, as well as their husbands and were quite excited about the prospect of us implementing this into the team. Honestly, I can’t believe we hadn’t thought about it before.” You never expected Mario to say something like that. “When I spoke to my wife about it, she agreed that it would’ve been something that eased her mind when I was playing, especially later in my career. So tell me a bit more about it?”

You then proceeded to highlight some of the situations the girls and you had discussed previously. “It might not be a full-time position, more something that could be distributed out to a couple different people who are already on staff.” You added that part because truly you didn’t know, this was really uncharted waters for you.

“I disagree. I can see this being a very full-time for someone. I would expect them to be at every practice, every game, both home and away, just the way our training staff is. Plus, there would be all the outside interaction as well, like contacting people we’ve just traded and getting them settled; not to mention transitioning the WBS players as you said.” When you looked at it that way, you supposed that the job would definitely be over forty hours a week for whoever took it over. “It’s why I want you to take the position.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You’d heard what he said but you really hadn’t comprehended it.

“This is your idea and a hell of a one at that. You seem to have the vision of it, and I can’t see anyone better to run it.” To say you were flabbergasted was an understatement. Never did you anticipate that this was where your conversation with Mario would go. “Obviously, there will be kinks that need to be worked out, and who better to iron them, then you.” You simply nodded your head, still digesting the whole idea. “You already have a great rapport with the team and their significant others, so there’s already a trust level there. Which is something I feel the job would need.” You had to agree about that factor, though you hadn't thought about it until he brought it up. “I’m not saying this a lifetime position, but it’s definitely something I want to try for at least the next year or more. So, what do you say are you in?”

Were you? Part of you was dying to take the job, it would be something so completely different than what you were doing now, but then your current job paid you pretty well so you weren’t ready to give that lifestyle up for the unknown. Mario must have seen your hesitance. “Look, I’m going to make it worth your while.” He scribbled down a figure, sliding the piece of paper over to you. You couldn’t hide your reaction when you saw the amount scratched out on the paper. It was definitely more than you were making now, but there was still that unknown factor of where you would be in a year.

Weighing the options out in your mind, you decided that this was a once in a lifetime chance. You held your hand out to Mario, saying, “It looks like you’ve got yourself a new staff member, Mr. Lemieux.”

“Welcome aboard (Y/N) and from now on it’s Mario.” Later, after you went over the details of when you would start, which you both decided would be after you left your current job; you walked out of the office looking forward to what new adventures lay ahead, for you had an idea it was going to be very interesting.

  SID’S POV

After that first night that you’d met (Y/N), you literally couldn’t get her out of your head. She was the last thing you thought about that night and the first thing that came to your mind when you woke up. Maybe it was how incredible she looked last night or the way she carried on a conversation with such passion, but you couldn’t seem to get her out of your brain. It was the reason you were late for practice, as you found yourself lying in bed just a little bit longer daydreaming of when you would talk to her again.

All through drills, you couldn’t get her off your mind. Wondering when you should call her; was today too soon? What you didn’t notice was that you’d missed half your shots, made extremely sloppy passes during the powerplay drill and practically had a puck hit you in the head as you were thinking of all these things. Geno, finally skated up to you, tapping your helmet with his stick. “Earth to Sid. Where you at today?”

“Sorry, Geno. Guess my mind really isn’t in the game today.”

“Well, you better get it together. Season is starting soon.” Geno was right, if (Y/N) could occupy your thoughts after one conversation, what would happen after one date, and if you were worse after one date, what would happen if you were actually in a relationship. It was that thought that convinced you not to call her. There would be time for relationships when hockey was over. So, (Y/N) might be the perfect woman for you, but if it was meant to be she would still be there when your career ended.

Still, it was hard to see her out at the team get-togethers. She’d practically became a member of the group. Of course, you tried to be nice, but you could tell that when you didn’t call her after that first night; she’d taken the hint and kept her distance. Still, it was hard to watch her laugh at something Jake or Schultzy would say. Harder yet to see her touch Beau’s arm in an intimate way.

It may have been killing you inside each time you saw her, but you knew it was better for your career this way. If there was any silver lining to this, it was at least you didn’t have to see her all the time. There were times when she came to the games, dressed all cute in jeans and a sweater, and you wanted nothing more than to take her home with you those nights, but (Y/N) wasn’t the kind of woman you took home for the night and then forgot about. She was too much of a distraction, so you tamped down your lust for her and focused solely on hockey. That was until you walked into the film room and she was standing there with Mario. Seeing her at parties and the bar was expected, but having her invade your work-life caught you off guard. There wasn’t a chance to ask her what she was doing here, as players filtered in and she remained in conversation with Mario.

Once, everyone was settled Coach Sullivan turned things over to the owner. “I know you all know (Y/N), so I’ll save the long introduction, but I’m sure you’re wondering why she’s here.” It was the question foremost in your mind. “I’ve hired her on as the team’s new Personal Players Assistant. I know you’re probably wondering exactly what this position entails, so I’m going to let (Y/N) fill you in on that.”

“Hi guys, I know most of you never thought you’d be seeing me here that’s for sure, and on the other hand, a couple of you may already know about this. This position was brought about because of the lack of communication between the team, players and their significant others when there is an injury. I’m basically going to start off being a liaison or go-between for you guys, along with a bunch of other things, like…” You sat there listening as (Y/N) talked about her new job with the team, though you wouldn’t lie it was hard to pay attention when she looked so damn beautiful. As she spoke, you couldn’t help but watch the way her lips moved and couldn’t help imagining how they would feel on your skin. You closed your eyes in hopes that would make your mind stop wandering, only it served to have other images pop into your head. Thoughts of those lips wrapped around your cock, as she knelt before you looking up from between your lashes, permeated into your brain. Your eyes flew open and it was then that you realized you’d missed half of what she said.

“So on that note, I have these papers here for you guys to fill out and get back to me.” She handed them over to Rusty, and he took one and started passing the rest. “Hopefully, this crazy idea will end up being advantageous for everyone and you won’t get too sick of looking at my mug at every practice and game.” Wait did she just say she was going to be at every practice…and game? Shit, you should’ve been paying attention instead of daydreaming about this woman. “If you guys have any questions, my contact information is on the paper, and my office is just down the hall. I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

“Thanks (Y/N). I’ll make sure these get back to you.” Coach Sullivan said and then she and Mario slipped out of the room. You stared at the paper in your hand, seeing nothing but (Y/N)’s face staring back at you. How were you going to make it through every day seeing her face, her body? The better question was how were you going to concentrate on hockey with (Y/N) around you? There was only one answer, and that was you were going to have to avoid her at all costs.  

#Not So Dangerous Liaison Series #Sidney Crosby #sidney crosby imagine #Sidney Crosby Imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #Pittsburgh Penguin Imagine #Pittsburgh Penguins fanfic

[officialthiamlibrary]

Hey! Do you know of any where one or both of them play a professional sport?

So sorry for the delay, but we are ready with our finds! These are what we could find, but if we are missing any then please let us know and we will add them to our list! 

All the Quads Are My Friends by never_love_a_wild_thing (Teen | Complete | 10K)

Tags: AU - Ice Skating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in love, Social Media

Summary: Liam and Theo go to Figure Skating Worlds in Milan, ready to prove themselves to the skating world and end up falling in love along the way.

A Peek Inside: “Theo!” Liam shouted, “You can’t just post pictures of me when I’m sleeping!”

“Aw, but you were so cute, though!” Theo smirked at him. Liam decidedly did not blush. “I don’t think you can even see the drool in that picture.”

Liam gaped at him, trying to figure out how to express his unbridled fury without actually killing anyone. “I do. Not. Drool.” He gritted out.

Breaking The Ice by Bookwyrm (Teen | Complete | 8.8K)

Tags: AU Hockey, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Coming Out

Summary: Theo and Liam used to play for rival hockey teams. Things got explosive everytime they shared the ice, but now they've both been traded to the Beacon Hills Wolves.

A Peek Inside: Theo sat on the ice, and gently pulled out the tissues. When no blood flowed he asked, "What the hell is your problem? Are you just the human version of an overly aggressive chihuahua or is it personal?"

Liam gritted his teeth. "My problem is you are the worst kind of hockey player. You don't care about the rules of the game or who gets hurt, unless of course you hurt them on purpose."

Rings Of Fire by LI0NH34RT (Teen | Complete | 3.1K)

Tags: Figure Skating AU, Ice Skating AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Summary: Figure Skater Liam dreamed of being at the Olympics his whole life but when his partner Hayden breaks her ankle at a practice jump too risky, his dream seems over and done. 

Theo is a single skater because his attitude makes him incompatible with a partner but that doesn't stop their coach to pair them off in training – Will the flame of their hate burn them out or light up a different fire?

A Peek Inside: “I absolutely do remember that day. Actually that... unfortunate incident made me aware of the sparks the dynamic between you two has.”

“Sparks? More like fire hazard...”, Theo mumbles to himself.

It is true. Every time Liam Dunbar and Theo are in the same room, they fight. It's lucky they didn't share any ice time yet and that has mostly been due to the fact that single skater and pair skaters trained separately on a team as big as team USA.

Going For Gold by AJP_37 (Explicit | WIP | 15K)

Tags: AU Olympics, AU Swimming

Summary: Scott had just up and quit from the Olympic Swim team. 

And someway, somehow Coach thought it was acceptable to bring in Theo to take his place. 

Liam was not impressed. 

Until he was.

A Peek Inside: “But I want Scott back, I don’t want to swim with this guy.”

“Theo. His name is Theo.” Coach rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Liam when you give him the chance I’m sure he is going to be right up your alley.”

“Coach, he’s been in like three different scandals since the qualifiers.” Liam huffed, slumping down into the chair. “There was a reason why the selectors left him in college. He’s not ready for the big stage.” 

“And funnily enough that is what every single member of the team and coaching staff said about you.” Coach snapped back, leaning forward on his chair.

finding love on the offroad tracks by xTarmanderx (General | WIP | 10K)

Tags: Slow burn, Motocrossed au

Summary: When Theo Raeken is injured before a major motocross competition, his twin Tara decides to step up to the plate. While their father is overseas looking for a new rider to take over for the event, Tara begs their mother to keep it from him and let her try and race in Theo’s place. Disguising herself as Theo, she takes up the racing circuit to keep the family name attached to the event. Enter Liam Dunbar, a professional biker from a different circuit that immediately can tell Tara isn’t who she claims to be. Theo pleads with Liam to keep their secret and he agrees: on one condition.

A Peek Inside: Despite the recently added dips and new curve to the track, Theo took each challenge effortlessly and sped past his father for a second lap. This time, he risked a glance at the man and saw him shake his head, scribbling frantically down onto his clipboard. His teeth ground together and he hit the curve hard, losing momentum as he sought to right his bike. His grip grew tight, lips pinched as he committed his focus back to the track. His father may be hard on him, but he was nowhere near as unforgiving as the dirt.

Melting the Ice by ExtraSteps (Mature | Complete | 29K)

Tags: Hockey au, Scott is a prick

Summary: Liam's entire world is shaken up when Scott McCall, the captain of the Los Angeles Rams and Liam's mentor at the club, unexpectedly asks to be traded to the Dallas Stars. As Liam struggles to deal with this in both his personal and professional life, his teammate and friend, Theo Raeken, is there to help him in any way he can.

A Peek Inside: He already feels a bit better. As much as they’ve had their differences in the past, he knows that Theo would bleed for him, has in fact done so on multiple occasions, putting himself on the line to protect Liam. If anyone can make Liam feel anchored, its him.

Don’t Forget To Breathe by snaeken (Explicit | Complete | 28K)

Tags: Ice hockey, disabled character, depression, anxiety, mental health discussions, smut

Summary: Formerly a professional ice hockey player in the NHL, Theo suffered a career-ending injury on the ice which resulted in the loss of everything he held dear to him. No longer able to cope with his teammates pity, and the speculation from the media and the general public on how bad his injury really is, Theo runs away. He goes back to the hometown he left behind when he turned pro, hoping to find solace in a place which has previously caused him so much pain. After a chance encounter in a graveyard of all places, Beacon Hills local Liam Dunbar slots himself into Theo’s life, wanting to aid him in both his physical and mental recovery. Theo quickly discovers he’s not the only one who has demons, and when feelings become involved… well that’s just inevitable, isn’t it?

A Peek Inside: Even at this time of night, his phone is still blowing up on his night stand. Colleagues and fans and hecklers and press and god knows who else. He can’t bring himself to unlock it and turn off the notifications. Hopefully the battery will run dry soon. Even when he’s tried not to, he’s still seen snippets of the questions he’s getting.

#thiam #professional athletes thiam #mod: mary #mod: tara #athletes #professional athletes #otlansweredask

[himbeaux-on-ice]

Lehner and Flower are both great goalies, and I'm glad they want to try to use them as a tandem rather than a Starter v Backup. However I will say I only pay attention to VGK due to Flower and like I think he deserves the world but like so does any and every goalie imo. So like I don't know whats going in the VGK fanbase but like treat them nicely guys both of them 💜💜💜

(this turned into a whole-ass essay bc I got on a roll with getting this take off my chest lmao, thank you for your ask and I’m so sorry lol)

It just is so completely bizarre to me that every time Flower is not in net for one (1) game, there is a certain set of Vegas fandom that views this as some kind of conspiracy/egregious slight against him. Like. Guys. He cannot play every game! As somebody who was pretty much ready to cry tears of relief when Montreal finally got Carey Price a solid dependable backup this year, believe me, you do not want him to play every game! It’s not sustainable.

The man had maybe 2-3 games off over a six week stretch because Lehner was injured, and yet there were people who were upset that he was on the bench on Friday. They viewed it as if DeBoer was unfairly “punishing” Fleury for letting in a few more goals than usual in Wednesday’s game against San José (which they WON)... rather than, uh, letting the 36-year-old league vet who just played two solid months of Vezina-worthy back-to-back-to-back hockey get some rest now that your other NHL-caliber goalie is back?? It was just so bizarre. And the venom on some of the comments, it totally threw me!

Like. Vegas fans. Listen. I am Montreal fan whose favourite player in the WHOLE LEAGUE is Carey Price, the magic superstar goalie who the current iteration of that team was built around instead of a star forward or a star defenceman. I understand your goalie being the face of the franchise, I understand wanting to turn on any game and get to see him play, and being a little disappointed when he doesn’t. I know exactly where you are coming from.

What I don’t understand, and what totally baffles me, is this bizarre alternate universe that has been concocted in some fans’ minds where this franchise is supposedly out to sabotage and bully their incredibly popular, and right now incredibly successful, star goalie, just because he’s not given 82 (or in this case 56) starts in a season.

(Rest of my thoughts under the cut to be merciful to the dashboard lol)

I dunno, it feels like maybe too many people took that ridiculous sword painting stunt last year at face value? I came into caring about this team just a few games before that happened, and maybe that is why my perspective on all of this is so different from fans who came into this franchise at the beginning when Flower was the crown jewel of it or who followed him here from Pittsburgh. When I showed up, Lehner was starting playoff games and Fleury was seemingly sulking about it. It actually took me a while to come around to Flower as a player because of it, because that was not a flattering first impression!

Listen, I’ve never believed that an agent would do that without having the client’s blessing, and I’ve never thought it was anything other than poorly thought-out and more than a bit immature. I also believe you can be a nice, good person, and still do asshat things sometimes, which is what I think allowing his agent to do that was. I understand why he was mad to not be starting, but I also understand that in the playoffs you don’t have time to hand out starts just to be nice, and at that time, Lehner was giving the performance they needed to get wins. Nothing personal, just business. But people have taken it very personally, and bought the narrative from that painting completely.

This year, circumstance has handed Fleury an unexpected chance to take the spotlight as a full-time starter, and he has had an incredible, spectacular bounce-back season which has put him in the Vezina conversation in what, his sixteenth, seventeenth season in the league? Hooray! You love to see a story like that and I am genuinely pulling for him to win that damn trophy, dammit! Buuut I’ve also been worrying with all these starts, how long before he burns out and can’t keep pace with standing on his head and working miracles for 60 minutes every second night? Is it good for a young developing goalie in Oskar Dansk to be thrown into all of this every time Flower needs a night off? What happens to the team if he gets injured (which increases in likelihood the more games he plays)? Etc etc

Now, I’m relieved, because the other goalie, who put himself pretty damn high up in the Vezina conversation last year, is healthy and ready to start games again. And that means Vegas, lucky lucky Vegas, should (if Lehner is still up to form after his time out) have TWO excellent goalies to swap in and out of net every night. Nice!!

No longer do the other teams in the division get to hope and pray for “maybe it will be the rookie in net tonight...” Nope. It’s going to be one of two excellent NHL goalies, both well-rested because they’re trading nights, ready to ruin that other team’s day. Do you know how many other franchises would kill for that right now? Leafs fans go to sleep at night and dream wistful dreams of having your goalie situation.

If it turns out Lehner isn’t where he used to be after the concussion, and it becomes clear that there’s a marked performance difference between the two of them, then yeah, it might make sense to give Flower a majority of starts down the road. But as it stands right now, Lehner won his first game back, and now that he is healthy his showing last year has more than earned the benefit of the doubt for a tandem situation.

Nobody who looks at his numbers is going to perma-bench a goalie who is giving the performance Flower is giving this year. He steals games, even when the team maybe isn’t helping him out as much as they could. You don’t have to worry about that. IMO, Vegas fans for now should really genuinely appreciate that he’s now going to get to rest up a bit more before the playoffs, and then the conversation can be had in May once we’ve seen them both perform about who gets the most starts when Vegas goes on their postseason run. Oh, to be spoiled for choice...

But like, the anti-Flower conspiracy isn’t real, guys. It’s just not. He’s the face of your franchise. He is playing amazing. If there was doubt about his future with the team before, he has spent the last six weeks drop-kicking (poke-checking?) it into outer space. And in doing so he has more than earned the chance to catch his breath, sit on the bench and be a well-padded spectator for a few games out of every handful. His play will be better for it.

And knowing Flower? He’ll still have a big ol smile on his face the entire time. 😁

#long post #this is SO long kfdksjaljdka I’m sorry everyone #asks #reavenedges-lies #I’m once again not gonna tag for teams or players but you’re all fine to reblog this if you want to #if this turns into a bunch of angry messages I *will* turn anon off tho

[csykora]

[A candid photo of Igor kissing his very grumpy toddler’s forehead goodnight]

The Greens could feel they were getting older, and Coach’s rookies just stayed the same. Two had joined CSKA that year. One of them was another Sergei, who we’ll call Seryozha. He had grown up skating eagerly every day, just outside their training camp in the city of Arkhangel. He thought Igor “was one of the smartest people I've talked to on this earth," and is pretty sure his idol didn’t know he existed. (Having read Igor’s book, I can now confirm). The other was Sasha, and had been born on the other side of the world, in Siberia, before he was taken early for CSKA’s system. 

Sasha did not like any of this any better than the Greens had before him. Picking up the tension between the team’s leaders and Coach Tikhonov, Sasha had no problem talking back when Tikhonov turned on him. After his first season, the same trick that had made Igor an officer was used on him, making him a real Russian soldier who could be shot for treason. Igor hadn’t fought it, but the whole team heard Sasha yelling down in Tikhonov’s office.

Quiet settled for a while when Sasha was privately promised a better position to soften the blow--the top right wing, at Igor's side. 30 was creeping up on Sergei. He, Igor, and Vova privately celebrated and mourned the upcoming '88 Olympics as the last time they might play together on the world stage before Sergei's clock ran out. Pretty soon Tikhonov would be ready to retire him, just like Kharlamov.

But there were still signs that replacing Sergei wouldn't be easy, on either side. One day in practice, Sasha was injured and the team doctor told him to just watch from the stands that night. Igor saw him leaving the locker room just as Coach came in. Coach demanded that he get his sweater on immediately. Sasha repeated what the doctor said, and Tikhonov repeated what he had said, but louder.

“‘I thought I had explained it clearly enough,’’” Igor remembers little Sasha saying. “‘I will not play. That is all!’” And he walked away. Igor had to cough and cover laughter as Coach stood speechless.

“Only his wife and his dog like [Tikhonov],” Sasha once said. “And I don’t understand how they do.”

In December of ‘87, Igor thought that with a little help, maybe he could score another point on Tikhonov. He reached out to the author of that article about the hockey program that he had read to the point of memorizing two years before. Their conversation turned into an interview. He admitted he wasn’t ready to share the deepest details, but even scratching the surface of the Soviet image was enough to attract attention. Igor decided he liked to think of himself as a bit of an author. All the papers were calling for more quotes, until Lena got fed up and unplugged their phone.

At practice after it was published, Coach Tikhonov screamed, “‘Comrades, I always thought that I was working with hockey players. But here, do you understand, it has become clear I was not right. Among us are writers! Larionov, for example, is a Boris Pasternak!’

I think we could safely say he was not pleased.”

Two months later, the national team headed to Calgary for the Olympics. Before the Games the senior players had asked as always--if we win, wouldn’t it be possible to train less this summer, to rest, to see our families during the coming year? Coach Tikhonov said they’d talk about it if they got him gold.

Journalists invited Igor to a press conference. They forgot a Russian translator, though, so when they asked the first question and he understood it, he decided not to bother pretending he didn’t speak English. They asked how his new literary career was looking (and whether he’d had any flare-ups of that tonsillitis). He told them what he thought was the truth, colder than it had been when he was 20.

“I do not hope for some kind of large and speedy change for the better….But, I am not losing hope. We shall see what we shall see.”

They still had the rest of the Olympics to play. Between periods in the first round, Coach Tikhonov took Sasha out to the hallway and began to lay into him for mistakes he may or may not have made yet. Sasha told him no again, so Coach Tikhonov punched him in the gut. 

Slava was the only one who saw, but he told the others. If thinking the team didn’t need him had snapped some key piece of Igor’s heart, the winter of ‘87 and ‘88 broke Vova’s massive one. They had won gold, again--and Vova had heard Tikhonov say that he wished he could coach the Canadians instead. Vova had swept more scoring titles, been named the best winger in the world, again--and Tikhonov had given a public speech about how Vova was proof that he, Viktor Tikhonov, and his physical training methods could make anyone a star. Igor was furious for his friend, and Vova was realizing nothing they did would ever be enough for Coach Tikhonov to stop hurting them. 

They had nothing to do at Arkhangel, after eight years of doing the same nothing. One night in the spring Vova and Igor climbed out their bedroom window and hiked through the woods to a bar in the city. They sat beside a Canadian journalist and gave a short interview, Igor translating for them both.  

By the summer of ‘88, Slava was done, too. He wanted permission to play in the NHL during the regular season, and he told everyone so. Officials told him no problem. And then they got out the red tape. 

“You would not wish it on an enemy. Especially not on Slava, who is my friend. It was painful to look at him, irritated, disappointed by the word that had been given to him, grown tired from going from office to office, lost.” 

When he complained, the Party told him if he wasn’t happy in Arkhangel he could always play in a Siberian labor camp instead.

But Igor was also busy, or trying to be, at home. He and Lena had their first baby, a daughter, Alyonka. Like her father, she was frighteningly small. If officials had thought becoming a husband and father would scare Igor into shutting up, like it had Lyosha, they were super wrong. The boredom, indignity, and constant inconvenience of Soviet life was bitterer now that he had to see it happening to someone else. When his daughter was sick, he couldn’t go home to hold her. When she was hungry, he might spend his whole day off wandering around the city, waiting in different lines to be told that there was nothing worth waiting for left. During parts of the season he could visit their apartment in Moscow in the afternoons, but couldn’t help cook or eat with Lena or stay to clean up and put Alyonka to bed. 

Just like Tretiak had, he asked Tikhonov for time off next August--no days off, just nights, to be able to stay for dinner and drive back for training. 

No.

“In August it was a life and death necessity for me to spend the night at the base? Well, the World Championship was not far off. Only eight months!”

Igor thought about it. He told the Greens that he was thinking about publishing another article. They were excited to read it, asking what this one would be about. He still wasn’t quite ready to say it, but he wanted them to know the moment was coming, so he just made them promise to read it.

Then he quit. In September he handed Tikhonov a letter explaining that he would play his last season with CSKA. They could let him go to the NHL during the regular season, or home to Khimik, or wherever he was wanted, as long as it wasn’t here. He went to the newspaper that promised him it could print fastest, and published it.

In his resignation letter, addressed to Tikhonov and now to the whole Soviet Union, he told everyone about the schedule (it was shocking, he said, that he and Lena managed to have a baby, when Tikhonov didn’t let him sleep beside his own wife); about how Tikhonov had made that schedule more important than Kharlamov, then Tretiak, and now Igor too; about Tikhonov punching Sasha; about the steroid injections he’d kept secret for Tikhonov for six years.

Those last two pieces were the wedge that any officials looking to shift the system needed. The papers published more pieces arguing one way and the other, which only made sure everyone heard about it. Fans and former players, now officers, stopped to pat Igor’s shoulder. Igor was informed that the legendary Tarasov, in his country retirement, had quite liked it.

Coach Tikhonov didn’t like Igor’s poetic inclinations any better this time. He was getting calls from all kinds of important people, and they weren’t going well. For the first time in years he was quiet, speechless. And then it became clear that was his response: he wouldn’t acknowledge Igor’s existence. He couldn’t take him off the roster now, but he could pretend he wasn’t there. No criticism in practice, no direction, nothing. 

That was the difference between them, Igor wrote, both of their fatal flaw: Igor wanted to talk to everyone in the whole world, and Tikhonov had never learned how to talk to people.

The veteran players on CSKA’s second line found quiet moments to come up to Igor, and let him know they were on his side. Slava, still fighting for his own right to leave the team, came to Igor as soon as he’d read it, and took his hand. He told him Igor had done the right thing. Sergei and Vova embraced him and agreed.

Lyosha wasn’t sure it was right to share what had been said in the room, or to undercut Coach, who had kept him when he was at his lowest, and he was afraid of being sent to Siberia. 

He told Igor, “You and I are not going the same path.” 

And they did.

CSKA went on the road in October. In Sergei’s hometown Chelyabinsk fans hung over the rails and heckled Tikhonov, asking if he’d come to steal more children. His brothers Nikolai and Yuri were an institution in the city, and locals had consoled themselves over losing out on the full set by imagining that Sergei was doing well for himself and making a name for their city. Tikhonov turned away from the ice to try to shout at a fan like he did his players, and was swamped. Igor burst out laughing. 

The next game, Tikhonov told the assistant coaches to tell Igor that Tikhonov still wasn’t talking to him but he could take a shift now, or whatever, not that Tikhonov cared. Igor caught the puck and carried it along the boards, expecting Sergei and Vova to chase him. Instead he hit a patch of bad ice, and then two of the other team landed on top of him on the way down. His right foot went the wrong way.

Now Tikhonov had a cast iron-excuse. Igor went home, and held his daughter, and waited and worried to hear what would happen if he didn’t heal in time for the next national team tournament--the Super Series, which would be the last warm-up before the ‘88 Olympics. It was out of his control, and he couldn’t bear that.

Igor has an explanation for what he did next that I’m sure felt sensible at the time. We, now, can gently set that aside. Igor had all the symptoms of a serious eating disorder, so for three weeks, he only drank water and honey.

Because, and I just can’t stress this enough, Igor, your bones heal in their own time anyway, he was back on the ice a month or so after that. Once again able to skate himself sick with CSKA’s reserve team, he started eating fruit and the occasional vegetable again. 

The team doctor, who I guess had been hired on the basis of being able to say, “All good, Coach!” over an injured player faster than anybody else, cleared him to play. (Like a stopped clock, Igor maintains that the doctor--who Igor had seen point a concussed Vova in the general direction of the goal, roll players over the boards, and offered Igor mystery drugs--got it right this one time. Again, gently, we can question Igor’s medical fucking expertise here.) 

It didn’t matter anyway. Tikhonov stood with arms crossed the whole time watching Igor skate, and said he was out of condition. He sent him home.

Igor was helpless again. His family wouldn’t get the pay from wins with CSKA, and now they were missing tournaments. Those could earn him $300, five months ordinary pay. He could train as much as he wanted alone--it wasn’t the same as playing with the Greens, and anyway now Tikhonov could always have a handy excuse to say he wasn’t back to his old self. All he had were his friends, who seemed sympathetic, but still hadn’t done anything.

Winter was coming on by now. He drove from Moscow to the training camp and walked across the grounds in the first drifting snow. Everything was quiet, cold, and clear, and he might as well have been twenty again, but this time he wouldn’t cross through the barracks door. Sergei, Vova, and Slava saw and came running down to meet him in the snow. They were glad to see him, worried for him, but they knew that Tikhonov was having his way.

I drove home along the Leningrad highway. I felt like shouting. ‘Where are your friends in a time of trouble? WHERE??? Can I expect sympathy from you, and nothing more?’...

Only my wife understood my despair.”

Main

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#green unit #cw disordered eating #igor larionov #slava fetisov #wayne gretzky #sergei makarov #vladimir krutov

[starrybethany]

Pierre Engvall: Rewind by Rascal Flatts

Word count: 2331

Music video link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPcASvgb7yg 

Lyrics link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LEJRDWJYG8 

Wish I could reach up and reset that sun

Reverse these wheels go back and re-pick you up

Went by so fast, oh, so sweet

Make me wanna remake a memory

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were working today,” my co-worker squeals excitedly as I walk into the quaint coffee shop.

“Yeah, my plane landed yesterday,” I inform her, pulling my apron over my head and yanking my hair out of the strap.

“How was Sweden?” She asks.

I know I could tell her so much. I could tell her about the beautiful weather and how my classes were so informative and how the culture is just so amazing.

But I also just want to tell her about one person who made the whole experience perfect.

The one person who could convince me to avoid my responsibilities and stay in that foregin nation for the rest of my life, the person who I could stare at forever without noticing the sun rising or setting.

I could tell her about how he would pick me up from my host family’s house to go to the bar at night in his expensive little convertible and it would make my host dad shake his head and laugh and my host sister smile with jealousy.

Or how he would push me on the swings at the park practically every night and would tell me all about his hockey team in Canada and funny stories about how stupid his teammates are.

“Y/N?”

I snap out of my thoughts, remembering her question. I don’t want to tell her any of those things. I feel like my relationship with Pierre is too personal to spread around- I want to remember him intimately.

“It was good. It was really, really good.”

Wish I had me a time machine

Oh, I float the moon back up in the sky

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

“2012.” He squints those brown eyes that I spend too long looking into at the bottle, reading the label.

“You spent $200 on red wine from 2012?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Well it’s from France.”

I laugh at that and he cracks a smile, popping the cork and holding the bottle out as an offering. I hold my glass out towards him, watching as he begins to pour.

“Pierre that’s too much,” I giggle as he pours practically half of the bottle into the glass.

He laughs himself, pulling the bottle away and giving himself half of what he’s given me.

“It’s like you’re trying to get me drunk or something,” I tease.

“Or something,” he repeats, watching as I take a sip. “Can I braid your hair?”

“What?” I ask, confused by the sudden question.

“Can I braid your hair? I’ve just always wanted to try and your hair is so pretty.”

I can tell he’s becoming nervous by my delayed response so I nod, turning so my back is to him. I tug my locks out of it’s loose ponytail and ask, “Do you know how?”

“I can figure it out,” he answers. I can feel him move behind me and the Swedish music he put on to ‘cultivate me’ as he put it, becomes distant as his fingers grip my hair.

I lean back into his hands, closing my eyes and enjoying this moment of the two of us together. I don’t know how many more moments like this I’ll get. I have to leave to go back home in a couple of months and I don’t know if I’ll ever see Pierre after this.

It’s a summer love kind of thing.

His hands move to rest gently on my shoulders as my hair rests down my back.

“It’s not working,” he says in a hushed voice.

I hum in response, just enjoying the feeling of his company in mine. He lets it happen.

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

“I used to be obsessed with astrology when I was younger,” I admit, staring up at the stars.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Um,” I point up at the stars and feel Pierre’s burning skin on my own as his hands slide down to grip my waist. “Do you want to know where the stars are or do you just want to fondle me all night?”

“I can do both,” he replies, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek. I laugh in response.

“Do you see that bright star, right there? Follow it down and there’s the Big Dipper. And where the Big Dipper is the Little Dipper is.” My eyes scan the sky as Pierre squeezes my waist, mumbling something quietly to himself.

It takes me a while to focus but as soon as I locate the constellation I light up. “To the right and down is the Little Dipper.”

“What about, uh, Halley’s Comet?” He questions, leaving a kiss on the back of my neck.

“Babe, Halley’s Comet comes once every seventy five years,” I tease, turning around in his arms to face him. His arms slither to rest on my lower back loosely and he leans forward, connecting his chapped lips to my own.

I will never get over kissing Pierre. Everytime we kiss it feels like the first time and I could live with that feeling for the rest of my life. He pulls back and smiles at me, brown eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Then he gives me a kiss. And another one. And another one.

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

“I hate to end this,” I mumble into his chest. “But I have class early in the morning so I should probably sleep before then.”

“Or you could just pull an all-nighter,” he suggests, tugging me tighter into him.

I grin. “If I pull an all-nighter you won’t be seeing me tomorrow night.”

“Then let’s get you to bed,” he responds, holding his hands out to help me rise to my feet. Our hands stay interlocked once I’m stable on my feet and they stay that way during the walk to the car.

I turn back that radio dial re-open your door,

Try to talk George Strait into giving us an encore

“Oh, a gentleman,” I tease as he opens the passenger’s door for me. He rolls his eyes but waits until I’m seated in his car, closing the door and running to the driver’s side.

“Are you going to play some more of what we were listening to on the way here or are you going to switch it up?” I question.

Pierre likes to put on a Swedish singer whenever we’re in the car to educate me on how many talented people come out of Sweden. I’m aware of it already since plenty of NHL players, including him, come from this nation but I don’t mind listening to music so I don’t say anything.

“Let’s change it,” he decides, “Have you listened to Avicii at all?”

“Only the songs that they play on the radio,” I admit.

“Oh, he has a lot more hits than that.” I watch as he pulls up his Spotify, smiling secretly to myself as I see his ‘Y/N’s hits’ playlist. I didn’t even know that he made a playlist of songs that I like. I wonder if it’s songs that I said I liked or if it’s just songs that we listened to together that I said that I like.

‘Wake Me Up’ begins to blast through the radio and I comment, “They play this a lot on the radio.”

“Then you have to sing along,” Pierre demands, beginning the drive back to my host’s home.

“Only if you sing too,” I protest.

“Y/N, I don’t sing.”

“Well, then I’m not singing,” I cross my arms as if to prove my point.

He gives me a look and sighs. “Feeling my way through the darkness…”

Re-spin you around

Replay that sound

Of you laughing when we hit the ground

“What are you doing?” I squeal as he pulls my door open and tugs me out of the car.

“I didn’t know I was lost,” Pierre sings along, wrapping an arm around my waist and gripping my other hand in his like we’re ballroom dancing to the song we’ve been listening to on repeat the whole car ride. “I didn’t know I was lost.”

He picks me up, gripping my waist and twirling me around, chuckling as I squeal in surprise at the action.

“Pierre!” I giggle as he continues to twirl us around. Finally he sets me on my feet and I’m laughing so hard I have to lean into him, too high off of life and love to be able to stand properly.

I can see it now how 'bout we

Float the moon back up in the sky,

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. His lips ghost over mine as he says in a hushed voice, “I think you’re about to get in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

He pulls back, nodding his head towards the front door of my host family’s home. I follow his eyeline to see my host father standing on the porch, arms crossed, but a fond smile on his face.

“I guess that’s my queue.” I kiss his cheek, a tradition we’ve started since he first picked me up at the beginning of summer. “Thank you for the wonderful night and the delicious wine.”

“Thank you for educating me on constellations,” he teases, kissing the back of my hand.

I roll my eyes at his gentleman-like behavior, giving him a final wave before walking up the sidewalk and stepping past my host father into the house.

“Don’t say a word, papa,” I warn him lightly.

“Young love is beautiful,” he tells me, ignoring my words.

 Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

“I love your hair, it’s so much longer now,” my coworker snaps me out of my daydreams once again, brushing a hand through my long locks.

“Yeah, thanks,” I tell her, pulling it back behind my shoulders. Everything in me is telling me to fight the urge but I can’t help it as I begin to French braid my hair, pretending my fingers are Pierre’s.

It seems like a pointless act because as soon as the braid is perfected, I let it go.

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

I wanna re-fall and re-fly

Baby, re-live this night

“Do you remember when we went to that museum and saw that painting of that woman without her top on and you said that your boobs looked exactly like hers, and then didn’t  show me your boobs so I could agree or disagree? The nerve,” he shakes his head.

I smile, watching him drive. I know he’s trying to get my mind off of my plane ride home and the fact that I’ll probably never see him again. Our whole relationship has been based off of teasing and lust, so he’s just helping me the best way he knows how to.

“And then you spilled your drink on my shirt to try to get me to take it off,” I continue, causing him to nod.

“I wanted to see them titties.”

I snort, leaning over to shove his shoulder. He jokingly swerves like I caused him to do so with my push and I squeal, not expecting it.

“That was a good date,” I mumble, sitting up and suddenly remembering that a date like that is never going to happen again.

Pierre doesn’t respond but reaches his hand over the center counsel, gripping my hand in his gently and raising it to his lips, leaving a kiss. It’s enough for me.

Float the moon back up in the sky,

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

“Why did you have to book a nighttime flight? I’m so tired,” he yawns dramatically as he pulls my suitcase out of the back of his car, holding out his hand for me to grip as we make our way into the airport.

“So I could sleep on the plane. Let me remind you that I didn’t know you when I booked the ticket home, I thought my host father would bring me back to the airport.” I try to bump my shoulder into his shoulder teasingly but hit his arm instead because of our height difference.

“Well, you got something better,” he responds, stopping at the check-in station.

We face each other and he pulls me tightly into his arms, squeezing me like he’ll never let go. I’m not sure I ever want him to let me go. My arms wind around him in return and I grip him as close to me as possible, savoring the last few moments we’ll get together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a goodbye gift,” he mumbles into my hair. “I was going to get you some red 2012 wine but I completely forgot when I was at the store, if I’m being honest with you.”

I laugh into his chest. “I couldn’t even bring it on the plane with me, babe.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he pulls back, gripping my shoulders, “American customs and all.”

He gives me a fond smile, leaning in for one, last, passionate kiss. We suck all of the air out of our lungs before he pulls away, pushing me jokingly towards the counter. “See you later.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

The door chimes and I look up from the counter I’m wiping, freezing once I see who stepped in. It couldn’t be- no. Why would he be here, in America? I thought he played on a team in Canada? He stops once he sees me and I watch him for his reaction.

A smile beams across his face and he practically skips over to me, ignoring the questions that the boys he’s with are asking him.

“Hi,” he breathes out.

“Hi,” I repeat. I watch as his eyes flicker all over my face, from my eyes to my nose to my lips. They stay on my lips, the lips he’s kissed so many times.

I feel electric now that I’m in his presence again. I feel alive, like something left me when I left Sweden and is now coming back now that I’m with Pierre again.

(Float the moon back up in the sky)

I'm wishing I could rewind

(put a cork back into that sweet red wine)

I wanna re-live this night

So good, so right

“I never thought I would see you again,” he confesses, reaching up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, me neither. What are you doing here?” I question.

“We’re visiting the hockey team here.”

“This city has a hockey team?” I ask, bewildered.

His laugh rings through the small coffee shop. It’s a beautiful sound that I haven’t heard in a long enough time.

“Do you maybe want to go out tonight? And get some dinner and drinks and just catch up?” He suggests nervously.

“I would love that.”

#pierre engvall imagine #NHL imagines #toronto maple leafs imagine #pierre engvall x reader #pierre engvall fanfic

[pastrnaks-sainz]

can i request a best friends to dating with matt grzelcyk? also i love your writing sm omg 🥺🤍

My Whole Life 

Pairing: Matt Grzelcyk x female!reader

Type: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1979

Summary: You had always looked at Matt one way. You met him in high school and instantly became best friends. Over time, you’d developed feelings for him. But the thing is, you hadn’t known it until he went to play for the Boston Bruins and you saw him again for the first time in five months.

A/N: remember y’all, my requests will CLOSE on Sunday!!! and omg bb thank you so much!!!

~~~~

Freshman year of high school was the best year of your life. See, freshman year was when you met Matt Grzelcyk. He was a better, closer friend than the ones you’d had since you were a kid. You did everything together. Not a day went by where you weren’t joined at the hip. Your friends had joked about planning the wedding, both of them only being half kidding.

The friendship you had with Matt survived all four years of high school. You both decided to attend Boston University, Matt with a full ride hockey scholarship and you with one for law studies. Matt always joked that you’d one day leave him for Harvard. Little did either of you know that it was him who would be the one leaving for bigger and better things.

When Matt told you about his contract with the Bruins you could not have been happier for him. You were the first person he told. He told you before he told his family. However excited you were for your best friend, it paled in comparison to his excitement when you get accepted to the Harvard Law Program. ‘My best friend is gonna be a lawyer’, he’d said, the excitement in his voice made you light up like a Christmas tree.

Over time, you’d fallen head over heels in love with Matt and you had no idea until he left to play hockey. You’d been blind to the feelings growing in your heart and in your mind and you had no idea how in love you were.

You hadn’t spent more than two days apart from each other, and now, with you buried in your studies and Matt playing in the NHL, you were apart for six days a week. You managed to get together for coffee or dinner or a movie every Sunday. But all that changed pretty quickly. You passed your Bar Exam and Matt had made a place for himself on the Bruins roster. With everything going on in your lives, you hadn’t seen each other in person in months.

Working for the DA’s office had taken up all of your time as you worked your ass off trying to climb the rungs and leave the DA for a private firm. And Matt? Well, Matt was off becoming a star NHL player. Between both your career paths taking up your entire lives, you’d been relegated to texts and FaceTime calls. They mainly fell between your court cases and his practices and games.

Your boss at the firm had finally taken notice of everything you were doing and forced you to take a week off. You’d been lucky in the fact that it had coincided with the All-Star break. The first thing you did when you got back to your apartment was call Matt. You hadn’t heard his voice in so long, so when he picked up on the second ring and answered with that cheery tone you hadn’t heard in months, you nearly broke down crying.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Matt said. You could nearly hear his smile on the other end of the line as you let yourself fall back to your bed. “Now there’s a name I haven’t seen cross my screen in many a month. How you been?”

“If I see one more dickwad loser drunk drive himself into a telephone pole then sue the bar for emotional trauma I am going to throw myself off a cliff,” you huffed as you desperately tried to ignore the pang in your chest at the sound of your best friend’s laugh.

“That sounds like hell,” he said. “So, why are you calling? Did something happen, is everything alright?”

“God, you are adorable,” you giggled and shook your head. “Everything’s fine, Matt. I just wanted you to know that I was forced to take a week off and I know you’re free this week and I figured it’s time for us to get together. It’s been too long since we’ve done something together.”

“Yes,” Matt said. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Sleeping in for the first time in five months,” you huffed.

“Alright when you wake up I’m gonna pick you up and then we’re having a good old fashioned Matt and Y/N day, okay?” he said with a small chuckle. There was that pang in your chest again.

“Okay,” you said. “Goodnight, Matt. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You woke up the next morning at nine o’clock to the smell and sound of sizzling bacon. Something you hadn’t done since you were in high school. Wait. Bacon. Your roommate was away on a girls’ trip to Vegas.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Matt smiled when you walked into the kitchen. Your chest panged yet again. Something in the back of your mind couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to wake up to this sight every morning.

“I would ask how you got into my apartment but since you made me bacon, I’ll skip on pressing charges,” you said with a smile and walked around the kitchen counter and straight into Matt’s arms.

Matt engulfed you in his arms, holding you tight to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist and took a deep breath, breathing him in. He ducked his head to the crook of your neck and buried his face in your hair. Your heart sped up on its own accord at the physical contact with your best friend. Your mind raced. You had never felt like this when you hugged Matt before. You had no idea where these sudden feelings were coming from and, if you were being honest, it made you nervous.

“I missed you,” Matt mumbled after a few moments of silence. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” you laughed lightly before pulling away from him, despite your heart screaming at you to stay in his embrace for as long as you possibly could.

“So I thought there was no better way to start a classic Matt and Y/N day with a nice, home cooked breakfast. Well, nice home cooked bacon. I uh, I don’t know how to make anything else,” Matt chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d always done that when he was nervous. You never found it adorable until now.

“Well lucky for you I make a mean bagel,” you laughed and reached for the bag sitting next to the toaster. “Still like it burnt to a crisp?”

“Hey,” Matt laughed, bumping your hip with his. “I like it slightly blackened.”

“Burnt to a crisp it is,” you smiled. “So what do you have planned for the day? Do I need to wear anything special?”

“A sweater,” Matt responded as he stepped up beside you at the oven. “I have a fun day planned for us.”

“Can’t wait,” you tossed a grin up at him, still ignoring the pang in your chest.

“Y/N, I swear, I thought he was gonna rip my head off,” Matt laughed as you walked through the lobby after breakfast. “It was terrifying.”

“What did you expect when you decided to fight Deslauriers?” you giggled, locking the door behind you. “Good Lord it’s cold out here.”

“And you don’t have gloves do you?” Matt asked, glancing over at you. You shook your head and shivered. He wordlessly took your hand in his. Sparks ignited from where your skin touched. You shivered again, this time not from the cold.

“So,” you cleared your throat, desperately trying to brush away the thoughts your mind was tossing before your eyes. “Where are we going?”

“I wanna see if you can guess,” he said, tossing a look at you. You raised your eyebrows at him and pursed your lips. “Fine, it’s the first place I took you when you moved to Charlestown.”

“I always thought you were crazy for bringing me to a graveyard,” you laughed as the Uber Matt had ordered pulled up in front of you. He opened the door for you, letting go of your hand briefly as he climbed in beside you.

“Bunker Hill Cemetery, please,” Matt told the driver. He nodded and pulled away from the curb. Matt looked over at you and held out his hand again. You sucked in a subtle breath and laced your fingers with his. He’d never done that before and it had your lawyer senses kicking into overdrive trying to figure why he was doing it now.

“Remember when I tripped over the tree root and tore up my knee?” you asked, pointing to a gnarly, overgrown tree root that had cracked one of the headstones straight up the middle.

“Yeah,” Matt laughed. “You could barely walk, I had to carry you home.”

“Good times,” you sighed, looking around the snow-dusted graveyard. It was creepy, sure, but where you used to be scared of it now, when you were with Matt, you felt safer than you ever had before.

“Next stop?” he asked after you completed your round of the graveyard. You nodded, grinning up at him.

“So I know it’s a little out of the way,” he said as you got into another Uber after hitting all your childhood haunts. “But I thought you might be up for a North End visit?”

“Cannolis from Modern? Absolutely,” you giggled.

“Modern?” he asked with a chuckle. “Everybody knows Mike’s is better.”

“Mike’s? Are you kidding me, Matt?” you gasped. “Every self respecting Bostonian knows Mike’s is a tourist trap.”

“It might be a tourist trap but it damn well has the best cannolis,” Matt protested.

“Did Deslauriers punch you too hard?” you asked, shaking your head. “You’re crazy.”

“Fine, we’ll get cannolis from Mike’s and Modern then go back to my place and have a cannoli taste off then watch movies,” Matt decided. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you nodded, laughing to yourself. “A good old fashioned Matt and Y/N movie night is just what the doctor ordered me to do with my time off.”

“Just you wait,” Matt smirked as the Uber pulled the curb between Mike’s and Modern. “Mike’s is wipe the floor with you precious little Modern.”

“Just you wait,” you retorted. “Modern is gonna beat the crap out of Mike’s.”

“Oh my God,” Matt mumbled, his mouth full of a cannoli from Modern. “I digress, you were right.”

“I was what?” you asked, smirking at him, desperately trying to push the pang that was still in your chest out of your mind.

“Shut up,” Matt laughed, wiping the powdered sugar from his mouth with his sleeve. You glanced up at him to see a spot of sugar still left on the corner of his mouth.

“You, uh,” you paused before reaching over, your fingers hovering just above his skin. “You missed a spot.”

Matt looked at you as you wiped the sugar away. He was shocked. This was the first time he was seeing you in this light. He watched the way your eyes glimmered in the low light of his living room. He had looked at you countless times, seen the way you looked in every light imaginable, and only now, only today after not seeing you for five months, did he realize how completely and utterly in love with you.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “Can- can I kiss you?”

His question took you aback. But your heart and your mind didn’t argue in saying yes.

“Please,” you said, your voice needy.

Matt cupped your cheek and kissed you instantly. You felt yourself melt into him as his lips, chapped, pressed against yours. You and Matt relished in the moment. Neither of you knew just how much you wanted to kiss each other until now. You never thought how amazing it would be until now. You never thought you would find yourself kissing your best friend.

#matt grzelcyk #x reader #matt grzelyck x reader #nhl x reader #fluff #matt grzelyck fluff #nhl fluff #one shot #matt grzelyck one shot #nhl one shot #fanfiction #matt grzelyck fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hockey oneshot #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #mainlypastrnaksbae

[some-mad-lunge]

Nov 30 - The Day A Legend Was Born

What can I say about @peoplediedrobert / @bisexualalienblast that would ever do her justice? I feel like I’ve known her forever, one of my best friends and favourite humans. My petty partner. My wife.

She takes the time to interact with everyone and anyone in fandom that reaches out to her. She’s giving and kind (though she’d never admit it). She is hilarious and intelligent. She has helped me become a better version of myself for which I am eternally grateful.

On top of it all she’s a kickass wife, a loving mom to her adorable babies and she works so hard everyday. No seriously y’all, you have no idea. She works SO HARD. She’s never had anything handed to her and she never lets that keep her down. She is strong, vibrant and the kind of woman we hope all our daughters become.

I can’t wait for more adventures with her and @illgetmerope. I look forward to old age as we sit in rockers on a front porch, drinking and talking trash. I don’t ever want to not have her light in my life.

Happy 29th Birthday Amanda.

I love you. Absolutely. Just the way you are.

My offering to you in celebration is probably the most niche thing I will ever write. I hope you enjoy it.

His Cowboy - A Michael Guerin/Tyler Seguin PWP

He was sure he wasn’t as drunk as he felt, but the moment Michael’s lips touched his, tongue hot and scalding in his mouth, Tyler suddenly felt dizzy. And hard, the painful kind that made him whimper when Michael pressed him against the door. He knocked the ridiculously hot cowboy hat off Michael’s head without thinking and grabbed a fistful of curls to anchor himself. It was that or just slide to the floor in a melted heap. He chased those lips when they pulled away, annoyed that his body still required oxygen when his dick had other ideas.

“You don’t want the hat to stay on?” It was a growl in Tyler’s ear, and this time the whimper did escape. For a second Tyler wondered if Michael was even real, because hook ups could be hot but they were never this good. Must be something about the New Mexico sun.

When he walked into the small out-of-the-way place, sex with a stranger had been the last thing on his mind. He was travel-weary and annoyed at the thought of another night in a hotel bed. He missed his dog and his own sheets. He changed his mind as soon as he noticed the cowboy leaning against the bar like a wet dream, playing with the neck of his beer bottle as he surveyed the room.

Tyler would have to be blind not to notice that he was attractive but given the kind of place they were in he didn’t expect to be able to do anything other than look. That was until those eyes locked with his for just a second, then darted quickly to Tyler’s lips before glancing away.

It was enough for him to make his way over, after a beer or two to get up the nerve, and slide onto the stool next to him. Tyler wanted to know his name, he wanted to know what his voice sounded like.

Tyler took in the handsome profile before he finally whispered, “Howdy.” 

Those eyes turned to him, they were dark but the smirk on those lips told him he’d made the right decision.

“I’m Tyler.” 

He felt like a school kid instead of an All Star NHL player, especially when the cowboy ignored the hand Tyler offered for a shake and turned to look out at the half-filled bar. There was a god-awful song playing and somewhere a woman was cackling in a high pitched voice. For a brief moment he thought he was getting the brush off until he heard “Michael” before the cowboy finished the last of his beer in one long sip. 

He debated his next move. Dropping his sports celebrity status wouldn’t work with this one, that much was clear. He resisted the urge to flex his arm muscles, especially when Michael seemed to be admiring his tattoos. He decided to go for a corny pickup line, see if he could make the cowboy laugh when he was surprised once again.

Michael had a sinful voice, made even more so when he leveled Tyler with a heated look and simply said, “So, your place or mine?”

Tyler’s hotel was around the corner and he sort of stuttered the words out and getting to his feet. He didn’t look to see if Michael followed him, he knew he would, hoped he would.

They were silent on the short walk, air thick in the elevator, and he started to wonder if this was a good idea as he slid his keycard into the lock. Michael was tempting but Tyler had never been one for the silent type before. All thoughts of calling it off vanished as soon as the door opened and Michael shoved him up against the wall, Tyler unable to do anything but open his mouth to the assault and give in.

Michael was full of surprises, but so was Tyler, and he needed to get both of his heads in the game as it were. A sharp press of teeth to his earlobe had him grabbing for Michael’s belt, using the buckle as an anchor as he pushed them the few feet to the bed. He pulled his cowboy in for another kiss as he toed out of his shoes, less coordinated than he’d like to be.

He was keyed up, rough hands sliding under his shirt, blunt fingernails against his abs. If the groan Michael poured into the kiss was anything to go by, he liked what he found.

It emboldened Tyler, suddenly desperate to prove something, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what. Michael bit Tyler’s lip hard as he pulled away, his shirt up and off before he could blink. 

Michael’s mouth was scalding on his chest, teeth grazing, tongue leaving a trail of heat that had Tyler clenching his hands into Michael’s shirt. He shoved at the fabric, needing to feel the skin beneath. He wanted to know if Michael’s body was as fascinating as he'd imagined it had to be. No one was that confidant without the goods to back it up.

Finally he changed tactics, nudging Michael until he was sitting on the bed, lips wet and eyes heavy. He still had that smirk on his face and Tyler decided right then and there what his mission for the night was. 

To wipe that smug look right off.

“Shirt.” Tyler made it a command, not a request. Michael seemed like he would argue for a minute until Tyler dropped to his knees before him. He made quick work of the belt, let his fingers dip just a little, brush against soft skin and hair. He looked up to see Michael’s head thrown back, his hands grasping into the thick duvet.

Tyler decided to be a little cruel, nuzzling his nose into the straining zipper and letting the thrill of Michael’s low groan send shivers up his spine. He continued the slow trace, his hands making quick work of removing the cowboy’s boots. When that was finished he slid his hands up Michael’s thighs and squeezed his fingers as he went.

Rough hands grabbed his face, pulled him up into a bruising kiss. He lost himself to it, Michael sucking on his tongue, dragging them both until they were flat on the bed.

The cowboy was a warm weight beneath him, hands already snaking up his back, curling in. Tyler let Michael lead at first, tempted to let himself fall into that mouth over and over again. Until their hips met in a perfect rhythm and he realized this could all be over before it began if he wasn’t careful.

He pulled back, waited until Michael opened his eyes. They were beautiful, brown and rich, and eager. They smiled at each other for a second, a sincere moment as hot hands ran teasingly up and down Tyler’s arms that braced him above.

He dipped his head to kiss at the underside of Michael’s chin, teasing and soft. Let his mouth explore against dark stubble. Michael stretched himself out below him, offered himself up for Tyler to take. 

The dip at the base of Michael’s throat, the curve of his chest and the hard planes of his stomach, Tyler couldn’t get enough of it, or the sounds his cowboy made. Desperate and primal but without words, or at least not coherent enough for him to make out.

Tyler just wanted his mouth one place and finally it was before him. He looked up again, and this time Michael’s eyes never left his. Not when Tyler unzipped the annoying jeans, not when his hand moved aside the offending underwear, not until he finally got to look his fill.

It had been a long while since he’d done this, and suddenly he was eager. He didn’t bother to tease, just licked the salty tip before taking that beautiful dick into his mouth. It was the perfect weight on his tongue, he moaned around it when Michael’s hand dug into his hair and pulled gently.

He lost himself to it, enjoying the sounds he pulled from his cowboy when he swirled around the head, the way he had to hold Michael’s hips down with his arm and stop him from chasing his pleasure to quickly. 

“Christ, don’t you dare st...”

At those broken words Tyler gave one last stroke of his tongue before releasing Michael from his mouth. He grabbed at the denim, pulled it down and off Michael’s legs before crawling back up and demanding another kiss.

Michael was grumbling into his mouth, hands needy and digging painfully into Tyler’s ass. He just kept kissing him, wet and open and dirty. He debated staying like that a long while until hot hands slid into the front of his jeans. 

He hissed, had to bury his face into Michael’s neck as a calloused hand wrapped around him. He bucked into it wantonly, desperately, gasping with every twist over the head, precum slicking them both.

“You better have stuff.” Michael gave a squeeze with his words, making sparks flash behind Tyler’s closed eyes.

“Yeah, yeah...drawer.”

He was unceremoniously bucked off, flat on his back he wiggled out of his jeans and kicked them off just as a condom landed on his chest. He glanced at Michael who was already dribbling lube onto his fingers. He caught Tyler watching him, that smirk back on his face. It stayed there, and Tyler could have sworn there was a twinkle in the man’s eyes as he flung his leg over and straddled Tyler in a somehow graceful move.

It lined their cocks up perfectly, Michael rocking his hips as he leaned back, fingers dipping in behind. All Tyler could do was grip at Michael’s thighs and hold on.

“Are you sure?” Tyler grunted it out of clenched teeth. He wanted to, fuck did he want to, but he wasn’t about to assume.

Michael let out a gasp above him, working backwards on his own fingers. The pleasure on his face a moment Tyler wanted to imprint in his memory, bottle it up for long road trips as he slept in another hotel bed. Wanted to imagine his cowboy and how he rode.

“You complaining?” Michael’s words were breathy, but he still locked eyes with Tyler, cocked an eyebrow.

“Fuck no.” 

The bastard actually winked at him, slapping his free hand on Tyler’s chest where the condom lay. He hated how his fingers fumbled to grasp it, his hips still bucking up, his dick chasing every move Michael made. 

“Come on, fuck just…” Michael’s words were lost as he let out a shudder, he fingers digging into Tyler’s inked skin. 

He didn’t know how he got the condom on honestly, but then in a flash Michael was up and sinking down. Tight heat squeezing the life out of both of them. 

Tyler froze, waited until Michael let out a calming breath and leaned down to lick across Tyler’s lips. Then he opened those brown eyes and whispered words Tyler knew he would remember for the rest of his life.

“Time to ride.”

It was an assault on his senses. Michael rose and Tyler held on. It was like chasing a high when you were already drugged. Finally he had to grasp at the headboard, stretch his chin to the ceiling and swear to the sky. He was rewarded with hands on his thighs, a new angle that had him seeing stars. 

Tyler bent his legs, got leverage to meet thrust for thrust. He was close, he could taste it and he needed his cowboy right there with him. He pushed himself up, pulled their lips together as he wrapped his fingers around Michael to get him there. 

It was fast and there was sweat running into his eyes but he couldn’t look away. Michael was gorgeous, panting into the space between them, chasing the end just as much as Tyler was. 

Then it happened, a mess in his fingers and Michael wrapped around him so tight he could do nothing else but fall.

When he came back to himself his muscles ached, in that delicious way that came after a winning game. Where he could either sleep for a year or dance all night. But first he had to relearn to breathe.

Michael was flopped beside him, arm over his eyes and a gorgeous sheen of sweat drying on his sun kissed skin. Tyler had enough thought to tie off the used condom and grab a hand towel he’d stashed in the bedside table for such a purpose. He tossed it on Michael’s chest and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again he was laying on his side, half covered in a blanket and the cowboy’s form silently redressing in soft lamp light. Tyler’s dick started to harden again, but he could tell Michael was probably a one and done kind of man.

As if he could read Tyler’s thoughts Michael looked his way and offered him what seemed to be an apologetic smile.

“Sorry I fell asleep.” He might have been worn out but he didn’t want to be rude. Michael had just fucked his brains out, he deserved some consideration.

The cowboy just shook his head as he ran his fingers through his hair and perched his hat back on his curls.

“Don’t worry about it. I take it as a compliment.”

Tyler smiled, surprised when Michael leaned over him and placed a soft kiss to his lips. Then he pulled back, walking backwards towards the door and leaving Tyler’s life with nothing but some damn good memories.

“Well, I have a new appreciation for cowboys.” Tyler leaned his head on his hand, tried to look memorable. Hoped Michael would think of him now and then.

His cowboy just tipped his hat, shot Tyler a wink and grabbed the doorknob. He stopped for a second and turned back around.

“And I just might start watching hockey.” With his trademark smirk he was out the door and gone. Tyler could only blink as the door shut, and then he dropped his head to his pillow and laughed.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE #I love you #always #Shauna's niche fic #I don't know how to tag this #michael guerin #tyler sequin #do they have a ship name? #myler? #Guerquin? #beware the smut!

[bucket-of-rice]

Grappling with attention, suchi with friends, and so, so much soccer: A week in the life of Morgan Rielly.

Justin Kloke. 16 Jan 2019

(HEADS UP! this is a long post)

In a Maple Leafs season with high expectations and the hopes of making a legitimate push in the Stanley Cup playoffs, no player has had a more transformative year than Morgan Rielly. For one week, The Athletic was granted a glimpse into the life of the Maple Leafs’ star defenceman.

Saturday, January 5

Just after 10:30 a.m. Saturday morning, Morgan Rielly takes his place in front of an army of reporters and cameramen at the front of the Maple Leafs dressing room. His blonde hair walks the line between well-manicured and messy as he eschews the high and tight look of so many of his peers. He wears a slight stubble on his face, shorts, non-descript Black Nike trainers and large white socks bunched up just over his heels.

At first glance, the 24 year old looks more like a suburban father out on a diaper run than he does a Norris Trophy candidate. As Rielly speaks, there is no trace of ego. An outsider would be hard-pressed to believe Rielly has scored 44 points in 40 games, which at this point is tied for the lead among NHL defencemen.

“I feel like I have room to get better,” Rielly tells the scrum. “When you look, recently, we’ve had some losses and it’s important we all take that upon ourselves as individuals and try to get better.”

The Leafs welcome the Vancouver Canucks that night at Scotiabank Arena, Rielly’s hometown team. Rielly has become accustomed to being sent to speak for the Leafs ahead of a game. He has not just taken steps, but leaps and bounds this season to become the team’s number one defenceman. In training camp, Rielly confided to one of his best friends on the team, Jake Gardiner, that he was going to be “more assertive” offensively this season.

As such, it’s curious that the league’s highest-scoring defenceman was left off the All-Star Game roster when it was announced a few days earlier.

But Rielly still has a shot to get to San Jose and his first All-Star Game: Throughout this week, fans can vote for him as part of a “Last Man In” campaign. One player from each division will be selected.

Not surprisingly, Rielly, who has been hesitant to speak about his own personal accomplishments all season, isn’t viewing this week as a try-out for the All-Star Game.

“I don’t think it’s going to change anything,” Rielly says, shaking his head. “Voting is what it is. It’s based on a lot more than just what happens on Monday night and then Thursday night.”

After a five-game point streak through December that saw him net 11 points, Rielly has cooled, going pointless in his last three games. It is his longest scoring drought of an otherwise scorching season.

Tonight’s setting is seemingly right for Rielly to get back on track.

“I’d be lying if I said I just treated it like every other game,” Rielly says of facing the Canucks.

He knows all of his buddies back in Vancouver are watching, and he understands expectations surrounding his play might be heightened.

At 6:35 p.m., Rielly and the Leafs exit the dressing room, but not until famed Canadian astronaut, and noted Leafs fan Chris Hadfield quickly scoots through the blocked-off area directly outside the dressing room.

Rielly is the 19th player out of the dressing room. He stops to share a choreographed handshake with Mitch Marner that ends up looking more like an entanglement of hands than it does a high-five. They both burst out in simultaneous laughter.

“I like it in basketball when it’s a little bit more elaborate,” Rielly says of special handshakes among teammates.

Midway through the first period, Rielly sees his fortunes change. He throws the puck on net from just inside the blueline and John Tavares tips it in. It’s part of a comprehensive performance from Rielly in which he generates six scoring chances.

The Leafs humiliate Rielly’s hometown team, 5-0.

Still, Rielly isn’t interested in personal accolades, including breaking his pointless drought.

“People always ask me about points and stuff,” Rielly says. “I genuinely don’t think about it. I used to when I was younger. As you get a bit older, you put it out of your mind and you just worry about playing.”

Rielly will hang around Scotiabank Arena after the game until half-time of the Dallas Cowboys-Seattle Seahawks wildcard playoff game. He then quickly drives home to his Trinity Bellwoods apartment. He pours himself a glass of red wine and makes a beeline for his couch to watch the second half of the game and unwind.

Rielly won’t call himself a wine connoisseur by any means, but he’s met enough people through his NHL career that have influenced his taste in wine. He favours wines from Napa Valley instead of more traditionally popular countries like France and Italy. When he gets together with his parents, he always chooses the wine, even if they do talk a big game after recently returning from a trip to Italy.

“I know what I like now,” Rielly says, nodding his head confidently.

Sunday, January 6

Rielly arrives at the Leafs’ practice facility at 10:00 a.m. for a noon practice. He’ll get a bit of physical treatment, stretch, take part in a team workout around 11:00 a.m. then be part of a team meeting at 11:30.

When Rielly does take to the ice just before noon, there is a full-size dummy on the ice that goaltending coach Steve Briere uses to simulate screens for the team’s goalies.

Rielly has other plans.

“Me and (Gardiner) like to shoot pucks at it because we think it’s funny,” Rielly says.

Sunday’s practice is short, totalling just 25 minutes. The team avoids working on structure, instead opting for a variety of three-on-three games meant to, in Rielly’s estimation, “just keep the motor running.”

With the rest of the day to kill, Rielly considers his options: he’s interested in seeing ‘Vice,’ or perhaps spending time with Auston Matthews, Frederik Andersen and Tyler Ennis, all of whom are single and have established a routine of dining out and seeing movies together.

Rielly is all too aware that it’s important to have hobbies outside of hockey and not simply spend his personal time on the couch.

But Sunday is different.

“Today’s going to be about football,” Rielly says.

It’s the final day of the NFL’s wildcard weekend, and Rielly wants nothing more than to park himself on his couch to watch.

“I do believe in preparation, being rested and being aware of what you put in your body today,” Rielly says, perhaps using this as an excuse to spend a Sunday afternoon vegging.

Rielly’s interest in football isn’t just a passing one.

His father, Andy, was a Raiders fan after working in Orange County, California as a carpenter when he was younger. Morgan and Andy would drive down together from West Vancouver to Seattle to watch the Raiders play the Seahawks. When Rielly was seven and the Seahawks played at the University of Washington’s Husky Stadium, the two braved the freezing, snowy conditions by buying entirely too many blankets which they still have, and use.

“I’ll always remember that,” Rielly says.

His interest became even more deep-seated when he began playing fantasy football. Rielly’s incredible season isn’t just limited to the ice: He won the team’s fantasy football league.

His pick for the Super Bowl is the New Orleans Saints, led by Drew Brees. He admits to being mesmerized by one of the all-time great quarterbacks.

“He’s one of the only guys who I’ll watch the entire game and not change the channel. When I watch that team play I just think about how good they are. Their offence just clicks.”

Monday, January 7

Game days are always the same for Rielly. After waking at 8:00 a.m., as he does every morning, and throwing on the first clothes he can find, he’ll drive along Lakeshore Boulevard to the Scotiabank Arena, arriving no later than 8:45.

He’ll mosey around the dressing room, striking up a conversation with whichever teammate he meets.

“It takes me a while to wake up,” Rielly says.

Breakfast always consists of two eggs, over easy, with one notable exception.

“If I’m really hungry I’ll have these blueberry pancakes we have,” Rielly says. “They say they’re supposed to be good for you but I don’t really believe them.”

More coffee follows. Rielly will tape his sticks for the game while waiting for one of his favourite parts of his day: The pre-game soccer kick about. Players organize a tournament and whoever lets the ball drop is out of the circle. The last man standing gets a point, and the first player to three points wins.

“I’m the best guy on the team. You can ask,” says Rielly. He never played much soccer growing up but he has honed his skills.

The first team meeting is at 9:50 followed by another at 10:00. If the morning skate is mandatory, Rielly will take the ice.

If not? More soccer.

“That’s harder than pre-game skate,” Rielly says.

Lunch is served at the Platinum Club, a restaurant just steps away from the dressing room. He’ll always eat pasta in rosé sauce, and will always sit across from Gardiner. After lunch, Rielly grabs a cookie, a bottle of water and returns home.

He naps earlier than his teammates, generally from 12:30-1:30. Once he wakes up, he’ll open his laptop and pore through the endless stream of news stories emerging that day, paying particular attention to any stories his mother has sent him.

Rielly arrives back at Scotiabank Arena by 4:00 p.m. His pre-game meal is simple: toast, and, more coffee.

At 4:25, Rielly enters the trainer’s room for a thorough stretch. He’ll wait for Gardiner to finish his stretch immediately afterwards and a one-on-one game of soccer follows. First to 10 points wins.

By the end of that game, more teammates are waiting on the sidelines to join in. Another tournament commences.

At 5:00, Rielly enters the dressing room. The team’s penalty kill meeting begins at 5:12 sharp. He’ll then chat with defence partner Ron Hainsey about the evening’s matchup. Rielly is a fan of poring over the game notes on the opposition to see if any trends stick out.

Another meeting at 5:30 follows before…another game of soccer.

Rielly eventually has to be pulled away from his teammates for more stretching before getting dressed for the game.

Tonight’s game is one to forget for Rielly and the Leafs. After giving up two second period goals against the Nashville Predators, the Leafs throw caution to the wind and abandon their defensive structure in search of the tying goals. In doing so, they expose themselves and are exploited by a very good Predators offence. They add two more goals in the third period and the Leafs lose 4-0.

Rielly is unable to break out of the Leafs own zone as he has all season.

“It was an example of them clogging up the ice and making it difficult for us to generate offence,” Rielly says. “And that can be frustrating.”

Tuesday, January 8

It is a day off for Rielly and the Leafs. Rielly begins his day by running a few errands, including a stop at the bank, all fueled by a few iced coffees. He makes his way to Ossington Avenue where he meets Ennis, Andersen and Matthews for a sushi lunch.

The push to get Rielly into the All-Star game begins to ramp up. The Toronto Raptors post a short video with Pascal Siakam in a Rielly jersey encouraging fans to vote for Rielly.

Matthews also posts a photo of Rielly from lunch on his Instagram story, trying to generate more votes.

The four of them then move on to a local theatre for a matinee viewing of ‘Aquaman.’ Nothing special, according to Rielly, even if he is into superhero movies.

By the evening, the weight of two games over the past three nights catches up with Rielly. He’s exhausted, and can’t be bothered to cook. He says goodbye to his teammates and walks across the street from his apartment to Oyster Boy and saddles up to the bar.

He’s a fan of spending his evenings alone at the restaurant bar, often bringing a book, such as Thomas L. Friedman’s ‘Thank You for Being Late: An Optimist’s Guide to Thriving in the Age of Accelerations.’

As increased attention on Rielly’s social media ramps up, he needs drown out the noise. He isn’t entirely comfortable with all the attention. He plugs in his headphones and listens to an episode of the Joe Rogan Experience with a plate of oysters in front of him.

Wednesday, January 9

Wednesday’s practice ends with a competition born out of a discussion among Leafs teammates: Who’s better at taking faceoffs, defencemen or centres? Rielly has only taken two draws in his lifetime. Last season, with the Leafs trying to kill a 5-on-3 penalty and one Leafs forward already kicked out of the dot, Rielly was called in to face off against Henrik Sedin. He lost.

Assistant coach D.J. Smith drops pucks as the two groups bark after every draw. In the end, perhaps against the odds, Gardiner leads the defencemen to a surprise victory. A round of cheers breaks out among the Leafs defencemen.

Jake Gardiner and Nazem Kadri often debate whether forwards or defencemen have harder practices, and Rielly hopes this competition settled the debate.

“It was brewing for a couple of days,” Rielly says, “so I’m glad we squashed it.”

After practice, Rielly and his teammates board a flight to New Jersey in advance of tomorrow’s game against the Devils.

Rielly takes his seat near Gardiner, Kadri and Hainsey for a heated game of poker. Rielly has never considered himself much of a poker player, aside from killing time on his phone with a poker app. It’s the camaraderie he enjoys.

“I’m not a good player. I like being involved in making fun of guys,” Rielly says with a mischievous grin that is as commonplace to Rielly as his dad socks.

Nevertheless, he wins big on the flight down.

Previous attempts via social media to bring attention to Rielly’s “Last Man In” vote were only a start: On Wednesday night, Gardiner helps the Leafs go on the offensive. Gardiner films a series of short clips with players hamming it up for the camera in an attempt to influence voters and boost Rielly’s case for the All-Star Game.

Rielly was alone in his hotel room at the time, getting ready for a team dinner and was unaware of what Gardiner and the team were putting together.

“If I was, they wouldn’t have gotten out,” Rielly says.

When he returns to his room after dinner his phone blows up with notifications. He can only shake his head and text Gardiner to plead for the videos to stop.

Thursday, January 10

The majority of the Leafs don’t travel to the Prudential Center for a morning skate, so Rielly and Gardiner play soccer at the hotel on their own.

“I rinsed him,” says Rielly.

More videos continue to roll in on social media, encouraging fans to vote for Rielly.

Rielly tries to block out the added attention by continuing his routine. The Prudential Center offers a roomier space for the team’s pre-game soccer than many arenas. But that could only increase the attention on Rielly.

“He’s a target man,” says forward Andreas Johnsson, who is also one of the better soccer players on the team.

Rielly isn’t fazed. If anything, he believes Johnsson’s admission proves his superiority.

“If it’s Royal Rumble, you go after the best player, because you want him out early,” Rielly says.

The Leafs get the bounce-back effort they needed, a comprehensive 4-2 victory over the Devils. Rielly registers one assist and it’s one worth remembering. His patient highlight-reel pass looks almost effortless but still brilliant.

The Leafs don’t leave the airport in New Jersey until just after 11:30 p.m. Rielly finally arrives home just before 1:30 a.m. It’s a late night, but Rielly still sets his alarm for 8:00 a.m. the next morning.

“You have about 12 coffees and go about your day,” says Rielly.

Friday, January 11

As Rielly begins skating laps around the ice ahead of practice, the results are announced by the NHL: Rielly will not be going to the All-Star Game. Sabres forward Jeff Skinner is the final Atlantic Division representative.

After practice, Rielly is swarmed by reporters. Asked repeatedly what it would have meant for him to have been able to go to the game, Rielly deflects. He can’t imagine what it would be like to experience something that didn’t happen.

“I’m glad it’s over,” Rielly says repeatedly of the vote. The feelings of self-consciousness over the attention were a little too much to bear.

He’s already making plans to return to Vancouver and spend some quality time with his eight-year-old yellow lab, Maggie. Time away from the spotlight would serve Rielly well.

After a nap to recuperate from practice, Rielly and Ennis meet at Lee, a trendy Asian fusion restaurant, for dinner. Rielly is a massive fan of Susur Lee but even more so, considers living in Toronto as a way to expand his culinary palette.

“There’s a lot of diversity in this city,” says Rielly. “That is true certainly with the food. There’s lots out there that you can try, and find what you like.”

Saturday, January 12

By Saturday afternoon, the focus has shifted away from Rielly’s All-Star Game snub to that night’s opponents, the Bruins. After losing two of three regular-season meetings so far, questions continue to swirl about whether the Leafs have the mettle to combat the Bruins should they meet again in the postseason.

Rielly understands the questions, even if he doesn’t like them.

“If you’re a journalist and you look at the history, that’s the narrative I would write too,” Rielly says. “I don’t think there’s anything there that we’re afraid of.”

As the Leafs prepare to take the ice, Rielly takes his normal position in front of the silver Maple Leaf logo in the dressing room hallway to the ice. He wears an “A” on his sweater and is beginning to take more responsibility on this team. So much so that, as strong a year as he is having as an individual, he would trade it all for greater success as a team.

“That’s the end goal,” says Rielly, with the admission that the Leafs need their best players to be performing at their full capacity to succeed. “That’s why we’re here. We want to win hockey games. It’s not about what we do as individuals. That’s a trade I’d make for sure.”

In the second intermission, with the Leafs trailing 3-2 and slightly deflated, Rielly pipes up. His message is simple: Stay positive. He reminds those closest to him in the dressing room that the team is at home, down by just one goal and that they were getting their fair share of scoring chances.

“To hear voices, I think it’s good,” says Rielly. “You feel like there’s something that has to be said, whether you’re a young guy, old guy, it doesn’t matter.”

The Bruins hold on for the win. There were long stretches throughout the game that Rielly felt the Leafs were in control. It’s hard for Rielly not to imagine another playoff matchup.

“When you look at the standings, there’s a chance we’ll see them again,” Rielly says. “That’s something you always think about.”

Rielly returns to his apartment, alone with his thoughts. He tries not to let losses fester too long. He genuinely tries to find the positives in the game, and then “flushes it,” before practice the next day. Rielly is happy to have some time to himself. If there will be no reflection on his breakout season in public, the only time it might come is on his couch, free of distraction.

“I like my own space,” Rielly says. “My mom always commented on that, the way I liked to — not necessarily be alone, but — more or less, be alone.”

From the outside, Rielly may never live a more enviable life than he currently does. He does not allow for the admission that in playing the best hockey of his professional career, his profile has been raised dramatically. Even when his family visits and he dines out with his mother, she cannot get over how many people around Rielly are staring, whispering and pointing in admiration.

Rielly doesn’t want to notice the added attention, or have himself singled out for what could be one of the best offensive seasons by a Leafs defenceman, ever.

“I don’t think we’ve accomplished our end goal yet,” says Rielly. “Yeah, things are good if you look at it right now, but I think they could be a lot better. I don’t think our focus is enjoying everything that’s happening right now. We have bigger goals. And to reach that end goal, I think then we’ll be able to take a step back and look around a bit more.”

The following day is a practice, and Rielly has his alarm set for 8:00 a.m.

#morgan rielly #old article #need to pay to read the original article #toronto maple leafs #hes like Tessa #Likes his own company #coffee #and to read books #all round good guy?

[scaredofthebasement-blog]

When Love Walks In - Chpt 8

Reblog to get this great love story out there.  It’s just lifting off...Enjoy the ride!  

Chpt 8 - Auston Gets Dr Quinn Alone

2869 Words

“Hey Auston, what’s going on?”  Dr Quinn approaches his bed and sits beside him in the chair.  

He just sits, staring off, thinking of what he can say.

“You can talk to me about anything, Auston.  I will try to help you if you tell me your concerns.”

He grabs his whiteboard and writes, “I want this all to be over, to get out of here and back to my life the way I knew it.”

“Yes.  I get that Auston.  Honestly, I understand.  But it should only be a couple more days till you will be able to breathe on your own if you continue with your ‘Rock Star’ ways.”  She smirks at him and tilts her head to get him to look at her.  She draws a smile and blush out of him.  He feels like he’s back in high school again with a school boy crush.  

Dr Quinn continues, “Then we will be able to get you out of Intensive Care, get you out of the hospital and start focusing on your voice and your physical fitness.  Your breathing capacity will have to wait till you have completely healed and you’ve had an opportunity to get your conditioning back.  So yes, as I’m sure you’re figuring out, this is going to be a game of patience.  But I’m sure you’ve had to exercise patience in getting yourself into the NHL.  I’m sure you can remember doing that?”

Auston nods yes.

“Did it work out in the end?” She asks, knowing the answer.

“Till a puck smashed my throat”, he writes with a sarcastic smirk.

“Ha!  Yes.  Sadly, that’s true.  But I bet you went through the long game of huge challenges and struggles that you had to rise above to get to the point…,” she pauses looking for the right words.  “…Where you got to take that puck to your throat”, Dr Quinn grins as she teases the last part, looking for a reaction.

Auston can’t help but chuckle and smile at what she just said.  She gets me.  She’s cool, he thinks.

“From what I have heard, it looks like you handled all of that preparation for the NHL really well.”

Curious, Auston needs to know, so he writes, “What did you hear?”  

“Just that you made it to the NHL, against some pretty big odds, coming from the sunbelt, I understand”, Dr Quinn answers.

Oh, so that’s all she knows, he thinks.

“Do you like the Leafs? Do you watch games?”  He writes, trying to find out what she might know about him.

“To be completely honest, Auston I have not been following the Leafs.  I’ve been preoccupied with my career for many years.  But I do know they’re a hockey team AND I have nothing against them if that’s what you’re getting at”, she jokes.

Auston picks up his marker and writes “LOL!” and smiles at Dr Quinn’s joke.

Dr Quinn laughs.

Auston writes, “Oh, so glad you have nothing against us.  LMAO! I can gift you tickets to a game when I get back playing?  It’s the least I could do.”

“That sounds like something I wouldn’t hate.”  Dr Quinn smiles.

“Oh, wow!  You sound so into it.  You do know that people actually pay big bucks to go to Leafs’ games, right?”  He shows her his board, shaking his head and smiling.

“Yes, of course.  I would like to watch you play sometime, Auston. I’ve heard good things”,  Dr Quinn attempts to reassure him.

He can’t help himself. He shakes his head, grinning and writes, “Good things!  Ha! OMG!  You’re so funny!  So you didn’t know who I was when you were operating on me?”

Dr Quinn is starting to think this guy is a bit full of himself.  She makes a note to herself that she should have a look into what he is all about.  She knows he is in the news, that there are tons of people concerned about him and there is a shrine outside the hospital, but she also knows that hockey and all professional sports are a huge deal in Toronto, so any good player would get that kind of attention.

I should Google him when I get a chance, she thinks.

Dr Quinn tells him, “No. The attending staff that night just informed me that you were an NHL hockey player injured in a playoff game. Then after surgery, they told me your name, but I had only heard it in the context that the Leafs were lucky to get you.”

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”  He writes.

“Ha!  Auston!  You are pretty bold, aren’t you?”  She laughs nervously.

“Sorry.  You don’t have to answer.  I was just curious.  Besides you already know a lot about me”,  He writes back.

“No, to be honest, I don’t know much about you, other than medically speaking.  I’m telling you the truth when I say I’ve been living under a rock of medical studies for years.  I was actually just thinking that, by the sound of things, I should probably look into this ‘Auston Matthews’ guy.  You’ve got me curious, thinking I must be in the presence of a pretty amazing star”, she says half teasing.

Auston is embarrassed. He writes on his board, “Oh man, I feel like an asshole for coming across as cocky.”  He then wipes his board.  “Sorry, I’m not used to people not knowing who I am, in hockey-obsessed Toronto, I mean”, He writes and wipes again.  “I am actually just a 27-year-old guy, raised in Arizona, blessed with a supportive family, great coaches, athleticism, fast reflexes and good hand-eye coordination. I applied myself and have been very lucky.”  

He is running out of room on the whiteboard, so he shows her and cleans the board.  He continues, “I’ve achieved pretty good success and play for a big deal team that makes a big deal out of me.”  

He cleans the board again and adds, “But I’ve never won a Cup, can’t breathe on my own, can’t talk, and never saved a life.  So look no further than yourself, cause you’re the star in this room.”  He erases again and ends with, “Oh, and you’re gonna have to get me a bigger whiteboard.”  He gives a cheeky smile as he holds up the board.

Dr Quinn laughs. “Ha!  Very funny!  Oh, Auston, I could get you a bigger whiteboard, but I plan on getting you talking as soon as possible.  Seriously though, thank you for sharing with me a bit about you.  I’m glad to know you better.”  She doesn’t know what else to say but definitely feels that he has just endeared himself to her.

“So I understand you’ve become a very successful doctor in a short period?”  Auston enquires.

“One might say that”, she answers shyly.

“You must be proud of yourself”, He adds.

“Well, I’m happy that I was able to get where I am, sooner than later, so that I can do what I have dreamed of doing which is to make a difference for people in medical crisis like yourself”,  she answers.

“My parents told me about your rise, and it sounds like I am fortunate to have you as my doctor. Thank you, for all the hard work you put in so that you can be here today to help me”, Auston writes.

“Oh, Auston, thank you for that!  I’m really happy that I can be here to help you.  You could say for me, helping you was like getting into the playoffs.  But getting your voice back; that will be my Stanley Cup.”

“Look at you using sport’s analogies, Dr Q!” He writes, smiling and opens his mouth to emphasize shock.

“Yeah, I kinda surprised myself there.”  She responds, laughing.

“They told me what happened to your boyfriend and said that inspired you to do what you are doing now. That’s a pretty amazing story”, Auston writes.

“I suppose so.  I needed to make something good come out of a tragic situation.  I’m assuming that there was something that started you on your path to becoming an NHL player”, Dr Quinn queries.

Auston writes, “Yeah, I fell in love with the speed and skill of the game.  I bonded over hockey with my dad and my uncle, Billy.  My uncle died when I was about four.  My dad was pretty torn up since they were very close. It was hard to see him like that. I suppose I wanted to make my Dad happy again by doing well in something and honour my uncle.  I’m also highly competitive, which I attribute to me being a middle child.  Always fighting for the attention, I guess.  I’ve no idea why I just told you that.”  Auston looks up at Dr Quinn, to gauge her reaction.  He’s almost expecting her to leave the room, turned off by this guy who is not as cool as he is trying to appear.  He’s disappointed in himself, slipping up and letting her see behind the curtain.  He’s embarrassed.

Sensing his regret over his disclosure, Dr Quinn tries to reassure him.  “Well, that was refreshingly insightful and honest, Auston.  I’m actually flattered that you would share that with me.  Please don’t regret telling me that.  I’m actually impressed that you can see yourself for who you are and that you trust me, to tell me such things.  From what I have observed in life, everyone has the fundamental need to be heard, seen and valued.  Some just go about it more boldly than others.”

“Thank you.”  Auston writes as he smirks shyly.  His heart is overflowing with affection for this woman who stands before him.

“I’m sorry about your Uncle Billy, Auston.  How did he die?”  She asks.

“CF”,  He writes.

“Ah, a breathing disease. Interesting.  Well, you are going to honour your Uncle and make your father, mother, sisters and fans, very proud when you get yourself breathing on your own again.  There may also be a chance to make you and I the proudest that we have ever been.”

“How’s that?”  He writes, confused.

“Restoring your voice. Like I told you, the small trials have been successful, but you could be the first big success.  I believe in you, and I believe in me.  I will be your guide every step of the way.  We’ll be a team.  You just need to do what I tell you.  In fact, I’ll make you a promise.  I will go to one of your hockey games when you make it back to playing hockey again. How’s that sound?”

Auston feels a peace wash through his body as she speaks.  He knows he can trust her.  He believes he can count on her.  It is like he has known her forever.  He wants her to stay with him.  He feels secure and safe with her near.

“So do we have a deal that you and I will fix you and then I’ll go to one of your games?”

“Yeah, but I have one thing to add”,  He writes.

“And what’s that?” She asks.

“You’ll wear my Jersey to the game”,  he writes before he thinks it through.  

Where the hell has my filter gone, and why do I keep telling her things that make me look pathetic or like a school boy with a crush?  He immediately asks himself as his stomach drops.

Suddenly, her stomach gets butterflies, and a red flag goes up.  For some reason, Auston’s request feels intimate.  

“Then what will YOU wear?” She responds quickly with a joke, to lighten the unease.

Embarrassed, Auston smiles and rolls his eyes and is glad for the comic relief as a distraction.  He still wants to crawl under the bed but can only hope she isn’t creeped out.

Curiosity gets the best of Dr Quinn, and she can’t help but ask, “Seriously, though, why is that Auston?”

He thinks fast and writes, “Because you said we’re a team, so we have to wear the same jersey, right?”

She is relieved.  That makes sense to her.  “Oh for sure Auston.  Deal!” She says as she reaches out her hand to move past this uneasy conversation.  As they shake hands, they both feel an electric charge but pretended not to notice.  

Great save! Auston thinks to himself.

Dr Quinn wants to escape the confusing thoughts she is having about Auston.  She instantly numbs herself to feeling the tingle she got when they touched.  She reveals nothing in her reaction or words.  Her job depends on it.

“Well, I need to get going, Auston.  But I hope this talk helped.”

He nods and smiles but secretly wants more time with her.

“You going home?”  He writes, hoping to solicit more information about her nonchalantly.

“Yeah, after I finish some paperwork”,  She answers with a grin.

“Got any plans tonight?” Auston continues his mission for information.

“Just Pilates.  In fact, I recall, that’s what I had just finished when I got the Page to come help out a certain STAR hockey player who had an accident”,  She teases.

“Ha! Oh.  Sorry about that”,  He writes.

“Yeah, I might forgive you”, She jokes with a wink.

Auston makes a realisation and writes, “Hey!  So that night you weren’t even watching a Toronto, Game 7, Stanley Cup game?!  R you sure you’re from Toronto?  Pilates?  Wow! Just Wow!”  Auston shakes his head, teasing Dr Quinn.

Dr Quinn laughs and in a matter-of-fact voice pleads her case, “Hey!  I told you. I’ve been buried under a rock of medical studies, research, surgeries and being a doctor.  What can I say?  I have no life.  But wait! I seem to recall that as I arrived home from my class that particular night, I was going to put on the TV to check the score of your said ‘game seven’ when someone interrupted me from my ‘hockey game watching.’ Apparently, that SOMEONE needed me to do a little operation.”  Dr Quinn smirks confidently.

“Oh, so you ARE Canadian, after all!  I was really starting to wonder.”  He writes, teasing her.

“But seriously?  The tail end of a game 7 was the best you could do?!  You’re barely hanging on to your citizenship Doctor”,  Auston adds in jest.

“Looks like someone needs to pull you out from under that rock, Dr Quinn.”  Auston writes teasing her again.

“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that”,  She replies.

“So, what are you doing after Pilates?  Not to be nosey.  Just trying to live vicariously through you since I’ll be laying here in a hospital bed while you’re out there free”, Auston fibs.

“Sorry to disappoint, but not much, I’m afraid.  I will probably just get something to eat, return some texts, read or watch tv.”

“Do you have kids?” He writes, hoping his questions will just come off as light conversation.

“Nope.  No kids.  No husband.” She answers.

Auston is thrilled but doesn’t let on.

“A boyfriend?”  He dares to ask.

“Nope.  No boyfriend.”  She responds with a nervous laugh.  She again feels slightly uncomfortable but convinces herself he’s just asking cause he’s bored.

She surprises herself when she questions Auston back, “And you?”  She hopes he just takes it as an innocent back and forth.

“Nope, neither, either and no kids.”  He writes.

They both smile nervously, hoping that their happiness over such revelations isn’t detected by the other.

“Well you have fun laying here in bed, and I’ll have fun doing pilates, eating and not having a life.” She tells him.

Auston thinks she is so cute.  He writes on his board, “Ha!  Okay, it sounds like we’re both living our best life!”

“We sure are!  I’ll see you tomorrow, Auston and we’ll get you breathing again soon.  Oh, that is if you still need me for the breathing exercises.  Probably not, right?  You’re good with Dr Wright now, right?”  She has to laugh at all the “rights” she used there.  She is giddy and nervous and doesn’t want to acknowledge to herself why.

He writes, “Wrong! No.  I need you still.  Pls. We’re a team.  Remember?”

“You’re right, Auston! We are a team.” She tells him shocked by the feeling of warmth running through her body.

Auston smiles huge. He thinks she is adorable.

Needing to escape, Dr Quinn announces, “Anyways; I’ll be back here at 10 am.  Sleep well, Auston.  Oh, and I’ll send your parents back in.  Okay?”

“Yes, I’m going to ask them to go home for the evening and get some sleep.  I need some time alone, and they do as well.”  He writes to her.

Ignoring every warning going off in her brain, she swallows, “I see. Sounds good, Auston.  Can I see your board for a minute?”  

Auston hands her his whiteboard and marker, looking at her, curious as to why she needs it.

She writes something on it quickly, flips it over, hands it back to him and blushing, walks away, saying, “Okay Auston.  Sweet dreams. I’ll send them in.”

Auston watches Dr Quinn leave the room and quickly turns the board over, excited to read what she has written.  

“29” is all it reads.

#auston matthews #auston matthews fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #fanfiction #imagine #nhl fanfiction #leafs #toronto maple leafs #love story

[mizbabygirl]

The key to balancing hockey and fatherhood? Make sure FaceTime works, says Brandon Saad (from the Chicago Tribune)

The timing couldn’t have been better.

Brandon Saad’s wife, Alyssa, gave birth to the couple’s first child, Teo, on Aug. 1, and for the next six weeks, their lives settled into as much of a routine as there can be with a newborn.

Alyssa took care of the feedings at night, and when daylight came Brandon would help out more and join in taking Teo for long strolls around their Chicago neighborhood.

Then training camp started and, well, even babies need to give way to the demands of the hockey season.

The Blackhawks leave next week on a nine-day trip to Europe, where they will visit Berlin before flying to Prague to start the season Oct. 4 against the Flyers. For Saad, quiet mornings, quick peeks and the simple joy of being around his child will be replaced by long flights, morning skates and the responsibility of being an NHL player.

“It’ll be tough,” Saad said. “But the beauty behind it now with FaceTime, you get to see your family every day regardless. But it will be different definitely, going away and seeing him grow. Missing things like that. That’s all part of the job.”

Saad’s teammates have the same thoughts on how to balance being a father with being an NHL player: Have a great wife, make sure FaceTime works and sleep when you can.

“The wives are the best,” said Andrew Shaw, who has a 15-month-old daughter. “They have the hardest job, especially in the season. In the summer I helped out as much as I could. I was up every day with the kid in the morning, but once that year starts, Daddy’s got to work.”

Shaw, whom the Hawks reacquired June 30 from the Canadiens, arrived in Chicago ahead of his family and had to endure two weeks without the joy of giving his daughter kisses and splashing around during bathtime. FaceTime helps him stay connected when he’s gone for long periods, but it’s not the same as actual face time.

“It is hard,” Shaw said. “I’ve been away for two weeks now and can’t wait for them to get in. When you go home and spend time with your family, you leave hockey at the rink. You try to as much as you can and then just enjoy your kid’s company, your wife’s company.

“You’re not playing for yourself anymore. You’re playing for your family; you’re playing to support a kid.”

Sleep is essential for hockey players, whose bodies get beat up on a daily basis and need to recuperate. So Erik Gustafsson, whose wife is expecting their second child any day, was fortunate his daughter slept through the night early on as an infant.

Those early days are over, and now she’s aware when Gustafsson is gone for long periods.

“Last year, she started crying every time I leave the door to go to practice or go on a road trip,” he said. “That kind of hurts your heart a little bit.”

Each of Brent and Dayna Seabrook’s three children — Carter, Kenzie and Dylan — were born in the summer after the season had ended. Kenzie was born five days after the Hawks won the 2015 Stanley Cup.

“It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever done, being a dad,” Seabrook said. “It was pretty spectacular when I first held Carter. It’s just amazing to feel that emotion and then see that. For me, the toughest thing was missing the milestones. Missing the walking, laughing, talking. Things like that.

“The world we live in now is so great with FaceTime and videos. My wife does a great job of sending pictures and videos, and I talk to the kids quite a bit when I’m on the road. It’s nice to see that stuff, but it sort of sucks if you’re not there.”

Seabrook didn’t become a parent until 2013, well after he was an established NHL star. So he knows what his teammates who don’t have kids are able to do with their time.

“They’ve got all day to do whatever they want,” Seabrook said. “They could go golf right now if they want. Not that I can’t do that, but it’s nice to be at home and it’s nice to help out. My son’s starting hockey; it was fun to go to practice last night and hang out and talk to him about hockey. My daughters are into sports a little bit, ballet and dance and soccer.

“It’s fun to share in things like that when I’m around. We’re going to start up here soon enough, and it’s going to be hit or miss when I can see stuff like that.”

For Saad, the challenge of having an infant son while enduring an NHL season is one he’s overjoyed to be able to take on.

“It’s been pretty amazing going home and seeing yourself and your wife in him and knowing that you created him,” he said. “It’s a miracle.”

______________________________________________________________Link to article (https://www.chicagotribune.com/sports/blackhawks/ct-chicago-blackhawks-fathers-brandon-saad-baby-20190922-3mfafmcytzfdtpwoylwhj7ad34-story.html)

#chicago blackhawks #article from chicago tribune